The (Somewhat) Royal Road to Namobuddha

I am wired toward skepticism. Well, that might be too charitably phrased. I am a downright contrarian, a through and through naysayer. I like to disagree and argue and eschew any form of reverence. There aren't any sacred cows that I won't prod (hey, see what I did there? A particularly apt idiom for Nepal). But despite this flaw of mine, this tendency to look for faults and hold on to them, I couldn't find any reason not to love Namobuddha. The experience has remained at the forefront of my mind for weeks: the hike, the serenity, the vistas, the architecture, everything.     

Sutra streamers (motion as prayer) 

As Nepal operates on a six-day workweek, Saturdays are my lone day off to explore the surrounding area. I am privileged to live so close to so many holy sites for both Buddhists and Hindus during my Pre-Service Training (PST). A few Saturdays ago, I suggested to my host sister that we walk to Namobuddha. And so, after handwashing my laundry and devouring the morning daal bhaat, I changed into a kurta (a long, loose shirt; not my usual hiking attire but when in Rome...), packed a bag with water and some oranges, and off we went. 

The walk was along a winding, steep road, with motorcycle and truck horns blaring as they approached us. Our path took us through Tamang villages, where Sutra streamers waved overhead. Motion is important in Tibetan Buddhism: with each flap in the wind, the prayer written on the Sutra flag is sent heavenward. I also encountered prayer wheels along the way. As I walked past, I turned the wheel clockwise with my right hand, again sending the prayer heavenward. The air became more refreshing as we climbed higher and higher, and we were afforded great views of the Himalayas. It was quite a journey to reach Namobuddha, but it was completely worth the physical exertion for a respite from the dust and dirt below. 

The legend of Namobuddha is fascinating and I've linked the full story here. The gist is this: A prince went on a picnic in the country with his family and their court. This prince and his older brothers ventured out on a hunt, coming across a weak and hungry tigress and her five cubs. The prince, in a great act of compassion, offered himself to the tigress so that she and her cubs could eat. His parents were distraught when they learned of his sacrifice; hearing this, the prince descended and spoke to his parents, saying, "Please do not be unhappy. The end of birth is disintegration, and the end of gathering is separation. No one can transcend this, for it is the nature of things." His parents were comforted. They built a stupa (a mound-like monument housing relics) over his burial place. The prince was later reborn as the Buddha, and thus Namobuddha became a pilgrimage site for Buddhists. In addition to the stupa, Namobuddha is home to a Tibetan Buddhist monastery, monks' quarters, a temple, and many small shrines. 

Stupa housing the bones of the prince

Gold roofed monastery with the Himalayas faintly visible in the background

The prince at his moment of sacrifice

Entrance to Kali Temple

Another Saturday, two fellow trainees and I traveled to the town of  Dhulikhel, known for its Newari wood carvings, well-preserved old town, and views of the Himalayas (shout out to Alyssa and her superb guidebook!). We climbed a thousand steps (hajar sidhi) to reach the Kali temple, with its panoramic views. Along the way, we passed both Buddhist and Hindu shrines, which is not unusual in Nepal.

I was surprised to learn that many Nepalis consider themselves both Buddhists and Hindus—especially in the Newar communities around Kathmandu—and that the line between these two religions is not always discrete. I had previously thought I was well-informed about Buddhism (admittedly, this knowledge came from the hippie movement and Hermann Hesse's Siddhartha) and Hinduism, but I can now confidently say I know very little. 

Western Buddhism, as I perceive it (and I hesitate to make the distinction between East and West, but this shorthand is practical), is more of a philosophy than religion, abandoning ritual and the supernatural and embracing method and theory. Regarding Hinduism, the main source of my confusion, I came to find out, is that it cannot be pinned down; the scripture is too vast, the practices too old and diverse. I think this quote from a book in our PST library, written by the Majupuria father-and-son team and entitled Religions in Nepal, nicely summarizes what I am discovering every day: "[Hinduism] has no dogma and no code and is utmost elastic. The greatness of Hinduism lies in its complexity and its simplicity” (pg. 46).

Shanti Ban Buddha

Although it was too overcast to see much when we reached the temple, I liked the mystique offered by the clouds—what lurked beyond the fog? The atmosphere below the temple was similar to a county fair: many families were celebrating, a man was selling rides on a pony, there were a few restaurants, carnival games, and a spot deemed the "selfie stone." I also had my first encounter with a saddhu—a holy man who has renounced material possessions and dedicates himself completely to spiritual life. He approached us while we were catching our breath after the trek up the hajar sidhi and urged us to follow him to his home behind the temple, which contained nothing more than a pallet for sleeping and a woodpile for cooking. 

I am conflicted: I admire anyone with the dedication to sacrifice comfort for some greater fulfillment, but this saddhu reminded me of the worst beggars I encountered in New York City. I think this is a moment that requires some reflection: was he actually being pushy, or do I have an innate suspicion and aversion to being approached in this way based on past experience? But this is what Peace Corps is all about: wading through unfamiliar cultural territory, examining our biases, and growing in intercultural competencies.  

