Land of the Dragon King

Among the visitors who flew in to Katmandu for King Mahendra's coronation last week (see above) were three sturdy men wearing swords, embroidered knee-length felt boots and striped wrap-around coats. They were from tiny (18,000 sq. mi.) Bhutan, a state perched in the Himalayas between India. Sikkim and Tibet. Although King Mahendra's close neighbors, they had traveled eight days--on foot and by pony to India, and then by plane to Nepal.

In the 20th century only 20 foreigners (not including Tibetans and Nepalese) have visited the big, rambling mountain fort at Punakha that serves as Bhutan's capital. So rugged are Bhutan's passes and so formidable its mountains that the Indian government's political agent makes the trip to Punakha only once every three years. In Bhutan there is not a single wheeled form of transport--no bullock cart, not even a bicycle. Everything in Bhutan is carried along bridle paths by mules. Bhutan has no electricity, no roads, no factories, no industries, no movies. And there are no cities, only clusters of farmhouses surrounded by rice and wheat fields. When trouble occurs in some corner of the kingdom, it may take two months (in time of flood, six months) for the news to reach the government.

Call Me Mister. What gives Bhutan real distinction is the fact that it is a country without an army--at the moment. The head of the government is youthful (27) Druk Gyalpo Jigme Wangchuk, whose name means Dragon King. Up to six months ago he ruled Bhutan (pop. 300,000) with the aid of a council of eight, 125 civil servants and a handful of palace guards. Among the Dragon King's closest advisers is bespectacled, English-speaking Jigme Dorji, 37, one of the delegation visiting Nepal. Although he is the King's brother-in-law, he has no title. "Just call me Mister," he told TIME Correspondent Jim Greenfield in Nepal last week. Elder Statesman Jigme told a sad story of modern influences overtaking tiny Bhutan.

Shortly before the Chinese Communists seized Tibet, the Bhutan government closed its northern borders. But having no army or frontier guards, the Bhutanese were unable to prevent numbers of Tibetans from crossing into Bhutan. Many of these uninvited visitors turned out to be Chinese in Tibetan clothing. On the other side of the mountains, Red China is building a road toward Bhutan. To strengthen his government the King recently set up a Central Advisory Council composed of elders elected by tiny villages. Explained Jigme: "We have begun to sow a few seeds of democracy."

The Museum Piece. At the same time, he justified Bhutan's continued isolation: "Almost 98% of Bhutanese own their own farms. If we opened our country to foreign aid now, India, and perhaps even Red China, would rush in, overwhelm us and reduce our people to a servant class."

India's Prime Minister Nehru, mindful of northern frontiers with Red China, calls Bhutan's isolationism ostrichlike. No hand at joining democratic alliances himself, Nehru is annoyed at not having been able to ally Bhutan with India as closely as he has Nepal. A trickle of aid ($150,000 a year) flows into Bhutan from India, not enough for modern services and education, or realistic defense. But there are signs that modern progress may yet penetrate Bhutan. Said Mr. Jigme last week: "We can't remain a museum piece."

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