Born in Tibet Page 14
After considering the matter for some days Khenpo Gangshar decided to leave Surmang to meet the officials in Jyekundo. He wanted me and some of his disciples to accompany him, and added that these were not the times for pomp and that on such a mission we should all go very humbly on foot. His pupils and the newly arrived students were very upset as they all held him in great devotion; since his arrival, a greater spirit of virtue and a wider understanding had permeated the whole monastery. Though we felt anxious for his safety we could not influence him, so the party consisting of Khenpo Gangshar, myself, and several senior lamas and lay principals left for Jyekundo. When we reached the town we met the Chinese officials and discussed the matter for about a week. Khenpo Gangshar knew that if his doctrine of nonviolence was not accepted, there would be no hope of preventing terrible bloodshed. The Communist officials merely offered to report the conversation to the authorities in China; they said this doctrine only expressed the point of view of Buddhism.
While in Jyekundo, Khenpo Gangshar lectured in the town to Tibetans. He was invited by the local monastery to their seminary where some of the younger students were anxious to hold a debate on his ideas. He pointed out to them that philosophical clichés did not go very far unless they were also lived. There was a discussion on loving-kindness and he asked them its meaning. The young monks quoted from the scriptures, but he replied, “Quotation is no use in itself, we can all repeat scripture by heart. You must demonstrate loving-kindness by your actions.”
Talking to the Tibetans in the town, he found that many of them were anxious to fight the Communists. He pointed out how very unwise it would be to attempt this, since being practically unarmed they would have no chance of success; he emphasized this both in his lectures and when giving individual instruction.
Our monks took the baggage to the ferry on the Dri-chu, and we left Jyekundo on foot to go to Gyana Mani, a village three miles away where there is a celebrated group of mani stones. The Sakya abbot, Chögyal Phakpa, had the foundations laid for them when he returned from a visit to China in the thirteenth century. These stones cover several acres; it took us half an hour to walk all round them. Many mantras and sutras have been carved on them besides the complete Kagyur, the collection of basic scriptures which in manuscript fills 108 volumes. Several temples have been built on the site, one of recent date being two stories high. The huge “prayer wheel” in the middle reached to the roof and was about forty feet in circumference; it needed six or seven people to turn it. Khenpo Gangshar composed some new hymns as he led us round these sacred stones, periodically stopping to give a talk on their symbolism.
We stayed two days at Gyana Mani from where the Chinese arranged for a lorry to take us to the Dri-chu. We had never traveled by motor transport before and as we got into the lorry Khenpo Gangshar noticed how excited I was at the prospect of this new experience. He turned to me and said, “You know how strong material forces are; now you are having one of your first direct encounters with them. Study what you are; don’t lose yourself; if you simply get excited about the journey, you will never find out what we are really up against.”
Sechen was some seven days’ journey from the ferry crossing where our baggage was waiting for us. The first four days I walked along in Khenpo Gangshar’s company but did not feel strong enough to go all the way on foot, so I was allowed to ride with the baggage. We stopped at several monasteries, including Seshü, a large one attached to the Geluk order, to which the Dalai Lama also belongs. I had always wanted to make a pilgrimage to study in the leading monasteries of the different schools and now that I had the kyorpön and khenpo degrees it would be easy to make more advanced studies of their particular lines of thought. Seshü was a monastery I had particularly wanted to visit.
Since the abbot was still a child, Khenpo Gangshar had a talk with the regent who was very interested in his teaching on nonviolence as it agreed with his own scholarly point of view. He took us round the monastery, and showed us the Buddha image which had been given to Tsongkhapa, the founder of the Geluk school, on his ordination; this had been made quite small so that he could always carry it with him. It had been preserved at Seshü and treated with the greatest veneration; one felt an atmosphere of holiness surrounding it. The assembly hall held three thousand monks sitting very close together, and the noise of the chanting from so great a number was tremendous. In the Geluk monasteries the study of logic plays an important part; after listening to lectures the monks congregate in the courtyard where they form debating groups according to the ages of the participants which can be from eight years upward; we were able to observe this method. When a monk put his question to another in the group, he stood up, stamped his foot, and clapped his hands to mark his points. When he succeeded, he swung his rosary from arm to arm, if defeated he swung it over his head. The monk questioned would return the attack sitting down. So the courtyard was extremely noisy and lively.
