“This is a dance about the stag and the hunter,” explains the young man beside me on the grounds of the Talo goemba (monastery), as spectacularly costumed dancers make their entrance at the monastery gates. “The deer will be making an appearance soon.”
Indeed, a pair of antlers distinguishes the next dancer that emerges onto the field, his body taut, his antlers darting nervously. With drums and cymbals marking his movement, he begins to unwind, nimbly balancing, twirling and leaping, layers of his costume creating a kaleidoscope of colour with each turn. The hunt broadens as the stag takes flight down the field with hunter and accompanying atsaras (masked clowns) in pursuit. The hunter’s dog appears, and the ensemble moves towards the ‘profound temple’ at the end of the field, their graceful stylized ‘chase’ pixels of swirling colours from a distance.
“Each dance performed at these tsechus (festivals) tells a story,” my self-appointed guide tells me. “A story that means something to us, that tells us something about our history. Sometimes, they are about our gods, sometimes, our heroes, or demons.”
Tsechus, held annually to honour their Buddhist heritage and founder of their country, Guru Rinpoche, are integral to the religious and social calendars of the Bhutanese. While the grandest are held in the large cities – Paro, Thimpu, and Punakha – each district dzong (fort-monasteries) or goemba hosts its own annual tsetchu. We are witnessing the homespun Talo tsetchu, in a village set high in the mountains above the Punakha valley.
Falling in step with the thousands who have made the pilgrimage up the mountain, we gamely hoist ourselves up trails through hayfields and farmyards to reach the goemba’s sacred perch. The atmosphere is festive, with grounds festooned in colourful flags and banners, and Bhutanese adorned in their elaborate finery; special handwoven embroidered ghos and kiras (national dress) and white kabneys (scarves for the men) and colourful rachus (sashes for the women).
Bhutan’s tsechus, like the Takshang Monastery outside of Paro (established by Guru Rinpoche when he flew to the site on the back of a tigress), have visitors lining up to see Bhutan. But, to protect its ancient practices and heritage and to avoid capitulation to the tourist industry, Bhutan has been shrewd about its marketing strategies and goals.
This is the not-colonized, not-changed-for-centuries ‘Shangri-La’ where Buddhist belief determines political action, and where Gross National Happiness (GNH) is considered the country’s measure of success and prosperity. It is, of course, the latter peculiarity – and possibly the best tagline in the history of the universe – that has attracted worldwide interest in Bhutan.
So, what does it mean when all decisions prioritize citizens’ happiness? Officially, this means that paramount to the country’s progress is whether development contributes to the country’s four pillars of GNH: sustainable development, preservation and conservation of culture, conservation of environment, and good governance. Achieving this in a country conscious of its need to modernize (both its life expectancy – 70 years – and GDP – $2,612US – are low by Western standards), while still honouring a highly developed cultural identity is a challenge that faces Bhutanese policy makers daily.
Yes, the country is open for business, be it in the resource industry, the tourist industry, or the IT industry. But, wisely, to ensure that indiscriminate development and outside influence do not overwhelm the small sovereign kingdom, every innovation comes with an ‘enough’ button.
For example, tourists are permitted in the country on a strict quota system, and only with licensed Bhutan travel operators. Low impact, high value practice in tourism has not only been immensely effective in preserving the culture and landscape that tourists have paid to experience but has given the country a certain cachet amongst ‘rare-gem-seeking’ travellers.
Management of tourist, health and education facilities, once overseen by foreigners, are now increasingly staffed by Bhutanese graduates. With English instruction embedded in the school curriculum, Bhutanese students easily transfer to Western universities, and training acquired overseas becomes a valuable commodity when they return home. While cable, cell and wifi service are available, streaming is selective, as are the more questionable influences from the west. Provocative dress, smoking, drinking, pornography and guns may not be officially forbidden, but are clearly socially outlawed.
So, given this careful mixology of the new with the old, one lands in Paro valley wondering how this will all play out. No doubt, through my experiences as a visiting teacher, I will see first-hand where happiness lies in the modern equation. It does not take long to discover it lies in the depth of joy and emotion the Bhutanese bring to each task. Like when I attempt to teach English to five-year olds and the Canadian national anthem to 12-year olds. Or when I bring the school staff to their feet – to learn African and Hebrew circle dances – or teach an entire school body a song. Or the warmth my formal farewell speech receives, and the cards of farewell that begin: “Alas, it is time for us to say save journey, mam. You have been the biggest teacher ever.”
Did my experiences make evident I was in a country that values citizens’ well-being over productivity and prosperity? Was their environment conducive to happiness, with green spaces, clean air, pedestrian-friendly streets, etc.? Could employees count on a decent working wage? Could women count on childcare, child support and protection from domestic and sexual abuse?
At first glance, Bhutan falls short on these goals. Rampant development in the capital city and around Punakha threaten to overwhelm these areas and degrade the landscape. Tin shacks that house itinerant labourers line the sides of the National highway. Clogged roads and lack of green corridors or parks make the cities less than stroller-friendly. Employees endure long hours, difficult working conditions, and earn wages that just cover the basics and prohibit such things as owning one’s own car or home.
But, on second glance, despite the hardships and the growing pains, there is a prevailing sense of order and Buddha-like calm to life in Bhutan. In the streets of Thimpbu, people quietly, contemplatively walk down the street as if strolling across a leafy green university campus. In a town hosting a tsetchu, thousands can pour down the streets without a single horn being honked. Road rage, petulant children, incensed customers, and disenfranchised youth are uncommon here. The voices are soft, the handshakes gentle, and demeanours self-contained.
Kindness is rewarded in Buddhist culture; good deeds, virtue, prayer, and pilgrimages are all ‘merit-making’ practices that accumulate good karma. Perhaps, indeed, the traditions of mehta (loving kindness) and pu (simplicity) are what underlie the country’s most coveted commodity. And while the modus operandi cannot be exported, it can most assuredly be a lesson to us all!
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