Chapter Eight

Lhasa

 

HER MOTHER, BROTHER, and Geeta saw Sudha and the baby off at the airport in Madras for their flight to Calcutta, the first leg of the journey. Saying goodbye was painful for all, but naturally it was particularly difficult for Sudha. Her heart felt like it was tearing apart as Geeta slipped from her sight. Blinking back tears, she held two-month-old Neera close, and up they went into the belly of the prop jet.

Their second flight took them to Bagdogra early the next morning. From there it was a five hour ride to Gangtok. Neera slept most of the day, waking for just an instant every time the jeep jostled in a deep flood rut or on one of the sharp hairpin turns on the precarious road through the Indian plain. As they pulled into the courtyard at India House around dusk, Gangtok was shrouded in a dense summer mist, the sort devotees claim shielded the fleeing Dalai Lama from the Chinese. It was wonderful to be greeted by her dear friends Apa Sahib and Nalini, both of them clamoring to get the first view of the new baby. After a quick bath for both she and her dusty child, she joined them in the dining room for another dinner and dialogue session. She was starved for boots on the ground information. Nalini shared her concerns regarding the baby, aside from the long trek ahead, she worried how Sudha would manage in conditions as they prevailed back in Yatung. Her husband took the other tack, offering encouragement and adding, “Whatever the circumstances, your place is at your husband’s side.” These words echoed her feelings. She was ready.

Arrangements had been made for the jeep to take them up to the pony pass. The jeep road had now been extended past Lake Changu, allowing them to reach the pass the same day. This was a welcome surprise, but again it reminded her of the crucial plight of the refugees. She was delighted to find her faithful servants along with the ponies and porters waiting at the head of the trail. She put Neera in the trusty fur-lined baby bag that had protected Geeta on this very trip many times before, picked a suitable porter to carry her, and mounted her pony, this time with grace and ease.

They were on the track for only two hours when they began their ascent up to the pass. At the summit Sudha was astonished to see her handsome husband waiting with a traditional greeting scarf to welcome them back home. She shouldn’t have been so surprised as she knew KC would want to see his new daughter as soon as possible. When she handed him sleepy Neera, he was absolutely overjoyed to be holding his new baby, at once comparing her to her older sister in appearance and habits. KC had planned for a little picnic party but it was already cold and blustery at the top of the pass, so instead they took just enough time to place a stone on the cairn. Heading back down, KC gave her an update on the latest news, giving her an opportunity to brace herself for what was to come. Standing together again at the top of the world, with their new child and the world around them in chaos, was bittersweet.

As they rode down into Yatung, Sudha could instantly see the increased Chinese presence. The ground where they held their morning exercises and launched their PA propaganda was teeming with hundreds of Chinese soldiers in the regulatory PLA uniforms. Alternately there were only pockets of local Tibetans scattered on the once-packed streets, and instead of the beaming smiles she was so accustomed to, their heads were bowed, eyes downcast, their demeanor intimidated, confused, and frightened. With the ever-increasing restrictions and reprisals, no one really knew what the designs of the Chinese were, but their belligerence was evident. Her heart sank and tears sprang from her eyes. She had thought that from all she heard, that she was mentally prepared, but witnessing this with her own eyes was shocking. KC gently held her hand and told her this was what it had been like ever since she left.

They rode straight to Agency House to a warm welcome from the skeleton staff still in service. She was grateful to be able to share her bundle of joy with her friends; for a change they had something to be happy about. Although she had been gone less than half a year, she saw right away that this compound was a very different place from the one she had left.

KC was captivated by Neera, who now took a few naps during the day, but was still up most of the night. When she was awake, she seemed to both of them to be a keenly alert, spirited baby, very different from her easygoing sister, a personality difference that would be evident throughout their lives. KC surprised his wife with, a new nanny, and it was heavenly to turn over her restless infant. She was so relieved to finally have some help holding her between feed times so she could attend to her household chores and finally get some sleep. Neera took to the new nanny Tinley right away and as time went on, she became so attached, she even shared her bed.

