Two Trees

 

The sound of the Gurbani resonates through the valley every morning. Gyaniji tells us he has been in Chungthang for five years now, looking after the Gurudwara that was built by the Assam Rifles in the 1980s. The place seems like an anomaly in a town otherwise predominantly Buddhist. Next to the Gurudwara stands a small Buddhist shrine, looked after by a local monk. A tree shaped like an inverted hook stands in the premises. The locals believe it is the walking stick of the Buddhist Guru, Padmasambhava who supposedly came here in the 8^th century. For the devout Sikhs in the area (as well as those who come from far to pay obeisance at the Gurudwara), the walking stick is actually that of Guru Nanak. Justification is given for this fact. Apparently, this tree species – chinyali – is found only in the plains, and no other such tree exists anywhere in Sikkim. A huge rock that bears the footprints of a holy man (the point is moot- either Guru Nanak or Padmasambhava) is also found here and worshipped by both. Parallel legends thus surround the same holy place- these could be seen in opposition or in tandem with each other, depending on one’s point of view.

 A few centuries separate both legends. Padmasambhava is supposed to have come to Chungthang in the 8^th century, while some writings show that Guru Nanak came to the place around the 16^th century. The people of the town believe that Padmasambhava rested there during one of his journeys, and placed his walking stick at the spot that later blossomed into the Tree. However, army personnel in the area who have been looking after the Gurudwara say that Guru Nanak passed through Chungthang en route to Bhutan. He rested here for a day or two because he found the place very beautiful. He called the place Changi Tha (meaning ‘it is nice to look at’ in Punjabi), from which the town supposedly got its name. They believe that the Tree actually sprouted from his walking stick. The fact that the Gurudwara is called ‘Guru Nanak Lama Sahib’ (a Buddhist monk is generally called a lama) probably reflects an effort to merge a difference of beliefs. The army’s version of the story is that Guru Nanak appeared in the guise of a monk, and was thus an avatar of Guru Padmasambhava himself. The two might appear different but are really one. But this does not mitigate the feelings of some local people who look at the Gurudwara as something that was imposed on them from the outside, an appropriation of a symbol that belonged to “their” religion. Today however, many local people revere both – the Gurudwara and the Buddhist shrine alike.

 The Tree could be seen either as a syncretic symbol of two otherwise different religions, or as space of constant contestation. Is it representative of what happens to a place when people from the outside come in, bringing with them their own systems and beliefs? Or could one see it as a fusion of diverse processes that take shape and co-mingle with each other over time? Does the Tree typify the dominance of one myth over the other or is it a synthesis of various narratives that co-exist, constantly getting erased and restructured to give rise to something new?

dam locations in Sikkim

This map is slightly dated. 4 of the projects displayed on the map have been scrapped as of now. But it does give an indication of the density of hydro-electric projects in Sikkim.

once upon a time

once upon a time

I prayed the hail would melt into gentle rain

and come to wash my colours every morning;

for strong wind to fill me with awe for the mountains where they were born;

for Rangyong waters to carry my soul back to the Kanchenjunga.

I prayed for the spirit that hid behind a rock

who came to me in a dream one night after twelve weeks of silence.

deep inside

you are afraid of the hail,

so afraid the river will swallow you one day

that you must tame it.

your fear has entered me,

every morning I dream of a swollen river,

of a wind that destroys;

I mumble a forgotten prayer for today’s departed.

in search

 

        

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    you would not have gone away when you did,

    but you went, leaving a few things behind.

 

    a few squares of earth turned outwards

    now tempt you.

 

    you smile in glee

    even though you have forgotten what once grew here.

 

    you return when roots reach for the sky.

 

    today I have come to take what is not mine

    while you run back to a fate which was never yours.

                        

scenes from a damsite

Who is sacred is sacred. Whose religion is religion?

