The Collected Works of Chogyam Trungpa: Volume One (18 page)

A
S WE RODE DOWN
the valley I looked back at my guru’s white retreat in the midst of firs on the hillside and at the seminary I loved. I watched the river flowing between it and the monastery with its golden roof shining in the sunshine and I could not turn my eyes away until all were out of sight. Apho Karma was in great spirits, talking about our own monastery and the prospect of meeting his friends again, but my two monks and I were very sad, for we longed to be still at Sechen.

On the journey we had a lot of trouble with the horses and mules and most of our little party were also unwell. When we crossed the river Dri-chu, which here is some four hundred feet wide, it was in spate, and our boat made of yak’s hide nearly capsized, while one of our horses was drowned.

The monks at Surmang were very surprised to see us, for though they had sent me the message, they had thought it unlikely that I would return before completion of my studies. When I arrived, they concluded that I must really have finished and expressed their delight. My tutor kept quiet, and I had to tell them that I had not completed my work. This worried them considerably and the regent abbots and secretaries felt that Apho Karma had made a mistake, particularly since the senior lama was already dead and the cremation had taken place with full rites, so that there was now no need for me to be there.

I had not long been back when a message was received asking me to partake in the funeral rites for Traleg Kyabgon Rinpoche, the abbot of the neighboring monastery of Thrangu, who had just died. He had written in his will that he wished for this, since he had been a great friend of my predecessor. Thrangu lay some five miles south of Jyekundo. On our way we passed through the Pelthang airport which was being built by a number of Tibetans under Chinese engineers. It was a beautiful day with the sun shining over the broad valley, but its calm was disturbed by the roar of planes overhead; these were bringing all kinds of supplies, but since the runway was not completed the planes could not land and the packages were parachuted down.

Jamgön Kongtrül of Palpung, who was to officiate at the rites, and I arrived simultaneously at Thrangu. We performed the ceremonies together for about two weeks. Everyone noticed that a change had come over Jamgön Kongtrül; he did not seem to be in good health.

I was obliged to return to Surmang, and before I left he said to me, “One is already dead, and one is going to die, this is the law of impermanence”; he was sure this would be our last meeting. He gave me his blessing by touching foreheads; this is the traditional way of imparting blessings between lamas of equal standing; then he said that this was to be regarded as a different kind of blessing, being the wangkur of the
chakra
(spiritual center) of the head which represents the union of “the hundred buddha families” (
tampa rig gya
). He laid stress on this being our last meeting; I asked him to promise that we should meet again; he said, “Yes, in one way or another.”

I returned to Surmang by way of the valley of Bi where in the seventh century King Songtsan Gampo sent his ministers to receive and welcome the Chinese princess he was to marry. Here we saw the Buddhist sutras which the ministers had carved on the rocks while waiting for her arrival; some of these are in archaic Tibetan and others in Sanskrit, which goes to prove that King Songtsan Gampo was a Buddhist before he met the princess, in fact he had already sent his minister Sambhota of Thön to India to collect texts; it was the latter who first designed the Tibetan alphabet for the purpose of translating the Indian scriptures into our language.

While the princess was resting in the valley she saw these texts and added a huge image of Vairochana Buddha of over twenty feet in height which was carved in relief on the rock, with “the eight spiritual sons of Buddha” (bodhisattvas) beside it together with some ancient Sanskrit inscriptions. We held a short service before the image of Vairochana Buddha and went on to Surmang.

I had been back some three weeks when a messenger came from Thrangu to tell us that Jamgön Kongtrül had died; he brought an invitation to Rölpa Dorje, Garwang Rinpoche, and myself to officiate at the funeral rites. The messenger knew nothing of what had actually happened and simply said that Jamgön Kongtrül had died very suddenly. After the first shock I remembered how he had said goodbye to me. His death was a very great loss to the whole Kagyü school; my predecessor had been his guru and he had been the teacher of Gyalwa Karmapa. No one seemed more needed, by the whole order, in the present perplexing times. All Surmang was distressed by the news of his death and a great number of monks expressed the wish to attend the funeral.

