The Collected Works of Chogyam Trungpa: Volume One (30 page)

A number of people had come to Yak for the celebration of the vajra amrita and to receive its blessing. They were told about my sudden illness and Yak Tulku officiated in my place. Jigme Rinpoche, who was a doctor, was now determined that I should rest. He had never approved of my returning to Surmang, though he declared it was not his business; but now he insisted that I must rest for at least a month. Everyone realized that I was too ill to travel and that I could not stay at Yak for much longer.

My bursar consulted Yak Tulku, Jigme Rinpoche, and other senior lamas. They decided that he should go back to Surmang and find out what the position there really was, and in the meantime I should go wherever I felt inclined, but in secret: When Tsethar returned, we could decide what further steps to take.

Tsethar at once made arrangements to leave Yak with all except four of our monks, taking letters from me addressed to both the monasteries of Surmang in which I said that I hoped they would understand how I always wanted to serve them and that they must not think I had any wish to stay away. I begged them not to make any unnecessary resistance against the Chinese. I fully understood how difficult things were becoming, but there was no point in using force, which would inevitably lead to their extinction. On the other hand, if things got really bad they should try to join me in the Yak district which was nearer both to India and Central Tibet and where the local people were ready to help us.

Tsethar arranged for our herds to be looked after by some friends around Drölma Lhakhang. I advised him to take money and portable articles which could be exchanged, both for his own journey and for Surmang should the need arise. He followed my advice, though he said he was quite certain there would be no emergency and that on reaching Surmang he would immediately put my residence in order in preparation for my return. I repeated how very delicate our position was with the Communists, and that we must not show any antagonism toward them.

Some of the monks and laypeople escorted his party for two days. On their return, they told us that they had met some people from Surmang who had said that the Communists had already collected all the arms in the district, even meat choppers, and had posted guards at the ferry across the river and at all points of importance on the road. We knew that if my bursar were to be captured, our own position would be in jeopardy as the Chinese would then know where I might be found. I had been recuperating at Yak for a week when we heard that the Communists were stationed on all the routes between Riwoche and Chamdo, though as yet no one knew how far their troops had penetrated beyond that area. We felt sure that they were in control of the ferry of Dongdrong Trukha, but it was uncertain from what direction they would approach us. All this was extremely disturbing.

My bursar had again assigned Yönten to carry out his duties, and since my private secretary had also left with the party for Surmang, he had been replaced by a monk from Drölma Lhakhang. One personal attendant remained with me and these three, together with a monk in charge of the horses, formed my immediate staff; all the other monks serving me belonged to Drölma Lhakhang.

We discussed our plans among ourselves. Invitations came from various people who had attended the wangkur; they offered to look after me and suggested that we might be concealed in the remoter parts of the country, but I was not convinced that it would be safe even there.

After a week’s rest I was feeling stronger, so we were able to have a final session of devotional chanting together with a communal meal, ending with the marme mönlam, at which we prayed for a reunion of teachers and pupils and gave thanksgiving for the grace and knowledge we had received. All who were there held lamps which had been lighted from a lamp on the shrine. As the teacher, my lamp was the first to be lit, and from it the flame was passed on to all who were present. Then each person tied his white scarf to that of his neighbor and finally to mine so that the white band linked us all, and they all repeated after me a chant which resounded through the hall. The flame of the lamp symbolized the light of gnosis (jnana) which is individually received, but is an indivisible unity in itself. The chain of white scarves represented the purity of those holding it to strengthen their spiritual life and persevere with the teachings they had received. I thanked all those who had been at the wangkur; I had learned in the teaching and they in attending. I said, “none of us know what the future may bring, and we may never be allowed to be together again in the flesh, but spiritually we are one. Our having had this opportunity to be together is the beginning of a union that will last for many lives. To bring all this into our daily lives we must continue our efforts to follow the promptings of the guru within ourselves. We must keep the balance between our mundane activities and our strivings for spiritual perfection. We must do our best to help all beings caught in the suffering that the world is now experiencing. We who have had this wonderful time together must now disperse. The assembly hall will soon be empty, with the shrine, the throne, and the decorations all dismantled, but we must not be too distressed. With the menace from the Chinese becoming ever more severe, everything demonstrates the impermanence of earthly existence.”

