Amidst the wind singing
the glory of nature as it swayed over the meandering cheerful river, prayers
flags, those tattered and torn danced to the song of wind. Their fluttering
often shook the old wooden pole on which they were hoisted. Yet, merry was all
over the hill. Faraway, the basking yellow ray is disappearing behind the white
peaks, and Chorten, in its miserable
ruin was weeping silently.
Prayers flags in
their old frayed self gathered to ask, “What’s the matter?”
Only a commanding
wind made the weeping of old Chorten noisier, however.
“There were
times, when whole village was built around me,” Chorten begin to recite his
old faded memory, “in fact my friends were also revered important that
they were held above everything and worshiped as a seat of sacredness.”
“But people still come and worship you. What’s bothering you with that sadness?” in a
roaring wind, one of the swaying prayer flags comforted his old compatriot.
“These are few, who wear red robes and wrinkles on their faces. There used to be a time
when I used to be rich with sacred relics inside me, and once in a month, on a
day which would be followed by a full moon, whole village would come and
offer prayers led by venerable beings. I used to rejoice in merry.”
The wind has now
ushered the strong cold hail storms. Prayer flags shivered strongly as the
shredded cloth pieces fluttered even stronger.
“I have had the
opportunities in my life to know many of your predecessors,” Chorten now felt
the pain of prayer flags as well, “Once pompous and colorful ancestors of yours
withstood even stronger winds than this. They were always singing something or
the other, only when there was a strong sunshine, they felt alone as people
stayed inside the house. There were no soul to circumambulate”.
“Even being
glamorous is also short lived,” one of the prayer flags stuttered, “We
succumb to our age earlier than you.”
“...which is a
good thing. At least the fire burns your ruined body!” Chorten sighed, “I
don’t even have the luxury of it. I am left to the merry of tourists visiting
the place. Ruins excite them.”
“Within my
ruined parts, history is captured,” folks unfortunately takes pride. “But the
history is nothing if sacredness has evaporated long into the fading time. History needs memories to be alive”
“I was
vandalized couple of times; my prized possessions were taken out and were never
returned back. Earlier people panicked and rebuilt me again, but with roads
invading the villages, rich folks have cloned me with alien materials. Stones engraved with holy lines, people worshiped them, but now alien
materials have also overtaken their places in the folks’ mind. Folks used to
flock here and camp their journeys through me, and happily I offered them the
shelter, and now even the ones who come purposely to visit me go back with few
clicks and snaps.”
“I was built
over a place where a great lama once subdued the deity. I have ever since tried
my every bit of self indulgence to repay the faith of the great lama and the
villagers by peacefully blending with the landscape”.
Every little
thing that exists on the earth is vulnerable to the change and succumbs sadly
to the new urge of ours. History is lost in a change and we let it be. Our biggest strength lies in your cultural identity and these chortens form a bigger part of our cultural landscapes. It forms the image of our place and reminds us of our religion.
Photo courtesy: http://www.scmp.com
