The seventeenth and eighteenth centuries were a watershed for the literary arts, with the growth of secular biography and poetry. The rise of the Dalai Lama’s government in the middle of the seventeenth century began a cultural renaissance in the Lhasa region, as seen in
chapter 17. The formation of the new government also initiated the growth of a new class of educated urban intellectuals, though this would take several generations. In the middle decades of the eighteenth century, autobiography became a popular genre among the elite of Lhasa. The leading light in this lay adaptation of an old religious genre of writing was Dokharwa Tsering Wanggyel (1697–1763), who held a cabinet position in the Central Tibetan government. Buddhism was never distant from this new literature; Dokharwa’s “novel,”
The Tale of the Incomparable Prince, is a reworking of a traditional Indian literary form of life writing, the
avadāna, in which previous lives of the Buddha are recounted. The Fifth Dalai Lama was a proponent of the most popular
avadāna in Tibet, K
ṣemendra’s
Vine of Lives, the
Avadānakalpalatā, and had it reprinted in a bilingual edition during his reign. This no doubt did much to popularize the work among sophisticated lay readers around Lhasa in the ensuing generations. New topics were central to the new lay writing, most conspicuously romantic love, which could never find an easy place in the writings of monastics. Even the king of Tibet, Polhané Sönam Topgyé, could find time to write love poetry, which Dokharwa integrated into his biography of the leader. Another factor in the rise of new narrative and poetry was contact with urban life outside of Tibet. Doring Pa
ṇḍita’s writings show a fascination with Beijing and an engagement with Nepal through allegorical poetry.
The rise of the aristocratic literati in Lhasa was not without detractors, both internally and externally. The Sixth Dalai Lama gave back his monastic vows and turned away from his responsibilities as leader of the country, but he also engaged in a more subtle form of protest through his writings. Unlike his predecessor, the Great Fifth Dalai Lama, the Sixth wrote no major works of philosophy, nor did he write in the preferred style of poetry for the elite, the Indian kāvya style. Instead he wrote love songs in a folk idiom that has more in common with harvest songs of peasants than the amorous musings of Polhané. More explicit are critiques of the cultural and social milieu in Central Tibet by writers at the margins of the Tibetan cultural world. Tenzin Repa (1646–1723) offered spirited criticism of the baroque excess within the institutions of Central Tibet, the very excess that had given rise to the literary innovation represented by Dokharwa. Finally, some writers remained rooted in their homelands outside Central Tibet, yet still found social space in which to innovate. This was the case with Orgyen Chökyi, the author of one of the earliest autobiographies by a woman in Tibetan. KRS
The Sixth Dalai Lama took the throne as ruler of Tibet in 1701, some eighteen years after the death of the Fifth Dalai Lama in 1682. He was by all accounts ill suited for the job, and it is tempting to wonder if he would have abdicated had he not been deposed by the Mongol leader Lhazang Khan in 1706. There are good grounds for sympathizing with Tsangyang Gyatso, who remains one of the most complex and intriguing characters in Tibetan history. Born in the southern borderlands of Tibet, he was, unlike most Dalai Lamas, not brought to Lhasa at a young age, and did not benefit from the intensive education and enculturation that monastic training in the country’s capital would have offered. Rather, he was raised in secrecy, as imposed by the Fifth Dalai Lama’s regent, Desi Sanggyé Gyatso, near his homeland until he was a teenager, then ushered into the political world as an inexperienced young man. Tsangyang Gyatso refused to play the role assigned to him by the regent, preferring instead to spend his time among the Lhasa public enjoying women, wine, and song. If this was not precisely what Sanggyé Gyatso had intended, history has been kind to Tsangyang Gyatso, and his poems remain among the most loved literature produced by any of the Dalai Lamas. Tibetans remember him as the Dalai Lama with a human face. He was an enlightened figure, to be sure, but he was the Dalai Lama who chose to exhibit his pure and exalted status by conducting himself in a most sensual, amorous, and creaturely manner. Today Tsangyang Gyatso is largely known through his poetry, which is famous throughout Tibet. These brief, disconnected verses speak of yearning, arousal, and sadness. They evoke romantic images of the Tibetan landscape and nostalgic memories of drunken nights and days of youth. Perhaps more than any other work of Tibetan literature, they bring the gods to earth. KRS
(1)
From top the eastward peak,
arose the clear white moon:
her immaculate face
turned and turned in my mind.
(2)
Last year’s cast seedlings
this year ripple as hay.
A stripling’s aging frame
stiff as a southern bow.
(4)
On chance’s road I met
a perfumed bodied girl.
Like turquoise in my hand
I threw its beauty back.
(25)
A bee caught in a web:
body of a Kong youth.
Her bed-mate for three days,
he thinks of holy lands.
(34)
If my girl could not die
there’d be no end to beer;
we’d stay in youth’s haven.
In this I put my trust.
(36)
Is not my love since youth
descended from the wolves?
Once she’s known skin and flesh
she bolts back to the hills.
Central kingly Meru,
stay faithful, do not change;
the rounds of sun and moon
must not be thought to stray.
(49)
I know all her soft flesh
but not her constancy;
by drawing in the dirt
I measure to the stars.
(50)
Our tryst in the dense woods
of the southern valley
a parrot only knows,
all else are ignorant.
O parrot, please do not
repeat our secret words.
(52)
Hey, old dog called “Beard,”
more clever than a man,
don’t say, “He left at dawn,”
don’t say, “He came at dusk.”
(57)
I ask you, you white crane,
give me your wing’s power.
I am not going far,
just ’round Litang and back.
1(65)
Behind me a demon.
Who cares if he’s fearsome?
I saw a sweet apple
and was compelled to pluck.
[Tsangyang Gyatso, “Love Poems of the Sixth Dalai Lama,” trans. Nathan Hill and Toby Fee, The Harvard Advocate (Winter 2008):80–91.]
The Biography of Miwang, composed by Dokharwa Tsering Wanggyel in 1733, is the life story of Miwang (“the lord of men”) Polhané Sönam Topgyé, who ruled Tibet from 1728 to 1747. Dokharwa is also credited with having written the first Tibetan novel, The Tale of the Incomparable Prince, and his highly erudite work is strongly influenced by classical Sanskrit literature. His other writings include an autobiography (see the following selection) and a Sanskrit dictionary.
The selection below is drawn from the chapter entitled “An Account of Studying the Arts and Sciences at Mindröling Monastery,” which recounts Polhané’s journey to Mindröling; his impressions of the monastery’s founder, the charismatic visionary Terdak Lingpa (1646–1714); the monastic curriculum; and daily life during his course of study. The chapter also touches on the history of Polhané’s connection to the Mindröling family lineage and a political situation that might affect the monastery, with allusions to Polhané’s ability to intervene.
