Sungkay Khuju Noemo

Sungey Khuju Nyoenmo – Melodious Eurasian Cuckoo Blue

Tsang gi Gamba Lamo – Tsang’s Gamba Mountain

Gong ley thoru Gelsong – Crossed even if higher than sky

Boed gi Yumdrok Yu Tsho – Tibet’s Yumdrok Turquoise Lake

Tabi Nyilam Chobgey – 18 days on horseback

Jay na samba Dzo song – Seeing which one is satisified

Sacha Choe gi Bagzoed – Sakya the Great store of Scriptures

Karbu Dungi Jangdra – the sound of the white Right circled Conch

Phuna Nyelsong Druesong – if blown all will be delivered from hell

Chumo Yarlung Tsangchu – Great Yarlung River

Dru Chen Tangu Meetsu – will not use the Great Horse headed ship

Dru la darchu Cha song – will use small flags on little boats

Samye Bjimi thanglu – In the sands of Samye

Choe gi Toenpa Darsong – The Dharma will spread

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Lhasa Kyichu Nyoenmo – Lhasa’s Blue Kyichu river

Sergi Zampa Meetsu – will not use the Golden Bridge

Chagzam Tsuni Droyang – will go using the Iron Bridge

Lhasa Norbu Lingka – At the Norbulingka palace at Lhasa

Chama Changshi tongtse – Seeing the willows and other trees (pine)

Rang yul Khong ley drensong – Think of my country from heart

Lhasa Jowo gi Kyuendi – at the altar of the Lhasa Jowo

Khadar Karpo Phue Di – offer the white silken scarf

Tab bi Moenlam Thoe song – any prayer will be answered.

The light blue Khuju (Eurasian Cuckoo) sings his tale of his travel to Lhasa, Tibet from Bhutan. Most probably written by an eminent monk in three liner verses after his travel to Tibet to study during the early times when Buddhism flourished in Tibet after it deteriorated in India. Those were the days when these scholars would travel to Tibet on foot and horseback to study. Most of them returned home as ‘gesheys’ or the most learned ones. Some became teachers whose words were not only perfect but never forgotten. I am grateful to the oral tradition as I have been blessed to hear and understand some of the knowledge passed down in forms of songs, poems and stories.

The journey through the valleys filled with robbers, the mountains capped with snow and the vast plain of nothingness indeed inspires me to learn more about everything that I can lay my ears and hands on. They would travel for days together carrying their ration of wheat flour eating as little as a spoonful a day with salt tea.

The hardships faced by scholars inspired by Gurus like Milarepa who would survive on nothing but nettles have in turn inspired me. I remind myself to be mindful and less of a glutton. Of course the debate of ‘then what is the use of my taste buds’ goes on, but it is good lesson for me to check and balance the basics in my life. As the elders in my group sing out the song of the ‘khuju’, I see them nod and shake their heads. I see some moistened eyes and I see them try to make sense of their lives – big and small. Being raised by parents who always put goodness first and made me follow into the steps of the Sakyamuni Buddha, I can understand the feeling they get every time the verses are sung or narrated.

The author imagines himself (no gender bias but it was the men who sought education and travel then – societal norms) to be the khuju and starts with a verse that says the blue colored khuju travels to Tibet and crosses the Gambala Mountain even if it is higher than the sky. Perhaps that is the highest he has been to at an altitude of 5500m. He then comes to the Yumdrom Yu Tsho, a lake so huge that it takes a person eighteen days to go around it. It brings soul satisfaction to the person at its first sight. Locals say it is shaped like a scorpion and it is the second largest lake in Tibet after the Mama Yum Tsho (Lake Manosarovar).

The tale then takes us to Sakya, Tibet where the breathtaking 48000 plus collection of Buddhist scriptures lie stacked in about three or four storey.  Then one requests the monk seated in front of the little stupa inside the assembly hall to blow the white right circled conch after whispering their names to the monk who blows it. Its sound supposedly delivers anyone who hears it to a realm of happiness and peace from any sorrow and pain. There is also a belief that the ones who have passed on hears it as we call upon them through the conch.

Then it flies along the massive river Yarlung Tsangchu in which the Khuju does not want to travel in the Big Horse headed ship (as it belongs to the heads or government). Instead he chooses to travel in small boats with small little white flags. Tales of the kodru or the leather boats we heard of as children are so true as people had to cross to villages across vast Tibet’s over these flowing beauties in plenty. As Tenzila, our Tibetan friend states that over 80% of the water sources in the world come from Tibet.

Then arriving at Samye, it is awed by the vastness of its plains filled with sand. He is also grateful that this is the place from where Buddhism grew once again after the arrival of Guru Rinpoche to Tibet. He is happy that he has reached a place where the Dharma has spread from again. (I’m yet to find out a line of this verse).

He slowly arrives into the much awaited Lhasa where he says that he does not need a golden bridge to cross the Kyichu Noenmo (the blue Kyichu River). He willingly does it over an iron bridge. He then walks into the Norbulingka Palace and seeing the willow and pine tree he misses home. The summer residence of the Dalai Lamas, Norbu Lingka lies about 3 km away from the Potola Palace. It is a beautiful garden with palaces of amazing architecture. Finally, he reaches his destination – the altar of the Jowo. There he offers the white silken scarf to the Jowo and states that all prayer comes true at his presence.

As the center for Buddhist studies, Tibet received many scholars from all over the neighbouring countries after its decline in India during the Mughal period. The poem is not complete and it is just a simple attempt to understand and connect the history of a person’s travel into Tibet once upon a time from Bhutan.

It is amazing how the oral tradition has kept history alive for the Bhutanese through its various forms of songs, poems and the srung khen (the master story teller) in the villages. The era and the culture is indeed missed today as the busy modern system does not allow us time to sit around the srung khen at dusk around a fire and listen to a lot of stories. How was values built without the modern education system? How could we have so much goodness even without a modern education system? Well that is yet another story to be told.

I am very grateful to all the elders in the group for enlightening me on these precious elements filled with so much value. And also for letting me tell this story. J I did not know “old people” would be this much fun.