#bhutan #bhutantravel #bhutanculture #유네스코아태무형유산센터 #유네스코 \n\nYig-par koni is an adverb that means engraving of scripts which is the art of Xylography, one of the indigenous craftsmanship art of Bhutan. Script engraving is done using special wood locally called Tag-pa shing (Birch: Betula utilis) that flourishes at altitudes varying from 3000 to 4200 meters above sea level. Tag-pa shing can be easily identified by its bark that has a mix red and pink and brown colours alternatively across the trunk like that of a tiger’s skin thus got its name. The art is considered as one of the religious craftsmanship since its significance, production and usage are all connected to spiritualistic believes and purpose.\n\nIn Bhutan, the presence of skills for making woodblock prints are seen in temples, monasteries and Dzongs (fortress) every part of the country in the form of biographies, excellent teachings of the Buddha printed from woodblocks. The earliest biography is that of Terton (Hidden treasure discoverer) Pema Lingpa (1450-1521), as prophesied by Guru Padmasambava, the epitome of the Secret Teachings of Tantric Buddhism. Terton Pema Lingpa was the last reincarnate of Princess Pema Sal (?), daughter of King Thrisong Deutsan of Tibet. Owing to the propensity of his previous lives, the Terton knew craft works without training, and dedicating his skills to ensure the continuity of the Buddha’s teachings, had made uncountable number woodblocks, available in the monasteries established by the Terton himself and by his sons as well as in the house of a number of his patrons that can be seen even today.\n\nMoreover, Thugse Dawa Gyaltshan (1499-1586), the son of Pema Lingpa, had also engraved as many as 614 woodblocks for the collected works and autobiography in memory of his father which is still preserved at the sacred place of Kunzang Drag, Bumthang Dzongkhag (district). After Terton Pema Lingpa and his heart son Thugse Dawa Gyaltshen had started the tradition of woodblock print, Choje Ngagwang Tenzin (1522-1590), the reincarnate of Gartoen who was the son of Phajo Drugom Zhigpo, engraved the biography of Phajo Drugom in about 1570 (C.E). Then, in the 17th century Zhabdrung Ngawang Namgyal, having satisfactorily completed all the activities related to the dual system and before he went into the final retreat (i.e. parinirvana), initiated a project to engrave the collected works of the omniscient Pema Karpo (1527-1592) and all the essential ones and its prints are distributed them to all the monasteries and sangha communities as dharma donations.\n\nHe created of the seat of Je Khenpo as the overall head of sangha monasteries and ecclesiastical affairs and that of Desi, who functioned as the secular head of the country. He had also appointed officials to fit these high-ranking positions. The successive Je Khenpo and Desis ensured the practice, manage and spread of the teachings and the good system of administration, by engraving unlimited number of woodblocks prints in their respective areas which can be seen still today in all the historical monuments. However, due to the advancement of printing technologies, the National Library & Archives of Bhutan is the only institution that is upholding the xylography art in the country while the practice is turned its form to an oral account.\n\nFor more information \nhttps://www.ichlinks.com/archive/elements/elementsV.do?elementsUid=13874508750347675141

The Babadok is a traditional percussion instrument of Timor-Leste, central to the soundscape of communal dance, ritual, and celebration. With its deep, resonant rhythm, the babadok doesn’t just keep time—it sets the emotional pulse of an event, weaving together the steps of dancers, the cadence of songs, and the energy of the gathered community.\n\nTypically made from a hollowed-out log or wooden tube covered at both ends with animal skin—often goat or cowhide—the babadok is lightweight and portable. Struck with the hands or sometimes with short wooden sticks, it produces a sharp, dry beat that is both grounding and expressive. The drumheads are stretched tightly and tied securely with natural fiber ropes, sometimes decorated with paint or carved patterns. Over time, each instrument develops its own distinct tone, shaped by use, climate, and craftsmanship.\n\nIn traditional ceremonies, particularly dances like tebe-tebe or tebe-lilin, the babadok is the heartbeat of the performance. It provides tempo, signals changes in movement, and helps dancers synchronize their steps. More than a musical tool, the babadok becomes a channel through which emotions—joy, sorrow, gratitude—are communicated and shared. During ritual gatherings, it may accompany singing, recitation of oral histories, or moments of spiritual invocation.\n\nThe instrument is most often played by women, though in some regions both men and women participate. Its accessibility is part of its charm—anyone with rhythm, respect, and a sense of the tradition can learn to play. Children often grow up hearing the babadok played at family ceremonies or village festivals, absorbing its patterns and rhythms before they ever try it themselves.\n\nCrafting a babadok is itself an act of cultural care. The choice of wood, the drying and stretching of the skins, and the tying of the drum all follow methods passed down through generations. Elders often guide young artisans in this process, emphasizing not just the technique but the responsibility that comes with creating something used in sacred and social spaces.\n\nDespite its enduring importance, the babadok—like many traditional instruments—faces challenges in modern times. Mass-produced drums and changing musical preferences mean that fewer young people are learning to make or play it. Still, efforts are being made to preserve the tradition, with community performances, school programs, and cultural events placing the instrument back at the center of public life.\n\nIn the rhythm of the babadok, one can hear more than music: it is the sound of continuity, of people moving together, of ancestors remembered and futures imagined. Whether echoing across a dusty dance circle or softly beating in a sacred house, the babadok remains a powerful symbol of Timor-Leste’s living heritage.