It was good to be back in her familiar home and, although the circumstances were more difficult, life went on much as before. Even with Tinley, lots of time was taken up looking after the baby and protecting her from the cold. Firewood was now in shorter supply due to the increase in demand by the influx of Chinese, and it was impossible to keep all of the wood stoves stoked so she closed off several rooms and relied heavily on the solar heat in the veranda.

Within the week, Sudha returned to her teaching post at the little morning preschool. She was saddened to discover the Tibetan children living outside the Agency House compound were no longer allowed to attend, but the staff children were thrilled to see her back. KC made time to come home for lunch, as he never wanted to miss an opportunity to play with baby Neera. Afternoons he would go back to the office and, like last year, all of the mothers would sit in the sunny veranda or out in the garden, knitting and speculating on what was going to happen next.

Agency House had a huge campus with many houses for the Tibetan core staff and the fortunate servants who lived inside. It was like their own little village and all who lived there were protected because they were on Indian ground. They dreaded the day KC and Sudha left the post as life would not be easy for them; being on their payroll, they had proclaimed their loyalty to the Indian “imperialist dogs.” Many discussed the possibility of procuring permits from KC when the time came to follow him back to India.

Every day there seemed to be added hostile activity: more trucks and more military. The morning exercises were now so big that from the veranda, the soldiers looked like an army of ants, so many of them moving in and out, up and down. Sudha did not venture outside the gates very often, and when she did go down to the market or out to visit, the Chinese soldiers let her know they were not happy, sneering and intimidating with their sour looks and gestures. KC had tried to prepare for the inevitable, stocking the compound with supplies and harvesting a bigger than usual garden lest food became scarce this winter, but there were still items like milk and firewood that remained a worry.

Trying to remain optimistic, Sudha and KC focused much of their attention on their upcoming trip to Lhasa a few weeks out. They were both excited, knowing this would be their last chance to see the capital and home of the Dalai Lama and so many of their friends. The consul in Lhasa (who had been KC’s boss in Arunachal Pradesh) was instrumental in obtaining the necessary papers and permits that everyone now needed to visit the capital city. The purported mission of this trip was to provide the Indian government with a personal report, but as always, Sudha assumed KC had another agenda, although he told her nothing.

Tempo La worked out the details for the two-week trip. By this time the Chinese had made a semblance of a road on which a jeep could drive, so instead of the twenty-plus-day journey on pony they had heard so much about from their travel guests, they would auto up to the capital with planned overnight stops in Gyangtse and Shigatse. The journey would still take three days. Besides the driver, it would be Sudha, KC, Tempa La, Neera, and Tinley, along with their luggage, all stuffed into a jeep station wagon.

October in Central Tibet is beautiful, clear, crisp, and already cold. They would be driving mostly on the plateau where it hardly ever rains or snows, only freezes, so the roads posed no concern but Sudha made sure to pack their winter outerwear and of course Geeta’s little fur-lined bag that was now Neera’s.

They left Yatung in the early morning and made their way to PhariDzong, one of the highest and coldest towns in the world, sitting at 14,000 feet. Then on to Gyangtse, where they were hosted at the consulate by the Kapoors, the couple who had helped them entertain Nehru the year before. They were gracious hosts, and it felt so good to be among friends again, people who were going through exactly what they were. Sudha and Mrs. Kapoor sat together for hours that night, comparing notes on the changes in their towns following the Dalai Lama’s departure, sharing one sad story after another of the anguish and suffering of the peasants at the hands of the Chinese. They both shuddered to think what their lives would be like in this new Tibet, without the protection the Indian government was trying to provide.

The next day they enjoyed an official sightseeing tour. The big attraction was Tsuklakhang Monastery. The main temple, built in the fifteenth century, was huge, with monks chanting and praying inside, and the butter lamps smoking everywhere (making for very slippery floors). Lining the walls of the various chapels were brightly colored paintings and statues of the Buddha, his disciples, princes, and the protector deities of the monastery, as well as stacks of hide-bound scriptures. Although this was an active center of worship there were only eighty monks currently studying there, down from a peak of 800, due to Chinese restrictions.

