Fasting into Stillness: My First Nyungne Retreat at Dolma Lhakhang Bhuntar

             

Participants of the Nyungne retreat at Dolma Lhakhang, Bhuntar, including Togden La, lamas from TashiJong Monastery, Gelongmas from Dongyu Gatsal Ling Nunnery, and members of Khampa community. 

 

  

The night before the retreat, I packed a blanket, some clothes and a few essentials into my bag. I knew that the next two days would be different from my usual routine, but I did not quite know what to expect. 

My alarm rang at 4am.

By 4:30 me and my mother started walking. The village was asleep and the sky completely dark. As we walked dawn started to unfold and the sky softened into shades of blue green. The walk took about twenty-five minutes. By the time we reached Dolma Lhakhang the world looked entirely different from where we left. What had begun in darkness ended in the gentle light of morning.

                                                                                           

I remember feeling a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty. Ahead of me was my first Nyungne retreat, a practice of prayers, fasting, silence, prostrations and compassion that I had heard about but never experienced.

For those unfamiliar with the practice, Nyungne is a two-day purification retreat centered around the eleven-faced, thousand-armed Chenrezig (Avalokiteshvara), Bodhisattva of Compassion. It includes fasting, mantra recitation, meditation, prostrations, offerings, and opening the heart for compassion. 

On the first day, one meal is taken between 12:00 pm and 1:00 pm, water is allowed and participants are told to avoid unnecessary talking. On the second day, no meal, no drinking, or talking is allowed. The day has to be spent in complete silence and on the third day's morning the fasting is ended.

Image of Avalokiteshvara

                                                                   

After that I straight went to the hall assigned for sleeping. When I entered, everyone was awake; I greeted them all, kept my belongings in a corner and then stepped out to do Kora (parikrama). The only sounds we could hear were our footsteps and cheerful chirping of common tailorbird and warblers awakening with the dawn. The deep soothing ring of the prayer wheel drifted through the morning air, slow and resonant, lingering for a few moments before fading into silence. There was something meditative about it, inviting the mind to settle and be in the present. The sound seemed to accompany us, making the Kora feel like part of the practice itself.

Everyone gradually settled into the prayer hall as Togden la, Gelongmas and the lamas took their places. The morning prayers began and continued for several hours. When we finally paused, I was convinced it must have been noon, perhaps even one in the afternoon. Curious, I checked the time and was surprised to find it was only 9 in the morning. The realization made me smile, I thought to myself if I wake up this early every day, half of my work would probably complete even before 9 in the morning. The morning already felt full and productive, yet the day had already begun.

After the break came the prostrations. The Umzey (chanting leader) Gelongma Jigmey Chodron, began chanting the Jigsten Gonbo prayer. As the recitation started, everyone rose to perform prostrations according to their own physical abilities, continuing until the prayer was complete.

Geylongma Jigmey Chosdron as Umzey

Participants doing prostrations

What amazed me the most was watching the elderly women of the Khampa Society. Many of them were decades older than me, yet they continued their prostrations with remarkable determination. There were moments when my own body asked for rest, when my arms and legs felt heavy and tired. Yet every time I looked around, I saw these women continuing with unwavering strength and devotion. We did the prostrations two more times throughout the day before the prayers concluded around 6pm. 

Unlike the second day participants are allowed to eat on the first day. Meals were lovingly prepared by members of the society. Their efforts reminded me that a spiritual practice is rarely an individual undertaking; it is often supported by a community working quietly in the background.

During one of the teachings, Togden La shared something that stayed with me throughout the retreat. He explained that those who participate in the practice and those who support it whether by preparing food, arranging the prayer hall, or helping in other ways accumulate the same blessings and merit. It was a simple yet profound reminder that every contribution matters. Not everyone sits in the prayer hall reciting prayers, but everyone plays a role in making the practice possible.

As the prayers of the first day ended, we were given a few drops of Bhumchu, a sacred blessed water. We were instructed to drink it before sleeping and abstain from eating, drinking or talking with each other until the day after tomorrow. 

Everyone began preparing their beds; some quietly reciting their prayers, others went outside to perform koras, and some slept early conserving their energy for the next day. 

The next day people were awake by 4am. The room was completely silent; they shared glances and smiled, but no one spoke. I usually have the habit of drinking water as soon as I wake up but that morning I didn't felt like drinking. 

The mantra reciting, teaching and three rounds of prostrations throughout the day remained the same as the first day, but the only difference was talking, drinking and food was not allowed. 

