A few days before attending Paro Tshechu (festival), I called my friend, Om, and squealed on the phone from excitement. We had planned to attend the final day of the festival, known to start at the crack of dawn. On the final day, the Guru Thongdrel, a giant-sized painting (on cloth) of Guru Rinpoche, is hung for festival attendees to witness and seek blessings. We arrived at Paro Dzong, the location of the festival, around 7 A.M., two hours later than we had planned.
The night before, the salon lady who did my hair told me that some people would line up at the Dzong as early as 1 A.M. Om and I had joked that we would sleep in the car and head directly to the festival. When we got near the Dzong and before we crossed the bridge, we heard sounds of the Dung, a long horn instrument used in rituals. When I turned to my left, I saw some government vehicles, and adjacent to our bridge, on another bridge was His Majesty the King, along with festival goers, walking towards the Dzong. Elated that we had actually arrived at the right time, we walked uphill with added enthusiasm.
Our walk uphill went smoothly except for when we had to slow down at the stairs leading to the festival ground. Hundreds of people lined up to seek blessings from the Thongdrel up close. Scared that we would have to wait in line for a long time, I dissuaded Om from getting in the line. When we got to the grounds, the Thongdrel was on display, though from afar, and the sun still hadn’t shone fully. As the King was still in the area, we tried to be discreet by not moving around as much. Om said that the King took a picture with a young boy every year and had probably come to do the same. I later found out that the boy was autistic. On his way out, we caught a glimpse of the King.
What is the Paro Tshechu?
The Paro Tshechu is a five-day religious festival in Paro, western Bhutan’s heartland. Like all tshechus, Paro’s has roots in Guru Rinpoche’s teaching. Over the course of five days, mask dances, plays, and displays of relics and a gaint-sized painting called the Thongdrel take place. The beginning of Paro Tshechu is marked by Dzongdrakha Tshechu, which takes place in Dzongdrakha Monastery. I have yet to attend this festival, but I know that the monastery has ties to Guru Rinpoche.
Making Om Laugh
After the King left, we started to roam around, acquainting ourselves with the ground. Since we were far from the stage, we couldn’t see the performances. After taking a few awkward pictures, we walked towards the hill, from where we would watch the performances. While walking there, we passed the line of people heading towards the Thongdrel. Standing on the hill, people kept passing by, so we moved to higher ground, leaving the flat area for traffic. Paying attention to the crowd around, I recognised a girl standing below us. She was my classmate from middle school, and while we spoke, I don’t think she recognised me. We then met a man from our village with whom we went to have tea. On the way, we saw dancers eating ravenously next to a tented space, their backstage of sorts.
On the way, as a joke, I spoke to random people, pretending to know them. I first spoke to a young girl, who showed me such reverence that she might have fallen off the cliff had she not been careful. I did that to a couple of other people, making Om laugh.
Where We First Stood
After returning from the shop and heading towards the crowd of festival spectators, I met my former teacher and students from a school where I previously worked. The students gathered around me in a U-shape, as if about to receive a teaching, as I updated them on my life since leaving the school. More pictures were taken. Before we left, I somewhat awkwardly took a picture of a family, one of them a military personnel. I felt bad that I hadn’t asked their permission to take the picture, or that I hadn’t had a conversation with them after.
Om and I finally got to the same spot from when we first arrived on the ground. There, women were prostrating towards the Thongdrel, and Om began to do the same. We then ended up in a line. The time for the Thongdrel to be furled had come. On its way to the Dzong’s monastery, people had lined up to seek blessings from up close, one last time, or for the first time, for someone like us. Barely 10:00 A.M., I was beginning to feel tired. The sun was opening up.