The monastery was founded by the first Panchen Lama and a powerful Tibetan prince, and for a long time it had monks from three of the four main sects of Tibetan Buddhism studying there, the different influences and aspects of each tradition evident around the grounds. Next to the main building in the monastery grounds is the Kumbum, a temple housing 100,000 images of different buddhas, all incredibly ornate and colorful. It is a multistoried structure that visitors circumambulate clockwise, stopping in each of the sixty-something chapels, filled with images, each room unique in its own way.

They were back on the road early the next morning after a huge breakfast. Driving on the Tibetan plateau is an interesting experience indeed. “The Roof of the World” is the highest and largest plateau, occupying an area of around 2.5 million square kilometers, with an average elevation of over 14,750 feet. It is so very flat and gravelly it doesn’t take much engineering to construct a road; they just placed stones on the side of a lane so drivers will know which direction to go in. They drove for quite a while on the plain and then climbed a pass and descended down to another large plain. While traveling across the second plain, they drove right into a sand blizzard, a common occurrence that time of year, according to Tempo La. This blizzard was so intense that there was absolutely no visibility. They could not see a foot in front of the jeep. They were forced to stop in the middle of the road while the wind blew the sand and gravel with such force they were all sure one of the windows would break. It lasted for at least forty-five frightening minutes, all the while Sudha trying to imagine how foot travelers from Lhasa survived these storms. Tempo La explained that they dismounted from their ponies, tied up the horses, secured all the goods as best they could, and then covered themselves up with cloth and prayed.

Their first official stop of the day was Pari, at 14,000 feet, the highest post office in the world. They emerged from the jeep to take in the magnificent view of the Chomolhari peak. This rest stop had a specific significance for mountain-climbing KC; ever since they moved to Yatung, he had been asking the Chinese for permission to organize an expedition to climb this famous peak, fondly referred to as the bride of Kangchenjunga. He had wanted to scale it from the Tibetan side, known to be an easier climb than the treacherous Bhutanese face. Everything had been cleared and set up with the Indian Mountain Association but he never received the official approval from the Chinese. They never really denied the request; they just kept stalling, asking for ridiculous documentation. Sudha too was disappointed, she had a real fascination with KC’s mountain trekking stories and that would have been her first opportunity to accompany him, even if for just for a portion of the climb. So instead of an expedition, they found themselves just looking wistfully at the snow-covered mountain.

From there they made their way to the town of Shigatse. This was a good rest stop as the road was rough and one did not drive at night on the Tibetan plain and there would be the river to cross in the morning. Tempo La had sent word the night before to some friends that they were en route. They arrived tired and hungry and, though their hosts were poor peasants bearing the hardships of the times, they shared a wonderful Tibetan meal and made room in their modest quarters for the five of them. Sudha was awed by the spontaneity and graciousness of these local people. This was in spite of possible reprisals by the ever-monitoring Chinese for hosting a group of “Indian Dogs.”

That third morning they awoke with great anticipation, knowing they would be in Lhasa by late afternoon. After some hours of driving along the gray barren plateau road, absolutely void of vegetation of any type, they came upon the Sampo River. Sudha had to blink her eyes; it was a virtual oasis in the midst of the desert. The pristine blue waters of the river were flanked on both sides by beautiful gorse bushes, indigenous shrubs with few leaves but striking pink flowers.

The river was wide, a half a kilometer across, but very tranquil. The only means of transport were rafts made of a wooden platform sitting atop three rows of inflated buffalo skins. These odd-looking ferries just floated on top of the water. There was a bigger one for the car and another one that they shared with other travelers. They crossed over to the other side in about half an hour. Sudha wasn’t scared, even with the baby, because this was an active crossing with so many other people and their children rowing across. What was really amazing was to watch some of the peasants ferrying across atop the inflated buffalo skins without a platform, just rowing with their hands. It was a strange sight, but like so many oddities found in the countryside, she took it in stride. When they reached the embankment on the other side, the five piled back in the slightly wet jeep and drove on toward Lhasa.