Remarkably, a third of the chapter is devoted to the parting from his favorite lover. This amorous exchange comes just after Polhané leaves his wife and children behind “like a mouthful of spit,” taking Siddhārtha’s departure from his royal home and family as a model (though Polhané does return to them after his studies). In contrast to the apparent ease with which Polhané leaves his spouse, he and his sweetheart speak to each other at length about the pain of separation and sing in romantic verse about how to cope with their mutual longing. The woman chides Polhané for abandoning her and, in the passage excerpted below, he encourages her to let her natural surroundings soothe her until his return.
The romantic and subtly erotic exchange stands out not just against the overall content of the chapter in which it is contained but also against most of the Tibetan literature familiar to Western readers. Such writing is not well represented in translation, which has until recently emphasized Buddhist topics. Since most of the Tibetan works translated deal with Buddhism, we tend to assume other types of literature do not exist. However, romance might have been more prevalent in Tibetan literature than it seems, perhaps due to restrictions on the circulation of “worldly” writings, or simply the rarity of putting personal correspondence into print publication. Dokharwa’s work gives us a rare glimpse of such writing.
This passage prompts questions about the place of love and romance in Tibetan literature. For instance, if Dokharwa was exceptional in treating romance so directly, what was his readers’ reaction to his work? Did his contemporaries take up similar subjects? How do love, romantic sentiment, and erotic writing relate to Tibetan social structures? Could Dokharwa write this way because of his and Polhané’s high social standing? Is the romantic content of the biography meant to highlight the lay status of the subject? What does his writing say about Polhané’s literary education at Mindröling? Do the same criteria for judging Buddhist literature apply to romantic literature? Even for readers whose interests do not typically include romantic literature and love poetry, considering questions like these will broaden the context in which to understand Tibetan literature. DT
She said such things, lamenting and singing, and as she wiped away the tears that moistened her face with her preciously jeweled fingers and part of her undergarment, she implored him.
At that time, feeling the physical torment of separation and focusing his eyes intensely on her face without wavering, the excellent youth said,
Although in the sky the full moon—the Treasure of Nectar,
the Crystal Lord—departs to the western mountain,
before long, from the shoulder of the eastern peak,
a handsome, smiling face will shine forth, night-blooming lotus.
The Lamp of Existence, Inexhaustible Treasury of light,
great radiance that rests on the throne of the wooden horse—
having cleared the darkness from other places,
the sun’s noble light will illuminate the world without delay.
Endowed with the superior marks and virility of royal lineage,
I, the precious youth, the beautiful White Umbrella,
having quickly returned as the ruler of Nyang Valley,
will bestow the balm of well-being and happiness, cherished woman.
Until then, when the river’s flow is completely blocked by ice
and the touch of winter’s unbearable cold is oppressive,
hold it in your mind that the massive snow mountain
is my youthful body, full-breasted woman.
When the long course of the sun spreading spring’s glory
exhausts your body and mind,
perceive the melodious voice of the female cuckoo
as my affectionate words, adorable woman.
When your body hair is aroused by the cool southern breeze
during the rise of autumn, in the time of plenty,
consider the perfectly clear, limitless sky
to be my mind, lithe woman.
When the virtuous signs of summer’s queen are spreading out
and you are wretched with the torment of missing me, your friend,
wish for all the wondrous colors of the night-blooming lotus
to be me, your loving friend, slender woman.
I am the one who stays on top,
lifted up from below by the beautiful woman
who is just like an excellent horse—
direct your loving thoughts like this.
The gorgeous woman’s hands
clutch my handsome behind,
just like a belt binds—
our friendship must not loosen.
Your ravishing fingers
clasp my pure white fingers
like a whip and reins—
this is how we engage with each other.
Again and again your mouth touches
my smiling red lips
as if they were your cup—
view pleasure and longing like this.
The grasping and gentle touch of your body against
your friend’s handsome youthfulness
is like being clothed in fine garments—
this is what our lovemaking is like.
If the region’s charming garden is secure,
the cuckoo, Messenger of Spring, will return at the appropriate time.
If the cool mountain does not shift,
the Five-Faced Lord, the lion, will always be your friend.
If the Water Treasure, the ocean, is not dried up by fire at the end of the age,
the Swan King will again and again engage in pleasure and play.
If the young girl is steadfast in her promises of friendship,
I, her affectionate friend, will rush to take care of her.
Utterly reject the darkness of longing
and enjoy the experiences of this good age, beloved.
This is the sort of thing he said to his lover. They exchanged words of unbearable torment and expressions of longing. When the whole day had passed in such discussion, they played together, were joyous, and made love in the nighttime. In that way the whole night passed in the festivities of pleasure. Finally the stars’ radiance diminished and dawn’s light pervaded the eastern sky. When the loving couple heard the third cry of the householder’s rooster, the young woman’s mood became extremely somber and she spoke at length.
[Mdo mkhar Zhabs drung Tshe ring dbang rgyal, Mi dbang rtogs brjod (Chengdu: Si khron mi rigs dpe skrun khang, 2002), 96–99. Trans. DT.]
Dokharwa Tsering Wanggyel (1697–1763) wrote The Autobiography of a Cabinet Minister in 1762, making it arguably the earliest extant Tibetan autobiography written by a layman who was not also a religious specialist (lay religious leaders such as the Nyingma treasure revealer Pema Lingpa did write autobiographies). He was from an ancient clan of Tibetan nobles who traced their lineage back to the imperial period, and his family name, Dokharwa, derives from the district his family ruled. Tsering Wanggyel served as district commissioner and later cabinet minister during a crucial period of Tibetan history. In 1705, when the author was eight years old, Lhazang Khan marched on Lhasa, and the Qoshot Mongols subsequently ruled for twelve years. Tsering Wanggyel then witnessed the invasion of the Zunghar Mongols, their overthrow by the Qing army in 1720, and the garrisoning of two thousand Qing troops in Lhasa. When these armies were reduced some three years later, civil war ensued and Tsering Wanggyel served as military commander for Ü against the Polhané-led forces of Tsang. Yet, when Polhané drove out the Zunghar Mongols and secured peace in Lhasa, he asked Tsering Wanggyel to serve as cabinet minister for the new regime. Several other leaders of the Ü faction were, by contrast, beheaded or sliced to death in public execution (over the protests of Tibetan leaders) by order of the Qing emperor. When Polhané transferred the leadership to his less capable son, Gyurmé Namgyel, in 1747, Dokharwa Tsering Wanggyel was retained as cabinet minister. Finally, when Gyurmé Namgyel himself was executed for rebelling against Qing authority in 1750, Dokharwa was again asked, this time by the Qing, to remain as chief cabinet minister. His references to the emperor—put on par with the Dalai Lama when Dokharwa discusses his appointment as minister or adherence to the law—indicate a strengthening of Qing influence in Tibet during the mid-eighteenth century.
