I'm free this afternoon. Purna, my guide, makes sure that all the program visits that they sent me home are carried out exactly. Before entering Bhutan, the tourist must have agreed on the route, in addition to hiring a guide, driver, food and hotels. And today, after eating, we have already completed what is written. Purna, then, is free and I have a whole afternoon to move around Jakar, the capital of the Bhutanese region of Bumthang, on my own.
I take the opportunity to visit what was left out of the program. Among others, the dzong. The dzong is a unique institution. Each Bhutanese district has its own. They are impressive fortresses, placed in strategic positions, with towers and protected accesses. And today, as in the past, they keep the main administrative and religious offices inside.
From its forceful white walls, a distant litany reaches me. It comes from the speakers they have set up in the Kharchu Dratshang monastery, on the other side of the valley. Let everyone keep in mind that they are celebrating a ceremony that only takes place every four years.
Following his call, I walk through the streets of Jakar and cross the river. On the other side, stairs decorated with colorful flags climb up the mountain. And I reach the esplanade to which different buildings open. I ask some monks, who point me to a modern building. At their feet, they have set out a table with cookies and two thermoses. The monks who serve invite me to serve themselves. I can choose between milk tea or salted butter tea. I'm going to play it safe. I savor the aftertaste of smoke that milk tea holds. But they insist and I also pour half a glass of the other one, and I discover that it's not that bad either. With the salt and that rancid flavor of butter it could pass for a stew.
When I ask about the ceremony, they show me a door. There is a staircase and, on the first landing, dozens of shoes are arranged. You have to enter barefoot. On the second landing I find the gate that gives access to the temple. To enter I must comply with the appropriate ritual: I extend a hand and a monk pours blessed water on me. You have to take a sip and rub the excess drops on your head.
I enter. The room is packed. First, with lay people, men and women sitting, all in traditional clothing. Beyond, a low fence delimits the space reserved for the monks, hundreds of monks in red and orange. In front they have a table with their readings and their instruments: bells, trumpets, flutes, drums, snails...
I sit among the laity. But not long, because a pause is decreed and lay people and religious people go out for some fresh air or tea. And a queue forms, which goes around the monument that has risen in the center of the room.
-Come in, come in, go ahead.
An older man, bald, with only two teeth, invites me.
-Can?
Since he sees that I don't trust him, he takes me by the arm.
-I'll accompany you, so you can see what you can do.
We join the queue.
-Do you want the great lama to bless you? -she proposes to me.
I doubt.
-Come, come.
He stretches me towards the back of the room. There is a platform and on top of it, the throne where the great lama sits.
Already on the platform, the man consults a monk.
"The great lama has gone out for a moment," he informs me, "but he will return soon." We can wait for him here.
He illustrates to me how to receive the great lama, with his hands together and bowing his head. And he tells me that he has traveled through Europe, that he studied in Switzerland and that he worked in district forestry management until he retired. His smile lights me up like a spring morning.
Finally the lama appears. I bow my head, as is protocol, and receive a tap with a silk-covered cane. That's it. Then we crossed the temple. The monks have taken their seats again. I detect some look of admiration in the eyes of the faithful. It is not in vain that I have been blessed by the seventh reincarnation of one of the favorite disciples of Guru Padmasambhava.
During dinner, I share the experience with the owner of my hotel, who has sat down to chat.
"The lama has a lot of money," he comments. It has followers all over the world, Europe, the United States, Canada...
Then he tells me his relationship with the religious.
-When I was little I was admitted to a monastery. The teacher hit us often, too much. So one full moon night I dropped everything and tiptoed out. I walked the ten kilometers that separated me from home. Luckily my parents let me continue my education at the town school.
