Ebi Karmu on life in the past

Mingyur: Grandmother, you are eighty-five years old, right? Could you please tell me about yourself—your parents, where you were born, and so on?

Ebi: My mother passed away at the age of sixty. My father was an unze (a master of ritual in the temple). He continued working for the village as long as he could, and then he passed away. Since he didn’t have any sons, he gave his pechas(religious texts) to his uncle’s children. Now, I live alone. It’s quite boring. I can’t go anywhere, but what can I do?

Q: You mentioned that your father was an unze, right? Do you remember anything from when you were young, around the age of twenty?

A: At that time, I worked hard—grazing livestock, planting corn and potatoes, cooking, and taking care of my parents. We couldn’t leave them alone. As they grew older, they dedicated themselves to prayers and rituals. Now I’m old too. One must die someday, what can we do? As we age, our strength fades, our flesh dries, and our bones weaken. The heart weakens too. It’s full of fear and boredom, almost like being a child again, about nine or ten years old. I feel so happy when my relatives visit, but when I’m alone, all I feel is fear and boredom.

Q: When you were about twenty years old, do you remember how many people or neighbors lived around here?

A: Yes, I remember one very fearsome man, kind of simple-minded. I’m not saying that out of any grudge or jealousy; I just mention him because I saw six generations of his family. I saw the old man, his son, his grandson, and so on. The earthquake didn’t just shake the houses; it shook people’s minds as well. They’ve lost their manners. They don’t respond properly anymore.

Q: During that time, there were lamas and bonpos, right? Do you remember how many bonpos lived in your village?

A: Yes, there were some bonpos, very fearsome ones. They used to recite their mantras in a beautiful, melodious way. But now everything has changed. The children who go to school don’t ask us how to recite the mani (the six-syllable mantra of Chenrezig, the Bodhisattva of Compassion). Everything is transforming. After forty or fifty years, all the people who know the Tibetan script and culture, as well as the lamas of today, will pass away, and a new culture will replace what we have now.

Q: Do you remember the customs when a baby was born? Were there any celebrations or shabtens (rituals)?

A: Yes. We used to have nekor, with three eggs, some rice, and a bottle of wine. That was the only thing we did—nothing more.

Q: Does the nekor tradition still exist?

A: Yes, of course. When someone gets sick, and the news spreads through the village, everyone goes to the person’s house with three eggs, a plate of rice, and a bottle of wine. If someone can’t afford eggs, they bring some money instead. The patient might recover, or they might not, but the tradition remains.

Q: When you were a child, there were chhepas (Buddhist practitioners who conduct rituals), right? Could you tell me what they used to do?

A: There were nemaskar, gewa, and when people died, there were also nyungne and tshoya rituals.

Q: What about nara and chhetsus (tshes bcu)?

A: Melimchhim, Tshiri, Tarkeghyang, and Denthang had nara festivals because they had gonpas (temples). Our gonpawas built later, thanks to Dhojum Meme (Lama Sangay). (Dhojum is a village between Nakote and Tshiri.)

Q: What were people doing while the chhepas were performing their rituals and reciting pechas (holy texts)? Were others serving tea, cooking curry, or singing and dancing?

A: During nyungne (a fasting practice), we welcomed the lamas. The first day was called sokchung, and we had only one meal that day. The second day was called kukpa, when we would do prostrations all day. We weren’t allowed to swallow even our own spit, and we couldn’t talk either. On the final day, we had dutsi (blessed water) and jamdur (a type of soup made from roasted barley flour), and then we started chatting with each other. The lamas made torma (ritual cakes), recited the pechas, and then we danced all night. The person hosting the nyungne gave offerings to the lamas for their service.

Q: Did you enjoy dancing and singing?

A: Yes, I loved it! I did a lot of dancing and singing.

Q: When your father was an unze, did he enjoy great respect from others?

A: Yes, he was well respected. He had many pechas. He used to search for large pechas, and I once asked him why he wanted bigger ones instead of just reciting the ones he had. He said he was looking for wisdom (sems) in those big pechas. Now, I understand that we can indeed find great wisdom in those larger pechas.

Q: Is there a difference between how nemaskar and gewa were performed in the past and how they are done now?

A: No, everything is still done the same way as before. Nothing has changed, but it might in the future, once these lamas pass away. These rituals might disappear after forty or fifty years.

Q: What were the main crops when you were young?

A: Maize, potatoes, beans, paddy, and we had livestock like buffalo, cows, and sheep.

Q: Did you trouble your parents when you were a child?

A: Maybe a little, but I don’t remember much. I can only recall bits of my childhood, mostly from after I was about eight or nine years old.

Q: What was your usual daily work back then?

A: I would graze the animals, play, and eat. If we had a school nearby, we could have gone there to learn, but we didn’t have one. The lama’s sons used to come to our house to learn chhey (Dharma teachings) from my father, but I couldn’t stay to listen. We had to go and graze the animals instead of learning the pecha.

Q: Does that mean that all the lamas in the village now are your father’s students?

A: Yes, they are. My father was the unze of Meme Thilen Phurba. Meme Thilen Phurba passed away in my father’s lap. He was cremated by Bey Meme from Tshiri.