Born in Tibet Page 13

  The authorities at Surmang were rather perplexed since they considered that, as my guru, Jamgön Kongtrül should give me specific instructions. Finally, we decided to go on with our work at Surmang; if an emergency should arise, either Jamgön Kongtrül would get in touch with me or I with him. So we said good-bye, while I asked him to promise that we would meet again. He replied that we would meet in one way or another, but again said that “the teacher is within oneself and the Way is also there.” He added, “You may have to face great difficulties without a teacher; everyone must now be prepared to stand on his own feet. Khenpo Gangshar is taking my place and will help you for the time being.” We left Jamgön Kongtrül with great sorrow, and a day later he resumed his journey.

  My life had evidently reached a crisis. I was faced with the knowledge that East Tibet no longer existed as a spiritual center and everything looked very dark. More refugees were continually coming from the province of Derge. The Communists had given orders that all our villages and monasteries must be responsible for keeping order, and if we encouraged the refugees, we ourselves would be defying the Chinese government. In spite of this, since they were coming in such large groups with all their goods and cattle, it was absolutely necessary for them to have somewhere to camp; I was able to let them have some camping grounds on our land. They gave me further details about the situation in Derge. The young king’s mother, in her capacity of regent during the king’s minority, had been obliged to take part in the Communist committees until she was informed that she must no longer remain in the province. Then it appeared that the Communists had taken her to China and nothing further was known about her. The young king and his ministers had escaped from the palace and had formed their own Resistance group, being joined by the local militia and later by other guerillas. At first their offensive was very successful. They used to dig trenches across the roads to stop the Chinese lorries, thus enabling the Tibetans to get possession of their arms. The king’s forces were supported by all the local inhabitants and together they were able to occupy most of the Chinese-controlled towns in the west of Derge province. In the east, however, there was no large guerilla force, and the Communists were destroying the monasteries and taking the monks prisoner, accusing them of possessing arms though this was not true, and they also said that the monasteries would be used by the Tibetan Resistance fighters. In the central part of Derge the Communists, after making friendly advances to the senior lamas, either kidnapped or shot them. Palpung was destroyed. At Dzongsar the Communists surrounded the monastery for seven days and prevented the monks from getting water, so that finally they were forced to surrender. Many senior lamas were shot and the remainder of the monks arrested.

  Those senior lamas from the various monasteries who had not been immediately shot, were taken to Gönchen. There, poor country folk were brought along and force was used to make them concoct stories of the evil deeds the lamas had committed. Many Tibetans refused to comply and instead, though unarmed, they fell upon the Chinese; they managed to kill some of them and then took their own lives. One Tibetan beggarwoman, when told to shoot the khenpo of the monastery, took the pistol and shot herself instead.

  My first endeavor on my return to Surmang was to carry out the last wish of the tenth Trungpa Tulku and to enlarge the seminary. It was already overcrowded since all our monks except the trainees and those specially occupied had joined it, while about 150 monks had come from outside monasteries. The latter had already completed their earlier studies and came as what might be called in England “postgraduates.” Khenpo Gangshar appointed four kyorpöns (tutors) as instructors and also gave me authority to assist in the teaching.

  I at once formed a committee mostly of laypeople to raise money and control the finances of the new seminary. Our first step was to increase the annual contribution from the monastic farms, which were managed by a lay bailiff. My bursar and some of the senior lamas, especially the heads of the various departments, objected strongly to our building a seminary largely to benefit monks from a distance and spending capital in this way. So I invited them to a midday meal and told them how important Jamgön Kongtrül, Gyalwa Karmapa, and myself considered the seminary to be in preserving our Buddhist way of life. I added, “Even if the Communists destroy the whole place, the seeds of knowledge in our hearts cannot be destroyed. Even if we build today and our building is torn down tomorrow, I will not regret the spending. It would be a greater regret if we hoarded and what we had hoarded was taken from us without any progress having been made in the spiritual understanding of our people. The tenth Trungpa Tulku planned to enlarge the seminary and I am only fulfilling his wishes.” Since I was his incarnation, love for me overcame the objections of all but a small minority, and work was soon started on the new building.

