From The Latest Issue: A Journey Through Sikkim’s Living Buddhist Traditions

I first noticed them in Yumthang Valley in North Sikkim. Tall white flags stood planted along the slopes and beside the road, stretching across the mountainside in long rows. At first I assumed they were another form of the colourful prayer flags common across the Himalayas. But these were different: vertical, white and far more numerous.

Later I learned they were funeral prayer flags known as manidhar, raised by families to honour the dead. Inscribed with sacred mantras and placed in windy locations, they allow prayers to travel through the air. Traditionally, 108 flags are erected, symbolising the overcoming of 108 forms of human suffering in Buddhist philosophy.

Once I understood this, I began noticing them everywhere across Sikkim, beside rivers, along village roads and on ridges overlooking valleys. Gradually it became clear that symbols of Buddhist belief are woven deeply into the landscape itself.

In Tibetan Buddhist tradition, Sikkim is known as Beyul Demojong. Texts such as the “Dejong Ney-yig” describe it as a sacred refuge protected by Avalokiteshvara and other divine guardians, and as a land associated with abundance and spiritual prosperity.

“Sikkim is understood in Tibetan Buddhist thought as a land protected by divine forces,” said Dr Tsewang G Bhutia, Head of the Department of Buddhist and Tibetan Studies at the Namgyal Institute of Technology. “Guru Padmasambhava is believed to have identified it in the eighth century as one of the Four Great Hidden Lands—places meant to preserve Buddhist teachings during times of turmoil.”

According to tradition, Padmasambhava travelled through the region in search of such sanctuaries and consecrated caves, lakes and mountains. “Four sacred caves across Sikkim are still associated with his meditative journeys, and continue to be visited by practitioners,” Dr Bhutia said.

In 1642, three revered lamas met at Norbugang in present-day Yuksom and crowned Phuntsog Namgyal as the first Chogyal (righteous ruler). “They requested him to lead both as the temporal ruler and as a patron of dharma,” Dr Bhutia added.

Monasteries and teaching centres gradually spread across the hills, shaping the religious landscape that travellers encounter in Sikkim today.

That connection between faith and landscape became clearer to me during a walk near Rinchenpong in West Sikkim.

The trail began in the nearby village of Kaluk and climbed steadily past cardamom plantations and village houses before entering a dense forest of birch and fern. After a short ascent, we reached Reesum Monastery, a more than 300-year-old site belonging to the Nyingma order of Tibetan Buddhism. Its whitewashed walls support a two-tiered wooden pagoda roof, and a set of prayer wheels sits beneath a latticed entrance. Prayer flags streamed down from the upper level into the courtyard.

From here, the Kangchenjunga massif stretched across the horizon.

Just behind the monastery, however, I noticed something unusual. A stretch of tarpaulin formed a boundary along the edge of the compound, screening off a section of the ridge. Visitors were not allowed past it, but chanting could be heard from inside.

“That is where the retreat is happening,” my guide said.

He was referring to the traditional three-year, three-month retreat practised in Tibetan Buddhism.

“In this retreat, monks do not leave the retreat compound during that time. Their focus is meditation and practice,” he explained.

Practitioners live in seclusion and follow a strict routine of study, ritual and meditation under the guidance of a teacher. Many monks who complete the retreat later go on to become teachers themselves.

Later, I visited another important monastic site nearby. Rinchenpong Monastery, established in 1730 by Ngadakpa Lama, is regarded as the third-oldest monastery in Sikkim. The complex sits in a clearing ringed with tall poles of white prayer flags.

Photography is not allowed inside the prayer hall. A senior monk I spoke with explained that the rule helps preserve the sanctity of the space.

“The prayer hall is meant for practice,” he said. “Visitors are welcome, but the focus here is on learning and meditation.”

Inside stands a rare image of the Ati Buddha depicted in the yab-yum posture. In this form, the deity is depicted seated in meditation, embracing a female consort. The imagery represents the union of method and wisdom, two complementary principles in Vajrayana Buddhist philosophy that must come together on the path to enlightenment.

“People sometimes misunderstand this image,” the monk said. “It is not about the physical form. It is about the inseparable nature of compassion and wisdom.”

Some of the most memorable encounters with Sikkim’s Buddhist traditions, however, occur away from monasteries.

In Kamling, in the Suldung area of Soreng district, a forest path leads to Rahuney Bhauda, a meditation cave associated with Guru Padmasambhava. Moss-covered steps climb through trees and shrubs before opening onto a shallow cave set into the hillside. Inside, butter lamps flicker against darkened rock walls.

“People come here to make offerings and seek blessings,” a monk told me. “They pray for health, for their families, and for the well-being of all living beings.”

Local belief holds that Guru Padmasambhava meditated here during the eighth century. At the cave's centre lies a stone that devotees identify as a tsebum, a symbolic vase associated with long life.

Standing there, the cave felt less like a historical site and more like a place where prayer still lives on.

For travellers, Sikkim’s monasteries and sacred sites offer remarkable glimpses into Buddhist history. The Indian government has also recognised this growing interest. In the Union Budget for 2026–27, a new scheme was announced to develop Buddhist tourism circuits across several northeastern states, including Sikkim, with plans to improve access to monasteries and pilgrimage sites.

Yet for anyone who spends time in Sikkim, it becomes clear that Buddhism here cannot be reduced to a tourist circuit. It appears in the spaces between destinations, in prayer flags moving above a valley, and in a monk’s reminder that most people come not to ask for wealth or success, but simply for peace.

And perhaps most of all, in the sense that the landscape itself carries traces of belief long after the journey ends.

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