In Search of Sikkim: a Family Pilgrimage

By Cherry Cooke

An English family travel from a small town in Norfolk in search of Rumtek Monastery, in Sikkim. When the Karma Kagya sect fled Tibet, from the invading Chinese in 1959, they carried their ancient relics, statues and sacred objects across the Himalayas. Andrew, Cherry, and five-year-old son Thomas, go in search of this Shangri-la, carrying notebooks, pens, a globe and educational books for the young monks of Rumtek. They cannot get there unless they travel, illegally, on a donkey, across the mountains. So instead, staying with two Tibetan girls, and their old father, they find a much greater treasure...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amolibros
• Release date: Jan 21, 2016
• ISBN: 9781908557889

Cherry Cooke

Cherry Cooke has been a practising Tibetan Buddhist since ‘taking refuge’ with the Venerable Lama Chime Rinpoche in 1985. She teaches yoga and meditation, and runs aromatherapy courses. She was married to the late Andrew Cooke for twenty-five years, has a son and grand-daughter, and lives in Norfolk.

Book preview

Chapter One

We Arrive

I wake up in Delhi to the sounds of a street caller advertising his wares. It sounds like ‘Heylia rose, Heylia rose, Heylia r-oo-ss-ee!’ A green light is filtering through the mosquito net of the bedroom window. The air even sounds warm; insects buzzing, birds twittering and I lift the curtain and see that the sky is a brilliant blue and the air perfectly still. The bedroom windows are wide open, with giant pot plants on the sills, adding to the green of the light in the room.

Radha’s bedroom is an absolute delight. We are snuggling under Indian quilts, mine a red one with a rich pattern. Her toy shelves display elephants, the statue of Siva, a little shrine, sequinned cushions, plus the usual toys and books of a five-year-old. This is an embroidered picture of a cockerel, also a vintage care in embroidery hanging over the bathroom door, which is en-suite to her room. Thomas is most surprised when he switches on one switch on the mass of switches on the wall and a fan starts whirring overhead.

Navin has roused us at midday, so that we adjust to ‘Indian time’. It’s difficult to wake up, but we are lured by the sun and the promise of being taken on a picnic. We dress in short sleeves, I slip into sandals; what a pleasant change after the heavy boots and thick socks required in England in December.

The drive to Lodi Gardens, where we are to picnic, is an absolute feast for ears, eyes and nose. Meera’s parents leisurely drive us through spacious embassy-lined avenues, filling us in with interesting details, which we would have missed had we not been with them. We cannot work out which side of the road traffic drives on. We conclude it is mostly leftish. And what a mixture of users of the road. Apart from the statuesque cows, which remain motionless in the road, there are taxis, three-wheeler taxis, private cars mostly of the same Indian make, bicycles, scooters, motor-bikes and the occasional horse or camel. Everything hurtles along like the bumper cars at the fun fair. I decide to look out of the side window instead of the front windscreen! Each side of the road are gutters, beyond which many people seem to be living, selling, waiting for buses. There are beautiful trees and colours along the sides of the road, but the poverty is always evident. A bare-footed child clothed in rages, hair matted with dirt, beggars with one arm, or one leg, or one eye, or blind, people living in rubbish dumps. It is all sickeningly familiar to what Andrew and I have experienced in Nigeria.

Our thoughts turn to more pleasant things when we arrive at Lodi Gardens. This is obviously the place for Sunday picnics. We unload our picnic. A saucepan or two covered with a tea-towel, a basket of Coke and fizzy drinks, and off we go to meet a relative or two. There are plenty of squirrels running up the trees and along the bridges. They remind me of the ghettos in Nigeria. Their darting movements seem to emphasise that they are rather sly creatures. The grass and trees and flowers vibrate in the sunshine, mixing with the vivid colours of the saris worn by the women.

A large gathering of Meera’s and Navin’s family is assembling by a tree. We have already met Meera’s parents, and are now introduced to Navin’s parents, some ex-army friends of their parents, various sisters and brothers-in-law, and cousins. Many of these people have studied in Britain or the USA and have or have had good jobs. One lady has her own laboratory in Delhi and works as a pathologist freelance. It is clear that we are mixing with