Later in the day somebody placed a pack of water bottles in front of me at the praying hall. The single sight of water was enough to trigger an urge to drink. At night, I saw a pipe with flowing water, for a brief moment I thought no one is around, perhaps I could just take a few sips. The thought surprised me. It appeared so quickly and felt so convincing. Yet almost immediately another thought followed. I had already completed nearly sixteen hours of the practice. Only a few more hours remained until morning.

Standing there, I realized that Nyungne was not only a test of the body but also a lesson in observing the mind. The thirst was real, but so was the stream of thoughts trying to negotiate, justify, and seek comfort. For a few moments, I simply stood there watching those thoughts arise and pass away. Then I turned away from the water and returned to the prayer hall.

That night thirst stayed with me. We were expected to return to the prayer hall by 6 a.m. the following morning. Before going to sleep, I remember thinking that I would not wake up at 4 a.m. as I had the previous day. The longer I stayed awake, the more aware I became of my thirst, and I felt that sleeping a little longer might make the final hours easier. When I eventually woke, the feeling of thirst remained. Even after entering the prayer hall and settling for the morning prayers, I could still feel it.

We were again given Bhumchu to drink that marked we were allowed to drink. After nearly two days of fasting and abstaining from water, I took a long drink. It is difficult to describe how refreshing that first sip felt. Water, something so ordinary in daily life, suddenly felt precious. Soon after, we were served a nourishing drink that resembled a thick porridge, prepared using lassi, crushed dry fruits, and sattu. The practice was not yet over, the prayers continued and we once again started our prostrations. 

Finally, at around 9 a.m., the concluding prayers came to an end, and breakfast was served. I saw the buffet and thought I would easily eat 4 paranthas, after all I have been without food for a long time. But when I sat down to eat the experience was completely different. As I took the first bite, swallowing felt surprisingly difficult. It was almost as if my throat had forgotten its usual routine. I found myself eating carefully and much more slowly than usual. I could not help but laugh at myself. The feast I had pictured in my mind never happened.

It was another small lesson from the retreat. Sometimes our minds create elaborate expectations about what will satisfy us, only for reality to be far simpler. A modest breakfast, a drink of water, and the knowledge that I had completed the practice felt more than enough.

While most of the participants headed home after completing, me and my mother made our way to the uppermost floor of Dolma Lhakhang. The shrine room is home to 21 beautiful statues of the Twenty-One Dolmas (Taras), one of the most revered manifestations of compassion and enlightened activity in Tibetan Buddhism. After the intensity of the previous two days, standing before the shrine felt peaceful and grounding.

Later we joined the lamas preparing for another important event. In the evening around sixty lamas from Shedra Tashi Jong were expected to arrive for the annual reading of the Kangyur, the collection of the Buddha's teachings preserved in the Tibetan Buddhist tradition. Although we had just completed two days of fasting, prayers, and prostrations, it felt good to lend a hand.

Looking back, I found it meaningful that my experience of Nyungne ended this way. After spending two days focused inward observing my thoughts, my cravings, and my reactions, the final hours were spent helping with something larger than myself.

Togden Tsawa Lama

                                                                       

As I conclude this reflection, I would like to express my heartfelt gratitude to Togden La, popularly known as Tsawa Lama of Tashi Jong Monastery. This Nyungne retreat was made possible through his guidance, blessings, and unwavering dedication to the Dharma. Having spent 32 years in intensive meditation retreat, Togden La has devoted his life to spiritual practice and the welfare of all beings. I am deeply grateful for the opportunity to participate in this practice under his guidance. 

My sincere thanks also go to the lamas, the nuns, members of the Khampa Society, and everyone who worked quietly behind the scenes to make the retreat possible. Their efforts, generosity, and devotion reminded me that spiritual practice is not only sustained by those leading it, but also by the community that supports it.

I also recorded a Chöd practice that, as I was told, is performed within the traditions of Tashi Jong Monastery and Dongyu Gatsa Ling Nunnery. The Chöd text was composed by the Third Khamtrul Rinpoche (1680–1728) and remains a cherished part of the living spiritual heritage.

The women of the Khampa Society also participated in the practice as they have been specially taught by Gelongma Tsultrim Palmo and Gelongma Jigmey Chosdron. Watching the chant being passed on and practiced by the next generation of practitioners was a reminder that traditions survive not only through texts and monasteries, but through people who dedicate themselves to learning, practicing, and sharing them.

I recorded the chant in the hope that it may serve as a small contribution to documenting and preserving this tradition. This sacred practice continues to be transmitted through the dedication of teachers, monks, nuns, and lay practitioners who keep these teachings alive through study, practice, and community.

As I left Dolma Lhakhang that day, carrying my blanket and belongings back down the path, I felt grateful—not only for completing the retreat, but for the lessons it offered in patience, discipline, community, and gratitude. Long after the thirst faded and the prayers ended, those lessons remained.