Gompa At Bomdila Poem by Daniel Trevelyn Joseph

We drove up the Upper Monastery
Re-consecrated by the Dalai Lama in 1996
Looking bright and modern, neat and clean.

We went up the stairs,
Were told No photography
But inside permission granted
To sit on the low wooden benches
On which monks sit and recite
Scriptures daily, and breathe incense
For us to take photographs
With camera and cellphone too.

I saw for some time around;
Then, I wished I had been alone, for
I would have spent moments
In silent contemplation, instead of talking.

We came out, wore shoes,
Took photographs, spoke to monks
Who happily posed with us.
Our man from Itanagar, State Capital
I saw him giving a monk some rupees
When I asked, he said
It was neighbour’s son.

We discussed whether
These teenaged monks
Who have chosen to sacrifice
Life even before they know
What it is – whether they
Are initiated into real
Methods of meditation,
Buddha’s own teaching
And not merely rituals.

We stepped up and ordered
Three cups of Nescafe since
Board said Rs 10 for coffee,
And Rs 5 for tea.

All places of worship of all religions
Are becoming commercial
In order to survive, to clean, to light up.
Can’t blame them, but it is necessary
To devise measures to ensure
The sanctity of original precincts
Does not get dimmed or changed,
For truth remains ever the same
Between birth and death
While advances flood every field.
This realization should enable the boy-monks
Not to get submerged and always remain above.

With a heavy heart
And pity for my own
Inadequacies, I get in
And sit in front seat
Of the Scorprio with red beacon-light,
Back to the Circuit House, Bomdila,
Slightly less than ten thousand feet
Above mean sea level
On the Eastern Himalayas.