TRAVEL MEMOIRS
Encountering My ‘Guardian Angel’ in Nepal
Was it a chance encounter?
It was August 2007 and my last day at Kopan Tibetan Buddhist Monastery, located high on a hill above the broad Kathmandu plain. I stood at my favorite lookout spot, gazing down at the haze-engulfed city and its sprawling environs, just barely making out the enormous ancient stupa (reliquary) in Boudhanath, the Tibetan-Nepalese colony several miles east of Kathmandu. I yearned to make a final visit to the stupa and circumambulate it with the scores of Tibetans who daily walked around the majestic structure, many holding prayer wheels. I had engaged in this practice nearly every day of my three-week stay.
As I walked down from the monastery through the squalor of huts and food stalls that formed a sort of village, I felt very much at home and was no longer nervous about walking alone along the narrow dirt road. No one paid attention to me and I didn’t gawk at the young women washing their hair at an outdoor water pump or women crouching in front of their huts preparing food or the groups of young men sitting in front of food stalls smoking and playing cards. No, I was quite accustomed to the sights, sounds, and smells I encountered.
I was soon in the precinct of the enormous stupa with the giant eyes on top looking expressionlessly out at no one in particular. I felt no inclination to meander through the congested alleyways, peering at the goods for sale on folding tables. I had already picked up maroon socks and t-shirts in preparation for my future life as a Tibetan Buddhist monastic. The set of maroon monastic robes that a local tailor made me were neatly folded up and in my suitcase.
I didn’t want to be pestered by the beggars, particularly the women with a sleeping (or more likely drugged) baby in their arms aggressively demanding money. So I headed immediately to the stupa and began circumambulating it, reciting om mani padme hum (Buddhist mantra) along with the recorded chant playing from invisible speakers. I soon began climbing up to increasingly higher levels of walkways to be free from the congestion at the lower levels. I also relished to see the distant peaks of the Himalayas one last time.
I was so involved with chanting, walking, and looking at the view that I didn’t notice that a young Tibetan monk was walking alongside me.
“Hi. How are you doing?” He said.
I was startled out of my self-enclosed world and turned to my right where the voice came from. I saw a good-looking Tibetan monk in his mid-20s with a charming smile looking right at me.
“Hi. I’m fine, thanks.”
I thought he was just a friendly monk and didn’t expect any more conversation to develop. But he continued speaking, asking the usual questions about where I was from and what I was doing in Boudhanath. I marveled at the fluency of his English. I casually took in his appearance, trying to gather if I should be prepared for a request for money. But he didn’t appear needy. In fact, he was wearing what looked like fairly new Western-style sneakers. I relaxed a little and simply conversed with him.
After at least a half-hour of walking together, he said, “Do you want to have a coffee with me?”
I looked at my watch. It was already six o’clock in the evening and the monastery gate closed at eight. I estimated that there shouldn’t be a problem getting back up in time. I instinctively liked this young monk and thought it would be a nice way to spend my last evening.
“Sure,” I replied.
I followed him into the maze of narrow streets leading away from the stupa. We then turned down a very narrow alleyway that was nearly dark even though there was still daylight. My New York instinct was activated and I was very attentive to my surroundings, being on the lookout for any perceived danger. I sighed silently when I saw in the distance a few tables and chairs and an overhead light that indicated that it was some sort of café. The monk and I took our seats and although I hadn’t noticed that he ordered anything, someone brought us two cups of coffee.
We conversed very easily. Norbu was intelligent and articulate. He had been a monastic since the age of 14, first a novice and now fully ordained. I felt very comfortable with him, especially when he indicated that he hoped to be able to study at a university in India. He was presently working on the application. I would have enjoyed spending more time speaking with him but I wanted to make sure I arrived at Kopan Monastery before the gate closed. I feared being locked out for the night.
Norbu walked with me to a taxi stand and bargained with the driver for a lower price.
“Thanks for the coffee,” I smiled, “It was a pleasure meeting you. What a wonderful way to end my stay in Nepal.”
“You’re leaving?”
“Yes, tomorrow, I fly to France, to the Tibetan monastery where I’ve been spending the summer.”
“I’ll come with you to the airport.”
“Oh, no, you don’t need to.”
