Taming monkeys at Swayambhunath
In Tibet, after the upheavals of the Chinese Cultural Revolution had subsided, a period of relative tolerance began to emerge in the late 1980s. During that time, Sémo Péma Yüdrön, the daughter of Düdjom Jigdrel Yéshé Dorjé and his first wife, Sangyum Kusho Tséten Yudrön, journeyed across the snow mountains to visit her brother Dungsé Thinley Norbu in Nepal.
At the time, Thinley Norbu was living in a simple yet gracious house in Jorpati, a short walk from the radiating blessings of the great white dome of Boudhanath Stupa. In those days only a few close disciples were gathered around him, among them Tulku Jamyang—the younger brother of Lama Sönam Tséring Gyaltsen—and his mother, Pema Chöying, who cared for the household.
One day, after a long feast offering to Guru Rinpoché, Sémo Péma Yudrön said she wished to take the remainder of the offerings to Swayambhunath Stupa, the famous Monkey Temple on the western side of Kathmandu. This ancient stupa, one of Nepal’s most revered sacred sites, stands atop a wooded hill. Tradition holds that deep within the hill lies a pure crystal stupa, and the place has long been associated with longevity practices and blessings. Its history is intertwined with the earliest legends describing the human settlement of the Kathmandu Valley.
The hill is also home to countless monkeys that roam freely around the stupa. They scramble over the shrines and terraces, and they are known to stalk pilgrims—especially those carrying food. Many people warned Sémo Péma Yudrön not to bring the leftover offerings with her, but she paid no attention. ‘Everything will be fine’, she said calmly, tucking the food inside the folds of her chuba before setting out.
When Sémo-la and her companions arrived at Swayambhunath, she took out the remaining offerings. To everyone’s amazement, not a single monkey leapt forward to snatch the food. Instead, the monkeys gathered quietly in front of her and sat there in an orderly way, as if waiting their turn.
Sémo Pema Yudrön began speaking to them gently, one by one. Each monkey approached, received a portion of food, and then stepped aside. If one lingered after eating, she would kindly say, ‘You have had your share. That is enough. Now we must share with your friends’. And, as if understanding her perfectly, the monkey would calmly move away, allowing another to come forward.
Many years later, when Tulku Jamyang recounted this story, he said that even after thirty years he still remembered the moment with wonder. What struck him most was how naturally the monkeys were tamed—not through force or command, but simply through the quiet presence of the dakini Sémo Pema Yudrön.
