Public Holiday Sports

The day after Losar (new year) I spend a leisurely morning with coffee, scrambled eggs and an e-book before a few morning chores.  As I return from hanging out my washing, Sithar’s door is open and I ask if she wants to share a cup of tea in the sunshine.  I am not sure if she understands, but her niece Younten appears shortly with an omelet for me and I ask her about tea, which she tells me Sithar is preparing; I open the large tin of biscuits to find that the tin is full of loosely packed small packets, not choc-a-block with biscuits as I had imagined would be appropriate to its price.  Live and learn, at least the tin will make a useful storage container.

Tea is a choice of naja or suja, set on a mat on the grassed area under the washing line;  I take along my cup of weak black tea which was already made, and am told that is pica.  The naja and suja are served with the roast rice or local cornflakes which are added to the tea to make a substantial snack.  I cannot keep up with the way these people consume calories and have no intention of trying.  They must think I am awfully underfed.  The conversation leads to breakfast food, and I fetch my jar of porridge oats to clarify what I eat for breakfast on most days, and describe yesterday’s breakfast of the local cornflakes with mango juice.  I am sure they think I am somewhat weird – rice with curry or emma datsi for breakfast is more the norm here.

Archers, gathered around their target, prepare to take their
turn aiming for the target a few rice paddies away, across the path

Archers celebrate a bullseye, also with a song and a dance

My neighbour, the assistant principal Kinley Wangdi, (Kinley, Sir, or AP, Sir) tells me there is an archery match today at the school and would I like to go and watch – he is going.  Of course I would like to, and after tea is finished we head towards the school, which is quiet, and a quick phone call by him results in an about turn and walk down the hill through the dry rice paddies towards Kheni Cluster Village.  He tells me that as soon as Losar is over, work will start on the paddies, repairing the walls and irrigating.  Farmers will stay up all night while their paddies are irrigating, to guard against others misappropriating their water supply while they sleep.  I am pleased to hear that red rice is grown locally; I far prefer that to the white rice.

The archers are the staff from our school and the opponents the staff of another school.  The marksmen are clustered around their targets around 250m apart across paddy fields. The Khuru (darts) players on a lower area of the paddy fields are a mere 33m apart but their target is minuscule and is surrounded by sticks decorated with flowers and the coloured cotton cloths that are also tied to the belts of the marksmen to signify those who are successful in hitting the target.

A pretty spectator

It is a wonderful setting, the majestic hills rising steeply, the more distant hills hazy with the smoke of forest fires in an adjacent dzonghag, villages which are the homeplaces of many of our boarders visible 2-3 hours walk distance.  The archers all use locally made bows, no expensive imported bows in sight, although the arrows are purchased.  The twang of the bowstrings is followed either by a puff of dust near the other target or a satisfying thud as the arrow hits its target.  The former is accompanied by shouts, signals or chants of derision from the opponents and the latter by songs and dancing in celebration of the success at both ends.  Taking aim is similarly accompanied by calls and chants designed to undermine the effort or encourage the marksman.  I am introduced to the principal and vice principal of the opposing school and they welcome me and express hopes that I will make a difference to the education of the students.  I, too, hope I do.

Kuru player in action

We move down to watch the Khuru for a while, and as before I am offered appropriate seating – a piece of cardboard box to protect my clothes from dust, placed on the wall of one of the paddies.  It feels wonderful to be included in the audience for these events – I am not here as a tourist watching some event specially put on for tourists as can happen with “cultural activities” in other parts of the world, but am being allowed to share in the special events that make up the lives of the people in whose village I am living for a short time.

The match today is conducted with the participants in traditional dress – the gho, but I am told that archery matches are not normally this formal – it is just because it is the day after Losar.

Watching for the opponents' action in trying to hit the Kuru target

I am invited to join the marksmen for lunch, but decline saying that I have already prepared my lunch.  I have Spanish omelet in the fridge, which I should finish today.

Kuru players celebrate a bullseye with a song and a dance 

The marksmen break for lunch – prepared by the village ladies  - the cost will be shared between the teams – and Kheni is in the lead in both archery and khuru  The walk back is a wonderful lesson in the edible and medicinal properties of the botany of this amazing landscape.  Apart from the banana and pawpaw trees which I can see from my window (apparently pawpaw is not a desired fruit as far as the children are concerned) there are fig, lemon, pomegranate, guava, tree tomatoes (with fruit), berry bushes which look a little like blackberry but have a ripe orange fruit, passionfruit, peppercorn (and I was concerned about finding some to buy in Thimpu) and curry leaf trees growing wild.  Tree tomatoes are pointed out, with fruit, and the edible/medicinal properties of the fried flower of cymbidiums discussed (although these are expensive to purchase, when available).  The herb Artemesia bhutanica, which I dubbed a magic herb when here before as a tourist, for its wonderful properties in managing asthma, also seems to be a vasoconstrictor, and rubbed on wounds will stem the flow of blood.

Saturday is the birth anniversary of His Majesty the King; school acknowledgement of this important occasion will be somewhat subdued due to my colleague Rinchen’s wife still being in intensive care.  There is the lighting of butter candles on the altar on the hall stage and speeches by teachers as well as singing/prayer by the student body.  This is followed by a concert, with items by both boys and girls including dance, singing, recitals and a comedy skit.  These students have talent, although one very small performer has his hands over his ears as one of his co performers sings – her pitch is high and he is obviously sensitive to this. Some of the dance is interesting – definite cultural fusion as they seem to be mixing traditional Bhutanese style with some interesting western dance moves.  I guess this is the effect of the exposure to television, an item which seems to be in operation much of the day in many houses.

My evening meal preparation, interspersed with lesson preparation as the rice cooks, is interrupted by one of the ladies in the apartment block in which I live.  Tashi Dema has brought a piece of weaving to ask if I would like to buy it.  She says she was making a kira but could not buy any more of one of the silk colours and suggests I could use it as a table cloth (but buy a piece of glass to protect it at the earliest opportunity)  A quick assessment that this beautiful piece should be just enough to make me a jacket back home and I assent.  The primary colours of red and blue are gorgeous and the gold makes it a very rich pattern.  I marvel once again at the skill of the ladies in their weaving and pay her asking price of 3000Nu, approximately $60, but refuse her offer at this stage to weave me another similar or purchase a belt, a rachu (ceremonial scarf, required for formal occasions at school and visits to the dzong) or other, more utilitarian, pieces she has woven.