“Evokingly and sharply the arrows whistle across the gully from out the bamboo grove,” Nicholas Roerich wrote in the opening lines of a chapter on Sikkim in his travelogue Altai-Himalaya. “The Sikkimese remember their favourite ancient pastimes. One says: ‘The arrow is better than a bullet. It sings as it strikes, while the bullet screeches as it flies outward.’”
Roerich, a Russian painter, writer and philosopher, travelled to the Kingdom of Sikkim in early 1924, some months after his arrival in India with his wife Helena and sons Yuri and Svetoslav. It was the family’s first visit to the country, but their deep knowledge of Hindu texts and Buddhist doctrines bred a sense of familiarity. India is where they would eventually settle down.
The Kingdom of Sikkim was ruled by Chogyal Tashi Namgyal at the time. Nestled in snow-covered Himalayas, and largely isolated from the world, it was pristine and unspoilt. A delighted Roerich would write glowingly about its flora and fauna, about visiting its ancient monasteries and meeting its knowledgeable lamas. He fell in love with it.
“Deep ravines and grotesque hills rear up to the cloud-line, into which melts the smoke of villages and monasteries,” he said. “Upon the heights gleam banners, suburgans or stupas. The ascending mountain passes curve with sharp turns. Eagles vie in their flight with the colourful kites flown by the villagers. In the bamboo-stalks and amid the fern the sleek body of a tiger or a leopard adds a glimmer of rich supplementary colour. On the branches skulk the dwarfed bears; and a horde of bearded monkeys often escorts the solitary pilgrim.”
First glimpse
Before coming to India, Nicholas Roerich, Helena and Svetoslav had lived in the United States for three years. They were in Finland during the outbreak of the Bolshevik Revolution and did not live in Russia after the emergence of the Soviet Union.
The Roerichs crossed the Atlantic in May 1923. Yuri joined the rest of his family in Paris and together they set sail for India from Marseilles via Egypt, the Suez Canal and Ceylon. Their point of entry in the country was Dhanushkodi.
“Somewhere the Hindus, enveloped in their mantles, were compared to Roman senators,” Roerich wrote. “This is an inane comparison. Rather liken them to the philosophers of Greece, and still better, call them the creators of the Upanishads, Bhagavad-Gita and Mahabharata. For neither Rome nor Greece existed when India was flourishing. And the latest excavations begin to support this indisputable deduction.”
This was a time of great political churn in India. Its intellectual elite was increasingly calling for social change. As Roerich noted, “Rabindranath Tagore, in a talk with Gandhi, spoke against castes. Out of the mouth of a Brahmin this avowal is significant. Many significant and beautiful signs.”
The Roerichs travelled to many parts of India, including Madurai, Bombay and Benares, before leaving for Calcutta. Their plan was to head to Darjeeling. “In December, we want to go into the Himalayas,” Roerich wrote. “We are regarded with astonishment: ‘But now there is snow!’ Snow is feared. Whereas the only time for the Himalayas is from November to February. Already in March the curtain of fog rises. From May to August only rarely and for brief periods can one see the entire glimmering range of snow; and truly such grandeur is nowhere paralleled.”
They got their first glimpse of the Himalayas from Siliguri, where, according to Roerich, “the white giants appear before you as the first messengers”. The painter was a bit disappointed with his first views of Darjeeling. “Is it necessary to seek the Himalayas in order to find merely a corner of Switzerland?”
The family settled down in Darjeeling, renting a house that once hosted the 13th Dalai Lama. “Not just on one occasion were we awakened by the chanting and the rhythmic beats around the house,” Roerich said. “These are the lamas who, bowing to the ground many times, marched around our dwelling.”
The Roerichs spent the last few weeks of 1923 and the first weeks of the new year in Darjeeling. Their horse groomer was a Kshatriya and their cook was an Arya Samaji who would preach to others in the kitchen. It irritated Roerich that he had to keep a large staff because of the caste system. “It reaches absurdity,” he wrote. “The porter does not clean the path. Why? It appears that according to caste, he is a blacksmith and has no right to take a broom into his hand. Otherwise he will become defiled and become a sweeper. He solves the problem in a very original fashion. He begins to brush around the garden with five fingers, creeping along the ground.”
Snowy landscape
The family managed to get the required permissions to enter Sikkim in January 1924. Away from the colonial atmosphere of Darjeeling, it felt a mystical land to the family, not unlike Tibet or Bhutan.
Seeing a stately larch next to blooming rhododendrons, Roerich would write: “Above this synthetic picture, it is strange, unexpectedly startling, to behold new ramparts mounting the clouds. Above the nebulous waves, above the twilight, glimmer the sparkling snows. Erect, infinitely beautiful, stand these dazzling, impassable peaks. Two distinct worlds, intersected by a mist!”
