Khargchin reminisces about a temple that she went to when she was a small girl. This is her story: Once upon a time I was a small girl. At that time a grandson of Gavzh bagsh was a young monk in our local temple. It was a big room with a huge revolving prayer wheel in the middle. During holidays old people brought biscuits, tea and fermented mare’s milk to have the foodstuff consecrated. Upon entering the temple, all bowed to Gavzh bagsh and sat down either beside him or around him. Gavzh bagsh read prayers. My younger brother also came to the temple to get something sweet to eat. During holidays the temple was full of people. I saw Gavzh bagsh once or twice. Afterwards, the temple was turned into a club, and its kitchen was used to house a (secular) school. During the dekulakization of the rich, all the lamas were exiled along with kulaks. At that time I was staying at my auntie’s. Our uncle took us with him. That is how I survived. Despite repression, Gavzh bagsh managed to overcome everything and return home. He lived at someone’s house, read prayers and died at the age of 80. Older people advised us, the young, to pray. I also remember tall, good looking, young girls and boys who went to an institute. It turned out that they were being trained to be teachers. Let god bless you all!