Tsering Wanggyel’s autobiography also provides rare evidence of life-writing practices by an aristocrat in eighteenth-century Tibet. In the selections brought together here, he reflects on his nearly forty years in government service. The work exhibits his concern with writing the self through the examination of intentions and moral exactitude. At the same time, Tsering Wanggyel’s sense of subjectivity is inseparable from his conception of himself as an aristocratic official, Buddhist, and progenitor. He illustrates not a path to spiritual liberation, but the path of an honorable public servant in the service of a religious state. His autobiography models “noble” behavior, in the sense of both upstanding and class, but this is not simply a grammar for aristocratic etiquette. Rather, Tsering Wanggyel emphasizes the need to uphold standards of behavior in service to the government. In the face of what he sees as an increase in corruption and exploitation of subjects by the governing elite, his prescription has a strongly civic cast. Obeying the government, paying taxes, and fulfilling one’s obligations not only generate merit but also ultimately help preserve the state. For this cabinet minister writing on the eve of his retirement, the state was not an abstract notion. Rather, the religiopolitical Ganden Podrang government was a wish-fulfilling jewel, which had to be served and kept intact to benefit all its subjects. LH
I am a humble ordinary person, wholly bound by worldly ties. However, because of small fruits accumulated in my former lives, I was born into a lineage proclaimed to be high. I have some ability, having studied the traditional sciences, and have no need to be embarrassed among my peers. I think without being swayed by others. Since the age of eighteen, I have been in the countless ranks of officials, who are kin to the gods, of the jewel of the realm, the Ganden Podrang government. During the time of the king Lhazang, I collected income in Samdruptsé, and the following year was appointed district magistrate there. Then, during the time of the regent Taktsewa while the Zunghars held Tibet, I was first the district commissioner of Drigu and then given joint responsibility as both chamberlain and secretary for the regent Taktsewa. When the Dalai Lama returned to the Potala and Polhané left as representative to Nakshö, etc., I took his place as finance officer. Then, after the war between Ü and Tsang, in the earth-bird year [1729], by the emperor’s decree I was given the title of
taiji of the first rank and made cabinet minister. In the meantime, Miwang [Polhané] himself said that I should serve as both chief justice and cabinet minister. I did this for several years, and the government income flourished, exceeding its [previous] highest heights. Not only were my enemies unable to predict what I would do, but I also clarified through investigation each fine point without falling into indifference, and judged accordingly. Further, when Dalai Batur was executed by law, the Duke Pa
ṇḍita
2 ordered: “As affairs were previously carried out, I am not initiating anything new regarding the task of minister. Tsering Wanggyel and Sichö Tsetan should continue serving as ministers; and in place of the now blind Minister Drongtsewa, I appoint the steward Nyima Gyeltsen.” Duke Pa
ṇḍita set down the Thirteen Points [of Administration], after which we similarly received an order from the emperor stating: “Minister Taiji Tsering Wanggyel, you are of the good class of Tibet [an aristocratic family] and yours is a lineage of noble people.…” The emperor’s decree, as solid as Mount Meru, was announced. The Dalai Lama also promoted me to be chief minister. Thirty-five years have passed since I first assumed the duties of minister with gratitude.
The positions described above were not attained through deceit but solely by decree. Since my own wisdom and knowledge are inferior and I have little courage, there are no deeds to count. In terms of the precious Dharma and the subjects … I am a subject whose livelihood depends on the government. All good things of this life and the next are due solely to the precious government. Thus, in terms of governmental affairs, I served with as much thought, ability, and strength as I could muster, and I accomplished only my altruistic intentions. I acted as honestly and firmly as possible, without harboring my own desires or elevating and supporting my relatives, nor hurting or terribly wounding people I didn’t like.… I never asked for favors to elevate or support my relatives or partisans. Since assuming the post of minister, like most powerful people, I think a small bit of land, subjects, etc. would be my right if I were to ask. But it is said: “Whatever the king wants, whatever finery one might desire—though a person might acquire all of these, the one who is still not satisfied will search for more.” From the time of Miwang until now, I have never asked for a single household [of servants] from the government nor even a parcel of land. As the saying goes: “One’s own food is medicine, another’s food is poison.” I realize that what I have is inherited from my ancestors, and it is enough.…
And if one gives offerings to and propitiates the wish-fulfilling jewel on the mountaintop, then all of one’s desires will be fulfilled effortlessly. However, if many powerful people shatter the jewel and carry away [the pieces], then there is no way to achieve what they need and want. In the same way, if one lives by depending on the government and with gratitude, and if the responsibilities of officials and subjects are accomplished, then it is certain that all wishes will be effortlessly fulfilled. Forcefully asking for whatever fine things one wants from subjects, not paying taxes, etc.—such types of [behavior] are no different than shattering the wish-fulfilling jewel, and one is bereft of any basis for achieving one’s wishes.
Most high and low officials are oppressing and causing suffering by burdening the people with however much corvée tax, etc., they want, and the custom of unbounded exploitation is spreading. I have never engaged in usury. I have never used government things or horses for private use, nor abused my power over subjects by commercial exploitation. This fact is clearly known by leaders, elders, and subjects everywhere. Moreover, the appropriate amount of government taxes and what is owed by any official—high or low—in terms of corvée tax is clear in the public notice. However, these days many powerful people only give excuses and don’t pay their taxes, and thus feel themselves to be heroes. They think this is their profit. However, I myself gave in accord with the public notice, and also whatever was due in terms of other government taxes,
ulak,
3 manual labor, etc., I also gave with no omission. Not only do all of these [actions], the responsibilities of officials and subjects, become the cause for accumulating merits for oneself, due to the principle of cause and effect, one does not accrue the burden of having to obtain an excuse. If one wins through bad actions, gives inappropriate excuses, or acts wrongly for the sake of pleasing others, one will surely experience the unbearable ripening of cause and effect—there’s no need to say it.
As discussed above, I maintained the straight path of courage as best as I could, and served the Dalai Lama and Paṇchen Lama and carefully practiced the law of the emperor. Because my wisdom is insufficient for advising others about this, when powerful people who understand this become troublemakers and don’t keep it in mind, it is like going against a sword or hitting a mountain with your head.…
For the sake of my descendants and in order to uphold the worldly affairs of our family in the future, a book and document with principles [for future consultation] were necessary; and in the fire-mouse year [1756], I requested a written testament [letter of commendation] from the Dalai Lama. In our draft, we couldn’t praise ourselves at all, nor write what we wished, nor request what others should do, etc. But the draft stated: “Ever since the father of this Minister Dokharwa—all of his actions were appropriate, as expressed by the fact that he has been highly praised for doing a good job when he was sent to be a military commander in eastern Mön during the war with the south [Bhutan] in 1714, and he had strong genuine faith in the lineage of the Dalai Lama; and also this one, his offspring, was in the ranks of those lay officials of the Potala—he was state financial officer and he served as minister; his mind stayed reasonable, and he served and continues to serve with [distinctive and appropriate family] background and good thoughts.” Thus, we wrote and propitiated [the Dalai Lama]. Although the Dalai Lama is void of favoritism for all beings, and he doesn’t praise for the sake of pleasing others, he has shown immeasurable unsurpassed kind acts to me, a humble being stuck in sa
ṃs
āra. To the draft of the commendation, he made oral corrections and stamped with his seal the written corrections. To “Councilor Dokharwa” were added [the words]: “This one is of the praiseworthy excellent lineage—Jang Taklungpa—which is a religiopolitical position well documented here in the Land of Snows, and the rosary[-like succession] of the family lineage has furthered the welfare of the Dharma and beings.” Furthermore, under the words “holding the responsibility of councilor” he wrote: “In a noble fashion and in whatever religious and political work he undertook—be it major or minor—his knowledge was vast and his mind remained steady, with faultless intention; with excellent thought and action that is a model for the chief minister of the government, he served and continues to serve properly. He is peerless and deserves the protection of a great award, to be looked after however possible.” Other than these revisions … the draft remained unchanged, exactly as stated. He even gave the silk on which to write the commendation from his own storage and had his grand secretary, Kelzang Dechen, write it. I have obtained unimaginable blessings, for which I am grateful.
