A Step Away from Paradise: A Tibetan Lama's Extraordinary Journey to a Land of Immortality (31 page)

W. Freshfield. First published in 1903, it recounts a journey the author took around that great massif at the turn of the twentieth century. In one remarkable passage he locates the cliffs from which Lhatsun Chenpo opened the western gate of the beyul as just above Tseram: the place Tulshuk Lingpa looked down at from the top of the Kang La Pass and said they’d have to travel to in order to find the very same gate. Explaining to Saul the relevance of Tseram for Tulshuk Lingpa’s story, I fished the Xerox I’d made of the passage from my bag and read him the following passage:

After a brief halt on the meadow in front of the huts of Tseram, we crossed the river … A woodland path led us upward through a forest where the tints of autumnal foliage mingled with the dark green of the firs … and [we] found ourselves on a brow overlooking a lovely glade at the entrance to the long side-valley up which lay our course to the Kang La … Rocky banks, clothed in Rhododendrons and small bushes, enclosed lawns of smooth turf; clear springs formed pools in the hollows; the surrounding woods made a pleasing background. Late at night, when the dull mists at last cleared off, we saw in the moonlight an icy peak, one of the south-western spurs of Junnu; at early dawn we had a beautiful vision, framed between the slopes of the Yalung Valley, of the distant ranges above the Arun. Seen through an atmosphere suffused with the first sunbeams, their forested ridges lost all local color and glowed with the blues and purples of aërial distance. It was a picture which made me long for an artist to make some notes that might recall its loveliness.

The charm of this spot did not escape the native travellers who preceded us. Local tradition has it that it was visited by Lhatsun, the introducer of Buddhism into Sikhim in the seventeenth century, and the Saint is said to have given it the name of Namga Tshal or the Grove of Joy. According to the somewhat credulous Babu, ‘Lhatsun, when first coming to visit these Himalayan regions, spent a few days here, struck with the fine scenery and the spaciousness of the valley. The fatigues of his long and perilous journey from the northern solitudes of Tibet had broken down his health, but the few days that he spent here greatly restored him, not only by the delightful scenery of the place, but more especially by the comforts that he obtained both religious and physical.’ So much restored was the Lama that, according to tradition, he flew up through the air to the top of Kabru and spent a fortnight there. Would we might have been privileged to perform similar feats of ‘volitation.’

I noticed a glint of wonder in Saul’s eyes. ‘What do you make of such stories,’ I asked, ‘and stories of flying monks? Do you think he really flew?’ ‘Many strange things happen in Tibet,’ Saul answered. ‘There is a lot that we do not understand—and a lot of these stories are constructed a lot later.’

‘At any rate,’ I said, ‘the three lamas met in Yoksum, right?’

‘Yes,’ Saul said, ‘In fact, Yoksum means “the three great ones” in Lepcha in commemoration of these three lamas meeting there in order to found a new Buddhist kingdom. But Lhatsun stopped the other two from founding the kingdom then and there. “We three are lamas,” he’s reputed to have said. “We need a layman to rule this country.”

‘Probably a wise decision,’ Saul said chuckling, ‘to pick a
local
layman so as not to be perceived as an occupying force. Remember, Buddhism was a foreign religion. This was a religious—or spiritual—as well as a temporal takeover. Remember also, I’m now telling you the official self-justifying myth, the one you’ll find—perhaps not in such detail—in any number of tourist brochures.

‘Lhatsun pointed out the many prophecies about the “Four Avatars” that would found the new kingdom for the benefit of the dharma. He reportedly quoted one particular prophecy, which was given by Rinchen Lingpa, who died in 1375. It said, “One named Phuntsok from the direction of Gang will appear.”