Unfortunately we could not stay for long at Seshü, and we resumed our journey in very cold weather, for the district lay at a high altitude; its farming highlanders live in tents.
When we were a day’s journey from Sechen we were told that after all the monastery had not been badly damaged and that some of the lamas were then visiting a monastery close to our route. We sent them a message and they came to meet us at Phu-khung. They told us how the Communists had shut them up in one of the shrine rooms handcuffed in such a way that they were unable to move and had given them hardly anything to eat or drink. The Communists had made a thorough search, but found nothing, and after angry expostulations from the villagers they had released the lamas and left the monastery. The monks were allowed to stay on, though the Chinese camped all around, and the lamas had to get permission from them every time they went outside the immediate area. Other neighboring monasteries had been completely destroyed, and the lamas were very upset by this. They did not want to leave Sechen, but feared what might still happen. They discussed all this with Khenpo Gangshar. He told them that conditions were unlikely to improve and that he could hold out little hope of his being able to persuade the Chinese to accept the Buddha’s teaching of nonviolence. He was afraid there would be no safety in any part of Tibet, but did not know how a whole group of monks could keep together anywhere outside.
Gangshar now advised me to go back to Surmang to continue our common work, but since his pleas with the Chinese officials had not seemed very successful, I was afraid that it would be dangerous for him to remain in Derge. We had only three more days together, during which he gave me his last teachings on meditation and some other general instructions; then I had to leave. I had had to part from my guru Jamgön Kongtrül and now my last support, the guru to whom he had passed me on, was to be taken from me. I was alone.
When my monks and I returned to Surmang we found everything apparently going well at the seminary and everyone was anxious to hear what Khenpo Gangshar had been able to accomplish. During my absence the Communists had summoned my secretary to a conference. They told him that our monastery must pay fifty thousand Chinese silver dollars in taxes and that all Indian and European goods must be handed over to them and no further one obtained; these included such things as wristwatches and also any photographs of the Dalai Lama which had been taken in India. They also said that in future I must attend the conferences in person.
It was now the end of 1958. We held our annual twelve-day devotional celebration to dispel past evils and to bring us new spiritual life in the forthcoming year. It was a joyous time and I did not mind the hard work which this entailed.
I had often spent the New Year festival very quietly at our retreat center and this year I did the same. I found the lamas there a little disturbed by the fact that they had broken their vows of remaining in seclusion as Khenpo Gangshar had enjoined. However they seemed to have advanced spiritually both through their contact with the khenpo and other people. I explained to them that going out of their center was not really against their vows, but part of their t
raining, which had great meaning.
Returning to the monastery after the New Year, I spent several days discussing the situation with Rölpa Dorje Rinpoche, my regent abbot of Dütsi Tel. He seemed suddenly this year to have grown much older, and was very thoughtful. He said to me, “It seems that the Chinese are becoming more and more aggressive, and I know how brutal the Russian Communists were in Mongolia, destroying all the monasteries. Perhaps an old man like myself could escape through death; my health is no longer good, but I feel very anxious for the younger generation. If you can save yourselves, and I am thinking especially of you, the eleventh Trungpa Tulku who have received so much instruction and training, it would be worthwhile. For myself, I feel I should not leave the monastery without consulting Gyalwa Karmapa as the head of our whole monastic confraternity. As the Chinese attitude toward His Holiness the Dalai Lama and its government is still respectful, we have not lost hope that he will be able to restore order and protect the dharma.”
