As the jet began its descent, I looked around closely one more time. Monks in ochre robes, foreign disciples rotating their little prayer wheels, and hordes of Ladakhis flying home, made up the bulk of my co-passengers. I knew something was up. When I landed, I saw the signposts welcoming visitors to the millennial celebrations of Naropa 2016 and I realised that I had, quite by chance managed to make it to Ladakh in time for a festival that I had always wanted to attend. Despite not having registered and not having a pass, I relied on faith and a few good friends to lead me to the mega affair. In less than 24 hours, I had crossed over to the backstage of the dais, exulting in my destined participation at the Kumbh of the Himalayas.
Being the Year of the Monkey that comes once in 12 years, preparations for this year’s Naropa celebrations had been underway for over a year. This year marked the millennial birth anniversary of the scholar-saint Naropa, head of Buddhism’s Drukpa or ‘dragon’ lineage, whose successor and reincarnation Rinpoche Gyalwang Drukpa is believed to be. The Naropa festival this year also coincided with the annual Hemis celebrations in July, which mark the birth of the founder of Tibetan Buddhism, Padmasambhava, who famously flew on a tiger’s back. The joint celebration, however, was pushed to September to accommodate the massive preparations required. Naropa Palace was built specifically for the occasion, I was told by a local photographer in hushed tones, as the grand entry of the Naropa began amidst much fanfare and high security. VVIPs lined at the base of the pagoda to make their offerings and receive his blessings, while those without a pass jostled beyond the barricade in the sea of humanity.
The ceremony of adorning him with the six sacred jewels soon began, as monks in maroon robes and caps chanted incessantly and devotees witnessed a 1,000-year-old ritual in deep reverence. The bone ornaments, believed to have been given to the Naropa by dakinis or celestial spirits, represent the six yogas that lead to spiritual realisation. These relics of Himalayan history that include a crown, a necklace, a pair of earrings, an anklet, a bangle and seralkha, a Buddhist decoration worn in a slant from the left shoulder to the right armpit, were later put on public display. Merely setting eyes on them is supposed to enlighten a true seeker of wisdom.
As the ceremony progressed, even the policemen on duty took turns to quickly prostrate in front of the Naropa before standing in line again. The sermons that followed were translated into several different languages from Mandarin to French and made available on the radio for registrants who had come all the way from the Buddhist countries of Cambodia, Laos, Bhutan, Vietnam, Nepal and Sri Lanka, among others. The most important lesson of all, however, was delivered after most of the religious sermon was done with.
For a 1,000 years, the Naropa festival has drawn the fervent Buddhist, but today, the winds of change are bringing in culture enthusiasts, anthropologists, religious scholars, journalists, travellers and trekkers. Naropa is no more a festival steeped in religious teaching only. It is symbolic of an amalgamation of religion and responsibility, of ancient wisdom and modern beliefs. And no one epitomises this transition more than the biggest agent of change, His Holiness Gyalwang Drukpa.
To highlight the reality of climate change and to set an example, the renowned humanitarian and environmentalist set out on a cycling journey with 200 nuns of Nepal’s Drukpa monastery and reached Ladakh from Nepal pedalling across the mountains. While the elderly and conservative frowned upon this act of shedding a spiritual leader’s robes to don the garb of a cyclist, the Rinpoche boldly made a statement. And in his bi-lingual public address, in Bodhi and English, he spoke less on spirituality and more on conservation. “Each one has a great role to play in preserving the earth, and schools need to add teaching the importance of nature to their curriculum,” he said to thunderous applause.
Then began a pageantry that made the queues, the crowds, the strong sun and the wait worth it. Men and women in traditional silken finery performed dances from across Ladakh in honour of the Naropa. They danced to the clang of cymbals, the sounds of the gong, the beating of drums and the blowing of horns. Interspersed with performances by traditional Ladakhi orchestras, the famous kung fu nuns who cycled to Ladakh, and artists from other countries such as Bhutan and Nepal, the entire show was as colourful and lively as an underwater reef. The performers who stole the show though were a bunch of about 80 middle-aged women performing a traditional dance with eye-catching headdress edged with turquoise stones.
On the fourth day of the week-long celebrations, the largest and most exquisite silk-embroidered thangka of Buddha Amitabha was unveiled. Last showcased in 2004, the thangka’s unfurling for public viewing was one of the highlights of the festival, apart from an archery competition, theatrical performances and meditation sessions. Evenings also saw sober performances by mainstream musicians and dance groups, much to the annoyance of many outsiders who probably attend far more concerts back home. They possibly didn’t approve of the fair too, going on outside the main area where hundreds of Ladakhi villagers bought balloons and candy, played hoopla and won silly prizes. It was, however, many members of these same families who had also offered their services and were working relentlessly to attend to the crowd of thousands, volunteering to serve tea, water, ushering people and ensuring that all was in order.
Khenrab Phunsthog, a young volunteer who missed work in Leh to organise meals for the participants, offered me a cup of tea when I stepped outside for a breather. His wife and children had come all the way from the village at the edge of the Markha Valley, as excited about the evening entertainment as they were solemn about the morning sermons. I learnt from them that the closing act was going to be a musical performance by a popular Bollywood singer. The kids, along with many eager young locals, had already marked their calendars. I wasn’t going to be there to watch it, I told them, but I understood that time, tide and change wait for no man. Perhaps Himalayan showbiz taints our association of mysticism with mountains, but the highlands are alive with its people who worked to make the fest a success. Whether it offends our urban sensibilities or not, if there is anyone who deserves a celebration, it is them.
The next Naropa festival will be in 2028.
Born and brought up in the Himalayas, Shikha Tripathi is a journalist based in Binsar.