If one were to take measure, this breathtaking action by the Dalai Lama, which can be read by all, is not like the praising of children or the insincere niceties expressed by others; this offering of praise was pure. It is difficult for an ignorant person like me to obtain. It is hard to imagine, but because of the Dalai Lama’s blessing and the merit I had accumulated, none of my work went astray; it all went well. The Dalai Lama’s offering of such words, from the depths of his mind, were praise for my meaningful work, my striving for good, my situation, and thus I found greater courage and had something to display to my enemies, something to show my near ones [family]. If later generations hear them, they will be pleased; if they think of them, they will be happy. If they are thoughtful people, they will think: “My ancestors did a great job and we too can do no worse than this, making effort and doing religious and governmental work and the like.” And they should be encouraged, thinking, “I will undertake all actions properly in serving religion and politics [the Dalai Lama and the government] and in all of my own short- and long-term work.”
Advice about what to adopt and discard in terms of religion and politics has been offered again and again by many holy people—former scholars, translators, paṇḍitas, dharmarājas, etc., so I have nothing more to say about this. If one practices their words it would be enough. However, I thought that if I were to write in a colloquial way it could serve as an example for people who work for the government these days and who from a very young age drink chang without control. Under its influence, bad actions and crazy behavior are widespread; they don’t care about their class [king, official, servant, blacksmith, etc.] or whether they are high or low. They mix with whoever has a good face or appearance: a blacksmith, woman, etc. They don’t think about the criticism of society. They are contaminated by the poison of corporeal relations and thus die, etc. They are not cautious. [Rather], if one works for the government and always relies on the government, then it will redound to the good merit for one’s family. You should trust that if you take as primary the affairs of the government, your own needs will naturally be met.
As soon as government staff are appointed, they become corrupt and only cause suffering for their subjects by taking unreasonable amounts and showing no concern. After assuming their position, they have craftsmen make whatever they desire, such as furniture for their household. Not following the law strictly, they speak in support of their faction of friends, and if there is the slightest announcement from the government regarding taxes, they engage in unlimited extra procurement using this as a pretext; by collecting silver for taxes and not offering it to the government, the leaders exploit the subjects. With this rise of great greed, etc.—this unprecedented bad practice that has emerged just recently—it has not been clear how to quickly discern the good and the bad. However, the powerful Dharma protectors will finish them off and these people will certainly experience the karma they have created and accumulated. We should pray that such people do not obtain high positions. In general, all worldly affairs have proceeded in a noble, reasonable, and intelligent manner; the proper way has been strictly maintained. But there are now signs of degenerate times. People’s actions have taken a turn for the worse, and people are confused. Those skilled in deception are lured by wealth, etc., and have become prominent. While it appears that things are going well, it is as the saying goes:
Though an inferior one may exhibit good behavior,
His actions are fake.
Though you may paint glass to be a jewel,
The true colors will show when it meets with water.
Rather than following the unstable, be able to take your own stance. One might be able to repay kindness or take revenge for wrongdoing and still be counted among capable men by the general custom of the world [i.e., society]. However, if you regard what you will experience on the long road of the next life, this too is solely what will fall upon you, ripened karma that is hard to bear. Regardless of whatever work or necessities may arise, trust in the Three Jewels. Ask karmic cause and effect to be your witness. By reflecting on how you will certainly experience fruits that accord with the cause, you will reject the ripening of the ten unvirtuous [acts of the] body, speech and mind; and you will certainly understand.
[Mdo mkhar ba Tshe ring dbang rgyal, Bka’ blon rtogs brjod (Chengdu: Si khron mi rigs dpe skrun khang, 1981), 117–131. Trans. LH/PB.]
At the time of the Gurkha war with Tibet, the aristocrat Doring Tendzin Peljor served at the highest level of the Tibetan government: from 1783, he held the rank of minister and, as such, was one of four officials who constituted the council of ministers—in Tibetan, Kashak—directly under the Dalai Lama. Scion of a prominent family, Doring was preceded in this office by his father, Gönpo Ngödrup Rapten, better known as Pa
ṇḍita, or Doring Pa
ṇḍita (the “Duke Pa
ṇḍita” of the preceding selection). Beginning in 1788, Doring played an increasingly prominent role in trying to placate the Gurkhas, who had recently conquered Nepal and were demanding large payments of silver in return for leaving Tibetan territory unmolested. During a trip to the border to make one such payment, he and another minister, Yutok Trashi Döndrup, were taken prisoner by the Gurkhas and sent to Kathmandu. The incident was followed by a successful Gurkha advance deep into Tibet as far as Zhigatsé. The two officials were not released until 1792, after a year in captivity and after Qing troops had invaded Nepal and forced the Gurkhas to surrender on the outskirts of Kathmandu. ES
Doring and Yutok arrived at Beijing late in 1792, where they were questioned about the Gurkha wars by officials of the grand council, assisted by a translator. In Beijing, they were something of a curiosity: their appearance elicited a reaction redolent of empire confronting the exotic within its dominions. The comments on their appearance hint at the court’s attitude towards the place of Tibet in the Qing empire. As Doring explains:
Both Yutok and I wore a pearl earring on the right and a lustrous turquoise one on the left. Our hair was braided and, as our Tibetan clothing had been used up, and so forth, we wore Chinese clothing; thus we had a bizarre look that was neither Chinese nor Tibetan. Moreover, in the past, travelers from Tibet who had come to Beijing for the most part had only the monastic robes of lamas and monks as clothing; the secretariat officials had never seen lay Tibetans and so asked us, “What custom is this to wear earrings of two different sorts on the left and the right?” As I was in the place of first rank, I answered by explaining that the wearing of a turquoise was an old Tibetan custom and the wearing of a pearl is a custom that spread when those of the royal lineage of Kokonor king Güüshi Khan [Gushri Khan] were kings of Tibet. As a result, we were told that, although the Tibetans are now divine subjects under the rule of the great emperor, they wear the earrings, left and right, pertaining to the old royal customs; thus, there is no place to begin wearing a new one. Nevertheless, they said with an air of playful joking, it seemed we should have to wear an ornament that accorded with Chinese customs on the end of our noses.