We felt that my future plans must be decided upon within a week, for the Communists might discover that I was at Yak. There were many suitable hiding places in the district, but it was difficult to choose one without offending the many other kind people who had offered help. So I went into retreat at Yak and resorted once more to takpa divination. The answer was that the country around Yo would be best, the local experts concurred and my friends agreed to supply me with food.

I was still considered to be in retreat, my yellow curtains were always drawn, and it was not really known whether or not I was in the monastery of Yak. I asked an elderly lama whose room was next to mine to sound his bell and drum each day as if it came from my room; then I left in the middle of the night. Jigme Rinpoche and his brother came with me, also my personal attendant and one monk. Our horses and baggage had been sent on ahead to a place on the outskirts of the monastery where Jigme’s brother and his servants were waiting. Yak Tulku who had accompanied us then went back. It was bitterly cold, we missed the heated wall of the monastery, and the night was so dark we could see nothing and had to trust to our horses to follow the trail.

The following morning at about seven we reached the house of the landowner to whom the valley of our projected hideout belonged. He gave us a warm welcome and we were thankful for the hot milk he offered us, for we were frozen. A fire of ox dung was immediately lit; it was smoky and gave out little heat, but it helped to restore us, after which we started off again. The landowner himself led us to our hideout which we reached in about five hours. We crossed a mountain pass which led us to a valley used for grazing cattle in the summer, but which was uninhabited during the winter months when the pass was under snow. Here the yaks used to be left to look after themselves, only the females (dris) being driven down to the farms for the winter. The further end of the valley was inaccessible, being cut off by a high gorge through which the river Yo-chu escaped into the Gyemo Ngül-chu by a series of cascades and gorges. These grazing grounds were unknown to all except the local herdsmen and the landowner, and the place itself was called the Valley of Mystery.

We now had to look for the best place to set up our camp, so we slept where we were for the first night and started searching the following day. Up and down the valley there were a few primitive shelters used in the summer by herdsmen, so we picked on one of them at the far end on the banks of a frozen stream. The weather was fine and there was hard frost at night, though as yet no snow.

The landowner remained with our party to help, and we all set about putting the shelter in order. It was built up against a large rock and the walls were of loose stone. In order to put our tents inside we had to remove the roof. My tent and Jigme’s, which he shared with his brother, were of white canvas, while my attendant and the monk who did the cooking had a larger one made of yak’s hair, which also served as a kitchen. After three days the landowner with his own and Jigme’s servants went back, leaving us with large supplies of butter and dried cheese made of boiled dris milk, as well as a lot of cakes made with butter, dried curd, hard cheese, and a particular kind of vegetable flour made from a kind of artichoke which had been roasted before being ground. All this was in addition to what Yak Tulku and Akong Tulku had sent with us. When our kind host left, he said he hoped he would be able to visit us occasionally and give us news of the latest political developments. He encouraged us to remain there for a long time, for he thought it would be impossible for the Chinese to find us in that remote place. He did not think that we would ever be completely cut off, as when the snow became deep he could in an emergency open up the path with yaks.

This was the first time that I had found myself isolated from the world without any visitors and almost without attendants. I was, however, ready to stay there for a long time as I had brought with me some sixty volumes of spiritual instruction.

We used to go out together to collect wood, but my attendant was rather upset that I should share in such domestic work, for he considered it his duty to do all these things for us. The birds woke us up each day and my mornings were spent in devotions and meditation. As the frost became more severe, it was almost impossible for me to use my bell and drum as the metal was too cold, and we had to wear our sheepskin coats all the time. My young attendant was utterly self-sacrificing and only thought of my comfort, neglecting his own. He always managed to keep a fire made of twigs going in my tent both morning and evening, though it did little but warm my face as I gazed into it. I used to eat the midday meal with Jigme Rinpoche and his brother and we took long walks together in the afternoons; in the evenings we used to gather together with our two attendants in Jigme’s tent which had an outlet for the smoke and was larger than mine. Jigme was in his fifties, not tall but very tough; he had a very practical way of looking at things with a wonderful sense of humor. It was never dull in his company, for he was an excellent storyteller and having traveled on pilgrimages to many places including India, he told us lots of amusing yarns about his experiences.

