The Collected Works of Chogyam Trungpa: Volume One (25 page)

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).

Lonely Vocation

W
HILE 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.

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 cliche´s 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.