How does a monk love his hometown?

Looking Back

Mugya Monastery in the Heavy Snow

Dusk and a Monk

**[Editor's Note]** During the interview, halfway through, when I asked, "In all these years of running around, were there any particularly unforgettable difficulties?" silence fell on the other end of the phone for a moment. Then, that somewhat earnest and low voice slowly came through: "Things like not enough funding, long arduous journeys, waiting for days and nights for a single shot... these actually happened a lot. But there's no need to talk about those."

Another time, during the interview period, he had to postpone sending materials multiple times due to a busy schedule. On the final contact, this monk with a beard and a gentle face rather "abruptly" initiated a video call. On the screen, while repeatedly rubbing his head, he earnestly said, "I'm truly sorry for the delay. I will definitely send all the materials to you this time. Otherwise, I won't feel right about it myself." These words were as plain as the plateau lakes captured by his lens. Those who listen closely can see something deeper—the profound hardships were never worn by him as medals. They have simply settled silently into part of his character: grounded, simple, unassuming.

Master Tudeng Daji

Between Nature and Civilization

"Recently, I've scanned several hundred more ancient texts and documents."

When he said this, Tudeng Daji's tone was as ordinary as if discussing yesterday's weather. In his residence and studio at Mugya Monastery, sutras, ancient books, external hard drives, and photography equipment coexist in one room in a remarkable way. Those yellowed Tibetan texts are being transformed page by page into digital images through a scanner, quietly stored in his computer alongside the vivid photos he has taken in the wild of snow leopards and blue sheep. These two things constitute the two poles of his world and the foundation of all his work: one is the ancient civilization deeply rooted in the bloodline of his homeland, and the other is the vibrant natural life pulsating on that land.

Spreading Wings

The starting point of all this stems from a sense of pain born of "loss." After becoming a monk, Tudeng Daji spent much of his time studying at Buddhist colleges. Whenever he returned to his hometown, Muru Township in Dawu County (སྨུག་རོང), he felt an unfamiliar sense of distance. As elders passed away with time, they took with them the orally transmitted stories and ancient rituals; the inherent reverence and harmony between people, and between humanity and nature, also grew faint under the erosion of modern life. "The hometown I knew is becoming blurred." Thus, in 2013, this young monk made a decision: he would do something to preserve the "soul" of his homeland.

Tradition

"Shake hands"

The Most Ancient Environmental Protection

His approach is to return to the traditions of Tibetan culture itself to find strength. In his view, environmental protection is not a foreign, modern concept—it is deeply engraved in the wisdom and faith of his ancestors. He devoted considerable effort to organizing villagers to restore numerous "Lhatse" (arrow-planting platforms for mountain deities) and "Lu Khang" (small temples dedicated to dragon deities). This was not merely a simple restoration project but a revival of cultural rituals and ecological education. "In these traditional beliefs, mountains have mountain deities, waters have dragon deities, and every blade of grass and tree possesses spirit. To revere them is the most ancient form of environmental protection," he explained. By restoring these ritual sites, he reestablished the spiritual connection between people and the sacred mountains and lakes, making environmental protection an act rooted in cultural instinct.

Dusk

More expansive than direct restoration is the "salvage" project of civilization. He understood deeply that the transmission of ideas requires the support of documents. Over the years, he traveled throughout his hometown and surrounding villages, like a cultural miner, meticulously collecting and organizing endangered ancient texts of Bon and Buddhism, local chronicles, and family historical materials. Those three to four thousand precious volumes, scanned into digital archives, form the "digital gene bank" he has built for his homeland.

Scanned and Collected Ancient Texts

"If these books disappear, our connection with the past will be completely severed. Future generations will not know where they come from or what they should revere." Within his simple words lies a profound anxiety and sense of responsibility for civilization. He integrated these research findings into works he compiled, such as *The Gazetteer of Mountains and Waters of the Muru Region* and *The Clear Mirror of History of the Muru Region*, allowing the dust-covered history and geography to speak once again of the legends of this land.

The Scenery of Home

Over 1000 class hours

However, documents are static, while life is dynamic. Tudeng Daji's most fervent emotions have always been poured into the living beings of his homeland—its people and all things. Observing that many elderly villagers were illiterate and unable to fully understand Buddhist scriptures, he started literacy classes during evenings in the agricultural off-season, teaching them to read and write, kindling a lamp for their hearts in the simplest way. He was even more concerned about the children's future, dedicating an entire month each year to return home and provide free tutoring in Tibetan language and cultural studies. "I hope they can have more choices, know the world is vast, but understand their roots are here." To date, he has taught over a hundred children, accumulating more than a thousand hours of instruction.

Teaching the Villagers

"I am merely documenting my neighbors."

The side of him perhaps best known to the outside world is his identity as a "wildlife photographer." Without any professional training, relying solely on sincere passion, his lens has always managed to capture the solitary pride of snow leopards, the agility of Tibetan gazelles, the playfulness of macaques, and the silent bond between herders and their livestock. "I am merely documenting my neighbors," he said with a smile.

Yak Neighbors

For these "neighbors," he once trekked through blizzards at temperatures below minus ten degrees Celsius, waited under the predawn starry sky, and willingly endured several days and nights for a single fleeting encounter. These hardships, in his view, are hardly worth mentioning, because when he sees the pure gaze of wild animals through his lens, all fatigue simply melts away.

Hometown

"That kind of beauty is life in its most authentic state. I want everyone to see it, and then join together in caring for them." His documentaries and photographs have become the most vivid lessons in environmental protection, allowing villagers to intuitively understand the significance of wildlife conservation. Once, hunting was common; now, it has gradually transformed into voluntary guardianship.

Deer

Monk, scholar, teacher, photographer, environmentalist... these many identities intertwine within him, yet never appear chaotic. For him, they all lead back to the same source. "Public service is not a hobby; it is a responsibility," he says. "Each year, I set aside three months for pure study of the Dharma. The rest of the time, I work and take action. Everything I do ultimately aims to help others and help nature. Only when all beings on this land are happy is there true auspiciousness."

Taking a photo for Tudeng Daji

Hometown

Today, he nurtures an even greater wish in his heart: to build a tranquil meditation and study center next to the pristine forest, a two-hour walk from the village at an altitude of four thousand meters, accompanied by a small Tibetan cultural museum. There, the images he has captured and the documents he has collected will be preserved, creating a space for elders to meditate, children to learn, and anyone concerned with Tibet to understand the culture and natural beauty of this land. When I told him that we might be able to help him find people willing to lend a hand with funding, resources, or spreading the word, and that we would be happy to serve as a bridge for such goodwill, he once again told me in a voice both humble and firm that it wasn’t necessary.

Sutra Horn