We left hurriedly the following day and traveled day and night to Thrangu Monastery where we found everyone deeply saddened by the fact that their own abbot had died a few weeks before, and now by this second death. Jamgön Kongtrül’s closest companions among the monks seemed more serene and told us what had happened. He had suddenly been taken ill and suffered great pain; it was thought that he had eaten some sort of unwholesome food. After he had been moved to the abbot’s house of retreat the pain lessened, but his general condition became weaker. After three days he sent for his oldest attendant to write down his will which would be important for his followers, but he did not want anyone to know about it in case they showed too much emotion. He said that his rebirth would be near Lhasa among his relations, which would give comfort to his mother, and he gave an indication of the names of the parents and the time when he would come back. He wanted his body to be cremated and that Trungpa Tulku should take part in officiating, adding that everyone must realize that death is one of the aspects of impermanence; he only continued to take medicine to please the monks. One day he asked his attendant to look up the calendar and find an auspicious date. When the day came he awoke in the morning saying that he was feeling much stronger. He had his coverlet removed and sat up in the adamantine (vajra) posture; his breathing stopped, though his body remained as if meditating for some twenty-four hours after.

After the funeral ceremonies his possessions were distributed among those who had attended him; I was given his robe, some books, and his amulet case, also his little terrier; the dog remained with me for some three years and I became very attached to it. It used to follow me when I was riding, but one day it went off hunting on its own and got trapped in a marmot’s burrow.

Shortly after my return to Namgyal Tse, I was invited to visit Drölma Lhakhang. Accompanied by my bursar we started on the journey; this was our first sight of the new highway recently built by the Communists between China and Lhasa; it gave us a strange shock, this straight dark line cutting through our mountains, built by a foreign power. It was so broad and it ran right through fields and across the spreading landscape like a deep trench. As we halted beside it, a Chinese lorry came along like a great monster with guns sticking out at the top, and a long trail of dust following it. As the lorry drew nearer, the noise that it made echoed through the peaceful valley and we were aware of acrid petrol fumes. The Tibetans living nearby had grown accustomed to such sights, but our horses were terror stricken, as we were ourselves. The Chinese always drove straight ahead and stopped for no one; other travelers on the road were pushed aside, often with accidents to their horses and themselves. Looking back at night we watched the continual flow of the lighted lorries; we could not understand the headlamps, and when we saw the red ones in the rear we thought the vehicles were on fire.

Drölma Lhakhang lies about six days’ journey from Chamdo, in the Pashö district. It is on the high plateau of Tsawa Gang and is surrounded by rocky hills with many lakes, a chilly region. One of the principal industries among these highlanders (drokpas) is that of weaving very fine cloth, for which purpose the people keep great flocks of sheep as well as the usual yaks; being compelled to move frequently to fresh pasturage, the herdsmen usually live in tents.

As we approached Drölma Lhakhang, the monastery prepared to make us welcome. First we were given curds and milk by a family of farmers who had been devotees of my predecessor; after which a lama from Drölma Lhakhang, who was waiting with them, offered me a ceremonial scarf as he made prostration. We then rode on until we met the young abbot Akong Tulku at the head of a procession to escort us to the monastery. They dismounted and also presented white scarves; one of my senior monks followed the traditional ceremonial of returning the scarves and hanging them round the necks of the givers. As we rode to the monastery, we were overtaken by a sudden thunderstorm with vivid lightning and hail. The Drölma Lhakhang monks and those from neighboring monasteries with their abbots lined the approach to the monastery, where an orchestra on the roof played us in. Akong Tulku led me into the hall, holding an incense stick in his hand; then, after he had made obeisance before me three times we exchanged scarves. This was followed by my exchanging scarves in the same way with the abbots of the other monasteries. Every monk then came to offer me a scarf and to receive my blessing; to the senior lamas I gave it touching their foreheads with mine; to the other monks, I placed my hand on their heads. A monk stood beside me to hand each one a sacred “protection cord” as they came for my blessing. When all had returned to their places tea and rice were served to the whole Surmang party. My tea was poured into a jade cup on a gold and silver stand; the rice was served me in a beautiful bowl, also of jade, and white china cups and dishes were provided for my monks. It was all very formal; Akong Tulku was quiet and reserved, merely smiling all the time. We found that we were both of the selfsame age.