Despite the at times light-hearted tone of Doring’s account, he must have been relieved at the outcome of the grand council’s investigation:
The gist of the edict transmitted by the secretariat officials was: Doring Tendzin Peljor and Yutok Trashi Döndrup are both not guilty of ignoring the grace of the Great Emperor, surrendering to the Gurkhas, and engaging in profoundly treasonous actions. But due to their inattention and the feebleness of their own actions, they fell into the hands of the enemy and, as a result, are to be immediately stripped of the posts of duke to the Great Emperor and minister to the Dalai Lama and no longer selected as such. Because of this, there has been a need for a special dispatch of troops from the interior, etc., a root cause for the havoc being wrought upon sentient beings of China, Tibet, and Nepal. Customarily there would accrue great criminal culpability in this, but thinking that you did not know what was customary, the greater part of the offence has been considered with liberality. Both of you are dismissed from your positions as ministers. Similarly, the imperially bestowed hereditary post of duke, the previously granted peacock feather and button … are to be returned.
Immediately after the grand council’s decision was read to him, he was told to be ready for an audience with the emperor the next morning and, in preparation, to learn the proper manner of making prostrations, not part of his training as a minister. Doring was worried about appearing before the emperor and, perhaps not surprisingly, wholly unprepared: “While surely it is great good fortune to be able to meet the Mañjuśrī Emperor, lord of all below heaven and earth, I do not have even a scarf to offer, let alone gifts for the audience!”
Doring’s account of the meeting gives ample evidence of his position at court. Although plainly powerless owing to his dismissal from the post of minister, he was allowed limited access to the emperor in order to put himself, as it were, in his place as a suitably awed and submissive member of the Tibetan élite. Thus Doring and Yutok found themselves observing the emperor’s procession by the palace:
The four of us, Chinese and Tibetan, were arranged on the right of the palanquin, our knees planted on the ground. We made nine prostrations, according to the Chinese fashion, and while we did so, our bodies stretched out and heads bent down, the palanquin approached us and turned around slightly. With Oljaltu acting as translator, the emperor questioned us in order, first asking me, “Are you Pa
ṇḍita’s son?,” and then saying to Yutok, “You, fatty, are you the one who served as minister together with Pa
ṇḍita’s son?” After that, he asked if the two Chinese were people from Chengdu in Sichuan. Finally, he looked closely at me and said, “Do you understand Chinese and Mongol?” I stated that, aside from a few nouns, I did not know how to makes sense of things in Chinese and that my understanding of Mongol was weak. Saying, “
kökerükei ende ire,” his hands moved back and forth from within the palanquin. What he said meant in Tibetan, “What a pity! What a pity! Come here!,” so I went up close to the palanquin and, as before, got down on my knees and remained there. The
dharmarāja, the heavenly appointed Mañju
śr
ī Emperor, thinking in terms of compassion, privately conferred upon me his golden counsel: “With regard to the root causes of the Tibet–Gurkha conflict, as a result of the reasons that have emerged, little by little, from the officials resident in Tibet as to the manner in which your tasks throughout remained variously incomplete, you were specially summoned here for an inquest. For your part, due to your youth and powerlessness, you fell into the hands of the enemy. You have committed no greater offense that the offense of simple inattentiveness. Previously, when the Tibet–Gurkha conflict had broken out, We specially dispatched the Grand Minister of the Imperial Household Department Bajung, who deceitfully reported to me that the bandit Nepalese had bowed their heads and prostrated themselves, and so We did not carry through with campaigns, etc., and eased up. Because of that, the bandits, knowing no law, held you through craft and deceit and damaged the monastery of the Pa
ṇchen Erdeni; and the roots of such varied and egregiously unacceptable actions were all linked to the official Bajung himself. As a result, We immediately judged that he had committed serious offenses under the law. But prior to that, he himself recognized his offenses and took his own life. Summoning back his spirit and applying the law to him is not among the ways of Our royal clan. Tendzin Peljor and the Tibetans along with Ao Hui and other Sichuan officers are all outer officials and thus surely do not know in detail the ways of the interior. In that regard, if you had not listened to whatever words were uttered by the Grand Minister of the Imperial Household Department, Bajung, whose dispatch We had specially ordered, it would have been as if you were not respecting Our orders. And lest that were to have happened, We do believe you had no choice in the matter but to heed him and carry out your tasks. This does not warrant removal from all official posts; however, other offenses will be handled with particular liberality. Most especially, you, Tendzin Peljor, are of the lineage of Pa
ṇḍita. Therefore, We have taken into consideration the actions of your ancestors. We protect you with Our great grace; thus you have no need of fear or anguish. At present, the people who had been sent by the Pa
ṇchen Erdeni to offer greetings to Us, an abbot with his servants, are residing among the lamas, monks, residences, and temples in the Beijing Sira süme [Ch. Xihuangsi, the ‘Huangsi Yellow Temple’], the temple built during the time of my imperial ancestor when the Great Fifth Dalai Lama was invited to Beijing and the temple that had been specially built at the time when We invited the previous Pa
ṇchen Erdeni. Dwell for this special, short time with the Tibetans with whom you are at ease in the Beijing Sira süme. We also grant you an allowance from our treasury. As your directions are the same, it is fitting that you return with the Pa
ṇchen Erdeni’s abbot and his servants who are going back to Tibet in accord with the completion of the New Year’s feasts.” Thus did the
dharmarāja, lord of all below heaven and above earth, the Mañju
śr
ī Emperor, impart to me privately that golden counsel which is to be cherished, the beautiful form and melodious sound of which would be hard to behold with one’s eyes and hear with one’s ears even if one were to fill the three thousand realms with gold and strive for a period of a hundred
kalpa. And not only was it imparted personally to me in Mongol without going through the aforementioned translators, when I did not get the meaning Oljaltu served as translator and I obtained a repetition of the general bestowal.
[Elliot Sperling, “Awe and Submission: A Tibetan Aristocrat at the Court of Qianlong,” The International History Review 20, no. 2 (1998): 325–335. Indented passages are translated text; normal paragraphs are the translator’s commentary.]
The Story of the Bird and Monkey, by the Tibetan councilor Doring Kalön Tendzin Peljor (born 1760), must have been written sometime after 1788. As we have seen in the preceding selection from his work, this was during the Qianlong era, a time when Manchu Qing power in Tibet was at its height and golden edicts were regularly issued telling Tibetans what to do (though they were often ignored or selectively applied). Just a few decades later, the imperial treasury nearly depleted, the Manchus were unable to afford military ventures in such distant regions as Tibet.
This passage is especially interesting for the ideas it expresses about interstate relations, clearly putting Tibet on par with its neighboring countries even though Tibet at this time was militarily weak and dependent on Qing assistance to drive out the invading Gurkhas of Nepal. The verses contain a reference to the Abhidharmic geographical concept of Dzambu Island, which is said to lie to the south of Mount Meru (see
chapter 11). Although often identified with the Indian subcontinent, Jambu Island sometimes means something more like “the world as we know it.” The word for “independence” in this text is
rangwang, literally “own power” or “power over oneself,” which means to take care of one’s own affairs. Thus, the bird is the author, thinly disguised; this prominent Lhasa political figure is saying in the clearest possible way that no one can deny the independence of Tibet. That would be tantamount to denying the independence of China, India, and Mongolia.
