BHUTAN'S NATIONAL DAY CELEBRATION 17 December

Special invitations
Invitations for the National Day celebrations were suppose to have been received before 09:30, 16 December. By the time we left the hospital at 15:00, no invitations had arrived. Dressed early in our bright, silky Bhutanese national dresses, Judy and I were sure are native beauty and gallant efforts to look the part could not help but secure reserved seats. As we walked through the painted entrance on the far side of the stadium, a man rushed up to us explaining that this was a national holiday, the 102nd anniversary of the first king's assumption of the throne. I was sure he was going to tell us to go in the plebian entrance. Our identification as volunteers at the hospital and taking a photo of him beside the effigy of the first king with a promise to send him a copy brought out his card--Senior District Cultural Officer of Thimphu. Our invitation!

With innocent ignorance I flashed the Senior District Cultural Officer's card at the first entrance where it was given a skeptical look and a nod to go to the next entrance. The card was still viewed with an irregular gaze, but no one wanted to be a spoil sport, or get in trouble by showing that they didn't recognize a special invitation when duly presented and we were welcomed inside. Our seats on the north end of the stadium were in full, glorious sun.

Beautiful Ghos and Kiras
All the spectators were dressed beautifully. The men wore colorful striped and plaid ghos with their white sashes, topped (or bottomed) by embroidered and appliquéd cloth boots. They sat under the awning and in the VIP stands in rows like church deacons in belted and sashed vestments as portrayed in 5th century mosaics. The women were dressed in gloriously patterned kiras and taegas, (long sarong skirts or dresses and boxy cuffed and collared jackets) the latter often shot through with shiny metallic threads. Everyone was scrubbed and bright in strikingly attractive color juxtapositions. Who would have ever thought peach and sage green were meant for each other? From a distance, anyone can distinguish the chilip (westerner) females in Bhutanese clothes from the Bhutanese women. Few chilips have the imagination to don the color and design combinations that the Bhutanese women wear so effectively with casual grace.

The Processional
The procession of the monks was a costumed parade of color and costume, hats, robes, wigs, with drums, horns, and cymbals. The display, pomp, and purposefulness of the whole thing, the shades of a warrior cult with the swords along with the robust and obliging religion showed the workings of power. Bhutan is not a theocracy. Like Saudi Arabia, the state and the official religion work hand in glove ruling the country. It was like an historical reenactment taken to the extremes and we the audience, in our own costumes, were part of the show.

After the processional the king gave a long speech with awards to various citizens. I was told that King's words accompanying the red sashes and swords, the equivalent of knighthood, carried the admonition that the color was that of the Buddha, like the king's yellow, and carried the distinction, not of power, but of responsibility.

The show began with the dancing groups. I was told these came from different areas of the country, though the rhythm of strings, flutes and drums and the uncomplicated male-female singing duets sounded alike to my untrained ear and the gentle movements of lined men and women also had similar lulling qualities. There were no high jumping theatrics, nothing with the least motions of flirting or sexual insinuation.

Nature Story or Saving the Tree or perhaps something else
The following is a description of my favorite performance and from the reaction of the crowds laughing and cheering in the stands, theirs too. N.B. My version is most romantic and in its Golden Bough search for meaning and sacredness, beats all others, even if it is wrong.

The setting: A tree, which I assume stands in for all trees, if not the sacred grove, erected with some effort in the middle of the field. The background music: bird and sounds of nature.

A group of men in gold helmets with neck and cheek flaps, garbed in leopard and tiger skin skirts with tails and legs making the hems, to reinforce the idea of their primitive nature, danced around the tree brandishing their long curved machetes to a wilder beat. They were quite vigorous and one could easily imagine all sorts of variations on virile tree worship. These warriors left and out came a procession of "villagers", the men in shirtless lungis and the women in toga-like vestments wearing crowns and holding offerings or playing flutes. Some religious types followed in their finery--the staff of office, the vestments, their assured carriage. The bird/nature music resumed and one could easily imagine scenes from the Mahabharata or stories of cavorting Dionysian virgins--take your pick.

The music changed to approaching thunder, forcing the "villagers" to take cover with the return of the leopard/tiger-skinned warriors. These latter joyously danced around the tree, but when they moved in as a group with their swords raised to chop down the tree, they are repulsed not only by the thunder from the music, but some magical force from the tree that sent them sprawling on the ground after each attempt at destruction. (a crowd pleaser)The male "villagers" returned with bows and arrows and a great stylized battle took place between the two armed lines, striding forward, retreating, all choreographed against loud, martial music and thunder sound effects. I think the archers won this battle, but it wasn't clear. My assumptions derive from knowing archery is Bhutan's national sport and rational thoughts that that this should show superiority, especially in a National Day celebration. But following the story in the stadium, the religious guardians, accompanied by the bagpipes, cymbals, and drums of Buddhist monks, saved the tree, enticing all the combatants to put down their weapons, with all men now living in harmony.

I was so excited to find this "sacred tree" theme in the Himalayas, expressed so energetically on a Bhutanese playing field in glorious sunshine. Surely, it is hard-wired in human DNA? That a universality of ideas inspire mankind is a soothing thought, able to banish many darker aspirations, unless one looks too closely as the hard-wired nature of evil. When I asked my Bhutanese orthopaedic colleagues the next day to confirm my mythical, universalist rendition, I was told the story probably had something to do with folklore, but neither of the surgeons knew the story and thought it had a more modern ecological meaning of fostering a respect for Bhutan's nature. I will hold to my own version.

Dance of the Monks
My second favorite performance was the dance of the black-hat monks. (Not the traditional Black Hat Dance as done during the festivals.) Dressed in wide-sleeved, voluminous, long, belted robes of red, black, blue, or gold and swathed in various other colored layers the booted monks danced in a studied ritual of circling in a circle. Slowly twirling the handle of their two-sided drum and hitting first one side and then the other with the flexible curved metal "stick", they swooped in forward-bending, back-kicking circles to the low registered drone of long horns. Colors flared with every graceful movement. The tall, conical, and brimmed hats are made taller with a discoid centerpiece and the many strands of braids flowing from under the hats, give the monks a decidedly witch-like aspect. I don't believe (even in my quest for universality) that the origin of these monks' dances align with those of the mystical Sufi dervishes who whirl in their journey to find god. But could the result be the same?

By this time in the early afternoon, a gentle breeze had come up, tempering the hot sun. The silk appliquéd awnings and yellow ruffles of the royal pavilion billowed and fluttered. In true Bhutanese fashion a dog wandered into the field, curled up, and slept. A marching band in yellow ghos, embroidered boots and gold helmets looking a bit like roman legions on the march, performed a routine that would be fitting of a staid half-time football entertainment.

The King's departure
The end of the celebration was a slow dance, the tashi lebey, in a round to which everyone was invited to participate. Judy and I watched. When it was over we waited for the departure of the fifth king, the young handsome king. He turned to us, bowed, and thanked us for coming.