Maroon Robes of Sadness

We got up at 4 am today.

They were most likely already up as a group of seven of us Ashatangis entered the SUV. We journeyed across dark Indian countryside to the encampment of Tibeten refugees about 60 miles north of Mysore. Its name: Bylekuppe, the first settlement granted by the Indian government after the Chinese overran Tibet in 1958. (Where was my country then?) We arrived at dark and watched the sunrise in empty and massive temples.

Amazing; and I at last had my contemplative temple experience in India courtesy of Tibet.

Around seven am the grade school boys filed into a smallish temple and began the chants. Armed with clickers, bells, their voices, one huge drum and 3 or 4 wild sounding horns they recreated the music for the end of the world for an hour and a half. Their sweet discipline, their young faces, blended to create a sense of hope for their future. As well as sadness that they shall not know their true home in the roof of the world.

Boycott Chinese goods.

Is that even remotely possible? What isn't "made in china"?

One thing is for certain: injustice in a deep shade of burgundy and saffron.