The Barefoot Surgeon Read online

  around his knees, 90- year- old Sonam can give an imperson-

  ation of the large, upright creature’s high- pitched cry that will make every hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

  Although almost half a century ago, Sonam’s close encoun-

  ters with the abominable snowmen are still fresh in his mind.

  ‘They were very big but very shy. They scuttled behind rocks

  whenever we came close.’

  As a travel- hardened salt trader who spent his working

  life making the dangerous trip up to Tibet through the

  Himalayas, Sonam had plenty of stories for his son when he

  returned home. Sanduk would listen wide- eyed with wonder

  as his father told him about skirmishes with bandits, using

  guns and knives that he kept hidden in saddle bags. He told

  his son about the giant cairns of prayer stones, carved with

  the ancient Buddhist blessing Om Mani Padme Hum, which means ‘may the guru remain in your heart forevermore’.

  His father gave accounts of the elusive snow leopards,

  black bears, blue sheep and flying squirrels renowned in the

  region. He told him about the ‘little folk’, men less than one-foot high living in remote gorges. And about the yogis living in caves set high up in the cliffs, who had practised meditation for so long that they had mastered the art of levitation.

  Sonam shared these anecdotes about his caravan trade

  around the hearth of his family’s simple timber house in

  2

  The Barefoot Surgeon_TXT.indd 2

  9/5/18 2:23 pm

  the barefoot surgeon

  Walung, topped with prayer flags. They were stories of a

  unique, almost mythical world which has since disappeared.

  Despite the sub- zero temperatures and knee- high snow

  throughout the winter, the village had survived for centuries because it was the stepping stone to a trade route between

  Nepal and Tibet. Sonam and the other traders would be away

  for months at a time, bringing back hand- woven carpets,

  wool, turquoise, coral and, most importantly, hessian bags

  crammed with salt. On their return, after staying home in

  Walung for two or three nights, they would head south,

  selling these precious goods in Nepal and further afield in

  Calcutta, India. Months later, they would return with coveted possessions from the subcontinent: grain, paint, biscuits, dyes and cooking equipment.

  Sonam’s livelihood came to an end after China began occu-

  pying Tibet in the 1950s, when the smaller passes were closed and trade was diverted to larger, more official routes near

  Kathmandu. But before that, these slow, swaying proces-

  sions of yaks and dzos (a Tibetan- bred half- cow, half- yak), were the villagers’ only connection with the outside world.

  Like all the other children in the village, Sanduk regarded the traders as swashbuckling heroes; they would arrive wearing

  thick mountaineering goggles on their shaggy ponies, bringing clouds of dust and fabulous tales from afar. Their arrival was the main event in town. Everyone would cram onto their

  timber verandas as soon they heard the jangling chorus of

  yak bells, whistles and shouts that would herald their arrival.

  Sonam was the last of six generations who had plied their

  trade between Tibet and Calcutta after migrating to Walung.

  Like his forebears, he survived through rugged practicality,

  3

  The Barefoot Surgeon_TXT.indd 3

  9/5/18 2:23 pm

  ali gripper

  physical strength, and a reputation for straightforwardness in his dealings with everybody.

  In 1950, when he was 25, Sonam married a striking,

  quietly confident 20- year- old woman named Kasang Doma

  Ukyab. Kasang was the daughter of the head of the village,

  Goba Dorji Namgyal Ukyab, otherwise known as ‘Goba’.

  The Ukyab family had also lived in Walung for more than six

  generations after migrating from Tibet.

  But, like so many other families living in a remote commu-

  nity far from medical care, tragedy struck relentlessly. When Sonam and Kasang’s first son was three years old, an epidemic of diarrhoea swept through the community. Sanduk’s elder

  brother was one of its victims. Being devout Buddhists, his

  heartbroken parents went to the village monastery every day

  to pray for another son. When Kasang gave birth to another

  boy a year later, in 1954, they felt he was the answer to their prayers. As she was in labour, Kasang remembers having a

  vision of a bright blue sky filled with fluttering white cere-monial scarves. Seeing this as an auspicious sign, she named

  him Sanduk, or ‘Dragon of the Sky’. He was to be powerful,

  this one.

  As was the custom of that era, Sonam, being the second son

  in his family, was originally destined to become a Buddhist

  monk. He did spend several years steeped in monastic life,

  but the death of his elder brother meant he ended up joining

  his father as a salt trader instead. Those years immersed

  in the teachings and practice of Buddhism made a lasting

  impression on him; for the rest of his life, his devotion to

  the teachings has remained unshaken. One of Sanduk’s first

  memories is waking before dawn to the sound of his father’s

  4

  The Barefoot Surgeon_TXT.indd 4

  9/5/18 2:23 pm

  the barefoot surgeon

  soft chanting and the comforting clicking of his mala, or wooden prayer beads. Every morning and evening, Sonam

  would sit at his small shrine next to the fireplace, praying to the Dalai Lama and his main teacher, Guru Rinpoche, one

  of the most powerful figures in the Buddhist faith, revered for bringing Buddhism to Tibet in the 9th century.