The context of the dialogue (and the explanation for it) is very likely the negotiations meant to end the Gurkha–Tibetan war (1788–92), in which our author was himself a participant. The bird very clearly represents the Tibetan party, with the monkey representing the Gurkhas of Nepal. The monkeys leave their homes on the plains and head up into the mountains, devouring all the flowers, mushrooms, and fruits ordinarily eaten by the birds. In the first chapter, the bird is responding to an argument by the monkey chief, who wants to say, basically, “Well, anything goes and we’ll go where we like.” The fifth line concludes with an imitation of the sound of the bird. DM
Listen to me, oh chief of monkeys.
You see one side, you don’t see both.
You see the peak of the matter,
but you don’t comprehend the main part:
“You don’t understand, just don’t understand, ril-rildé.”
These down-rolling stones of your misunderstandings,
if they get caught up in the gullies, come back to you.
It may be this mountain came to be through general karma.
But each place has its owner.
Haven’t your tiny little eyes seen this?
Or perhaps your ears are hard of hearing?
If we take this realm of Jambu Island as an example,
it came to be through general karma.
But still each place—India, China, Mongolia, and Tibet,
Khotan [in the Tarim region], Nepal, and others—
has its own independence.
India was taken over by the king of Dharma.
China was taken over by the king of Qin.
Mongolia was taken over by King Chinggis.
The Khotan region was taken over by King Yambu. Don’t you know about them?
[Rdo ring Bstan ’dzin dpal ’byor, Bya sprel gyi gtam rgyud, in Gtam rgyud/kha shags/’ bel gtam/sgrung dang/zlos gar gyis brgyan pa’i rol rtsed sna tshogs pa srid pa’i skyid sdug gi rnam ’gyur rjen char mthong ba’i me long (Mundgod: Blo bzang dgongs rgyan mu tig phreng mdzes series no. 38, Drepung Loseling Educational Society, 1999), 101–102. Trans. DM.]
Tendzin Repa was born in 1646 to a noble family in Dzong, a village situated in the middle of the steep high-mountain valley that holds one of Nepal’s most important holy sites, Muktin
āth. He styles his homeland in various ways, sometimes as part of the larger western Tibetan region of Ngari, sometimes as the lower part of Mustang (see
chapter 11), and often as the “divide between India and Tibet.” His ancestral roots—as he relates at the beginning of his autobiography—reach back to the Tibetan imperial period, and stretch through the noble houses of Ngari in western Tibet, Mustang in what is today northern Nepal, and finally the fortified castle of Dzong.
His impressive lineage meant little in practical terms, however, for as the armies of Mustang and Jumla (then the capital of a kingdom in western Nepal) fought, his family estates were looted, ransacked, taxed, and levied into ruin. His father had died in 1656, leaving his mother to fend for six children in an unstable war-ridden economy. Tendzin Repa’s strongest memories of his early life center on his mother’s misery, her tears and wailing as she beat the trails up and down the Muktin
āth Valley, begging for food and clothing. She had taken out loans from the wicked lowlanders, the Mönpas, and as she drew nearer to default the threats that her children would be taken and sold into slavery down south increased. But this was just the first time Tendzin Repa would be in danger of being enslaved by the peoples at the foot of his mountain home.
Sometime during the mid-1660s Tendzin Repa walked into Central Tibet. This was the Tibet of the Fifth Dalai Lama, and the young man from the Mustang region found it a place of severe social unrest. He relates that the troops of all the Central Tibetan regions were being overcome by Lhopas from the south, and the “the kingdom was filled with widows.” According to Tendzin Repa, conflicts between the recently formed Gelukpa theocracy and the Drukpa Kagyü made it impossible for anybody known to be a Drukpa to travel freely. The young wanderer—with his newly formed Drukpa allegiance—decided to lie low at the residence of a wealthy shepherd in the Karma Kagyü stronghold of the Tölung Valley, west of Lhasa. After some six months of waiting, the troubles subsided. He was finally able to make a pilgrimage around the four horns of Central Tibet. But these travels—the goal that had been the driving force of his life for years—receive only the briefest mention in his autobiography. Central Tibet was the castle in the sky of his young religious imagination; it in fact played a very small positive role in his development as a man of religion.
From this now empty center he journeyed south to the holy mountain of T
ari, then southwest once again to the Kathmandu Valley to meet his teacher, Rangdröl Dorjé. There—in the heartland of the Newars, not in the colleges of Tibet—Tendzin Repa received his most significant religious instructions. And in the 1670s and ’80s he underwent his most profound spiritual experiences, not in Central Tibet but in the famous mountain centers of the Himalayan rim—Ts
āri, Lapchi, Kyirong, Muktin
āth, and Kailash. KRS
THE TRIALS OF TENDZIN REPA
Karma Tendzin asked, “Wouldn’t these teachings spread if they were collected and written down? [The Master said,] “If I had them in mind, I would do so.” [Karma Tendzin] said, “Well, since very few of your teachings can be written down as examples, please give a summary of your ancestry, you family, your mother’s and father’s names and status, your homeland, and your life until you ventured toward the Dharma.” The Great Yogin said, “Many other instructions and life stories have already been written. What use is there [now]?” Again [Karma Tendzin] said, “If we don’t ask for your life story [now], there will be no opportunity later. So please tell us your life in full to guide both myself and these other faithful. If your mind is tired, we really only need root verses.”
Well, listen brethren, my secret sons,
Is it smart for a hermit to tell a silly tale?
I’ll tell a worldly tale, but where does it end?
Well, in answer to my good friends,
I’ll tell a silly tale, so listen and remember well.
My country is Lower Lowo.
My fatherland is Rapgyel Tsemo.
My ancestry is Kyekya Gapa.
My family is Pönsa Rinchen.
My father’s name is Jora Gyatso.
My mother’s name is Peldren Zangmo.
My father’s rank was the Pönsa of Kyekya.
My mothers’s rank was Khenkhar Pönmo.
4When my father and mother were faithfully married,
Six sons and daughters were born.
What he said, what he did—
I barely remember Father when he was alive.
Then there was a war between the king and ministers.
All our wealth was looted by the enemy.
Before, Father and Mother were poor,
The hearthstone ringed with small children.
Then the lowlander army stayed for a long time,
And many new royal taxes began.
Unable to bear the torment of hunger,
My old mother searched for food and clothing.
I saw her running up and down.
She took out a loan from a Hala lowlander;
As the years went by her debt increased.
There was no way to repay the loan;
She was about to lose her kids to slavery,
As if we were fish to be apportioned.
My old mother cried, was torn up,
Running to and fro, she was pitied by everyone.
I saw so much miserable hunger created.
Myself and my brothers and sisters
Were pale and blue.
Our heads were covered with lice and nits.
Whatever ancestry we had,
We were lowly, powerless, and inferior.
Bound to act like a little beggar boy,
By day I got food, by night clothing.
