It was my maiden visit to the Land of Thunder Dragon,
Bhutan, and the day before heading to live in a remote village. Immersion
exposure to rural poverty had by then become an indispensable feature of my
official itinerary everywhere.
During obligatory rounds of Thimphu, the nation’s
capital, a Minister upon hearing my plan declared there was no poverty in
Bhutan. “My country is poor, if measured by such yardsticks as per capita
income. But, we are not like other developing nations. Agriculture may be near
subsistence. But, farmers are well off, and there are no beggars in towns.
There is no poverty in Bhutan!” Half in doubt and half in disbelief, yet I
could not ignore his pronouncement.
The village was far from the capital city itself. A full
day’s journey eastward by car, to the heart of the nation called Trongsa.
Another day’s journey skyward on foot, on a rugged near vertical mountain path.
At last came a village into view, where time drifted more
slowly. It was the time of joy – of good harvest and winter readiness. Ripe
mountain peppers (zanthoxylum piperitum) bowed their heavy branches and
perfumed the air everywhere. Yonder, over wave after wave of mountain range,
sparkled the silver-whites of the Great Himalayas. A beautiful place in the
country, this village called Bemji was.
No electricity or piped water, but Bemji boasted a
primary school, a health clinic, and even a veterinary clinic. Etched into the
sunny side of the slope below was a thousand- layer paddy field, home to an
ancient variety of red rice. Life of Bemji’s rice-growing farmers was
prosperous far beyond my expectation.
Too substantial to be called farmhouses, Bemji’s homes
carried the air of lesser manor houses that dot the English countryside. The
ground floor reserved for livestock was whitewashed earthen walls of
substantial girth and height. The second floor for family quarters, and the
third floor for altar and guest, were constructed of finely fitted woodwork.
Auspicious symbols in many-colors danced on the walls and window frames.
Between traditional roofs of cedar shingles weighed down with rocks against the
mountain wind, shone silver corrugated metal ones. Subsidized for forest
preservation, apparently.