Image of Milarepa that belonged to Gampopa. A Surmang treasure.
The seals of the Trungpa Tulkus. The large ivory seal was offered to the fifth Trungpa by the emperor of China.
Headdress of a Khampa woman.
PHOTO: PAUL POPPER, LTD.
A Khampa nomad peasant.
PHOTO: PAUL POPPER, LTD.
The Dalai Lama’s stables at Lhasa.
PHOTO: PAUL POPPER, LTD.
I was now nineteen according to the European solar calendar, but by the Tibetan which dates from birth by the number of lunar months, I was considered to be twenty. Though I had been given the degree of khenpo, I still needed to be fully ordained as a bhikshu. Since I was now old enough I was able to request my regent abbot and four other bhikshus to ordain me; as I had already studied the canon of monastic discipline (Vinaya) they agreed that the ordination could take place. I was given the begging bowl which had belonged to the tenth Trungpa Tulku and the yellow robe of a bhikshu. I had to take 250 vows, some of which I had already made as a novice (shramanera). My ordination took place at the altar in front of the image of the Buddha. This qualified me to conduct the rite of Sojong to restore virtue and bring purification from wrongdoing which takes place on full moon and new moon days; but above all I felt a sense of maturity as a fully prepared member of the sangha.
Rölpa Dorje Rinpoche now left on a tour to visit his devotees in and around Jyekundo and I took charge of the seminary as its khenpo. I still felt inexperienced beside Khenpo Sangden and the kyorpöns who had spent many more years than I at their studies. However, my secretary and the older disciples of my predecessor were satisfied, and I felt that I was following in the tenth Trungpa Tulku’s footsteps. As I sat on Khenpo Gangshar’s throne, I had a deep sense of all he had given us; more and more I felt the need of his presence and of a wider knowledge of the dharma. The needs of the local people often required my presence to give teaching or to help the sick and the dying. As this meant leaving the monastery at all hours nearly every day, I realized that I must have an assistant khenpo who could give more individual attention to the students, and we agreed to ask Khenpo Sangden to fill this post; he also took over much of the lecturing. We were now studying The Ornament of Precious Liberation (Tharpa Rinpoche Gyen) by Chöje Gampopa.1
The sister of the tenth Trungpa Tulku, who had looked after the dairy at Dütsi Tel had died, and my mother now took charge. This made her very happy as she loved animals, but it also involved looking after the herdsmen and arranging about their wages. After a time she found this too much for her and gradually handed over the work to an assistant. When I was living in my own residence outside the monastery she was able to stay with me and do my cooking. This was a great happiness for both of us.
In the spring I received an invitation from the neighboring province of Chamdo, some three days’ journey from Surmang, to come and lecture, for many of the people there were anxious to hear more of Khenpo Gangshar Rinpoche’s teachings. After a week there, a messenger came from our monastery to tell me that Rölpa Dorje was ill; immediately afterward a second messenger arrived to say that he was dying. I at once returned to Dütsi Tel, traveling day and night without stopping. My monks were waiting for me and some forty of us went together to the place where we now knew he had died.
In fact from the start of his tour Rölpa Dorje had not felt well, and he eventually contracted severe influenza. He accepted that this was to be his last illness and chose to be taken to a village near the Sakya monastery of Thalung. When its abbot Deshung Rinpoche heard where he was, he brought him to Thalung itself, where he died a week later. Deshung Rinpoche, who is still alive in America, is a very kind as well as a learned man; he was a disciple of Ga Ngawang Lekpa, the mystical teacher of the Sakya school, and also of the tenth Trungpa Tulku. When Rölpa Dorje was dying he stayed at his bedside to the end asking him how his wishes could be fulfilled and if there was anything which could be done to lengthen his life. Rölpa Dorje replied that his work was finished and his duty done. For a few days he seemed to be recovering; one morning he was thought to be so much better that he could even walk. He asked the abbot to take down his will, saying that he wished to be reborn in Tsa, the birthplace of Milarepa. The abbot asked him who his future parents would be. He said he would rather leave that for Gyalwa Karmapa to discover. Deshung Rinpoche found it difficult to tell his monks this news, for they all expected his recovery; however, the senior monk of the party had to be told. Very early next morning Rölpa Dorje threw off his coverings and sat up in the vajra position. He asked his monks to read his daily manual of devotions. As they finished, he had difficulty in breathing and when they held him up he said, “You don’t need to help me; I can look after myself.” At that moment his earthly wishes ceased.
