India: Tibetan Opera

          McLeod Ganj

Tibetan monks participating in ritual in which
one monk airs his grievances while another lends
a helpful ear.

            Mcleod Ganj is well known as the Dalai Lama's home-in-exile; his temple is discreet, off a slight road from the town square, perched overlooking the valleys and winding roads every visitor here must take by bus. A mass of Tibetan refugees accompany him as well, making this tiny hamlet set high upon the hills of Himachal Pradesh yet another one of India's faces. Markedly distinct from the rest of the country, and from anywhere else really, it is, like so many of its fellow villages-turned-stars of the tourist circuit, an adducible of India's depth. Tibetan temples spark the hills, their multicolored flags waving, and humble locals slip quietly through the streets. Vendors and shops sell Tibetan dishes here, lacking the panache of spices redolent in the rest of the country, while shops sell their unique brand of crafts and religious items. All very Indian but all so not. McLeod Ganj's very existence is indeed predicated on India itself. A tacit agreement, from what I've gleamed off locals, between the Indian government and the Tibetan government-in- exile has resulted in a more than temporary home. They've been here for many years; there are generations of Tibetans who have yet to see their homeland.
                I met one such man in a small tea shack on the outskirts of town. Arriving here on my early morning wanderings, I was out to get a hold of my bearings after a "deluxe" bus ride that defied all conventions of the word. The man, a young guy really, seemed of a laconic, thoughtful nature and certainly in no rush with anything or anyone. In short, precisely the type of person you'd expect to meet in a dilapidated tea shack on the hills that ring the Dalai Lama's ersatz hometown. We spoke infrequently, which seemed to suit us both, content to take in the pleasant atmosphere. Splifs were later passed in that sleepy little shack, people coming and going while the creaky door announced everything, the whole day lost in a nice, aperture-wide-open, view over the valley. My new friend was kind and polite, passing small two-finger cups of chai to visitors with his left arm held across his chest, a customary show of welcome and decorum.

             A two hour walk out of town yields this.

                


                McLeod Ganj caters to its refugee population and a steady stream of tourists seeking a special cultural experience. Small shops hock genuine wares and these merchants snooze through the languid afternoons as people shuffle in and out. Two or three-man groups of saffron-robed monks muddle their way up and down the hills seemingly oblivious to the cadres of visitors gawking at them. There's the obligatory fisherman pants wearing, dreadlocked, counter-culture (congruent, really) hippies who almost seem to parody themselves as they walk the streets, sham stoicism and all, trying to gain a quick four-day or two-month enlightenment before heading off to their next revelation. And there's the locals, not hotel owners and not the merchants there for visitors. The ones riding rusty pickups into town with goods or walking them in from outlying towns, smaller towns with small schools, small valleys, and excellent paths for strolling and rambling without a care. 
            Sure, it can be touristy, but isnt everywhere, and weren't those cackling ladies serving me hot noodles in strange porridge so nice. Didn't those characters on the road out into the snow-flecked hills laugh with me. I will say that McLeod Ganj is indeed fantastic.


 'Prince Drimeh Kundan' Opera


          The opera reflects heavily on Buddhist beliefs in the arc of its story.
          In a kingdom there is a prince, the only heir to the throne. A noble an benevolent soul, he is deeply saddened by the misfortune and suffering of others, particularly in the presence of his enormous wealth. His father, impressed by a mentality reminiscent of a bodhisattva (बोधिसत्त्व), gives the prince full reign over the kingdom's riches. The prince disperses them at will, without prejudice or reticence. 
          He soon marries and starts a family, invigorating hope in the King's ministers that new responsibility will quell his desire to aid all those who suffer, thus preserving the kingdom's riches. It does not. Indeed, he vows to give even his wife and children should someone ask.
           It is not long before the prince is banished from his kingdom along with his family. A beggar, at the behest of an evil king from a land far away, asks for the kingdom's sacred "wish-fulfilling" gem. The prince gives it to him. Even in the eyes of his father he has now gone too far. As he exits the land of his birth the prince continues giving alms ,having long forsaken his wealthy existence and status, until even his own provisions are gone.
            Along his journey the prince gives his children to Brahmins who ask this gift of him. The prince and his wife retreat to a forest full of goulish, howling demons. They spend ten years there meditating on existence and the fundamental truths that are found within.
            Eventually, told by a bird that their children are safe and awaiting them, they leave the forest. As a final test, a blind Brahman begs the prince for alms. But he has nothing to give. To his wife's horror he gouges out his own eyes to give to the man. News of the prince and his continuing atruism in the face of the suffering of others reached his former home. Gods grant his wish of new eyes. He arrives to a resounding celebration.
           Together he and his wife preside over the most prosperous period the kingdom has ever experienced. Eventually, they attain nirvana.