…
In Father and Mother’s poor treasury,
There wasn’t even a single coin in the cracks.
We would have cut our estate back,
But to whom could we sell? No one would listen.
Day or night, where could we rest?
Huddling up to protect ourselves from the wind,
We would make a small fire,
Crowd around and wait,
While Mother went asking for food.
In those times I remember much misery and crying.
My uncle, Chödzin Pelzang,
Was not able to bear it,
And he gave us many rupees.
He alleviated our suffering.
We were not lost as slaves to the evil lowlanders.
His kindness was like a father’s:
While I live today, how can I not think of it?
…
I, the son of poor parents,
At the age of fifteen,
Saw the life story of Milarepa, and was filled with certainty:
I was going to be a renunciant yogin.
Wherever I would go, no one was free,
So I sang songs of sorrow, which gave me conviction.
Two yogins from Central Tibet arrived.
I followed them and left [Muktināth].
On the northern plains, which I knew nothing about,
They sold me to a nomad as a slave.
Well, I did not stay, I left;
But they bound me and beat me up.
Later, in the forests of Nepal,
A Brahman who spoke a different language than I,
Was always about to sell me.
One midnight I had a chance to escape,
But he ran after me,
And bound my hands and feet.
Then I gave up living.
A kindly merchant of Kathmandu
Cut my bonds, and gave me happiness.
I sang songs of sorrow and conviction,
Wasting away, I starved for some time.
In the hermitage at Langkhor Dzari,
Rangdröl Dorjé took me in.
I requested teachings of liberation, and there I stayed.
But when some bad yogins came,
Even there I experienced such misery.
I went to India and to all the kingdoms,
I went on pilgrimage to the great sites of the world.
Finally, while meditating in the cliffs of Ts
āri,
5I knew suffering to be the nature of the mind.
Desire and repulsion became the same taste in my mind.
Grasping at pleasure and pain faded into the void.
Until I was twenty years old,
I cannot remember a single moment of happiness.
If I were to speak in detail of this,
Even my enemies would be brought to tears.
Such is the life story of a cotton-clad.
CRITIQUE OF CENTRAL TIBET
While those bastions of religion in Central Tibet make merry,
And temples are plundered for the sake of their estates,
Disputes of petty philosophical sophistry flourish.
As I behold these ways, my heart longs for solitude;
To Dölpo, to Dragon Roar I flee.
Not a hill or dale exists where
Armies are not followed by famine,
And tidings of bandits do not race about.
Hermits, meditators must be wary of thieves.
As I behold these ways, my heart longs for solitude;
To Dölpo, to Dragon Roar I flee.
Royal families rage in evil with their armies,
Dukes just lust for wealth by exacting tax,
Commoners and serfs are struck down by plague.
As I behold these ways, my heart longs for solitude;
To Dölpo, to Dragon Roar I flee.
Scholars, learned in words, define the phenomena of this life.
Meditators sit in the darkness of hypocrisy.
Dharma impostors just turn the wheel of deceit.
As I behold these ways, my heart longs for solitude;
To Dölpo, to Dragon Roar I flee.
Students given food, clothing, and teachings,
Don’t repay this kindness, and slander their master,
Sarcastic with evil talk and backwards views.
As I behold these ways, my heart longs for solitude;
To Dölpo, to Dragon Roar I flee.
Giving teachings on liberation, staying in retreat,
Working for religion and realization—
Such a one is as rare as a daytime star.
Mostly they just take a woman in marriage.
As I behold these ways, my heart longs for solitude;
To Dölpo, to Dragon Roar I flee.
ADVICE TO PILGRIMS BOUND FOR CENTRAL TIBET
I, Tendzin Repa,
For three years at Crystal Mountain,
6Will cease speaking, and give up activity.
I will remain like the jewel of the earth.
You three brethren, heading off to the kingdom,
Meeting all the supreme incarnations and good masters,
Bring back spiritual instructions,
Then return, come back to Crystal Mountain.
In Ü, Tsang, Dakpo, and Kongpo, the finest religious foundations,
Visit the seats of the Kagyü masters.
Behold the spectacle that is religion in Tibet,
Then return, come back to Crystal Mountain.
Delight in the empty valleys of the three pilgrimage centers,
7See the very face of the mind, the base of everything.
Free of delusion, realize the nondual nature of reality,
Then return, come back to Crystal Mountain.
SONG TO BIRDS IN WINTER AT TSĀRI
This lament that gives me courage,
I offer in song for my master, best to remember.
Hungry, thirsty, feeling miserable.
The door opens for the sun drawn by seven horses,
And we’re free from this miserable cold.
Little bird, don’t speak, you’re looking sad.
Listen now to this beggar’s song.
My sorrow in this human visage
Seems just like the misery of your life, little bird.
When snows of the new year fall,
I brood and ponder the pain of this world.
I meditate and conviction rises from within:
How sad are the beings of these five realms.
8Little bird, don’t speak, you’re looking sad.
Let your body find ground, rest in silence.
You don’t know how to contemplate Dharma;
Let this sweet tune come clearly,
Clearly to your ear, and rest in silence.
[Bstan ’dzin ras pa (1646–1723), The Autobiography and Selected Works of Bstan ’dzin ras pa, impressions from blocks preserved at Shé monastery in Dölpo, Nepal, 1971. Trans. KRS.]
There are few biographies of Tibetan women, and still fewer autobiographies. One important example comes from the northwestern region of Nepal known as Dölpo, which is among the highest inhabited places in the world. Although Dölpo is now politically within Nepal, culturally it stands on the southwest border of the Tibetan world and has a rich tradition of Buddhist monasticism. The author of this selection is a Tibetan woman, Orgyen Chökyi (1675–1729), who lived as a nun in local monastic communities in Dölpo during her youth and as a reclusive hermit in the isolated mountain valleys above inhabited areas for the latter part of her life.
Orgyen Chökyi’s autobiography is rich with details of life in Dölpo, and it also addresses persistent Buddhist themes. For those inhabitants of Dölpo and surrounding regions who did not hail from a royal family—and perhaps even for those who did—life was hard in the high-mountain regions of the Nepal Himalayas. Suffering and sorrow are frequent subjects in Orgyen Chökyi’s Life. Given the challenging environmental and political conditions, it is easy to imagine that life in Dölpo three hundred years ago was difficult. The growing season is short and sparse, and stock animals must be herded long distances through the mountains. Dölpo was never a political center and was constantly subject to the whims of stronger powers to the south and north. These hardships are a constant theme in the writings of Buddhist masters from the region. To a certain extent such local miseries were seen as no more than the inevitable realization of the devolution of human existence. The present era is a dark age of petty rivalry in which human life is nasty, brutish, and short. In a passage from chapter 2 of her autobiography, Orgyen Chökyi relates the dawning of her existential anxiety in the face of suffering, and her entry into the cloistered life.