But then I considered that it would be pleasant having him accompany me to the airport. Before I could express my reconsideration of his offer, he said, “But I would like to.”
“Okay, Norbu. That would be really nice. I appreciate it.”
We arranged to meet right at that spot the next day at noon. We then bid one another good night.
As the taxi made its way slowly down the winding road leading from the monastery to the town below, the car periodically jerked, as if the driver was not very adept at shifting gears. I guessed he hadn’t been a taxi driver for very long. When we reached the center of Boudhanath, I indicated to the driver that we needed to pick someone up. He seemed very nervous at that prospect.
There was some kind of demonstration going on and the streets were thronged with people, many carrying flags or signs. The taxi couldn’t drive down the street where we were supposed to pick up Norbu. I got out of the car and walked a short distance, hoping to spot him. Although there was a lot of noise coming from loudspeakers, the rally seemed peaceful. I had heard about the ongoing conflict between the Maoist rebels and the army supporting the monarchy, but it seemed most of the trouble was in the countryside and not in the Kathmandu district.
I thought it would be impossible to find Norbu and returned to the taxi. I was just about to get into the car when he suddenly appeared out of the crowd and rushed towards us. He got into the back seat and the driver, still nervous, drove out of the town.
After so much excitement in the streets of Boudhanath, the road we were traveling on, which was the main road leading to Kathmandu and the airport, was eerily quiet. I thought it very strange that we didn’t see any other cars. I also noticed a lot of debris on the road that didn’t seem to be merely litter but small rocks, broken glass, and fragments of bricks. I had the impression that these things had not collected there gradually but had been thrown onto the road. It was just a hunch.
I was about to call attention to this to Norbu who was sitting very quietly in the back seat, when suddenly a crowd of men, maybe one hundred, came running towards us from a distance of about 500 feet. My instinct would have been to press down on the accelerator and speed away, but the driver panicked and stopped the car. The crowd of mainly young men quickly surrounded our car. They were shouting at us and began rocking the car from side to side. It happened so quickly that my mind was having difficulty processing the startling drama that had engulfed us.
Norbu opened the window and with a vocal force that seemed completely out of character yelled out to the crowd. Leaning out of the window, he animatedly gestured toward me, bellowing out what was to me incomprehensible words. I did hear something though that sounded like “American.” It took great effort for his words to reach them because they were so focused on preventing us from driving on.
For some inexplicable reason, I didn’t panic. I actually felt strangely calm in that riotous and potentially dangerous situation. In fact, I was considering that I might need to walk the rest of the way to the airport. I figured that Norbu would assist me with my overstuffed suitcase. I didn’t expect much assistance from the traumatized driver.
The men quieted down. Norbu’s words seemed to have had some effect. Some men came to my side of the car and peered at me through the closed window. I didn’t know what to do, so I just smiled and waved. I hadn’t thought of showing them my passport. I assumed that I didn’t appear to them to be Nepalese.
The leader of the group then gave a signal to let us go. Again, my instinct would have been to speed away in case they changed their mind, but the driver, still in shock, drove the car very slowly, with the characteristic jerking I had come to be used to. And so we continued on our way to the airport.
I found myself smiling at the unexpected drama that accompanied my departure from Boudhanath. I reflected that my visit proved momentous, because it was here that I made the decision to ordain as a Tibetan Buddhist novice monk at the next opportunity that arose.
But what about my meeting with Norbu? Could he possibly have known that there would be danger on the road to the airport and that was why he insisted on accompanying me? Possibly. But it doesn’t explain his befriending me at the stupa without having any idea about my upcoming departure.
As I looked out the window at the debris tossed on the road, I was certain that something beyond the realm of rational thought was at play here. I hesitated to identify Norbu as my “guardian angel” even though ostensibly he fulfilled that role. During those chaotic moments as the angry crowd rocked the car, I really wasn’t frightened. I sensed my protector was present not in the form of Norbu per se but rather within me — as my inner guide that I have always trusted. That guide directed me to take that first step on my monastic journey right here in Nepal.
A happy ending to that frightening incident validated my trust and reliance on that ever-present guide within me.
I would like to thank Darren Weir for his very helpful suggestions that have improved the narrative flow of this story.
