The Wedding of the King

Engagement Photo

After the Wedding Ceremony

Most of you know that the King of Bhutan got married last week. And probably most of you have seen the pictures of his new queen. But I thought I’d present a description of the event from the inside, so to speak, even though Chris and I were not able to attend the ceremony itself. I am not exactly sure who was able to attend the ceremony, but a few unimportant foreigners such as ourselves were not likely to be invited. Sadly. Nevertheless, this event was a very big deal for most Bhutanese, especially, I think, younger people, as they are unlikely to ever experience another event like it in their lifetimes. The wedding was held in the Punakha Dzong on Thursday October 13^th. 

Punakha Dzong: Site of Royal Wedding

Jetsun Pema Arriving for the Wedding

Ceremonies began at dawn and continued throughout the day. In fact, the entire country was on holiday for three days to celebrate. People came from every part of Bhutan and the report I heard was that they were gathering outside the Dzong beginning at about 4am. According to friends here in Taktse, the ceremonial rituals would go on for most of the day. Outside the Dzong, cultural dancing and performances also went on all day long and thousands of people sat in the sun picnicking and hoping for a glimpse of the king and his new queen. On the television propped up on cardboard boxes in the small canteen entirely constructed out of cardboard boxes here in Taktse, I caught a brief glimpse of the king going from group of exquisitely-dressed guests to group beneath the vast canopies of tents lining the borders of the Dzong, shaking hands, smiling, and no doubt doing what he is best known for—paying attention to each and every person who comes to meet him, or in this case, to celebrate his wedding. Apparently, he has made a promise to try to personally meet every Bhutanese citizen. Given that the population of Bhutan is less that one million, his promise is perhaps feasible—certainly, he looks to be making a strong effort to fulfill it.

Arrival Day

The above aside, the morning of the wedding dawns cloudy and gray in Taktse. Walking up the long hill to the academic block for the start of the wedding celebration and cultural show being put on by ILCS students, other faculty assure me that this is a good thing considering the fact that we will be sitting outside from 8am until 2pm watching the show. If it had been sunny, we would spend much time trying to keep from getting burned or sweltering. Might as well look on the bright side, I think, hiking up my kira skirt to keep it from dragging in the fine, gray dust that has recently replaced what used to be mud on all roads. Chris walks along beside me, trying, I am sure, not to sweat in his gho—the first time he has worn one here in Bhutan. The king’s wedding seems the proper event at which to debut his Bhutanese garb, and indeed, he is greeted by other faculty and students with delighted appreciation. (Not so long ago, Chris and I were approached by a group of male students who accused Chris of not being patriotic, since he never wore Bhutanese dress. Madam, however—me—was exempt from such criticism since she had been observed fully attired in full proper kira.)

Cloudy Morning

Arriving at the courtyard that has been prepared for the celebrations (I had seen students sweeping the muddy ground and attempting to remove at least a decent percentage of the rocks, debris, and various sharp objects littered everywhere the day before), we are ushered into the front row where a line of cushioned chairs sits in front of the railing looking out over the courtyard. Two chairs in the middle were larger, cushier, and draped with large pieces of brocade fabric. One was for the Director of ILCs, Lopen Lungtaen, the other for a local Rinpoche who had been invited to attend.

To my chagrin, I am gently pushed and prodded into a seat directly to the Director’s right. I should note that my chagrin is mostly due to being placed in what is very much a seat of honor and less due to sitting next to Lopen, who I adore and am happy to sit next to anytime. But why I, the mostly invisible foreign woman who spends her days holed up in her residence attempting to translate an obscure Tibetan biography from the 16^th century should be seated next to the Director of ILCS for the celebration of the King’s wedding is a mystery I can only solve by guessing that it is due to the fact that Bhutanese generally do not want to sit next to VIP’s. This is part of the cultural practice of remaining humble and not putting on airs, but it also has to do with the fact that many Bhutanese are intimidated by VIPs such as Lopen Lungtaen and don’t know what to say, or don’t want to risk saying anything offensive or demeaning to themselves or the honored guest. Foreigners like me are exempt from this, probably largely due to the fact that we tend to put our feet in our mouths rather easily and without any awareness that we are doing so. Hence, no one cares too much and we are easily excused. However, seated right in front, next to Lopen, with Chris on my other side, I feel very exposed and visible. We are right in the center of everything and every performance, the entire five hours we sit there, is oriented to face us. I don’t even dare to cross my legs, since this is considered rather impolite. Chris too, spends a fair amount of time trying to keep his knees together while sitting upright in his chair—a feat made more difficult by the fact that he is wearing his gho, which exposes his knees (and whatever else might be visible when his knees aren’t pressed together!).

Students lined up in Courtyard

The ceremonies get underway about 8:30am. Standing in front of a shrine that has been erected to the royal couple, the MC gives a long introductory speech of which I understand not a single word (or maybe I understand a single word here and there) since it is given entirely in Dzongkha. While he speaks the ILCS students stand in rows in the middle of the courtyard. Around the edges of the courtyard, local villagers, staff, faculty, and all the students of the local primary and secondary schools sit and watch. When the MC finishes, the Dean of Students gives another interminable speech during which all the students remain perfectly still, only their eyes roving about the venue and their fine kiras and ghos fluttering in the cool morning breeze.

Waiting to Begin

These speeches last perhaps thirty minutes and I’m afraid that since they are in Dzongkha I cannot repeat what is said other than to guess that there are many introductions, praises, descriptions of events to come and there is also, I am sure, a long benedictory prayer—I recognize much more when that is recited since it is in Tibetan.  Once this is finished, the performances begin. It is impossible to describe all of the individual performances, of which there were a total of 32. Instead, I will give some of the highlights.

