Like the art of Mandala, intricate tormas are made patiently and painstakingly as offerings during religious rituals and ceremonies, among other purposes in traditional belief. Sacred tormas are made from the butter of dri, female yaks. Pictures of beautiful intricate creations made wondrously with yak butter and flour lead us to this nunnery.
We walk into a nunnery in Dharamshala. Burgundy robes swish around us as the nuns go about their day. Work, study, prayers - a certain peace surrounds the place, a certain peace surrounds us. They are welcoming and friendly; smiles are abundant and handed out freely. Language is not a barrier where the language of smiles and peace speaks so loudly.
Amidst the peace is also the energy of youth. The nunnery has many kids, some as young as eight. They may have burgundy robes and shaved heads, but the unmistaken signs of the energy of children within is intact and palpable. Giggles and laughter fill the hallway as they walk to classes or prayers, from rooms they share, two or three kids to a room, minimalistic and neat. They are filled with sweetness and curiosity and love being photographed. Despite the outwardly seeming austerity and discipline of monkhood, the place seems filled with laughter and love, the kids all look so happy, there seems no reproach or harsh disciplining. The rules seem clear, but they also seem to be instilled with love and compassion by the older nuns.
The kids look wise with their shaved heads and robes but the child inside them is intact. We attend an evening prayer, where the monks sit cross legged on wooden benches in rows. We see a kid nun bend forward, still seated, her head dipping and arm reaching under the bench she’s on. I wonder if she will fall. She doesn’t. Instead her head reemerges, face victorious and trying to stifle giggles, a bead in her hands. Her prayer bead rope has broken and she is trying to retrieve the beads. The kids around her stifle giggles too. A lot of excitement surrounds the activity of her going down like a diver, while still seated on her bench, her head popping up, her beautiful face dazzling a victorious smile each time she finds a bead.
A few older nuns nearby watch. None try to reproach or discipline her. She is a child and she is allowed to be one, even when the apparent expectation in the prayer hall may be different. How I wish I had seen this when my child was still young.
I wish we would all raise our kids like this.
All images Copyright © Ruta Kale, 2024
The Butter sculpture room in the monastery
Dipping down to retrieve her broken prayer beads
The gazebo where a thousand lamps were lit - notice the Himalayan range on the horizon
A thousand butter lamps lit - backdrop of the Himalayas
and Tibetan prayers chants fill the air... the sheer magic of it all.
All images copyright © Ruta Kale, 2024