That's it for this week, and I hope you have enjoyed my posts so far. I am more than halfway through PST and swearing-in is looming large on the horizon. This is a really exciting time, and I look forward to sharing it all with you! 

Old town street, Dhulikhel

Here I Yam! on the thousand steps to Kali Temple

Kasto raamro!

I exist in a fugue state where the present rapidly converges with the future. How have I been living in Nepal for a month?

I’ve thought about how to frame my experience without relying on grand adjectives or the typical language of West meets East. But I’m not that talented as a writer—I need to rely on this shorthand to impart just how awestruck I feel.  Nepal is truly an alien, spiritual, frightening (re: the roads), and wondrous country.

Himalayan peaks tower above the landscape, sometimes faintly visible through the smog and other times so clearly and majestically defined that I can hardly believe it. I first saw the Himalayas as I departed the plane at Tribhuvan Airport; they stood so perfect and unreal that I’m still not convinced that I wasn't seeing a gigantic matte painting (movie rec: Powell and Pressburger’s Black Narcissus!). I love the mountains, but sometimes they seem to confine my world. I’ll always have an affinity for flatness, despite how strange that must sound to some people, especially those from the Mountain West who are overly represented in my cohort.

View of the Himalayas from Namobuddha (separate blog post coming)

Here are some quick impressions. I live with a generous host family: Mero aama (mother), buwaa (father), bahini (younger sister), and bai (younger brother). The brother is three years old and runs wild throughout our neighborhood; the family calls him "monkey boy."  Earlier this month, I accompanied our neighbor to a wedding ceremony, stopping along the way to record TikToks (there's no escaping the song Ma ta dhale dhale), in which I no doubt looked like a hostage. The wedding guests were a sea of rich reds, purples, and greens, from their saris to their tikkas, and I'm excited to acquire traditional dress of my own.  

My host parents are farmers; they own three cows and some goats and work the terraced fields near the house. There are many great walking paths in my vicinity, and I often let impulse guide my feet; I can stroll through mustard and potato fields, alongside a river, past silkworm and duck farms, over a bridge, and then return on the dusty footpaths. I must be eating five oranges a day, picked straight from the trees in our kitchen garden, as it’s currently the tail end of orange season. I consider myself lucky as I have a Western toilet (no squatting—yet) and a shower head (no hot water). This will surely change when I move to my permanent site in the Arghakhanchi district. 

The community structure was difficult to parse at first but has become clearer to me as I interact more with my neighbors and extended host family. I live in a cluster of about eight houses, all inhabited by members of the same caste. My family is Chhetri, as are our neighbors, all with the surname K.C. From an informal survey of fellow volunteers, it seems many are placed with Chhetri families but some live with those from ethnic groups like the Newar and Rai peoples. My neighborhood cluster is close to agricultural fields, a few tea shops, and then the main paved road leading to larger towns.

Our Pre-Service Training (PST) sites were revealed via a simple map created in PowerPoint; I noticed a large tree featured in the map and jokingly thought I'd tell people where I live by saying "oh, near the big tree." Well, it turns out that this big tree is a prominent landmark in the community, a popular meeting point for older community members (the tree is surrounded by a low stone platform). It also serves as an important marker for my cohort (e.g., "let's meet at the big tree before walking to our training site"). Through my research, I discovered that these trees and their stone rings, called chautari in Nepali, are a common feature of villages.       

My room (before the mosquito net was set up)

Cows, orange trees, and a traditional Nepali mud house

I greatly enjoy my host family, but my PST schedule occupies my days and leaves me just evenings, Saturdays, and quick snatches during weekdays to spend in their company. A typical training day looks something like this:

6:30             Wake up and socialize with my host mom over tea and biscuits 

7:30-9:30     Nepali language class (my favorite words so far: ringataa = dizzy & rangichangi = colorful)  

9:30-10:30   Daal bhaat (traditional Nepali meal eaten twice a day, consisting of rice, a lentil stew, vegetables, and some sort of pickle)  

10:30-11:30 Continued Nepali language and culture class

11:30-12:30 Stretch break and commute to our training site

12:30-5:00   Technical training focused on beekeeping, fruit tree and mushroom cultivation, composting, and nutrition. Includes a 30-minute break for tea

7:00              Evening daal bhaat

8:00-10:00   Shower, review language notes, scroll time, and bed

Cheesecake Factory dupe

Mostly, as with my CBYX-PPP year in Germany, I anticipate this experience will be life-changing in the most mundane way (is that oxymoronic?). I know myself too well to expect any grand revelations but seeing how others live and placing myself in challenging personal and professional situations will subtly alter how I interact with the world—visible, perhaps, only to others and not to myself.  So, stay tuned and keep reading the blog! I'm working on a post—ideally up later this month—about my visits to Namobuddha and Dhulikhel, and the interplay between Nepali Buddhism and Hinduism.  

Dhanyabaad!

Here I Yam!