  Our studies at the seminary in the Varshika Vihara at Dütsi Tel continued steadily. Khenpo Gangshar told me that I must take a teacher’s course of training to enable me to be a tutor in metaphysical studies and also to give instruction in meditation. I began to teach, and he examined my pupils to see if they had really understood. Sometimes I had to teach in front of him and though I knew my subject I found this embarrassing; at the beginning I was very nervous, but later on he found less to correct and this gave me confidence.

  I was now working with Khenpo Gangshar’s help on the comparative study of the different schools of Buddhism and I found more than adequate material for these researches in our main library. Jamgön Kongtrül had often told me that we must make great efforts to overcome any divisions among the followers of Buddhism and how very important this was at the present time, if we hoped to protect ourselves from the destructive influences of materialism and Communism.

  Although the Chinese menace seemed to be getting stronger, we went on with rebuilding our seminary. I called in silversmiths and goldsmiths and indicated the images to be made, and also arranged a meeting with the master artists, craftsmen, and carpenters. The artists mostly came from the Gardri school, the gold- and silversmiths from Mensar. We discussed the designs for the new frescoes and the painting of the ceiling, pillars, and furniture. The particular methods of the Mensar school were used for molding the images which were to be plated with gold.

  We had to provide the workers with food and accommodation and once a fortnight every man received a present. Wages were given on completion of the work and often took the form of goods rather than cash; mostly domestic animals were given, sometimes amounting to as much as five hundred beasts, including horses, mules, yaks, and dris. Such things as brocade, wool, furs, leather, or grain were also given in payment. Supervising the builders with my secretary for at least two hours a day kept me away from work in the seminary.

  By the New Year 1958 the building was finished and the golden roof of our new assembly hall erected. The monks were so proud and elated about it all that they seemed unaware of a possible Chinese menace; for myself, I could not but feel apprehensive.

  The New Year celebration with Khenpo Gangshar was a particularly wonderful occasion. We created a new ceremony for it in the assembly hall of the monastery which was attended by all the monks, and held religious debates and lectures.

  * * *

  Throughout 1957 at Surmang, Chinese officials had been constantly coming and going, spying out the land. Now that the Resistance Party of West Derge had put guards on the border, the Communists suspected us of helping them, for both monasteries were in very strategic positions. About a month after the New Year some twenty men of the Chinese military intelligence came to Dütsi Tel. As had been done previously, we arranged for their accommodation at a nearby monastery. However, on further news coming through of the revolt in West Derge, the Communists insisted on being accommodated in Dütsi Tel. They were not pleased with the rooms we gave them and early one morning they actually came to my private residence in the old fort and billeted themselves in one of the halls. I was there alone with Khenpo Ganghsar when my personal attendant rushed in almost speechless; all he could utte
r in his panic was “They have invaded us,” and he was hardly able to explain what had happened. Looking through the window, I saw the Chinese dismounting and unsaddling their horses; others had already taken their baggage into the courtyard. My attendant insisted that we must leave while there was still time. I did my best to calm him and told him not to show any fear. My secretary, who lived in a nearby house, then arrived. When we told him what was happening, he said it might not after all mean such complete disaster and advised us to stay where we were.

  At breakfast time word came from the chief Chinese official to say that he would like to see me, so I went down. He presented me with a roll of yellow silk and a Tibetan translation of a book by Mao Tse-tung. His interpreter said that they had come to guard the place and help us. He apologized for having intruded on my private residence, but owing to its strategic position it was essential to station troops there. He begged me to carry on with our activities and thanked me for my hospitality. As their host I gave them butter and other foodstuffs. I asked them to pay no attention to my monks who would be passing through the courtyards engaged simply on their religious duties; should they hear chanting or discussions in the night, they should not feel disturbed, for this was part of our everyday routine.

