The Collected Works of Chogyam Trungpa: Volume One (29 page)

Each separate mandala is connected with a specific initiation. The rites were performed in order, and before each began the participants formally requested the teacher to conduct it. Each rite went through four stages; the first three corresponded to the body, speech, and mind, and the fourth went beyond symbol. Usually at the end of the ritual the wangkur of a dorje loppön gave the pupil authority to teach. It consisted in handing over to him a drum, conch shell, throne, and the banner of the dharma. Some of the wangkurs lasted several days, others for as short a time as ten minutes.

After giving one of these longer ones I had to give eleven or twelve of the lesser wangkurs. Each entailed a complicated arrangement of the objects on the altar; this was the responsibility of the
chöpön
or “server of the rites,” with his assistant. Yet another elderly monk was needed to read through the forthcoming wangkur on the day before the rite was celebrated, so that he could instruct the chöpön when and how the symbolic objects were to be arranged, since each mandala required the objects to be placed in different positions on the two higher tiers while the offerings were laid out on the bottom tier. When the wangkur was given, the chöpön had to bring the objects from the shrine to the teacher and afterward to return them to their places. He had to distribute water symbolizing spiritual purification, and grains of barley as a symbol of offering; it was also his duty to swing censers, so he was on his feet all day long. Our chöpön at Yag was an old man and he became extremely exhausted, but there was no one to replace him. This wangkur on the
Treasury of the Mine of Precious Teachings
had been long and complicated. Many of those who had attended wanted me to explain in more simple terms the significance of the spiritual teaching that they had just received. The coming of the Communists had greatly demoralized everyone; all had lost their sense of security, yet their deep faith in the religious way of life remained unshaken. The people needed a personal contact; they wished me to explain why they were so disturbed. They longed to receive more teaching provided it could be brought within their understanding. Since women were not allowed inside the monastery, I arranged for a special hall where the peasant families could come to talk to me. I tried my utmost to give help by impressing on all the necessity for regular meditation. I said they must carry out their duties and daily activities in the spirit of meditation, and if there should be no external guru, they must develop the teaching within themselves. I regretted deeply not being able to devote more time to them as my presence was now urgently needed at Surmang.

1
. Also known as
The Jewel Ornament of Liberation
.—Ed.

Into Hiding

T
HE DAY THAT THE
wangkur of Rinchen Terdzö ended was a momentous one and a special service was held. But it was also the day when the messengers returned with the replies to my letters asking for advice. Gyalwa Karmapa gave me no indication of what should be done. He said it was important for me to carry out what spiritual work I could under present conditions. He was glad to learn that I had been doing well in teaching others and that the wangkur I had just given had been so beneficial. Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche replied with a poem; in it he said more or less the same thing as Gyalwa Karmapa, but added, “The darkness of the barbarians sinks deeper and deeper into the heart of the country. He who would light a torch must do so from within himself. There is no need for disturbance of mind; the worthwhile minds will win.”

The most distressing verbal news was that Jamgön Kongtrül of Sechen had been captured by the Communists. Gyalwa Karmapa and Khyentse Rinpoche were trying to get him released, but I felt pessimistic myself. All three had been together at Gyalwa Karmapa’s monastery of Tsurphu. Jamgön Kongtrül Rinpoche never took any thought for his own safety and, knowing this, the two others had been taking special care of him, even to the neglect of their own work. The situation was becoming increasingly dangerous, and refugees in their hundreds were pouring in from East Tibet, many of them disciples of Jamgön Kongtrül. A particular group of some three hundred people had suffered many casualties on the way, and since they were his ardent devotees they had begged him to come to perform the funeral rites for the dead and to stay for a fortnight and give them spiritual instruction. Gyalwa Karmapa and Khyentse Rinpoche tried to dissuade him, but he himself felt he had to go. He said, “This stage in their lives is a time when they most need spiritual help and it is my duty to give it to them.”