Dancing Begins

Folk Dance

The first thing to know about Bhutanese cultural performances is that they all follow to some degree the same pattern. They include very precise and orchestrated dance steps put together in different variations, some of which are traditional and some of which are new or “modern,” together with music, again either traditional or modern. The dancing is beautiful and ordered, so ordered, in fact, that I sometimes wish the dancers would break out a bit and show some spunk rather than moving so placidly through their steps.  When the occasional student actually seems to be enjoying him or herself, it’s a delight to watch. In particular, I love the fact that Bhutanese men train in dance from a very young age and are utterly unselfconscious about it. Even though many of the dance moves strike me as quite “feminine” in that they involve elaborate hand and arm gestures, the men perform them flawlessly. In many ways, I find myself more interested in watching the boys in the dancing at ILCS, since many of them seem far more engaged in the dancing, or singing than the girls—who tend to exude an air of embarrassment. And yet, the girls are dressed so beautifully and move so gracefully that it’s impossible not to watch them. Lopen and I have a discussion about dancing and he tells me that training is voluntary at ILCS, which is, after all, the Institute of Language and Cultural Studies—dancing, singing, and playing traditional Bhutanese music are some of the primary electives the students can opt to train in. But it becomes clear that Bhutanese children train in dance and music from a very young age, as is evidenced by the fact that both the primary and secondary school kids also offer a number of dances. In some ways, these are even more fun, as the younger the children, the less self-conscious they are in performing the elaborately romantic moves that some of the dances require. Its hardly unusual that ILCS students, most of who are somewhere between the ages of 18 and 21 would be the most self-conscious! In the US, we’d probably find that teenagers would be the most self-conscious, but in Bhutan, due to conservatism around sexual and relationship issues, it seems that the kind of self-consciousness that comes with puberty and having romantic interests happens a few years later. However, I shouldn’t generalize too much, as many of the ILCS students are enormously talented and clearly earmarked for careers in dance, music, or singing.

One of the Most Traditional Dances

Most of the dances we watch (30 out of 32 performances) follow the pattern I just described. For the first ten or so, never having seen these forms of dance, its fascinating, but as the morning wears on, even the tea, biscuits, saffron rice and soda that are served as refreshments cannot quite eliminate the sense that we are watching the same dance, albeit with different dancers, over and over and over. Each dance, because the steps and the main melodies repeat again and again, goes on just a bit longer than my attention span can handle—about ten minutes per dance. It would be one thing if the dances were substantially different from each other, but their sameness results in a sense of comfort and familiarity, but also boredom.  

Everyone Wants to Watch

A Small Observer

Traditional musical instruments, which are apparently only used on the most formal occasions, of which this is considered one, are a flute (lim), a six-stringed lute (dranyen), a two-stringed violin played with a bow (piwang), and a trapezoidal tabletop zither played with two hammers. “Modern” music, or Bhutanese pop music is known as rigsar, a compound word meaning “traditional/new.” It is hugely popular and consists of a combination of traditional Bhutanese music with modern pop melodies and themes. Every time we have traveled anywhere in Bhutan, either by taxi, bus, or by private car, the driver inserts a flash-drive into the stereo (here’s an innovative technology that I’ve yet to see in the US), and the sentimental, romantic rigsar songs take over the space. Rigsar is kind of like a combination of Hindi, Tibetan, and Western melodies. As far as I can tell, all the songs are love songs. Although almost all Bhutanese dance/music performances tell a story of some kind or express some kind of emotion in daily life, sadly, I was only able to elicit information on a few of the dances.

Two of the dances we saw stand out particularly in my mind, probably due to the fact that they were specifically religious dances usually performed at the most popular of Bhutanese festivals, the monastic tshechus, which celebrate the deeds of Guru Rinpoche, the 7^th century Indian siddha who is said to have brought Buddhism to Bhutan.

Phag Cham Dancer

Dancing to Purify the Space

The first is known as the “Pig Dance,” (phag chams). Two men, wearing pig masks and ornate yellow skirts and holding juniper fronds dance into the four corners of the courtyard in order to purify the space. The second dance is known as the “Dance of the Drummers” (Drametse Ngacham). In it, twelve men wearing yellow-brocaded skirts and animal masks beat drums as they dance. Both of these dances were terma revelations, or visions, of Kunga Gyeltshen, the son of the 16^th century Bhutanese treasure revealer, Pema Lingpa. The dances are hypnotic and fascinating. The dancers represent Guru Rinpoche’s entourage and their dance celebrates the victory of the Buddhist faith.

Beginning the Dance of the Drums

Drum Dance Mask

As I watch, it seems that my consciousness is suspended between beats of the drums held by the swirling dancers. Their movements, a strange combination of twirling, hopping, and leaping seem to slice the sunlight that finally emerges from behind the clouds into rays of scintillating light. As the dance goes on, the dancers seem to move not only through space, but through some odd dimension of time. I can almost see it, but not quite.

Dance of the Drums

According to our friend Karma, who trained at Drametse Monastery in Eastern Bhutan in this dance form, the real movements have never been taught exactly as the visionary (terton) revealed them due to their esoteric power. When monks perform this dance, it lasts for over three hours. At our ILCS celebration, the dancers performed a dramatically abbreviated version, lasting probably only about fifteen minutes. I was very impressed by the students’ skill and clearly, the power of the dance was felt by everyone present. No one moved or spoke while the dance lasted—in great contrast to activity during most of the cultural dances when everyone seemed to be involved in various amusements. Seated in our prominent spots, Chris and I were unable to roam about or chat, but instead observed everyone else.

Stag from Drum Dance