Journeys in Ladakh, Part VIII: At the Tak Thok Monastery

We came to Ladakh with the expectation that we would get to attend one of its famous religious festivals--the Tse Chu, or celebration of the birthday of the mystic Padma Sambhava who founded one of the Buddhist sects, the Red Hats. Everyone told us that the festival, held at the monastery of Tak Thok, would last for three days and that we would be in time for the final day which involves mask dancing and drinking by the monks.

However, when we got to Tak Thok, it was eerily quiet though beautiful--another variation of a monastery as picturesque stone anthill in a mountain setting, towering over a quiet valley of green pasture fields. We walked around its deserted chapels which were opened for the occasion by two novices--bored ten-year-old kids who kept mumbling random things in English under their breath. Disappointed, we assumed that the monks decided to end things a day early to go see the Dalai Lama, or that they we were all nursing their hangovers in a quiet corner, or both.

Then, we were told--by an adult who suddenly appeared on the grounds--that the monks were actually in the new wing of the monastery. When we got there, a truck was being loaded with rolled-up prayer flags, props and costumes. One monk was taking off an elaborate, bright gold outfit. The earth all around was strewn with wrappers and empty cans. The only sound came from a white, dreadlocked foreigner chanting a prayer and accompanying himself on a drum, swaying to his own beat.

Obviously, we were a day late.

And then, we heard a more collective prayer coming from the new chapel--a sound which excited us because, either due to the general exodus to see the Dalai Lama, or the local monks' general distaste for tourists, we had not yet been able to see a morning service, i.e. to observe Tibetan Buddhism in action.

We walked in to see a lavish, richly decorated monastery where a few dozen monks of all ages were capping off the excesses of the day before with an elaborate ceremony. It was a spectacle with many parts, involving shamanic, rhythmic chanting; drum-beating; giant, deafening trumpets found in every Buddhist temple; and many offerings to the birthday saint (rice, candy, dried fruit, money) laid on his shrine.

And, because this special service seemed to have already gone on for a few hours, there was the usual human behavior--the novices, children and teenagers, went in and out, one chewing bubble gum. An old monk looked very tired and sleepy. Another briefly made a call on his cell phone. Then there was the distribution of money--each monk got several bills, hardly amounting to $10, we guessed, on the occasion of the holiday.

Throughout the service a young novice kept hauling around a heavy teapot and offering its contents to each of his elders, who had a fancy teacup daintily covered with a silver lid on their desks as they kept poring over their sutras.

By the way, they did not seem to mind our presence at the back of the room, although my attempts to take some candid photos resulted in some unholy glares from the boys.

Photos in general do not convey the solemn atmosphere combined with the hypnotic music-and-mumbling, so I will try to upload my videos here.

Finally, to signify that the service was over, the head monk lifted another kettle--this one highly elaborate and embroidered, with peacock feathers on top, and the monks strolled out. I couldn't help staring at them, intrigued by their lives (which most of them had not chosen), so far from most Western people's experiences and sensibilities.