  Despite the fact that Sonam took his responsibilities as a

  father seriously, his relationship with his son was never particularly affectionate. He was much more of a strict, controlling autocrat, someone Sanduk both feared and revered.

  ‘When I was mischievous and misbehaved—which was

  often—Sonam would whip the back of my legs with wet

  nettle leaves,’ he says. ‘It stung like crazy.’

  ‘I was naughty, no doubt about that. When I broke my

  right arm, skylarking about on the back of a dzo, the monks

  wrapped it up tightly in a bamboo splint. But I couldn’t

  wait to throw stones at the peach and walnut trees again, so

  I started using my left arm instead.’

  Within a week after his accident, Sanduk became ambi-

  dextrous, using his left hand for rough or heavy work, and

  his right for fine detail and precision—a tremendous occupa-

  tional bonus for a future surgeon.

  Photographs from that time show Sonam to be a man of

  noble bearing, sporting a moustache and a long woollen tunic

  and hat, his long black hair tied back with ribbons. On special occasions, he would don gold earrings.

  Despite Sonam’s gruffness, he taught his children to be

  gentle with all living creatures. ‘He would save the life of

  a beetle, or an ant, if he had to,’ Sanduk says. ‘He’d pick

  tiny creatures up from stone paths to save them from being

  5

  The Barefoot Surgeon_TXT.indd 5

  9/5/18 2:23 pm

  ali gripper

  trodden on. He had an old mule which he patted and kept

  downstairs behind our home, even though it was of no use as

  a packhorse a
nymore.’

  Even more intimidating than his father was Sanduk’s

  maternal grandfather, Goba. He was a legendary figure, the

  unofficial magistrate of the village. ‘He would deliver justice from the veranda of his house, handing out punishments off

  the top of his head. He’d yell out “Give him 50 whips!” to

  an accused man brought before him, often with his hands

  tied behind him. Or he’d say, “Make him pay this much as a

  fine!” We were all absolutely terrified of him.’

  Shut off from the rest of the world, life carried on in Walung implacably, as it had for centuries. There was no television, no electricity, no telephone and no radio. And there was no

  access to a medical clinic, doctor, hospital, or even traditional healers.

  ‘If someone contracted a serious disease, they spent their

  remaining time waiting to die,’ he recalls. Sanduk’s home

  was like all the others in the village; the ground floor was for storing stacks of firewood, giant hessian bags of salt, and dried animal dung that would be used for fuel. A slippery, steep log ladder led to the first floor, where an open fire was always

  burning or flickering; at night, the coals were left to smoulder, and the fire was lit first thing in the morning. Kasang would cook potatoes with cheese, porridge, or brew salted butter

  tea. To one side was a giant copper jar used to store water,

  and behind it was a cupboard for precious belongings such

  as new clothes, biscuits, chocolate, and candles made out of

  vegetable oil.

  On the upstairs veranda, a sprig of juniper would be

  6

  The Barefoot Surgeon_TXT.indd 6

  9/5/18 2:23 pm

  the barefoot surgeon

  burning aromatically. Once a month Kasang would bathe

  Sanduk, gently pouring warm water from a saucepan over

  her son as he sat on the veranda.

  Every sound Sanduk heard, save the grong- grong of the yak’s bells and the constant chanting and drum beats from

  the monastery, was that of nature: the rushing of the Tamor

  River, the caw of black crows, the wind in the birch and

  juniper trees, the crackle of fire. Elsewhere in the world,

  giant technological strides were being made. Russia and

  the United States were launching their first astronauts into

  space. Wealthy Londoners and New Yorkers were crossing

  the Atlantic on the first passenger jet planes. Sanduk and his siblings and friends heard about these great events from the

  magazines the yak traders unpacked from their saddle bags

  after they had returned from India.

  But what his family lacked in material goods and modern

  technology was made up for with a sense of being deeply

  loved. His mother was fiercely protective of Sanduk because

  of what had happened to her firstborn. ‘She brought me up

  on biscuits and chocolates,’ Sanduk is fond of saying.

  In the winter, as the temperature plummeted below zero for

  months on end, icicles would encrust the village houses. The

  drinking water would freeze, and the mighty Tamor River

  that rushed through the village became grey with melted

  glacial water. The days were short. The family would rise at

  dawn, spend much of the day sitting on low benches around

  the fire, wrapped in quilts and blankets, and go to bed when

  night fell. At night, Sonam would sit on the end of his bed by the fire, with a yak blanket around his knees, sipping tongba, a homemade brew of warm fermented millet renowned for

  7

  The Barefoot Surgeon_TXT.indd 7

  9/5/18 2:23 pm

  ali gripper

  warding off the cold and altitude sickness. Kasang would

  spin wool and weave cloth.

  ‘She was always dressed in a silk blouse under a tradi-

  tional Tibetan tunic, and the striped apron or pangi that all the married women wore. She wore a yak’s wool jumper

  in the winter, and her hair was centrally parted, with plaits on either side. She was very dignified and quiet. She was very devoted to us,’ he says.

