Born in Tibet Page 12
When we were returning to our camp Gyalwa Karmapa asked Sanggye Nyenpa Rinpoche, an older lama, to take charge of our party, for at that time most of the Kagyü lamas were quite young. We were so lively and friendly among ourselves that everyone who saw us was struck by it.
Back at our camp, we finished our preparations for the Dalai Lama’s visit. In the afternoon, however, to our great disappointment we received a message that His Holiness would be unable to stay the night, because the Chinese required him to return to Central Tibet; he could only spend two hours at the camp and take lunch with us. So many people had looked forward for months to this visit that the disappointment was general; it was apparent that His Holiness was prevented from doing as his people wanted, but had to obey the orders of the Communists.
The next day, he arrived in his car and the welcoming ceremony took place as planned. He blessed us by reciting The Heart Sutra of Perfection of Wisdom (Prajnaparamita-hridaya Sutra) and took a meal with us at the camp, after which the ceremonial offerings were duly made to him. He returned all the gifts and only kept the scroll on which the list of gifts had been written. He presented the Kagyü order with his own brocade robe and some rolls of hand-woven cloth and left us with the words “My thoughts will always be with you; I am distressed at being unable to stay the night, but I am really happy to have spent these two hours with you.” Before leaving, His Holiness performed the hair-cutting ceremony of primary upasaka for the infant Tai Situ Lama, whom Gyalwa Karmapa had enthroned at Palpung.
While I was at the camp a messenger came from Surmang saying that a senior lama of a neighboring monastery had died and that the monks wanted me to perform the rites. Akong Tulku and my two monks took the baggage back to Sechen, and I started on my way, traveling for the first day in company with Gyalwa Karmapa as far as Kamtho Trukha, where the Chinese had installed a ferry to cross the Dri-chu. Here Gyalwa Karmapa left for Chamdo, where the Dalai Lama was expected. His last words to me were that I must first finish my studies and then improve and enlarge the seminary at Dütsi Tel. He went away at seven o’clock in the morning in rain and mist in a small car provided by the Chinese. It was all so quick that there was no opportunity to say goodbye; he had disappeared in a moment, waving a white scarf from the car. Other lama friends left at the same time in different directions, and I found myself alone with the two Surmang monks. It seemed strangely quiet and peaceful after so much bustle, and we rode on through beautiful wild valleys to our monastery some seven days’ journey away.
When I reached Surmang we held a meeting for all the monks and the more important laity of the district; I told them about the Dalai Lama and I gave them his message; but like His Holiness I found myself in the same difficulty, for I could not talk openly, since there were many Chinese officials among us. However, having seen how restricted even the Dalai Lama had to be, I found it easier to impose the necessary restraint upon myself. Indeed, not having an official position, there was little I could do; I wanted, however, to give my people as true a picture of the situation as possible, and some idea of what our future aims might be. I discussed this with my secretary, the senior lamas, and the people’s representatives, some of whom had been in contact with the Communists. All had the feelings of loyal Tibetans, but thought we were not in a position to do anything other than to accept the Chinese domination. At that time there was some hope that the jurisdiction of the committee which was going to be formed in Lhasa, ostensibly under the Dalai Lama, would include East Tibet. Unfortunately the Chinese had already divided up the country into separate regions, and our region was assigned to Sining which the Chinese considered to be entirely separate from Tibet proper. They said, “All Tibet belongs to us, especially the Sining district which is not even Tibet. You are part of China, and it would be entirely inappropriate to combine you with Central Tibet.” We ourselves always considered that the people who speak Tibetan and eat roasted barley (tsampa) as their staple food are Tibetans.
Already during the Chinese Nationalist regime of Ma Pu-fang, which preceded the Communist invasion, we had gone through much suffering. Very high taxes had been levied, but at least we had been allowed liberty of religion; now all we could do was to pray and hope that there would be unity in Tibet, under His Holiness the Dalai Lama.
