The Bhutanese Leading the way.
By Kinley Wangmo
It was a golden evening in Thimphu, one of those quiet peaceful evenings, when the air was soft, the prayer flags were blowing idly, and the sun was starting to set behind the mountains. I was in the fifth grade, anxious about my midterm examinations.
My mother had decided to drive me and my little brother to Dechenphug Lhakhang to pay some prayers before the exams. Little did I realize at the time that this simple scheme would initiate me into the greatest adventure of my life which still remained with me ever since.
It was only 4 o’clock in the evening, when we started our short journey. Slowly the car proceeded along the winding path leading to Dechenphug, and as it went through the pine-trees, they appeared to murmur their own prayers to the evening air. My mother was softly chanting the prayer under her breath and my little brother was humming a tune, and he was very happy and did not know the burden of my nervous thoughts.
The closer we came to the temple, the softer the sun’s rays became wrapping everything in the warm glow of gold. I remember that I felt relaxed when we parked the car. A faint odor of incense spread in the air and the sound of prayer wheels were heard softly in the distant. Individuals were entering and leaving the gates of the temples with their butter lamps and their offerings, and they had their peaceful and pious faces.
I got out of the car and my mother told me to remember to bring my offering bowl. I remember holding it close to my chest, and not dropping anything. That day the air seemed different, it was still, but some unseen energy that I did not understand was in it.
As we started to walk towards the Lhakhang, there was something out of the ordinary that struck my attention. A small group of people had gathered close to the edge of the parking lot. The air was very quiet, not noisy, as it were but full of excitement. Some of the monks were standing about with their hands clasped together. I was unable to clearly see who was in the middle of the crowd.
Curious, I tugged at my mother’s kira. I whispered, “Ama, why are people standing there?” My mother stared at the audience. She made no reply for a second. Her eyes slightly opened and her voice fell to a whisper of surprise and reverence. “Wait!”, she a said softly, “ looks like…” She did not finish her entire term.
It was difficult to see in the evening sun. I squinted my eyes to get a glimpse of the figure that stood a little way outside the small crowd. The first thing I saw was a man in a black gho, he was tall, and his stance was gracious and dignified. The men near him prostrated themselves a little, some even having tears. His presence was regal, but calm and powerful.
As we approached a bit nearer, I could see his face, and it was gentle, wise, and radiant in the setting sun. I felt my heart beat had stopped. The silence was interrupted by the voice of my mother who was trembling with emotion, “It is his Majesty the Fourth Druk Gyalpo.”
The words resonated in my mind, and sounded like a prayer. I could not believe it awhile. The Fourth Druk Gyalpo, His Majesty Jigme Singye Wangchuck, the dear King who had reigned Bhutan with wisdom, compassion and vision. The King of the very picture which had been exhibited in my classroom, whose anecdotes of statesmanship my teachers had spoken about with awe. Now he was standing right before my eyes.
I stood frozen. My heart was racing. His Majesty turned to look around, smiling amiably to everyone. Then, all at once, he looked straight at me. I felt a lump in my throbbing throat. He smiled and put up his hand signaling me to come closer to him.
“Go, my child,” my mother said with her trembling voice full of joy.
I was weak in my legs but managed to step forward. Then another. And another. The people cleared a space and before long I was standing directly facing His Majesty. The evening sun was shining behind him and it outlined his figure in a golden halo.
He smiled at me, and I could feel myself melting away. “What is your name?” he asked in gentle tones with his voice rich and mellow
I was able to speak, and my tone was small but consistent. He smiled and shook his head, and said,” Where do you study?”
I explained to him the name of my school and I was in the fifth grade. He leaned a little nearer, but he was still smiling that same good-natured smile. “And what do you enjoy learning?” he asked.
“I love to draw and read,” I answered hastily and my heart was still pounding.
“That’s wonderful,” he said. “You should never give up on studying and doing what you love. One day, you will serve the country as well.”
I nodded with eagerness and his words in my heart grew deep.
And then I saw something beautiful in his hand, a beautiful orchid flower fresh and perfect; with its petals shining in the golden evening light. His Majesty gazed at it a minute and then extended it towards me. “This is for you,” he said.
I picked it up gently between my hands, and it seemed to me as though it were a treasure I had been given. My mother was standing behind me and was full of emotion. Then, to my amazement, His Majesty went into his pocket and withdrew Nu 100. He smiled and handed it to me. His Majesty placed his hand gently on the shoulder before he went. “Be a good child,” he said. “Study hard and you will be making your parents and your country proud.”
Then, still smiling in that same manner, he turned about and walked to his bicycle. I remained motionless with the orchid in my hand and the note, and could not comprehend what had just happened. They bowed down as he went by and their faces were flushed with devotion. The rustling prayer flags were heard, as though even the wind was rejoicing at the moment.
My mother came and knelt before me and embraced me. As we entered the temple at last that evening to make our prayers and I put the orchid next the butter lamps and prayed another prayer not anymore to my exams, but to the long life and to the happiness of our dear King.
And now eleven years have passed, but that memory is yet as fresh in my heart as the setting sun of that day. The flower has since withered away but the smell of the flower lingers in my soul. The Nu 100 note remains securely stored in a small box but not as money, but rather as an emblem of the blessing of His Majesty.
The fact that I was able to meet the Fourth Druk Gyalpo was not a mere coincidence, but it was a reminder of the great love between the King and his people. Ever since, his humility, his gentleness, and his words have directed me.
When I get lost or demotivated, I can hear his voice saying, “Work hard so that you can serve the nation well.” I still remember those words and they take me back to the golden evening at Dechenphu Lhakhang, the evening during which I met my King not because he was on a throne, but as a father of the nation, and who was able to touch my heart and leave his blessing on my life.
The writer is a 4th Year Data Science student of Sherubtse College