Tebe-tebe is one of the most widely practiced and deeply cherished traditional dances in Timor-Leste. Rooted in communal identity and spiritual expression, it is performed during a wide range of ceremonies—rituals of healing and harvest, weddings, sacred house gatherings (uma lulik), and commemorative events that bring entire communities together.\n\nAt its core, tebe-tebe is a line or circle dance performed by groups of people—often with women and men linking arms or shoulders—who step and sway in unison to the beat of traditional instruments like the babadok (a hand-held drum). The movements are deliberately grounded and rhythmic, characterized by stomping feet, subtle sways, and communal gestures that convey strength, connection, and balance.\n\nThe dance is accompanied by chanted songs, usually performed in a call-and-response style. These songs are often rich in metaphor, addressing themes of unity, gratitude, remembrance, or negotiation with the spirit world. The lyrics, sung in Tetun or other local languages, carry encoded histories, ancestral teachings, and emotional expressions that elevate the dance beyond entertainment into the realm of cultural storytelling.\n\nTebe-tebe plays a vital role in moments of social and spiritual transition. It may be performed to welcome guests, to celebrate a marriage, to honor the dead, or to invoke protection and blessing during a harvest ceremony such as sau-batar. In each case, the dance serves to activate communal energy and connect the visible world with the ancestral realm.\n\nThe inclusive nature of the dance—performed by people of all ages and social backgrounds—reflects its egalitarian spirit. It is not restricted to professional dancers or experts; rather, it is meant to be shared, learned through observation and participation from a young age. In many villages, elders pass on the steps and songs during festivals and ceremonies, and school programs and cultural centers are increasingly incorporating tebe-tebe into youth education to ensure its survival.\n\nWhile variations exist across regions, the essence of tebe-tebe remains consistent: it is a dance of the people, by the people, and for the people. In its rhythm and repetition, the community finds both cohesion and catharsis—expressing sorrow, joy, solidarity, and reverence through a single, unified movement.\n\nToday, tebe-tebe continues to evolve. It is performed not only in rural rituals but also on national stages, international cultural events, and heritage festivals. And while some modern adaptations have emerged, the traditional forms are still held with deep respect, especially by elders who carry the memory of its ceremonial power.\n\nIn every echo of the babadok and every synchronized step of the dancers, tebe-tebe tells a timeless story—of a people connected to one another, to their ancestors, and to the living land they call home.

Sau-Batar is one of Timor-Leste’s most cherished agricultural ceremonies, marking the successful harvesting of corn—batar, the staple crop that lies at the heart of both sustenance and spiritual life for many communities. Far more than an agricultural routine, this ritual reflects a worldview where nature, ancestors, and community are deeply intertwined.\n\nThe ceremony typically begins with a symbolic act called “taking out the old corn and bringing in the new.” This signifies a transition between agricultural cycles and expresses gratitude to the spirits of the land for their blessings. Families gather at their sacred houses (uma lulik), bringing both harvested corn and cooked rice to share in a ritual meal that reaffirms communal bonds.\n\nCentral to the ritual is the lia-nain—a customary elder responsible for oral tradition and ritual practice—who recites prayers, chants, and invocations handed down through generations. These words are not merely spoken; they are believed to activate ancestral protection and ensure future abundance. The corn offered during the ceremony becomes sacred, often preserved in specially designated granaries or placed on altars within the sacred house as a gesture of respect to the ancestors.\n\nMusic and dance are vital parts of Sau-Batar. Performances of Tebe Lilin (Candle Dance) and other local dances transform the occasion into a festive gathering, where movement and rhythm mirror the unity and joy of a successful harvest. The babadok drum keeps the beat as men and women, elders and children, participate in a shared expression of thanks and renewal.\n\nThe ceremony also involves the symbolic sharing of corn among relatives and neighbors, emphasizing that harvest is not an individual achievement but a collective gift. In some cases, leftover corn from the previous season is burned or ceremonially discarded to make room for the new yield, representing a fresh start and spiritual cleansing.\n\nBeyond its religious and social meanings, Sau-Batar also serves as a moment of informal education. It is during this event that younger generations hear the stories of how rituals are performed, why they matter, and what each gesture or offering means. Through active participation, children and youth absorb the knowledge of land stewardship, spiritual ethics, and cultural identity.\n\nIn recent years, as commercial farming methods expand and traditional schedules shift, Sau-Batar has faced challenges. Yet in many rural areas, the ceremony continues to be practiced with dedication, often with support from local schools and cultural preservation initiatives.\n\nFor the communities that uphold it, Sau-Batar remains a vital link between past and present, the visible and the invisible, and the land and its people. It is a ceremony not just of harvest, but of harmony—a living tradition that continues to nourish both body and spirit.