Drölma Lhakhang started as a hermitage about two hundred years ago and gradually grew into a monastery. There had been a succession of Kagyü mystics there, and it had always been a center of hospitality to spiritual teachers, while many hermits lived in its vicinity. The whole monastery had an atmosphere of serenity and spirituality, wherein it differed from some others I have seen which seemed to be more institutional.

At the time of my visit it held about 150 monks. The building stood on a strip of land beneath a range of hills, at the junction of the river Kulha Shung-chu and the Tsawa Au-chu. Behind, on the farther side of the hill, lay a whitewashed hermitage; its front wall supported on red pillars seemed to grow out of the rock. It had been built over one of the caves where the great guru Padmasambhava meditated after he had established Buddhism in Tibet. It appears that this hill had been known to very early men, for near the hermitage we found some primitive and curious rock paintings. They portrayed men on small horses done in red ochre and were protected by a surface that looked like talc. There was also an indication that very early Buddhists had lived near the site of the monastery, for at the end of the strip of land where it was built there was a single upstanding rock, and in one of its crevices sheltered from the wind and weather there was a sculpture in relief of the
dakini
(female divinity) Vajrayogini.

Across the river in front of the monastery rose the very high mountain called Kulha Ngang Ya which the people of the ancient Bön religion regarded as a powerful god and as one of the guardians of Tibet: His consort lived in the turquoise-colored lake below. Mount Kulha also figures in the story of Gesar of Ling, a famous hero who lived in the thirteenth century, the King Arthur of Tibet who also defended the faith against the unbelievers. The top of the mountain is always under snow and is known as “the crystal tent of Kulha.” Just before reaching the top one comes to a large cave, the floor of which is a sheet of solid ice; Akong Tulku, who had climbed up to it, told me that under the ice he had seen huge bones, some of which appeared to be human, but were so large that they could not have belonged to any recent man.

Four nunneries had been established at the four corners of the mountain, being associated with the monastery of Drölma Lhakhang, whose monks could only enter them on particular ceremonial occasions. The nuns led more austere lives than the monks; they spent much time in meditation and did a great deal for the lay population when sick or in trouble. I was very impressed by the spirituality of these women. The nunnery at the west corner of Mount Kulha looked out over the turquoise lake. Near the nunnery at the north corner there was a hermitage which was exclusively used for seven-week periods of meditation on
bardo
, the state experienced at the moment of death and just afterward.

After I had been at Drölma Lhakhang for a few days, I was asked to give the rite of empowerment (wangkur) on the
Treasury of the Mine of Precious Teaching
(Rinchen Terdzö), which I had received from Jamgön Kongtrül of Sechen; an immense task, as it lasts for six months. I needed a few days before accepting the invitation, for though I had received permission from my guru to impart this teaching, I was still only fourteen, and my tutor and Karma Norsang, who was my chief adviser, said that I must be quite sure whether or not I could really give the complete wangkur, as any failure would be serious. More and more people were arriving at Drölma Lhakhang, hoping to attend the wangkur, so I had to make a decision. I spent several days in devotional meditation in order to know what I should do; finally I asked Karma Norsang to inform the monastery that I was prepared to undertake the task.

Arrangements were immediately put in hand to prepare for the wangkur. It took a fortnight or so to make all the
tormas
, that is to say conical cakes decorated with disks of sculptured butter that call for great artistry; each shape and pattern has its own symbolism. I appointed a monk to make a list of all those who wished to attend, asking them if they were prepared really to put into practice the teaching they would receive.

To begin with Karma Norsang gave a ritual recitation of the
kalung
(which means “authorization”) on the sixty volumes of the Rinchen Terdzö and I followed to give the wangkur (empowerment rite).