  Sanduk used to share a mattress with her in one corner

  of the living room, and his father would sleep in the other

  corner. They slept under thick, padded quilts made out of yak wool known as chuktuks. ‘It was very cosy because we’d all be sleeping around the fire, listening to the roar of the Tamor River outside.’

  Although they didn’t display their affection, and it was an

  arranged marriage, there was undoubtedly love between his

  parents. Whenever traders came through the town, Kasang

  would bail them up, anxious for news of her husband. ‘Where

  did you meet him?’ she’d ask. ‘How was he? Where was he?

  Was he in good health?’

  Sanduk’s older cousin, Tenzing Ukyab, who grew up with

  him in Olanchungola (known locally as ‘Gola’), recalls, ‘She

  was a very loving person, especially to me, as well as her own children. She was very confident of herself, just like her father.

  She commanded respect from all. She was very good looking

  as a young lady and was always dignified and gracious as she

  grew older.’ After Ukyab lost his mother, he regarded Kasang

  as his guardian and would ask her for advice. ‘She didn’t

  receive any formal education but she was extremely intelli-

  gent and thoughtful.’

  8

  The Barefoot Surgeon_TXT.indd 8

  9/5/18 2:23 pm

  the barefoot surgeon

  Sanduk’s maternal grandmother doted on him too. ‘She

  called me bhu, which means ‘little son’, and she’d also spoil me with lollies. I remember lying in bed with her as she sang lullabies to me.’

  His younger sister Yangla, born two years later in 1956,

  was his first childhood companion. They played long imag-

  inative games on the rocks by the river, cuddled the toy- like baby dzos or disappeared into the rhododendron forest for

  hours. Later, Kasang gave birth to another daughter, Chheng-

  jing, in 1959; a son, Ladenla, in 1962; and a third daughter, Chundak, in 1963. But it was Yangla, with her pretty dark

  plaits, curious nature and melodious singing, who always had

  a special place in Sanduk’s heart.

  The Diki Choeling monastery was where the villagers took

  their newborn babies to be blessed, where they married, and

  where they were cremated. Like most monasteries in northern

  Nepal, it was decorated with thangkas or cloth paintings depicting the hell realms and scowling wrathful gods. Sanduk

  found it eerie as a boy.

  ‘When I went inside the monastery, I was always scared

  of the sound resonating on the walls of the monks chanting,

  and the smell of incense burning. The paintings on the wall

  had skeletons on them that seemed to stare right at you.’

  But Ruit’s view of the monastery improved when he burnt

  his hand badly as a toddler, impetuously plunging his forearm into a pot of boiling water one day, deep in the middle of

  winter. He remembers his mother panicking, and his father

  carrying him frantically in his arms to the monastery where

  the monks wrapped his raw arm in butter and a shawl and

  said a special prayer ceremony for him. Their compassion

  9

  The Barefoot Surgeon_TXT.indd 9

  9/5/18 2:23 pm

  ali gripper

  and care and their deep faith and conviction in the healing

  qualities o
f the prayers left an abiding impression on him.

  During the spring festival of Losar (meaning ‘new year’)

  and Futuk, when the monks performed traditional dances with

  masks outside the monastery, Gola seemed like a heavenly place to the boy. ‘We’d sit in the sunshine in new clothes, spreading out carpets from our home, enjoying picnics, watching the festivities. We looked forward to these special days all year.’

  But despite the idyllic simplicity of the mountain village,

  there was one major drawback—there was no school. For a

  boy with an inquiring mind, this would prove to be a major

  problem. ‘I always felt a bit different from other people

  because I was so inquisitive,’ he recalls. ‘I’d ask, “Why is the river flowing this way?”; “Why does the snow come at this

  time?”; “How do the eagles fly so high?”; “What makes a

  plane work?”’

  But he didn’t really receive any full answers. There was

  very little information from the outside world.

  His cousin Ukyab had no idea back then that Sanduk

  would go on to become a giant of Asia. What he remem-

  bers vividly is the two of them running wild and free on his

  family’s farm, picking berries, swimming in the streams, and

  playing pranks with a sling shot, as well as bows and arrows, shooting the arrows right up to the roof. ‘He always had a

  strong arm with the slingshot in our village,’ Ukyab says. ‘Of course, now he uses it for his lightning- fast operations. We all thought he’d do something far more adventurous with his

  life, like become a pilot.’

  It didn’t take Sanduk’s father long to see that his son was

  different to the other boys. Sonam’s years in the monastery

  10

  The Barefoot Surgeon_TXT.indd 10

  9/5/18 2:23 pm

  the barefoot surgeon

  and his travels afield to Calcutta and Llasa in Tibet gave him a keen appreciation of the power of education. He organised

  for a customs official to teach Sanduk rudimentary Nepalese,

  English and maths. Even then, it became clear that Sanduk

  was too bright to spend his days as a salt trader.

  It was rare for families to send their children away from

  the village, but Sonam knew instinctively the village was too small and stifling a place for his son to grow up. He needed

  to be enrolled in a proper school. ‘He has to go south, to