When he had been at this refugee camp for about a week, it was attacked by the Communists. Jamgön Kongtrül told the other refugees not to bother about him. He sent the majority off round one side of a hill, while he and his attendants went the other way. He told them, “What will be, will be; one cannot escape one’s karma.”

For the first night he was able to find shelter in a small monastery, but the following day the Communists discovered him and took him prisoner. One of his disciples, who held a senior post in Tibet, did all he could to get the lama set free, explaining that he had nothing to do with politics. When Jamgön Kongtrül was interrogated by a Chinese officer he was completely outspoken. It was natural for him to express his own spiritual attitude in his replies. The Communists may well have found his attitude difficult to understand, since it did not conform in the least to their creed, and though his sincerity may have impressed them it failed to obtain his release. During the wangkur at Yag I myself had a certain presentiment of these events for I suddenly got a strong impression of his physical presence; it was almost overwhelming. Also that night I had a vivid dream in which I saw him riding bareback on a white horse carrying volumes of the scriptures and his own reliquary. He spoke to me and rode on by a steep rocky path up the mist-shrouded mountain. In the distance, he seemed to drop his books which rolled down the path and fell on me.

Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche had opened my letter to Jamgön Kongtrül and sent me a reply saying, “You must not depend too much on others. If all acts are performed according to the dharma they cannot fail. Gyalwa Karmapa, Jamgön Kongtrül, and I have been looking for somewhere on the borders of Tibet and India to establish a community, but so far we have been unsuccessful. Indeed, until there is freedom from the bondage of egotism, there can be no permanent refuge and no abiding place in the world.”

The messengers told me that the relationship between the Dalai Lama’s government and the Chinese still appeared to be more or less cordial, but that on their route they had seen a number of military camps, some belonging to the Communists, others to the Resistance volunteers; it had been almost impossible to travel. The Resistance army had been organized by a Khampa, Gönpo Tashi, a wealthy merchant from Lhasa. When the Communists ravaged most of East Tibet including his own property, he closed his business in Lhasa and himself organized a force of guerillas, giving everything he still possessed for their expense and his example was followed by other wealthy men.

The main headquarters of the Resistance was at Tsöna. There was no secrecy about the fact, but the Communists appeared to ignore it. Our messengers who had seen these East Tibetan volunteers in their Khampa uniforms said that they showed great dignity and that they all seemed very young and enthusiastic. They added that in Lhasa itself the inhabitants always showed a marked dislike toward the Chinese.

When the letters were brought to Yak the whole monastery was anxious to know their contents, though some of the monks feared that the news would only be divulged to a chosen few. I felt there was nothing in these letters which need be kept secret. I had been given neither instruction nor advice, so I asked the more senior monks what they now considered would be the best plan for me to follow. They suggested that since my gurus had given no indication whether or not I should leave Tibet, they must have thought there was no immediate danger and that all was going to turn out well in the end. It was beyond them even to imagine that the Chinese could take complete control of Tibet and that they would destroy all the monasteries and change the whole Tibetan way of life. The bursar was foremost in this opinion. A few lamas however, including the abbot Yak Tulku, thought that my gurus meant me to choose my own path. They were very concerned at the news about Jamgön Kongtrül and considered that I needed to be very careful myself. This was all extremely difficult for me; any decision I might make would affect not only myself, but all the monasteries in the district, particularly those connected with Surmang, as well as the lay population. Everyone looked to me as their authority and were prepared to follow my lead.