Sufferings natural and human-made were thematized by Tibetan poets, who drew parallels between local war and pestilence and the pervasive suffering of human existence as conceived in Buddhist cosmology. In coming to terms with the ubiquitous role of suffering in Orgyen Chökyi’s autobiography we are aided by the fact that her master, Orgyen Tendzin, showed particular sensitivity to the realities of pain and suffering in his poems about Dölpo life, two of which are also included here. One winter, Orgyen Tendzin traveled to meet with some twenty men and women. While they met a great snowstorm began and the master was trapped with his hosts. Everybody became rather depressed as the snow piled up, so Orgyen Tendzin sang the first song here “to alleviate their darkened thoughts.” In the second song, performed for several hypocritical “great meditators” whom Orgyen Tendzin wished to reprimand, he evokes a dour vision of men, women, and children in bad times. The bleakness of human life is measured only by the bleakness of the land in a long season of drought. His disgust at their conduct takes the form of dark humor, as he can only laugh at the failings of men, women, kings, ministers, elders, and children acting out of selfishness yet unconcerned by their own impending deaths. KRS
Chapter two relates how at age eleven I became a goatherd and suffering arose for me.
One day I went to Ratso Ruri. As I was going through the thick woods, a thorn became stuck in my leg, and I stopped to remove it. A nanny goat had had a kid, and it was about seven days old. Suddenly an eagle swept out of the sky and carried the kid away. The nanny goat looked into the sky and wept. I also looked into the sky, and wept.
“Every year a kid is carried away by an eagle,” said some herders. “Don’t weep.”
On that day I was going from Dölpo to the border of lowlander territory when the nanny goat was carried away into the sky. I wept for the mother and the kid.
Künga Pelzang the monk arrived. “Do not weep,” he said. “The mountain will be disturbed.”
On another occasion many goats and sheep up on the mountain were killed, and I was distraught. I saw many kid goats being carried off by the lowlanders for sacrifice to the gods, and I had to weep a great deal.
Lhawang Rinchen of Jatang saw me weeping. “This girl knows mercy,” he said. “If she were to practice the Dharma, she would preserve compassion in her mind.”
I witnessed the fallen state of the lives of these lowborn goats and sheep. Sad in mind and thinking only of the pitiable kid goats in the offerings, I sang this lament:
To the low, fallen being, the goat and the sheep,
Look with the eye of compassion, Avalokiteśvara.
You goats and sheep who live in pain,
Pulled by rope through mountain and valley,
Become food for carnivores over and over.
As the lowlanders and carnivores spread,
The life of a goat becomes short.
When the meat of sheep and goats is tasty,
There is nothing permanent in your life.
Often purchased in just an instant,
There is nothing certain in your life.
When I think of the fallen state of the goat’s life
And that all living beings die,
I am heartbroken.
May I quickly be free of goat herding,
And meet with the holy Dharma.
I fashioned these disconnected words into verse because they brought peace to my head.
There were other times when I was sad being a goat herder, and there are stories aplenty of my mental anguish. One time I was collecting milk from the nanny goats, [and I sang this song:]
Hold this girl in compassion, Avalokiteśvara.
Alas, the hand of this girl’s body.
Virtue is not in this hand, sin is in this hand.
Taking mother’s milk from the mouth of her kid,
My mind is sad, though I do need the milk.
In this human body, I need milk.
Goat’s milk is tasty on the tongue, yet it is sinful food.
I sit on a goat’s hide seat, yet it is a sinful seat.
I wear a goat’s hide jacket on my back, yet it is a sinful jacket.
Goat butter moistens my food, yet it is sinful butter.
When I put goat’s meat to my mouth, my mind is sad.
Set in this human condition, we need food.
May all beings be led by the Lord of Compassion.
Circling long embodied in this evil land of filthy, violent lowlander towns,
May we wander toward the Buddhist teachings.
May I now, in this human vessel, walk toward the Dharma.
ENTERING RELIGIOUS LIFE
I thought then that if I did not take up the Dharma quickly I would sink in the mire of the world of saṃsāra.
“I must enter the religious life,” I said to my mother.
“Well, then you must enter the religious life in the presence of Lama Orgyen,” she said.
Then my hair was cut … and I was given the name Orgyen Chökyi “Delighting in the Dharma of Orgyen.”
Under Ani Drupchen Sodrölma I studied reading and the refuge prayer. Because I did not have a great intellect I had to make a great effort in my studies.
One night Ani Drupchenma said, “You must persevere in the Dharma, for if you were to do worldly work in Pesön, you would be forced into corvée labor spring, summer, winter, and fall without rest. As a corvée laborer you would carry water and work all the time. Meet the Dharma, take refuge, study: then you will not suffer.”
ORGYEN TENDZIN: WINTER OF SUFFERING
Listen here, men, women, children,
Stuck indoors, your minds are choked.
You eat food, drink beer, get drunk, and fall down.
In the valleys of Mustang, Dölpo,
Hundreds of soldiers hack at hands and feet and die.
Consider well impermanence, mothers.
The army of the Jumla king attacks.
The merchants of the kingdom,
The Jumla king imprisons, and they choke.
Consider impermanence, and recite maṇi prayers [oṃ maṇi padme hūṃ].
Mustang is ablaze and tattered.
Fathers, sons, and brothers are killed by sword.
Suffering surrounds all Tibetans and lowlanders.
Ay, Ay! Such a pitiable state.
Every village merchant climbs a mountain of suffering.
When I see these acts of great sin,
My mind suffers; I cannot bear it.
ORGYEN TENDZIN: BAD TIMES IN THE HIMĀLAYAS
The weather of degenerate times is laughable.
The rainfall was uneven for many bad years,
In the rainy season the sun burned and the crops were destroyed.
In these bad times people miss the rain and the fields lie fallow.
I behold this weather and I am sorrowful.
Each master and disciple should practice austerities in mountain retreat.
People in degenerate times are laughable.
The men drink beer and delight in eating meat.
The women are taciturn, and
Even the children act old and are without merit.
Whether I look at men or women I am sorrowful.
Each master and disciple must meditate on the lama’s instructions.
The king of degenerate times is laughable.
Whenever someone takes a king’s body they act like an emperor.
From a single village (come) two kings, and three.
Minor kings without merit become many.
A king without food and clothing is pitiable.
The minister gets his fiefdom, collects tax,
But even then he is poor.
When I look at such kings I am sorrowful.
Each master and disciple should be without lord and bond.
The elders of degenerate times are laughable.
Harsh, stubborn, they oppress the helpless.
Rotten-hearted stewards of tax and enforced labor.
When I behold such leaders I am sorrowful.
Each master and disciple must renounce arrogance and visions of grandeur.
The people of degenerate times are laughable.
Even though everyone dies they give no thought to their own death.
Without considering impermanence even for a moment,
They collect food and wealth like a rat or a bee.
Not comprehending enemies, friends, desire,
They do not consider death even for a moment,
And act like stupid animals.
When I behold such people I am sorrowful.
Each master and disciple must meditate on impermanence and death.
[Kurtis R. Schaeffer, Himalayan Hermitess: The Life of a Tibetan Buddhist Nun (New York: Oxford University Press, 2004), 21–22, 137–139.]