  The Chinese official appeared to be smiling all the time and was very courteous. Each night the soldiers kept guard on the gate with a machine gun. I was often called upon to go down and talk to them through an interpreter. At first my secretary used to accompany me, but afterward it seemed easier to go alone. The officers continually told me that China was the largest nation in the world and had the greatest military strength; their battleships were so enormous that horse races were held on their decks, and their airplanes flew with such speed that they could just scoop up any enemy soldiers. I noticed on these visits that the head official and his subordinates were Chinese, but the soldiers seemed to be Tibetans. The explanation for this was that when the Chinese took over our province they got hold of many of the Tibetan young people and took them on as servants or students; later they conscripted them into the army, although they claimed that they had joined as volunteers. I found these soldiers much more respectful and less noisy than I expected.

  The party stayed quietly in the fort for about two months, but if I left to pay a distant visit, particularly in the direction of the border, I was very closely interrogated on my return.

  Since for some time Khenpo Gangshar had not been feeling well and needed a change, I went with him to the holy Mount Doti Gangkar, in the caves of which Guru Padmasambhava used to meditate, and where lamas from Surmang often went for retreat. It is a very high mountain with two beautiful lakes at its foot; in one the water is green, and in the other, black. Its crest is covered in snow. The legend goes that in the golden age this snow never melted and shone like a diamond. In the following age it was like an onyx in which light and darkness are mixed. In the third age, however, it was to become like iron; everything would be dark and our time in Tibet would be over. When we reached the top of the mountain we found that the snow fields were melting and that great expanses of dark rock were showing.

  All this made a deep impression on Khenpo Gangshar. The legend of the three ages seemed to indicate to him how urgent it was to prepare for the dark period before us; there was so much to be taught in so short a space of time. He quickly recovered his health and felt all the more inspired to continue his teaching at Surmang.

  On our return, we found that the Chinese had quitted my residence. Khenpo Gangshar now decided that we should no longer give lessons exclusively to the monks who attended the seminary; the more immediate need was to teach all the people. In the autumn he held a large meeting in our assembly hall. He talked all day from seven in the morning till six at night with only a two-hour break. He explained in simple terms how necessary it was to realize the times we had reached. We might no longer be allowed to perform our rituals, but this would not destroy the fundamental teaching that the Buddha had given us, nor the integrity of the Tibetan people. He quoted, “Cease to do evil, do what is good, purify your minds,” that is the Buddha’s teaching. We must act in the right way and be aware of ourselves. We must build our temples within ourselves. All the teachings of the Buddha, from the first, on the truth of suffering, to the last, on enlightenment, must be integrated and brought together in practice. Khenpo Gangshar then told them how to practice awareness and compassion. He encouraged everyone to take the vow not to kill or harm and, in order to be able to carry out this intention, to learn to control himself before acting.

  After this, Khenpo Gangshar held a second meeting, this time for all the monks. He told them that they must give more help to the laypeople who had no opportunity to study. The divisions between the different schools must be abandoned. They must give the fundamental training on how to take refuge in the Buddha, the dharma, and the sangha and on how to develop the four “divine stations,” namely loving-kindness, spiritual joy, compassion, and equanimity. Concerning equanimity, he stressed that human rights and nonviolence were particularly important in the anxious times that we were going through. He considered that they should follow the system of the Kadampas, whose teaching specializes in the means for developing loving-kindness (maitri). The doctrine of loving-kindness should be combined with that of mahamudra and atiyana; these two are the method of meditation on the ultimate teaching of the Buddha.