‘So Lhatsun deputed a hermit to lead a group to find this place called Gang and find this man called Phuntsok living there in order to bring him back to Yoksum to become king. While Lhatsun and his disciples stayed in the hills above Yoksum meditating, the group he’d sent off had many adventures especially since they apparently had no idea where the place called Gang might be. The story has it that they finally made it to Gangtok, then a small village of no particular importance, which was “the same as the prophesied Gang”. This I find suspect for a couple of reasons. First of all,
gang tok
means hilltop, so it could have been anywhere. I have reason to believe that they actually went to Sinon, just up the mountain from Tashiding, which was a Tibetan colony at the time. Anyway, in this place called Gangtok they found Phuntsok Namgyal milking his cows. Phuntsok invited the party into his house and gave them some milk to drink, which the party considered especially auspicious. When they told Phuntsok why they were there, to take him to Yoksum and make him king, imagine how lucky he felt. Milking a cow one minute, and the founder of a royal line the next!

‘Actually according to the story Phuntsok was of Tibetan royal stock, having descended from the eighth century Tibetan king Trisong Deutsen. Apparently there were prophecies concerning this as well, though we can assume they were concocted later after the fact. One prophecy said that if a descendent of Trisong Deutsen be made king of Sikkim, the land would prosper. What you must understand is that usurpers of Tibetan thrones and founders of peripheral Tibetan kingdoms often claimed descent from Trisong Deutsen. It was practically a prerequisite.

‘Anyway, these three Tibetan lamas conducted all the necessary rites and installed Phuntsok Namgyal as the first in the line of “righteous” kings—or chogyals—of Sikkim, which was handed down not without its hiccups within the family until the kingdom fell to India in 1975.

‘Before the founding of the kingdom Sikkim was a collection of little kingdoms and spheres of influence which, though none dominated the rest, must have all had their tussles and mini wars. Phuntsok, with the backing of the Tibetans, was able to consolidate a huge area under his control even larger than present-day Sikkim. Yet he knew his hold on power was tenuous. Therefore, he installed his son Tensung as chogyal before his own death to insure the smooth transfer of power.

‘Chogyal Tensung had three wives: one Bhutanese, one Tibetan and one Limbu. He died fairly young. Upon his death his fourteen-year-old son Chakdor—the son of the second, Tibetan wife—took the throne. But he was challenged by his half sister Pendi Wangmo—the daughter of the first, Bhutanese wife. Since Pendi was older than Chakdor, she thought the succession should go to her.

‘Pendi Wangmo got the backing of the Bhutanese who were only too happy to attack this newly established kingdom, and this sibling rivalry led to the Sikkim–Bhutan War. When the Bhutanese sent assassins to kill Chogyal Chakdor, he fled to Lhasa. While the Bhutanese occupied the Sikkimese palace for eight years, the chogyal lived in Lhasa. He was young and was schooled there—steeped in Tibetan tradition. One story, I don’t know how accurate, has it that he became the Dalai Lama’s state astrologer. At any rate his association with the Dalai Lama was close, and the Dalai Lama gave him many estates. Finally, with the help of the Tibetans, he drove the Bhutanese out of most of the kingdom and he reoccupied the palace.

‘Religion and politics are never very far apart in the Tibetan world. You see, the three Tibetan lamas who opened the beyul in order to found the kingdom were from three different lineages. As everybody who goes to Sikkim knows, Lhatsun Chenpo is practically considered the patron saint of Sikkim. But it hasn’t always been so. In the beginning Nadak Sempa Chenpo and the Nadak tradition were the most important, founding the most important monasteries. Lhatsun Chenpo was of secondary importance. Kathog Kuntu Zangpo was always more obscure and, though he founded a Kathog monastery in Yoksum, that lineage never spread in a significant way. Nadak Sempa Chenpo’s son wrote his biography and Tashiding, for instance, was allied to his lineage.

‘All this changed with the Bhutanese War. Not only were religion and politics mixed together but sex as well. Nadak’s grandson had an affair with Pendi Wangmo. She tried not only to run her brother off the throne but also to supplant the entire Mindroling lineage to which he was allied, through the line that came through Lhatsun Chenpo. When Pendi Wangmo’s Bhutanese Nadak side was defeated, there was a transfer of politico-religious power from the Nadaks to the Lhatsun Chenpo school. It was then that the figure of Lhatsun Chenpo became important. This is what assured him the position of Sikkim’s patron saint. Before that he was too busy flying about the place and meditating in caves with his
khandro
. He was a great practitioner. He gave wonderful visionary sadhanas and practices.