When I was able to leave Surmang, I visited the monastery where the senior lama had died and we held the funeral ceremony. Returning to Dütsi Tel I called a meeting to discuss enlarging the seminary as Gyalwa Karmapa had advised. Our present one was only full in the summer and very few monks attended it in the winter. It was not even a separate establishment; I wanted it to have its own building, as this had been the intention of the tenth Trungpa Tulku. He had wanted this to be undertaken as soon as he had established the five meditation centers on which he had set his heart, saying, “If enemies come and destroy the building, we in fact lose nothing; the worthwhileness of the deed is eternal.”
A new seminary would need more ground and many other arrangements would have to be made. I discussed these plans with my secretary and though I asked various people for donations I said I would like to contribute the monastery’s share from my personal funds. People were not very enthusiastic, but because of my request they agreed to support the idea. We decided that after my next visit to Sechen, I would bring a khenpo back with me as a permanent head for the seminary.
Soon after this I returned to Sechen; this time Apho Karma, nine other monks, and my little brother, the nine-year-old incarnate Tamchö Tenphel, abbot of the small monastery of Kyere, came with me. At Sechen I was welcomed by my guru and many other friends, all of whom had doubted whether I would return. I found everyone in the monastery in a state of great turmoil. The reason was, so Jamgön Kongtrül told me, that they had received a letter from Khyentse Rinpoche saying that he had left the monastery of Dzongsar for good owing to the probability of the further spread of Chinese Communism; he intended to settle permanently in India and to make pilgrimages to all the holy places; he died later in Sikkim. Everyone was very upset at his departure and Jamgön Kongtrül thought it might be wise to leave as well. The whole atmosphere of Sechen was disturbed; finally the latter decided to stay on for at least a few more years.
It gave me great comfort that I could continue my studies, for I was now better able to understand and appreciate the teaching; I realized that soon I might have no one to teach me, so the privilege of being in contact with my guru was of greater importance than ever. During the summer vacation I studied with redoubled zest under my great teacher and all but completed my lessons in meditation as well as the course of philosophic studies. My guru told me that I should learn further from his disciple Khenpo Gangshar, one of the six senior professors at Sechen, who was not only immensely learned but was also very advanced spiritually. I thought this meant that I should invite Khenpo Gangshar to help us at the new seminary; but though the friendship between the two monasteries was very close, all this would have to be discussed with the abbots and the monastic committee of Sechen in consultation with Jamgön Kongtrül. With great kindness they finally agreed to let Khenpo Gangshar come to my monastery for an unspecified time. I wanted him to come as soon as possible and it was agreed that he would make the journey in six months’ time. This meant, of course, that I could not stay at Sechen much longer. Though my own training in meditation had been completed under Jamgön Kongtrül, I still had to qualify as an instructor in this spiritual art, besides finishing my theoretical studies.
The Sechen authorities asked me to attend the summer celebration of Guru Padmakara’s birthday, and this I could not refuse since I expected it would be for the last time. The services would last for ten days under Tulku Rabjam Rinpoche, and Jamgön Kongtrül would also occasionally attend them.
The assembly hall at Sechen was very large and dimly lit. The gold on the wonderful wall paintings and hangings reflected the light of the lamps against the red-lacquered pillars and, following the Mindröling tradition, a particularly fragrant incense was used, which pe
rmeated everywhere. The objects on the shrine were extremely delicate and beautifully arranged, and the carved butter ornaments for the sacrificial cakes were real works of art.
On the tenth day of the celebration a religious dance was held: Its theme was the eight aspects of Guru Padmakara, and there were other dances connected with the “wrathful” aspect of the Buddhamandala; these dances were performed by some three hundred monks. The costumes were very old and decorative and thousands of people came to watch. This was the only anniversary at which women were allowed within the precincts of the monastery and they greatly enjoyed this opportunity to visit the beautiful shrines. We ended with a marme mönlam (prayer with lamps) and all prayed that we might be eternally united in the dharma.
Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche.
Khyentse Rinpoche of Dzongsar.
A shrine room.
PHOTO: PAUL POPPER, LTD.
As I soon had to leave Sechen, my last three weeks were spent with Jamgön Kongtrül Rinpoche at his residence. He gave me his final instructions, saying, “You have now learned a great deal from me, but you must improve your knowledge. Much comes from one’s own experience in teaching, reading, and contemplating. A teacher must not refuse to help others; at the same time he can always learn. This is the way of the bodhisattvas, who while they helped others, gained further enlightenment themselves. One must be wholely aware of all that one does; for in teaching, however expertly, if one’s own understanding be insufficient, there is danger of simply using words regardless of their spiritual meaning; therefore you must still remember that you yourself will continue to be a pupil on the way.”
A memorable farewell dinner was given for me by the monastic committee of Sechen, for though, fundamentally, the monastery belonged to the Nyingma school, there was a close affiliation to the Kagyü. Jamgön Kongtrül was both a teacher and a learner of many schools and particularly of the Kagyü, and in this he followed the example of his previous incarnation. In such an atmosphere our vision was greatly enlarged. When I left this friendly and all-embracing society I felt a slightly narrower life was closing round me; though within my monastery, as with its neighbors, religious study and meditation were continuously practiced, fewer monks came from other schools. Everything seemed to have slowed down, especially at Dütsi Tel since the death of the tenth Trungpa Tulku Rinpoche, and I was hoping to revive this spirit of expansion and development. It was a great consolation to me that Khenpo Gangshar had promised to come and help us. However, at Namgyal Tse there had been some progress; its seminary was attracting scholars from many different schools.
Akong Tulku came away with me, though he wanted to study further at Sechen. On our journey we met many monks carrying their books on the tops of their packs; their first exchange was always “What philosophy have you studied, what courses of meditation, under what teacher, and at what monastery?” for the monasteries in that area were in a very flourishing state with constant exchange of people seeking instruction in various spiritual techniques; there were laymen also engaged on similar pilgrimages.
The author (right) with Akong Tulku.
Yak-skin coracles on the Tsangpo River.
PHOTO: PAUL POPPER, LTD.
It was now apparent that the Communists were becoming more officious; they now checked all travelers, and we were told that they sometimes made arrests, though we were not actually molested.
On reaching Surmang I received an invitation to visit China, and the Communists also wanted me to join the central committee of their party. Since my secretary was already a committee member, I said it would be unnecessary for me to join as well, but should he be prevented from attending the meetings, I would take his place. Moreover as he was the more experienced man, he would be of greater use to them and he could speak on our behalf. This could not be objected to, though my monks realized that the Chinese, if their demands were not complied with, would certainly take further steps to get me in their power.
TEN
Khampas in Revolt
HIS HOLINESS the Dalai Lama had visited India in November 1956 for the Buddha Jayanti celebrations held every hundred years in memory of the Buddha’s enlightenment and had returned to Lhasa the following February. While away, he had met Buddhists from all parts of the world and we now hoped that, with this publicity, he would be able to improve conditions for the rest of us, so our thoughts and devotions concentrated on this hope. Each New Year the festival of tsokchen was held at Surmang, and religious dancing took place for three days from sunrise to sunset; on the fourth day this went on for twenty-four hours with hardly a break. This was the first time that I had been able to take part in it. I looked forward to doing so and practiced hard, so instead of being utterly exhausted, as I had expected, I did not feel it too great a strain. I found that dancing, when combined properly with meditation, fills one with strength and joy.
