Holy grounds of Sikkim - Sangachoeling Monastery
10-27-2011 - Pelling, Sikkim, India
Sangachoeling Monastery
Yesterday – yet another return in the darkness. This time – from a Sangachoeling Monastery, Sikkim's 2nd oldest monastery. It is perched on a steep hill above Pelling. As I climbed the winding ridge road, the ever more breathtaking views of the undulating rice terraces of all hues of green revealed themselves – from pistachio to malachite, touched by the cloud wisps. At the top, I met a girl gathering ferns into a large pile. “For pigs,” she said shyly. I didn't know pigs ate ferns. They do.
The path descended from the top of the hill, guarded by the tall prayer flags, to a cloud-shrouded bunch of chortens nested on the cliff's edge, watching over the emerald meandering fields below.
The monastery was locked. Just then, it started to rain, and a little novice monk has emerged from the wet fog bearing keys and opened the door. Just then, the clouds have opened up their stores and a waterfall has descended. I felt blessed with the timing. For the next two hours I had a chance to meditate on one of the comfy lama cushions in the warmth of the ancient monastery, surrounded by the surprisingly explicit frescoes of various reincarnations of Padmasambhava [aka “Guru Rinpoche”] and his female counterpart yub-yumming upon his loin, with the celestial might bearing down on the roof and Kangchengzonga standing witness close beyond the fog.
The little monk's musical efforts have jolted me out of meditation – apparently, under the altar were stored the various ceremonial horns and cymbals, which he has proceeded to blow and bang into one after another. Boys will be boys – monk or not. “What are you up to? “ “Oh, just practicing,” he laughed. By then, the waterfalls have turned into trickles and I ventured out as the sun has set and if I didn't move, I'd be walking back in the dark again.
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| Sanga Choeling Monastery |
Now the whole compound was swallowed by a cloud. It was surreal – Himalayan pines, prayer flags hanging meekly, still laden with the wetness, the majestic cliff-bound chortens developing from the fog...... and the “after the rain” mystical quiet with the nocturnal insect orchestra beginning its symphony. As the day before, I was the only visitor. Shortly after departing from my warm meditation spot, I met with the rain. If I were to meet the inventor of Gore-Tex, I'd kiss him on both cheeks – thanks to him, I stayed relatively dry in spite of the downpour. About half-way down, it did get dark, though, this time I did have my headlight, but chose not to break the beauty of the rainy darkness and tredded on cat-style.
Though Duali festival [the much famed West-Bengali “Festival of Light”] was to begin that day, much of the associated Kali Puja festivities were canceled due to the weather. That was fine by me, as by then I was ready for a hot shower, hot milk and a cozy sleeping bag. Interestingly, Kali must have had her way, as there was no electricity in town, so the celebratory yak butter-lamps had to be lit anyway, adorning the doorways and windows. I landed in the cozy Kabur restaurant [wooden-walled candle-lit shack with a wood-burning stove in the center and musical instruments decorating the walls] where some hot-lemon-ginger-honey tea and yummilicious mushroom-garlic soup warmed my soul and bones. A perfect ending to the day.
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| The path up to Sanga Choeling from Pelling |
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