A Buddhist Shrine and Monastery

One of our first walks in Kathmandu took us to the Buddhanath stupa (shrine) in the northeastern district of Tusal. We left early in the morning to try to avoid the crowded streets and heat, but were unlucky on both counts. We had to pass through one of the busiest intersections in town at Chabahil and weave our way through choking traffic.

At the entrance to the stupa was a kiosk where foreigners paid 200 rupees ($3) to enter. You could see the imposing white dome of the stupa through the brick entryway. It was topped with a flag-draped tower on which the eyes of Buddha had been painted on all four sides. Worshipers walked clockwise on the walkway that ringed the shrine while vendors and tourists used the outer concentric walkway. Three to four story brick buildings surrounded the area like a circular castle wall.

The tower of the stupa was at least 50 feet high with painted carvings around the periphery of the base. Prayer wheels were distributed around the edge for worshipers to twirl as they passed. A flock of pidgeons were in constant attendance owing to the vendor who sold feed corn for visitors to throw to them. A young woman proudly showed off her baby to Bonnie as we walked past.

After spending 45 minutes there we decided to attempt a journey to the Kopan Buddhist Monastery a few miles to the north. Our landlady, Prabha, had told us that it would be well worth the effort. It took awhile to make our way through a maze of winding alleys, but we finally found the main road (Shiromani Marg) and could see the monastery in the distance atop a hill. After pausing for a few cows to pass by, we started up the dusty road.

It was not a typical day for the monsoon season -- there weren't many clouds to block the hot sun and there was no sign of rain. We had put on sunscreen and were wearing hats, but the end of the day would find us both with mild sunburns. We hadn't brought any water and were parched by the time we made it to the monastery gates. Not knowing if we should knock or even if they were taking visitors, we stopped at a small refreshment shop nearby, bought some cold drinks, and sat on the steps to cool off.

A monk, at least 65-years-old, came walking our way from the monastery. He was slightly stooped, but wore a braoad smile, a burgandy robe, and big Ray Ban sunglasses. A dog that had been sleeping near us suddenly perked up and jumped playfully at him as he approached the shop. The monk grinned at us and said, "See, he knows me. He's trying to talk to me. He was probably a human in his previous life." Then the dog started doing a low crawl in the dirt. "Probably a soldier," the monk laughed.

That began a nearly two hour conversation with Tashi Tsering who had put on the monk's robes only 18 years ago after being hired by the monastery to teach English to the young initiates. The first half hour was a time of introductions and filling in our backgrounds. When he discovered I was a biology professor, he insisted that I come back sometime to give a talk at the monastery. He said that Buddhism and science are two sides of the same coin. I got his cell phone number and promised to call.

By then the monastery was opening to the public (10:30 am) so we entered the gates and started wandering around the buildings and gardens. The view was spectacular: the Kathmandu Valley to the west and green terraced hills to the east. In a well manicured garden area was an elaborately carved and painted shrine. On a wall engraved in metal were quotations from the Dalai Lama, and on a chalkboard outside an office were quotes for the day from Aristotle and Pascal. Another sign asked visitors to refrain from lying, stealing and killing while on the premises. Monks roamed around in groups going about their daily routines. I went inside their temple which had an ornate Buddha statue and paintings along the walls. A single monk was stationed by a side door.

As we prepared to leave, Tashi spied us again and came over to us. He said if we had time he could give us a tour. Of course we said yes! Tashi is a teacher and therefore a talker. He told us about the 5 and 8-year-old boys who lived in separate apartments in the monastery, reincarnations of recently deceased lamas. He took us to the spot where the last head lama of the monastery was cremated and told us of the 23 relics found in the ashes and the rainbow that appeared as his body burned. We walked in the garden as he related the early life of Buddha and his quest for enlightenment. And, finally, he admitted his love of Mark Twain and his soul's connection with America. In fact, many Americans come to the monastery every year for courses in Buddhist philosophy.

After an hour and a half, we said our good-byes and started the long hot 5-mile walk back home, stopping only at the gate of a Buddhist nunnery halfway down the hill where the nuns raised money by selling snacks and soft drinks. We sat there in the shade with a few of the shaven headed sisters reflecting on what a good day it had been. It struck me how peaceful the monastery was, especially compared to the chaotic Hindu temples in the city. Too bad that Buddhists don't have any desire to run the world -- they'd do a much better job than the one's running it now.