What is the argument of religion? Contentious, personal, not of the rational order – as various voices may echo. Another set of voices could believe in and subscribe to religion as a definite principle of ordering life. At the same time there could be some who would want everyone else to see the world through the lens of their own religion. They want others outside their religion to completely agree with their own principles. Differences and opinions may not be tolerated. Yet there could be others who may practice religion as a system of their own faith and belief. They would embrace every other set of principles and faith for what it represents. We do what we do and others do what they do. Contention over religion and religious belief is probably as old as socialisation itself.

Today, one set of principles – a modernistic non-religious principle of “progress” and “development” seems to have overlooked people’s religious belief and faith. The dams in North Sikkim are coming up in an area subscribed to by a set of people as their “holy land.” The river being dammed is “sacred” as claimed by the same set of people. The land and river in contention – Dzongu and Rangyong do not matter in terms of their religious symbolism as much as it does in terms of their potential economic returns. The contention here is directly one of the rational versus that which seems emotional and irrational. Sacrifice of an “intangible” belief in the name of greater common good seems to be the logical rational choice. But does this contention merit any discourse? Is there a point of view in the non-rational, personal argument of faith that people of this land and river have put forth in the wake of these dams? Are personal religious arguments of faith and belief worthy enough to stop modern day symbols of progress and growth? The Lepcha tribe of Sikkim – the community in question, whose faith is being eroded by damming their rivers, drilling their mountains and overtaking their land have tried resisting the onslaught of dams in their holy land, using the argument of faith and as some have said “right to religion.” But is this point of view valid, or more so can it be considered a point of view at all?

One of the holiest symbols of the Lepchas is the mountain, Kanchenjungha. All Lepchas revere Mt. Kanchenjunga and worship it as their guardian deity that protects them from all evil. They believe the Rangyong river is the carrier, the river of passage of the Lepcha soul to the peak of Kanchenjungha. A young man from a village in Dzongu pointed this fact out to us and asked if he did not have a right to his religion. “How can they dam my holy river, would it have been the same if tomorrow they decide to dam the Ganga. Will the Hindus allow it?” This young man’s recourse to religion to explain what he felt is not in the line of asking others to believe in his faith or belief. All that he seems to be saying is to try and understand his rationale of what he considers to be his belief. Similarly a high monk in a monastery in Gangtok told us that the hidden land of Dzongu contains many secret caves and treasures, which are a source of power for not only their religion but all of humanity. He said that you from the outside do not need to believe this if you don’t want to, but what gives you the right to deny me my belief?  The sentiments echoed by the young man in Dzongu and the monk in Gangtok do not seem to be about religion and safeguarding people’s religion as much as it is about appreciating and trying to understand another point of view. The question of religious argument may not always be about religion. It may actually be about our failure to recognise that which is different from what we are used to thinking. What is after all the rational and the logical? That which is normal may not always be in opposition to the pathological. There could be various states of defining what constitutes the “normal.” The holy land of Dzongu and the sacred river of Rangyong may not be holy and sacred for us but that cannot be a ground to deny that it may be holy and sacred for anyone else.

golden river

The lady whose words were one circle inside the other, liked the idea of turning the river into gold. “Your valley will look more beautiful then, like a bride”, they said. So she began to work with them who promised that this was in fact possible. 

The boy whose name meant a number or a bird- he was confused (for his thoughts were known to wander far and wide) -felt it was a good idea too. But he was not sure if the river of gold would flow like the one before. So they said to him, “We will indeed ensure that some of it is left to flow.  But you will have to help us stop the rest of it.  All this gold is getting wasted by the minute.” So he began to build walls that could help control all that was very precious.

The man who sat on the highest tower in town thought, “All of us should not think of turning the river into gold. For such a small river, it is not such a good idea.” So he told them, “I do not think that we should do this to the river.” To which they smiled and said, “When the river becomes gold, the land will turn into gold too, as will everything around it. Your land could become gold too. It’s up to you.” And he liked the idea then and began to work too.