When our party reached Thalung the day after his death we immediately performed a short rite. I gave a talk about all he had done for us, his great kindness, and the many things he had given us, and we finished with meditation. We arranged to have his body cremated at Thalung on the fifth day after his death, for it had been his express wish that this should be done wherever he died. There was a rule that the monk who put the torch to the funeral pyre must be one who had never received teaching from the deceased. We had difficulty in finding such a person but eventually a novice who served in the kitchen was chosen. We took the ashes back with us to Surmang, being stopped on the way by many weeping devotees who wished to pay their last respects to his memory.
Our return led through Jyekundo where we were given further news of the Communists. For the last month all the Chinese officials, including the governor, had gone round the streets for two hours every morning to shovel up rubbish, dirt, and even human excrement; it was considered to be good physical exercise, as well as an example to the Tibetans. I myself met the governor on the road with his shovel, cleaning up the riverbank which people had used as a latrine. After we had greeted one another, our party stopped in front of the municipal building where there was a guard, and as the officials moved off, one of the guards near whom I was standing turned to me saying, “Please give me your blessing and a sacred protective cord.” I asked him if he really meant this. “Yes,” he said, “I have been with the Chinese ever since they entered Tibet, but more and more I feel faith in Buddhism.” I was moved; the young man could not have been out of his teens.
On our return to Surmang we held the requiem services for Rölpa Dorje and during this time I had many unforgettable talks with Garwang Rinpoche and my monks while planning various improvements for both monasteries. I little knew that this would be the last time that we would all be together at Dütsi Tel.
The monks at Kyere, a small monastery under the control of the king of Lhathok, now sent me a request to officiate at the enthronement of my young brother Tamchö Tenphel, the incarnation of their abbot. As I left Dütsi Tel, a storm was raging and fewer people than usual came to bid me good-bye, however, my mother was among those who came. I was feeling heavyhearted at leaving my monastery; almost as if I ha
d a premonition that I would never return. The ceremony at Kyere was a beautiful one; afterward I was asked by the neighboring laity to give lectures and perform rites. I then traveled farther, visiting many other monasteries and villages and giving talks, mainly on the method which Khenpo Gangshar had taught. We passed several holy mountains and I was able to meditate in their caves. As we traveled, I was asked to organize retreats for many of the people in the district. These lasted sixteen or more days, during which we fasted, chanted, and performed religious devotions. The fasting was severe; on the first day, no nourishment was permitted after noon, and we were only allowed to speak during a short recreation period. The following day neither food nor drink could be taken and, except for chanting, absolute silence was kept. This two-day sequence continued for the length of the retreat. Those attending were laypeople who adhered strictly to the eight precepts for the period.
The eight precepts are: not to destroy life, not to take that which is not given, not to tell lies, to abstain from illicit sexual intercourse and from intoxicating liquors, then not to eat food after noon, not to wear garlands or use perfume, and not to sleep on a raised bed. Evidently not to take life, nor to steal or utter falsehoods, to abstain from unlawful sexual intercourse and from intoxicating liquors should be the rule of life for all Buddhists. However, if people are unable to keep to the discipline of all these, there is a simpler form that they may take, which is to make a vow to adhere strictly to one or other chosen precept for a given time, and to make an effort to adhere to the others as far as possible.