Bawdy Bhutan
“Drukpa Kunley was affectionately known as the ‘Mad Saint’ or ‘Divine Madman,’ depending on who you talk to,” explains our guide, Kesang, as our minibus rolls to a standstill in the hilly outskirts of Sopsokha. Swivelling in his seat, he greets our blurry eyes as they adjust to the light; the sinuous three hour mountain drive from Thimphu, Bhutan’s capital, to our latest stop here in the district of Punakha, has clearly tired us out. “Some called him ‘The Saint of 5000 women’ - can you believe that?!” This last moniker piques our interest, as we sit up and wipe the saliva from our chins.
Over the past few days, we’ve visited more Buddhist architecture than we’ve eaten hot Ema-datshi - the national dish of chilli in a cheese sauce. The temples, the dzongs (fortress-like), and the chortens (similar to the Indian stupa) all vie for our attention like the spicy curds in our bowels.
For now, we ignore these rumblings. No matter how crazy he was, Mr Kunley has bequeathed a legacy. For there, perched on top of a hill, past a village whose houses are embellished in an interesting choice of artwork, sits Chimi Lhakhang: a monastery built to commemorate his life’s work. Known for his bawdy poetry and overtly sexual manner, one might imagine Drukpa as an earlier version of the Shakespearean fool as he sought to shake up the frigid teachings of authority with his unorthodox methods and ribald ways.
We stroll through the village, passing many houses whose exterior walls and doorways are emblazoned with brightly painted male reproductive organs. We dine at a restaurant where a four foot high, carved, wooden penis guards the entrance. Similar sculptures stare down from rooftops and peek from shop windows. “These statues and images, which many say first appeared with the teachings of the 'Madman',” Kesang continues, “are believed to ward off evil spirits." I pause to consider if this is why so many secondary schools’ physics textbooks are adorned in a similar fashion.
Locals harvest rice as we tip-toe over the narrow, muddy bridges that divide paddy fields, before a short uphill track leads to the temple erected in his honour. Apparently, many childless couples make the short pilgrimage across these agricultural fields, seeking divine sanction they hope will produce offspring. We are informed that such blessings routinely involve being struck over the head with ten inches of ivory, bone, or wooden phallus by the Lama in residence. The ‘Laying On Of Hands’ seems trite in comparison and we are perturbed when we receive no such assault. If only some children knew what their mothers had to endure.
Sensing our slight disappointment, our guide seeks to leave us with a lasting formidable impression: “It is a well-known fact that many males bestow a pet name upon their manhood...Drukpa’s was known as The Thunderbolt of Flaming Wisdom!”
I make a mental note to tell my wife about a name change when I return home.
Over the past few days, we’ve visited more Buddhist architecture than we’ve eaten hot Ema-datshi - the national dish of chilli in a cheese sauce. The temples, the dzongs (fortress-like), and the chortens (similar to the Indian stupa) all vie for our attention like the spicy curds in our bowels.
For now, we ignore these rumblings. No matter how crazy he was, Mr Kunley has bequeathed a legacy. For there, perched on top of a hill, past a village whose houses are embellished in an interesting choice of artwork, sits Chimi Lhakhang: a monastery built to commemorate his life’s work. Known for his bawdy poetry and overtly sexual manner, one might imagine Drukpa as an earlier version of the Shakespearean fool as he sought to shake up the frigid teachings of authority with his unorthodox methods and ribald ways.
We stroll through the village, passing many houses whose exterior walls and doorways are emblazoned with brightly painted male reproductive organs. We dine at a restaurant where a four foot high, carved, wooden penis guards the entrance. Similar sculptures stare down from rooftops and peek from shop windows. “These statues and images, which many say first appeared with the teachings of the 'Madman',” Kesang continues, “are believed to ward off evil spirits." I pause to consider if this is why so many secondary schools’ physics textbooks are adorned in a similar fashion.
Locals harvest rice as we tip-toe over the narrow, muddy bridges that divide paddy fields, before a short uphill track leads to the temple erected in his honour. Apparently, many childless couples make the short pilgrimage across these agricultural fields, seeking divine sanction they hope will produce offspring. We are informed that such blessings routinely involve being struck over the head with ten inches of ivory, bone, or wooden phallus by the Lama in residence. The ‘Laying On Of Hands’ seems trite in comparison and we are perturbed when we receive no such assault. If only some children knew what their mothers had to endure.
Sensing our slight disappointment, our guide seeks to leave us with a lasting formidable impression: “It is a well-known fact that many males bestow a pet name upon their manhood...Drukpa’s was known as The Thunderbolt of Flaming Wisdom!”
I make a mental note to tell my wife about a name change when I return home.
posted by Gareth at 8:39 PM
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