In this extract taken from Omair Ahmad?s The Kingdom at the Centre of the World, the author tells the story of Bhutan?s emergence as an independent Buddhist nation in the 17th century under Shabdrung Ngawang Namgyal; the exploits of Jigme Namgyal and the remarkable Wangchuk monarchs.
The man who united Bhutan a second time after the Shabdrung is harder to discover. His picture is difficult to find. History has not been kind to him, as if it is taking revenge?for, this determined and wilful man defied history and the world. His name was Jigme Namgyal, and he was known as Deb Ngabo, the Black Regent?because, it is said, he was dark, wore a black robe and rode a black horse.
There are other stories that paint him in darker colours, pinning accusations of murder upon his name, of opponents who died suddenly at convenient times, rivals whose death happened when they were under his command, maybe by an arrow that came from the wrong side of the battlefield. Jigme Namgyal was truly a character out of legend. Born in 1825, he was the youngest of three sons from a noble family. He set off to seek his fortune in his teens, a common herdsman until he joined the entourage of Ugyen Puntso?the Penlop of Trongsa. In three years Jigme Namgyel rose from being among the menial staff of the Penlop to being a zingap?the person who guards the master?s chambers. His climb did not stop there.
In 1849 the Punakha dzhong had burnt down and the great lords from all over Bhutan were summoned to help in its reconstruction. Each lord brought his own personal champion renowned for his strength and fighting ability. Jigme Namgyel bested them all, and during that time also discovered a plot by the other lords to assassinate Ugyen Puntso. At one critical moment when it seemed that the lords would combine to kill the Trongsa Penlop in the council chamber, Jigme Namgyel walked in, fearless, with a hand on his sword hilt, and escorted the Penlop to safety. In gratitude Ugyen Puntso promised to make Jigme Namgyel the Penlop when he retired.
I found the first hints of Jigme Namgyal at the National Museum in Paro. No picture, nothing like that, just hints in the basement, enough for me to ask questions, get a few answers, most of them half-right, if not fully wrong. The museum building is actually a huge fortress built in 1649 by the half-brother of the Shabdrung. Unlike most of the other dzhongs, which are rectangular, the Ta Dzhong is a cylinder of six floors connected by an internal spiral. It mimics the shape of a conch, which was often used to summon the soldiers to battle, especially in Paro from where the Shabdrung beat back multiple Tibetan invasions.
From a distance it is easy to underestimate the size of the former fortress but up close it is huge. As a piece of traditional architecture, it is gorgeous; all brick and whitewashed walls put together without a touch of cement or nail to be seen. It has a rich history, including having once served as a prison for the first king of Bhutan before he managed to subdue his rivals. By the early 1900s, it had fallen into disrepair. It was the idea of the Third King, His Majesty Jigme Dorji Wangchuck, to restore it and make it into a museum. It first opened its doors in 1968 and does a rough and ready job of describing the country geographically, historically and politically. Also theologically, as Buddhist iconography is endlessly replicated and displayed. I was more interested in the lower floors of the museum. Here the winding passages narrowed so much that they felt like claustrophobic tunnels. The rooms held the implements of war, and oddly shaped shields adorned the walls. Some of the tools could have been used for torture?large pincer like instruments, manacles and other savage-looking instruments made of metal and wood that I could not quite figure out. In a room that held weapons captured from the British in the 1864-65 Duar War, in which the Black Regent led the Bhutanese forces against those of the British Empire, there was a rifle so large that one man could not possibly lift it.
Bhutan?s engagement with the modern world is inextricably linked to that war, or so the story goes. By the late 1700s Bhutan could barely be called a country. Although a peace had been achieved after the civil war, the fissiparous tendencies could not be contained. The chieftains could not be stopped from war, and though their war-making tendencies were restrained within the country, it did not stop them from fighting outside their borders.
When I enquired about the war, I was told that in 1772 the Bhutanese had invaded the small kingdom of Cooch Behar to the south, in India, whose ruler appealed to the British East India Company for assistance. The British helped throw back the initial attack and even tried to attack Bhutan, unsuccessfully. Things remained in a state of simmering stalemate for almost a century thereafter, until the fateful British mission led by Sir Ashley Eden in 1864 to resolve the issue. Eden was a political agent of the British Empire in India, and had been sent to negotiate difficult issues before, but always from a position of complete superiority guaranteed by the backing of the most powerful empire on earth. He was completely unprepared for his encounter with Jigme Namgyal, who had by then become the Penlop, or Governor, of Trongsa.
The Trongsa dzhong is situated on the east-west corridor of Bhutan. It is the lynchpin that holds the country together. Just as the Paro Penlop is often the governor of the richest province, the Trongsa Penlop is the governor of the most strategic province. At the time of Eden?s mission, Jigme Namgyal was the most powerful man in Bhutan, and in the council of governors, his voice was indispensable. Famous for being flamboyant and headstrong, Jigme Namgyal started off by making fun off Eden?s skin colour and hair. First he took wet dough and rubbed it into the Englishman?s face, then he pulled Eden?s hair. When Eden protested, the Penlop smiled and seemed to suggest it was only lighthearted friendship. Eden, thoroughly insulted, returned to the headquarters of the British Government in Calcutta, and declared that all diplomacy was futile and the Bhutanese could only be dealt with through the use of force. It was in this mood that the Duar War of 1864-65 took place. The British Army, having brutally suppressed the greatest threat to the Empire it had ever faced during the 1857 uprising in India, geared up for another war.
The Bhutanese, largely armed with outdated bows and arrows plus a few flintlocks, should have been crushed. Instead, under the leadership of Jigme Namgyal they somehow managed to unite and fight the British to a standstill. In the end the Treaty of Sinchu La was signed, according to which the British would retain the Duars but would pay an annual subsidy of 50,000 rupees. Although the sum was a considerable amount in those days, the loss of territory? and with it the only passes to the south?was a big blow. Nevertheless the Bhutanese tend to consider that they won the Duar War. (Aris 1994)
Printed with permission
from Aleph Book Company