As the winter advanced, the yaks which had been left in the valley came down in herds to the lower pastures; it began to snow very heavily, causing avalanches and rocks to fall with a tremendous roar which at first we thought came from Chinese guns. As the snow was so deep we had left off expecting visitors, but one day a man suddenly appeared. It was an old servant of Jigme’s on horseback with two yaks laden with foodstuffs. The snow had reached up to his stirrups, but the man said that he had not felt the cold as intensely as when he had had to travel in the biting wind. He brought us some butter and milk, which were all the more acceptable as we had long been without fresh food. He had no political news to report, but told us that Jigme’s sister was very ill. He also said people were beginning to doubt whether I was still at Yak.

He brought me a letter from one of my friends, a tulku who had gone to Yak to ask for my advice; he wanted to know what his monastery should do in regard to the Communists. Yak Tulku had told him that I could not be disturbed as I was still in retreat, but I would write to him later. I was able to reply telling him that the situation was becoming very serious and that if his monks were thinking of escaping, it might be best not to delay too long. Both from a religious and a practical point of view it was very important not to cause any open antagonism with the Chinese which would only hasten disaster.

Jigme and I were feeling a little lonely and we longed for more company; since the servant was returning, I sent a letter to Akong Tulku to suggest his coming to join us. On receipt of it he immediately made preparations to come, and was with us in time to share in our devotions preceding the New Year.

A local landowner sent several horsemen to bring us New Year offerings of food and gifts from Drölma Lhakhang and Yag monasteries. These were so lavish that we had almost more food than we could eat. The horsemen gave us some rather vague news about the Resistance forces which were fighting quite successfully in several parts of Tibet.

About three weeks later my bursar arrived with another monk. He had failed to reach Surmang, and the news he brought was extremely distressing. He told us that when he left Drölma Lhakhang he was able to cross by the ferry over the Dza-chu because the Communists had withdrawn their guards after collecting all arms in the district and making lists of all the local families and their possessions. They had been planning to establish a military camp near the ferry, but owing to an attack in the neighborhood from the Resistance they had for the time being been obliged to leave the place. So Tsethar was able to proceed and had great hopes of reaching Surmang, but on his way toward Lhathok he met travelers who told him that Surmang had been attacked about a month previously and Namgyal Tse had been destroyed; only very few monks had been able to escape. Dütsi Tel had suffered less; the senior secretary and a number of the monks had been able to get away and they had made for the district of Lhathok, which appeared to be safer. On making further enquiries Tsethar was told that they had found shelter in the monastery of Kyere. On his arrival there he found the party, and also my mother and two sisters who were in a house near the monastery with my young brother the abbot. In tents all around there were a number of villagers from the neighborhood of Surmang: The Communists had told these people that they could not remain in their own homes as they would be in danger from the guerillas; they must therefore go to Jyekundo under Chinese escort, but would be able to return later when the situation became more settled.

Tsethar was told that a few months previously the Chinese had arranged a very large and important meeting to be held in Jyekundo, sending invitations to all the influential lamas and heads of the district. This was a customary procedure, but this time there was a difference, for the invitations were more in the form of an order; since to decline would only worsen the situation, the majority agreed to come. At the meeting, the Chinese explained that they were there to guard the Tibetans from possible danger; to emphasize this point the hall was surrounded by Communist troops. Each day the Chinese asserted with greater vehemence their sole right to authority, and eventually they tried to force the Tibetan representatives to accept Communism. All the Tibetans present understood that if they did not agree their lives would be in danger, and Rashü Behu, the head of the Rashü district, decided to escape. He walked out of the hall to where his bodyguard of five men was waiting with his horse, and they made off at a tremendous pace. The Chinese pursued them but did not catch up with the fugitives until their horses broke down, compelling the party of six to alight. A terrible fight ensued in which, after killing five or six Chinese, Rashü Behu himself was killed.