Not Rest in Peace; Here, Peace Lives and Guns Rest
Buddha Dordenma statue (Thimpu)-
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I recently travelled to Bhutan, that tranquil Himalayan kingdom often described as the happiest country in the world. From the moment I crossed the border, a sense of calm descended — the kind that makes you lower your voice and breathe a little slower. The streets were astonishingly quiet, free of the constant honking that forms the background score of most South Asian cities. Having come from Calcutta, where chaos is a form of art, this silence felt almost sacred.
Our journey wound through Thimphu, Punakha, and Paro — three small but graceful towns that the Bhutanese proudly call cities. Thimphu, the capital, charms you with its clean boulevards, traditional architecture, and the calm dignity of its people. On a misty morning, we stood before the colossal Buddha Dordenma statue overlooking the valley, its golden surface glinting softly through clouds. The view below — rolling hills dotted with red-roofed houses and fluttering prayer flags — looked like a painting in motion.
Typical Stupas (at Dochula Pass)
From Thimphu, we drove through mountain roads edged with pine forests to Punakha, where two rivers meet beneath the magnificent Pungtang Dechen Photrang Dzong. The fortress-monastery rises at the confluence of the Pho Chhu and Mo Chhu rivers, its whitewashed walls and golden spires mirrored in the calm waters below. Here, time seems to have slowed down centuries ago, and nobody has felt the need to hurry it up again.
A couple of times, we had lunch with traditional Bhutanese families. One memorable host was Ms. Aum Toeb Zam, who welcomed us into her beautifully kept home with a spotless kitchen and a warm smile. Her food — simple, hearty, and served with quiet pride — reflected the Bhutanese way of life itself: unpretentious, nourishing, and filled with grace. She serves authentic home-cooked meals at very reasonable prices, making you feel less like a tourist and more like a guest of the land.
Host family - Lunch - @ Ms. Aum Toeb Zam
Spotless Kitchen of Ms. Aum Toeb Zam
The final leg of our journey took us to Paro — and to the pilgrimage every visitor dreams of: the hike to the Tiger’s Nest Monastery. Perched precariously on a cliff more than 10,000 feet above sea level, it looks as if suspended between heaven and earth. The climb was demanding, but every step was a meditation — pine-scented air, the sound of mountain streams, and the slow rhythm of one’s own breath. When we finally reached the monastery, shrouded in mist, the stillness was so complete that even our thoughts seemed to whisper.
Tiger’s Nest Monastery
With less than a million inhabitants, Bhutan’s population is smaller than that of a typical Indian district. Yet the country feels vast in spirit. Here, governance and spirituality are not opposing forces but partners in a shared quest for collective well-being. The philosophy of Gross National Happiness isn’t just a slogan — it is reflected in the people’s unhurried pace, their quiet sense of pride, and their ability to find contentment in simply having enough.
The Monk and the Gun - 9/10 -
Film directed, written and co-produced by Pawo Choyning Dorji
Last night I watched the film The Monk and the Gun — and it turned out to be the perfect reflection of the Bhutan I had just experienced. I had expected another exotic portrayal crafted through a Western lens — the kind that assumes the foreigner “discovers” meaning for the so-called underdeveloped world. Instead, without preaching or pretension, the film gently dismantles such clichés through quiet humour and subtle insight, like the precise touch of an acupuncturist.
Set in 2006, when Bhutan was preparing to transition to democracy, the story follows the King’s initiative to teach his people the process of voting. A mock election is organized with three artificial parties — Yellow, Blue, and Red. The people are told to be loyal to their chosen colour and oppose the others. Yet, in a beautifully naïve logic, the villagers wonder why they should be hostile at all. In the end, they vote unanimously for “Yellow” — the King’s colour — their way of expressing loyalty through love, not division.
The narrative deepens when an American arrives in search of an antique rifle once used in the civil war. He offers an enormous sum to a humble farmer. The farmer, however, declines, feeling it wrong to take such a large amount, when he needs so little. Instead, he gifts the rifle to his Guru, the Lama, saying simply, “He has kept me and our village safe and prosperous through his meditation and prayers.”
What follows is a poetic reversal of values. The gun, appraised at $85,000, becomes an offering of gratitude rather than greed. By the film’s end, the Lama, the foreigner, the young monk, government officials, teh police and the guide come together to symbolically renounce weapons. They entomb the rifle — along with two smuggled AK-47s — in the foundation of a new stupa dedicated to peace and harmony. In a gesture both humorous and profound, the Lama gifts the foreigner a large wooden phallus — a traditional Bhutanese symbol of fertility and fearlessness — as if to replace the gun’s violence with life itself.
I would recommend The Monk and the Gun to anyone seeking calm in a noisy world. It speaks of peace, simplicity, and the freedom that comes from wanting less. For audiences numbed by Hollywood and Bollywood’s endless gunfire, this film turns the weapon into a quiet teacher — one that makes us smile even as it makes us think.
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