  Khenpo Gangshar visited many of our hermits who had taken vows to remain in seclusion, telling them that they must experience the shock of reentering the world and learn how to retreat within themselves. He brought them back to Dütsi Tel. Some of the monks at Namgyal Tse did not approve of this and wanted to come and debate on the subject with him, which request he gladly complied with. They put forward their case quoting from the scriptures. Khenpo Gangshar, however, told them that theories are insufficient without practice, and asked them to stay and help the many people attending the monastery. Later, one of these lamas became his devoted disciple. People came from all parts of the district to hear the khenpo. He arranged that the senior lamas and tulkus should mix with the community and taught that no man should consider himself to be above his fellow. He himself saw and gave practical instruction to those who asked for help. Soon, however, the audiences became so large that it was impossible for a single man to deal with them, so he divided them into groups, and arranged for some of us to give talks which he superintended. This was very good training for us and particularly helpful to me.

  Although I was still rather weak in medical studies and the mathematics of cosmology which includes calculating the calendar, my general studies were now completed and it was time for me to take my degree of kyorpön (tutor). So for three months I withdrew from all other activities and revised my studies with the help of Khenpo Gangshar who would sometimes come in the afternoons to answer any questions I had to put.

  My examination and that of two other monks took place on an auspicious day in the grounds outside the monastery which had been fenced off for public lectures, and it was attended by the neighboring khenpos, kyorpöns, and senior lamas. A central throne was placed at the end of the field on which Khenpo Gangshar sat, with four kyorpöns sitting in line with him. Two rows of seats ran at right angles to these, the candidates being in front so as to be ready, when their turn came, to stand before Khenpo Gangshar. The rest of the rows was filled with the attending scholar monks and kyorpöns. These took an active part in the examination which was in the form of a dialectical discussion: The candidate was first required to answer any question the monks shot at him, then in a return attack to put his own question to the scholars. I am told that similar practices prevailed in Christian monasteries during the Middle Ages. The examination lasted for three days; the first was the most difficult. Each day food and tea were offered to all those attending. I was given the degree of kyorpön, equivalent to a doctor of divinity degree in England, and since I had already been specially trained in lecturing and teaching I also received
the degree of khenpo (master of studies).

  ELEVEN

  Lonely Vocation

  WHILE THE EXAMINATION was going on more bad news came from Derge; almost every monastery had been destroyed there and the lamas had received brutal treatment. The people were more and more enraged at the attacks upon religion and a great number of peasants, both men and women, were joining together to fight the Communists. In the face of this almost universal attack the Chinese, as an act of appeasement, had released the few lamas who were still alive. We heard rumors that although Sechen Monastery had been destroyed, some of the senior lamas had not been killed.

  Khenpo Gangshar waited till after the examination to tell us that since Jamgön Kongtrül was no longer at Sechen, he felt he must go back himself to see if he could help in any way. We asked him if he could not wait until the weather became warmer, for winter was now approaching; however, he thought this was an emergency which should be dealt with immediately. He said it might be possible to talk to the Communists and get them to understand the religious ideal of nonviolence.

  Pupils were now flocking to the seminary in such numbers that the Chinese became suspicious and wanted to know what we were up to. They knew that Khenpo Gangshar was connected with Jamgön Kongtrül and suspected that he must also not agree with the Communist regime. Ever since the Chinese had occupied the forest area near Surmang, they had been sending officials from Jyekundo to supervise the trade in timber which they had taken over in 1953 to the financial loss of the Tibetans. Now an official arrived ostensibly on the same work, but we were aware that the reason for his being with us was to spy on Khenpo Gangshar. We told our khenpo about it and suggested that it might be dangerous to continue our lectures. His reaction was unexpected; he said that he was delighted to have the opportunity to speak to this man about the doctrine of nonviolence which would end all suffering. This he did, and also told him he would like to have further contact with Chinese officials. The spy, who was not a very high-ranking person, returned to Nangchen Gar, the Chinese headquarters and one of the larger towns of the province. Soon after, Khenpo Gangshar received an official letter saying that the Communists appreciated his ideas and if he could succeed in explaining them to the Tibetan people, they would agree to all he said. They sent him a present of some rolls of silk.