‘The end was not pretty for either Chogyal Chakdor or his half-sister Pendi Wangmo. Some time after the chogyal’s return, he went to the hot springs at Ralong. Pendi Wangmo, still thinking of usurping her brother’s throne, saw her chance to assassinate her brother. She sent a doctor to Ralong to attend to her brother, who was feeling a bit under the weather. The doctor took the chogyal’s pulse and determined the best course of action was a little bloodletting. As per Pendi Wangmo’s instructions, he severed a major artery and the chogyal bled to death. The chogyal’s attendants brought his body back to the palace under the cover of night, and for a long time they kept it a secret that he was dead. Meals were brought to him as usual, and the word was spread that he was in strict devotional seclusion. Finally they burnt his body at the Pemayangtse Monastery, after which his attendants decided to avenge the murder. They went to Namchi, where Pendi Wangmo was staying and scaled the walls to her room in the middle of the night. You know what
khatas
are, right? They are the ceremonial silk scarves that are presented to high lamas as a sign of respect. They took one and stuffed it down Pendi Wangmo’s throat and killed her.’

Saul looked at his watch.

‘Sorry to end on such a macabre note,’ he said, ‘but I’m afraid I have a lecture to attend.’

Maybe he saw from my face that his dizzying survey of Sikkimese history had left my mind spinning—and my central question unanswered. Just how did all of this relate to the royal opposition to Tulshuk Lingpa? I felt the key was there but I couldn’t quite grasp it.

‘I just want to stress that religious ideas are often used for political ends,’ Saul said. ‘This is one of the main lessons of the history of the region, if not the world.’

Saul stood, found a pen and a notebook, put them into his bag and readied himself to leave.

I stood, too.

When we were about to leave, Saul looked me in the eye.

‘The earliest reference to Sikkim in Tibetan literature,’ he said, ‘is as a beyul. Much of the terma literature—the prophecies included—have been translated and transposed in such a way as to justify the foundation of the Namgyal Dynasty. It is at the center of the royal family’s claim to power.’

The rain had stopped, though with the setting sun the fog had thickened. As I unlocked my bicycle, Saul got his out of a little shed. We rode together until the first crossroads, where we parted ways.

‘I hope I’ve been helpful,’ he called over his shoulder. Hugging the sidewalk to let a car pass, Saul Mullard disappeared into the fog.

I spent quite some time in Oxford, availing myself of the wonderful libraries. Most days one could find me in the Duke Humphrey’s Library, Oxford’s oldest reading room dating to the 1480s. In a gap between shelves of leather-bound Latin tomes was a narrow wooden staircase leading to an upper gallery. There at a tiny oak desk where I could look down at the scholars but not be seen and look up at the ceiling’s centuries-old alchemical paintings just above my head, I completed the first draft of this book.

During the days after my meeting with Saul I found myself at my desk watching the light of the sun filter through the stained-glass windows, wondering about the ancient prophecies concerning Beyul Demoshong. Could the very notion of the beyul and the prophecies surrounding it have been created by politicians for worldly ends? Had Tulshuk Lingpa twisted these notions to spiritual ends? Or had the politicians and founders of dynasties been the ones to twist spiritual truths to political ends? How did the resolution of this question impact upon the question I had hoped to answer by meeting Saul, of why the royal family was against Tulshuk Lingpa?

Watching the sunlight dancing through the ancient stained glass and letting my mind wander, it suddenly struck me that it didn’t matter whether the king thought Tulshuk Lingpa held the key or was a madman, whether there was an issue with his being Tibetan or whether the queen was out to get him because he was a Nyingma lama—all of these might have been factors, or not.

By simply saying the beyul was yet to be opened, Tulshuk Lingpa was striking a blow at the center of the founding myth of the kingdom. In a tacit way, he was questioning the legitimacy of the Namgyal dynasty itself, which would surely be enough to have him thrown in jail.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Royal Inquiries