The man and woman who said, “We are the children of Tikbothing and Nazaong Nyu, the first couple made from the holy ice of the Kingchoomzaongboo”, opposed the idea completely. The river, they felt, would be lost forever.  No matter what was told to them, the man and woman did not listen. And so they were put under lock and key so that their voice could not travel anymore.   

When the trees were torn from the heart of the mountain; when the river’s neck was squeezed inside a deep, dark tunnel; when the valley began to bruise under millions of trampling boots- the lady felt restless, the boy even more confused and the man in the tower simply looked the other way.

After all, they thought, this was a small price to pay for pure gold.

Of gumboots and hard hats

While at Chungthang, we often wondered about the gumboot-hard hat economy of the town. A rough estimate would put the labour workforce in Chungthang at about 4000. That’s about 4000 pairs of boots and 4000 helmets. Plus a few hundred more floating around. That’s crude maths, but turn left, turn right, you see them anywhere. Bright yellows dot the dust in the landscape, boots are caked in slush. Multiply 4000 by the total number of labour in all the dam projects across the country, and you have a parallel industry.

 

In Witness

 Our initial idea in Sikkim was to travel in about nine to ten villages in the Dzongu area and work on testimonies of changing ecologies with people. We thought of working collaboratively on a book- where people would be invited to write, comment and contribute tangible material- that would become a ‘green’ archive of the area. However, when we went to Chungthang, the site of the largest dam in Sikkim (the 1200 MW Teesta III project), our initial idea somehow seemed improbable and almost impossible to work on.

Even though the Teesta had already been diverted to start construction work on the dam, tunnels had been bored through thick forested hills, roads leading all the way down to the dam site had been built, large construction machinery had been brought in to the area, thousands of construction workers from the outside had made Chungthang their home; people of the town were unsure of what was happening. They were suddenly confronted with an influx of people, money, destruction of their physical landscape and change, all too sudden and unexpected. Blasting for tunnelling work had become second nature to their lives. Carrying out small repairs or reinforcing walls of their own houses became a routine affair. As someone told them, “You have taken compensation, now take the blasts.” They were tentative about what lay in store for them in the future and this was reflected in the ambivalent nature of most conversations that we had with people.

Being in Chungthang was like being in a place where a lot is apparent but nothing is definite. The tension between the original inhabitants and the outside population was palpable, albeit in a non-confrontational manner. Trade, money and transaction slowly became dominant motifs of the town for us, all masking a sense of ambiguity and unease. The underlying fear of the unknown and negotiating the present through the promise of the future created a strange conflict in the town’s psyche.

Being in this place also extended the concept of ecology for us. Simply ‘collecting’ narratives of ecology was perhaps not enough. Ecology began to denote the network of lived realities and interdependencies, the web of unease and anxiety that hung over this town. The place, in a sense, set the tone, gave us a frame and a huge number of confounding questions for our exploration of the changing ecology of the entire area.

Our sense impressions of the place are now finding their way into the ‘green’ book in a central way. The initial idea of a collaborative book changed in the course of our work. Perhaps, the sense of anxiety and unease that characterises the place lie in the experience of the ‘outsider’ or the ‘visitor’, and not so much in people who inhabit the place. They are experiencing a moment in history that does not lend itself to easy articulation. Perhaps, that is why we have decided to use ourselves as significant points of departure, as significant presences in the book. The book as a collation of texts, images, thoughts and ideas is intended to be impressionistic in nature.   

 

in anticipation

Welcome to Chungthang. You are less than 100 km from the Chinese border. Tibetan border, to be more precise.

Stop here for a cup of tea. That is my specialty.

From here, the road forks into two. One goes to Lachung, then on to Yumthang, then on to the Valley of Flowers. The other goes to Lachen, then on to Lake Gurudongmaar.

They’re beautiful places. Everyone goes there.

Soon, I’ll have a lake too, an artificial one, but a lake nevertheless. Everyone says people will stop here for boating, for water sports.

Not just tea.