Standing by the Rangeet River, he noted how the Himalayan chain had 16 peaks that were taller than Mont Blanc. “From this superb prospect, one obtains an especially enthralling impression of the grandeur of the Himalayas – ‘Dwelling of the Snows.’ To the side of the ascent, the summits merge into one implacable wall – the jagged unending ridge of the Sacred Lizard. It is difficult to discern that just at that point are hidden the snowy summits of Jelep-la and Nathu-la on the way to Shigatse and Lhasa – the fog seems especially often to envelop this road.”
The Roerichs travelled across Sikkim on horseback, going to places that had never been previously visited by outsiders. “Intricate are the mountain paths with their many turns,” the Russian philosopher wrote. “How many are the earth-covered pits under the horse’s hooves! Many are the intercrossing currents and streams, with the torpid dampness under the green-blue foliage. Truly many are the serpents beneath the flowers. And the language of the murmuring foliage is incomprehensible.”
Being in a place with scarce electricity and pristine air meant that the family could stargaze at night. “Early are the stars aglow here,” Roerich wrote. “Toward the East, undiminished, flames the triple constellation of Orion, this astonishing constellation which finds its way through all the teachings. In the archives of the old observatories, undoubtedly much remarkable data could be found about it. The cuts which surround some constellations such as the Bear and Orion amaze you with their widespread popularity.”
Simple lives
Roerich seemed to admire the kingdom’s rural population. “Out of the forest walks a peasant and his head is adorned with white flowers. Where is this possible? Only in Sikkim.”
He questioned the Western understanding of poverty. “Are the inhabitants of Sikkim poor?” he asked, before answering himself, “Where there are no riches, there is no poverty.”
He described in some detail the simple and fulfilling lives of ordinary Sikkimese. “Upon the hills, amidst blossoming trees, stand the quiet little houses. Through the coloured branches shine the bright stars and glimmer the snow-covered peaks. Here are people carrying their vegetables; here they pasture their cattle and smile kindly. Here with fairly-like music they walk along the steep paths in wedding processions. Knowing of reincarnations they quietly cremate the bodies. And they are singing. Mark, they are often singing.”
He noticed hardworking Lepcha porters carrying rocks up mountains on their backs and wondered how it was “possible to overload a body four-feet high with such an immeasurable burden of stones. Yet, instead of groans, you hear laughter from under the bent back. Much laughter is heard in Sikkim. The further one goes towards Tibet, the more communicative are the people. And the more often one hears singing accompanied by a pleasantry.”
The Russian philosopher felt it was easy for the Sikkimese to sing, given the beauty of the place. “Verily, one can sing under a canopy of various flowers and plants,” he wrote. “Orchids, like colourful eyes, cling to the trunks of the giant trees. Pink, purple and yellow bouquets are strewn along the way like bright sparks. And these are not simply plants; many have their ancient powers of healing.”
Complex rituals
The family, and Roerich in particular, relished visiting the kingdom’s monasteries. They were in Sikkim to welcome the Lunar New Year. “He who has known the approaches to the old monasteries and ancient town sites in Russia, with their blossoming hills and fragrant pine groves, will understand the feeling on the approach to Sikkim,” Roerich wrote. “I always repeat that if you want to see a beautiful spot, ask the inhabitants of the town to point out the most ancient site.”
The family undertook the arduous trek to Tashiding Monastery, one of the most revered in Sikkim, not long after its trail had been transformed into steep footpaths. Roerich described on the way crossing a suspended bamboo bridge that was particularly perilous: “Below, the mountain river rushes and roars, bearing down the icy current from Kanchenjunga. And above the bridge, on the steep slope, you pause many times: Shall I at last arrive? One must hold one’s breath to conquer this age-old mountain.”
The Russians were welcomed to the monastery with ale, sugarcane and tangerines, and to the sound of drums, gongs and trumpets. “Amidst the rows of a colourful crowd, you reach the ancient place,” Roerich said. “Behind the gates of the monastery, in purple garments, the lamas receive you. In the front row, a venerable old man, head lama of the monastery, stands like a delicately carved image of the 15th century.”
Roerich vividly described the monasteries and their complex rituals. “Especially touching is the service of the thousand lights, in the evening, in the low frescoed temple, with its columns and ornamented beams,” he wrote. “In the centre is a long table in which fires are set; along the walls also stand rows of lights, and this sea of fires caressingly undulates and sways, wrapped in a veil of smoke from the sandalwood, wild mint and other fragrances, which are consumed in the urns. During this service the singing, too, is of exquisite harmony.”
Roerich’s brief stay in Sikkim made him really happy. It turned out to be just the beginning of a series of illuminating travels in the 1920s. In that decade, the family visited Ladakh, crossed the Karakoram Pass and travelled east into Tibet and onwards to China, Mongolia and beyond until the Russian region of Altai.
In his chapter on Sikkim, Roerich left a piece of advice for every traveller: “Do not record the things which can be read in books but those which are related to you in person; for those thoughts are the living ones. Not by the book but by the thought shall you judge life. Understand the sparks of the primordial bliss.”
Ajay Kamalakaran is a writer, primarily based in Mumbai. His Twitter handle is @ajaykamalakaran.