Though we had now finished the wangkur of Rinchen Terdzö the preparation and celebration of the vajra-amrita (elixir for spiritual health) rite was still to follow. However, we delayed these devotional exercises for three days in order to have time to discuss our immediate plans. I had more or less come to the conclusion that I should do as Surmang wished and return there, though a few of my monks agreed with Yak Tulku that I should effect an immediate escape, which would be easier to do from Yak; other monks from Surmang could follow in their own time. I arranged a meeting with our own monks at Yak and asked Yak Tulku and Jigme Rinpoche to attend it. On the first day everyone was noncommittal. That evening Jigme Rinpoche came to see me saying that he thought I should not go back to Surmang, though of course the decision rested with me. He said he intended to take a strong line about it on the following day. This he did speaking with great emphasis. My bursar was convinced that he was trying to influence me to escape and that what he was saying ostensibly on my behalf was merely his own opinion. I said little myself at the time except that I believed great changes were inevitable and that the Communists would take over the whole of Tibet. The same afternoon Tsethar the bursar came to see me and let fly. He accused me of taking advice from people who did not belong to our monastery and who had no right to interfere with our affairs. He added that it was his duty to look after me. I must understand, he said, that I represented the entire Surmang group of monasteries and its devotees; all looked upon me as their head and only they had the right to serve me; with that he left. I realized that it was useless to reply.

The next morning I asked him to come and see me again. I told him that I was quite prepared to offer up my life for Surmang. I had wanted to talk to him about this for some time, but thought he failed to understand that I was not thinking about my own preservation; I added, “It is disquieting that you never consulted me personally: You should have done so before putting the matter to the others. However, I see your point and am very grateful that consideration for our monastery should come first with you. There is a proverb in Tibet which says, ‘Two beggars need not dispute about how to run a king’s affairs.’ The decision rests with me, but I am ready for anything. If you wish you can take the responsibility.”

In order to calm him down I tried to explain all this as serenely as possible, but I also said that we could not afford to delay a decision. I told Yak Tulku and Jigme Rinpoche of this conversation and asked them not to make any opposition, however anxious they were for my personal safety. On the third morning of the meeting the bursar was a little hesitant since I had laid the responsibility on to him. He merely said that he thought the right thing for us would be to return to Surmang; however, he did not wish to take the final decision which must be mine alone. I then spoke, saying that I knew my first duty must be whatever would be best for our monastery and since all my monks were waiting for me there to direct affairs, there was no alternative but for me to come. Silence then fell upon the meeting, until my bursar exclaimed, “Is that all?”

We now began nine days of devotional meditation for the preparation of the vajra amrita.

In the meantime arrangements had to be made for our departure from Yak. The bursar seemed pleased that I had agreed to return to Surmang, but still showed that he did not wish to carry the whole responsibility. It will be remembered that when I was at Drölma Lhakhang I received many gifts and that he had bartered these for flocks and herds without my permission. He now wished to take these animals with us, which meant that we would require at least twenty men to load and unload the animals besides the herdsmen, and we would have to camp on the way. The monks, after having so looked forward to this return, now began to be a little anxious for our safety, for we had just heard that Andrup Gönpo Tashi’s army during their passage from Lhasa had been successful in attacking many Communist camps, and that they had reached Pashö, where they had broken into the town’s arsenal. They had raised fresh forces and appeared to be going in the direction of Chamdo. This meant that there was already fighting on the route to Surmang. The bursar now suggested that we should leave the animals behind, and ourselves split into small groups wearing lay dress. I agreed, saying, “We must not force the issue, if there is no alternative, this is our karma.”

We were expecting to celebrate the vajra amrita on the following day, but that night as I was going to bed I suddenly felt ill and was in such pain that I fainted. At the same time the roof beams cracked in one of the shrine rooms in which devotions were being held at Drölma Lhakhang, which was felt to presage a disaster.

It was the custom in Tibet, when a person was taken ill, for his friends to send gifts to some of the lamas in the district asking for spiritual healing through their meditations, and Tsethar did this now on my behalf. One was sent to a lama who held a senior post under the Chinese administration. He sent back word that though he was sorry to hear of my illness, the arrival of the gift was a blessing, for it enabled him to let me know through the bearer that the local Communist committee had been discussing how they might get hold of Trungpa Tulku and were trying to discover where he was staying. He added that news had come through that a Resistance group was centered around Surmang and that the fighting there was very heavy.