Phobjika Valley is quite unlike the Himalayan Valleys I had seen so far. Located almost on the same latitude as Kathmandu and a lot lower than Kashmir, what struck me at first is the absence of intensive agriculture. This seemed like an indulgence in a mountainous country that imports a lot of its food.
The valley has bee left in its original form for a good reason. Except for patches of isolated potato fields a large part of it has been declared a Ramsar Site - one of the 2000 sites across the world that has been marked as wetland of international importance. Here the marshland attracts numerous migratory birds, especially the black-necked crane.
Hundreds of black-necked cranes glide into the valley every autumn. Always in pairs, these large birds are often heard before they are actually seen - especially early in the morning when the whole valley is covered by a blanket of mist. In the pre-dawn silence the birds sound like a bunch of children practicing their pipes and trumpets.
When these cranes fly over the snow-peaks, from the plateau of Tibet, it is said that they first circle the Gangtey Monastry thrice before settling down to roost in the sprawling Phobjika valley. The monastery itself looks like a bird in flight with its broad, layered roofs, intricately painted balcony's, windows, and perfectly symmetrical form.
Yet what lingers in my mind is not the form of the building or the broad sunlit courtyard in front of it, but the sounds that emerge from the rooms and corridors that ring the monastery. Sounds of the reed pipes being played by young boys dressed in maroon robes.
The reeds are tiny but the tunes from them seem to fill out the broad courtyards and echo far into the misty valleys below.
How does such a tiny reed make so loud a sound? I wanted to try out one of these reeds but this did not seem the right thing to do in post-Covid times, and they were also not for sale anywhere. Just as I was about to return a bit disappointed, one of the older monks at the reception handed me a piece lying on his table. "It is damaged", he said simply, " - no proper sound".
I am familiar with bamboo flutes especially the bansuri but this one was totally different. It had six largish holes cut along its length, one end was closed by the reed knot, and the other was, of course open. Unlike the lateral flutes, this one was played straight but the trick was to figure out the right way to blow.
At first, the only sound i could get were by pulling in air from the open end but these were feeble, so unlike the solid notes that the boys were playing. After a while i realised that the almost invisible slit near the blocked was they key. With a very fine blade, a cut and a wedge had been created on the underside of the reed!
What I had initially thought to be the 'damage' that the monk referred to was the very thing that gave life to this wind instrument! As we drove out of the valley via Lawa La, Trongsa to Tang and Bunthang, I wondered if it is the sounds of these reeds that attracted the black-necked cranes into Phobjika Valley.
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REFERENCES & LINKS
* Ramsar Sites - https://rsis.ramsar.org/
* Gangtey Monastery - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gangteng_Monastery