Soon after the festival we sent monks and transport to Sechen to fetch Khenpo Gangshar who was to be my private tutor as well as director of the seminary. Apho Karma had already said that he wanted to retire as he was growing old and feeling very tired. He thought that he had taught me all he could, and was now more my attendant than my tutor. I asked him to remain as a member of my household and as my close adviser; he had been with me for so long and was almost a father to me. But he said that even as an adviser, the work was too much for him. He wanted to go back to meditate at the hermitage where he had once lived for three years behind bricked-in doors, receiving food through a panel, so it was arranged that he should leave me. This parting was a great grief to me, but it left me freer to make my own decisions without asking for outside advice.
We were all delighted to welcome Khenpo Gangshar, who seemed happy to be with us, so we lost no time in starting the first study course under his guidance. It was indeed fortunate that he had been able to reach Dütsi Tel without mishap, for soon afterward a great number of refugees came through from Derge, who told us that they had met severe fighting on their journey. Since Sechen lay on the farther side of Derge we felt very anxious about Jamgön Kongtrül and feared that he might be entirely cut off from all further communication. This was the first serious outbreak of hostilities, and the refugees told us that the Communists were now killing many of the defenders’ families; but as far as they knew the monasteries had not been touched. It was clear, however, that the outlook was becoming more threatening every day.
I had to complete my studies and this still meant very hard work; the first course at the seminary was on the Madhyamaka (the middle way) and also on the sacred text of Hevajra by the third Gyalwa Karmapa. Besides this there was much else to claim my attention, for I had to direct Surmang, to officiate at rites, as well as to go out to the local people when they asked for help in case of illness or death, or for teaching and advice. In cases of emergency I could be called upon in the middle of the night, so I often got very little sleep.
The news from East Tibet was becoming worse every day. We now heard that the Communists had formed groups of all sorts of people, in fact, anyone that they could enlist. They had indoctrinated these men with their own ideology, and had sent them to act as spies among the villagers and to report on their activities. An order had been sent out that all arms must be handed over, and the groups went round to see that this was carried out. At the beginning the people did not refuse to give up their arms and made little remonstrance; they tried to be cooperative and peaceful. However, the Communists became more and more abusive and a number of people were imprisoned by them and this continued until the Tibetans could stand it no longer. Then for the first time they organized retaliation at Denko, Ba, and Lithang. Their leader at Denko, when ordered to hand over his arms to a Communist official, made pretence of doing so and then suddenly shot the official dead. This was the signal for his followers to attack the town, and many Chinese were killed or taken prisoner. The real conflict now began and the local leader became one of the leaders of the Resistance in Kham, which is the general name for East Tibe
t.
Refugees were leaving in ever-increasing numbers, particularly from Derge, to seek shelter in Central Tibet close to the Dalai Lama. Up till now there had been little trouble around Surmang which was on the borders of Nyishu-tsa-nga, though all this district was under the Communist administration of Chinghai; we had all been allowed to move about as we liked, provided that we gave no support to the people of Derge, so I was able to go on working at the seminary with about thirty other students under Khenpo Gangshar, and had more or less completed my studies in hinayana (basic teaching) and mahayana (wider teaching) and had also done a certain amount of work on vajrayana (advanced teaching) though this needed further study.
One day I received a secret message from Jamgön Kongtrül to say that he had escaped from Sechen and was on his way to Lhasa. He would pass near Surmang and he wanted Khenpo Gangshar and myself to join him at a place on the border with as little publicity as possible and accompany him to Central Tibet. We went there and found him together with some of his senior monks and other refugees. However, by the time we reached him, his attitude had slightly changed. Instead of urging me to go with him, he said that we must make our own decision; the work that we were doing at Surmang was very valuable, and it was important to consider whether it should be continued or not. It was very difficult to know what course to follow; besides I knew that if I returned to my work at Surmang I might never see my guru again. We talked the matter over with the other senior lamas and came to the unanimous conclusion that we would do as Jamgön Kongtrül thought best. However, he would not take the whole responsibility; he only gave an indication that he thought Tibet could not go on as in the past and that it would be best for us to plan afresh. He said, “The law of karma cannot change; each one must face his allotted destiny; each one must follow the guidance of his own inner conscience.”