In Nepal’s highlands, climate change threatens Tibet’s Bon faith

An ancient practice under threat

Still, in the face of many challenges, the people of Lubra are holding on to their culture, all too aware of its importance. Nowhere is this clearer than in the Chasey Kengtse Hostel, a boarding school for children from Lubra and other remote Bon villages in northwest Nepal.

The school was set up 25 years ago to stem the migration of children leaving the area for an education in Kathmandu. It sits atop a strenuous path through terraced fields that are sprouting with the first shoots of spring.

Long wires, strung over poles, are covered with drying clothes. Children run around brushing teeth and combing wet hair. Nyima Dhundul Gurung, a Bon monk from Lubra, runs the school. Unlike Lama Tsultrim, who, alongside his ritual duties, lives with his family and farms the land, 36-year-old Nyima is a celibate monk. His long maroon robes and short, light brown hair indicate his different standing.

“We will be celebrating the 25th anniversary of the hostel in September 2026. It will be a three-day celebration,” Nyima says, noting that the hostel now has 105 children from Lubra and other places in northwest Nepal.

“One of the reasons for setting up the hostel,” he says, “was to keep the children connected to their home place, so they can learn their own language and practise their Bon rituals. The main aim was to prevent our culture and religion from dying out.”

The village monastery is also central to Lubra, Nyima explains.

Nyima Dhundul Gurung, a Bon monk from Lubra, stands outside the Chasey Kengtse Hostel, which he runs [Eileen McDougall/Al Jazeera]

Surrounded by old houses, Phuntshok Ling Monastery was founded by a Tibetan master in the mid-19th century, and is where the villagers carry out many regular rituals.

Village rules stipulate that at least one male from each family must gather at the monastery for religious duties. It’s a community space where the men mould tormas – dough and butter effigies offered to the gods — and the women make chyaang, the rice beer used in the ceremonies.

The monastery, like many of Lubra’s earthen buildings, however, is suffering from the heavy rainfall.

“The traditional roofs are just earth packed on top of layers of wood,” says Dane Carlson, a landscape architect, who has been studying the shifting of the village.

“That works really well when it snows a lot, and it doesn’t rain. But now it rains a lot, and it doesn’t snow,” he explains.

“The flat roof is leaking, and that means the structural rot of timbers, and the slow erosion of rammed-earth walls,” he adds.

There is so much urgency among the villagers to address the problem that Carlson, along with organisation Mustang Bon Action, is in the process of applying for grants for restoration funds.

Meditation caves like this one, which are carved into the soft clay cliffs on the opposite side of the valley from Lubra, are also at risk [Eileen McDougall/Al Jazeera]

According to Nyima, the cultural heritage of the people is entwined with the village monasteries and the surrounding landscape.

“Nyamlon Phu is also very important to us,” he says, referring to the meditation caves carved into the soft clay cliffs on the opposite side of the valley. “Like the village, it is very old.”

There are around a dozen caves there, some appearing impossible to reach. They are believed to have been inhabited by the first settlers to the area. A few accessible caves are maintained by the local community, and Bon practitioners from around the world still come to meditate in these solitary chambers.

Near the caves are sheer cliffs with wave-like abrasions that resemble snakes.

“The name of our village – Lubra – comes from these cliffs. ‘Lu’ means serpent spirits, and ‘brak’ means cliff,” Nyima explains.

“Lubra has a deep connection with the lu. They live in water. We believe these spirits are very powerful and can inflict great harm if not happy. When there is a severe shortage of water, we do a ritual for them,” he says.

As with the water spirits, the local Bonpos often worship other deities residing in the local landscape.

“There is a strong connection with nature in Bon,” says Nyima.

These gods are believed to have control over many elements of everyday life, such as crop yields, livestock health and the wellbeing of families.

“For example, we worship the yulsa, the protector god of the village, on the top of that crag,” Nyima says, pointing above to a rocky promontory, peppered with dark-green conifers.

As he walks home from his fields, Lama Tsultrim explains more about the village protector.

“The yulsa was once a cruel demon living in a cave that terrorised the valley, eating children. But Trashi Gyaltsen arrived and paralysed him with his prayers,” he says. “He offered to feed the demon if he stopped bringing harm and protected Lubra. The demon agreed, and we still feed him [in a ritual] today.”

The wind picks up, and grey clouds gather over the village.

The elderly lama passes a new red chorten adorned with golden script.

One thing is for sure, Bon will continue.

by Lama Tsultrim

“This is a replacement for a chorten that was washed away from the valley floor by the river. Chortens are very important to our religion,” he says.

When asked about the future, he says, “Who can tell? You cannot write of the future.”

Bon’s symbol, the yungdrung, stands for eternity and indestructibility. Over centuries, the village and people of Lubra have embodied these characteristics, defying many challenges to preserve Bon’s unique, ancient traditions until the present day.

While some locals acknowledge the need to move, “people don’t want to move far, as the proximity to the temple and ancestral home is really important”, says Carlson.

But despite a future filled with new uncertainties, many, including Tsultrim, remain resolute.

“One thing is for sure, Bon will continue,” the monk says, turning and walking slowly, hands clasped behind his back, down the earthen path towards his new home.