As they travelled on, the landscape returned to bleak barren plateau. When they began their ascent up the last pass before Lhasa, the weather turned much colder and the natural gravel path that cut across the plain was not much more than an improved pony path. As they climbed up the rough trail, the jeep moved slower and slower, struggling up the steep incline to the summit, an astounding 18,000 feet. As they got closer, Sudha could tell the air was getting thin, but the sun was shining and the jeep was so warm she just enjoyed the dramatic scenery. It could only have been mother’s intuition, but near the crest of the pass she unwrapped Neera’s face, which was swathed in a woolen shawl and discovered that the baby’s lips were blue. She felt her daughters little body swaddled in Geeta’s little fur-lined bag, and found she was warm enough. She could not imagine what was wrong.

Beginning to panic, she had KC take a look. He was completely nonchalant, explaining that it was a temporary condition attributed to the altitude and lack of oxygen and not the cold. She had been in too many foolhardy and dangerous situations with this man to take his word without question, but Tempo La, who had lots of experience at these altitudes, corroborated the theory. The driver assured her they would be below the dangerous altitude level in fifteen or twenty minutes, which seemed like an eternity to her. She couldn’t wait to reach an altitude where her daughter’s lips would pink up. It didn’t make sense to her, everyone else’s lips were all a healthy color so she had to assume that the altitude affected children differently. Everyone in the car tried to reassure her Neera was fine and not to worry, so she just waited, praying that they would reach a safer elevation before it was too late. Of course Neera was sleeping peacefully as if there was no problem, and then finally, just as everyone predicted, within twenty minutes, her lips returned to a healthy pink.

The landscape changed again to the barren plateau as they moved ever closer toward Lhasa. After another hour of driving, they reached the outskirts, where in the distance, many miles away, they could see the golden domes of His Holiness’ palace, the Potala. The late afternoon sun was shining on the gilded domes and it was such a beautiful sight. In a flash, Sudha’s intuitive past came before her, again feeling the touch of destiny and that now familiar pull toward this repository of Buddhist knowledge. She recognized the providential design in being exactly where she was at that moment; her friendship with Nozin, her marriage to KC, meeting the Dalai Lama in Delhi, their posting in Tibet were all part of a grand plan.

When Tibetans reach the point where they can see the domes of the Potala, custom dictates that you prostrate in reverence to the Dalai Lama. So they stopped the jeep and the driver, Tempo La, and the nanny stepped out and prostrated to their spiritual leader. Sudha and KC were not comfortable with this Tibetan tradition so they showed their respect by folding their hands and bowing, as this was their Indian custom. After a short break, they carried on down into Lhasa.

The Indian consulate was a one-story building set amidst a modest garden full of poplar trees and some waning flowers and evidence of a once-prolific vegetable garden. They were met and warmly welcomed by their host, the Consul General Mr. P.N. Kaul, KC’s old boss and an extremely kind man. It was easy to see that after all he had been through in the preceding months he was very happy to see some friendly faces.

That evening they rested a bit before meeting with their host for a traditional Tibetan feast of momos and Chang. They spent the rest of the evening and late into the night listening to his dramatic firsthand account of events that had occurred during the riotous days before and right after the Dalai Lama’s escape‚ a history lesson that he had personally lived through.

He described in detail how in the middle of March, when the Chinese made their strange instructions regarding the Dalai Lama’s forced attendance at the theatre, tens of thousands of worried Tibetans flocked to the Norbulingka palace to protect their leader and thwart any Chinese attempt to cause him harm. Rumors were flying that the invitation was a trap and that the Chinese intended to kidnap him.

Over the next two days the uprising grew and fighting in the capital intensified. Tibetans erected barricades in the street while Chinese forces mounted machine-guns on Lhasa rooftops. Mr. Kaul estimated that between 30,000 and 50,000 well-armed Chinese troops were in Lhasa: Heavy Chinese artillery had been placed strategically outside the city.

On March 19th, two days after the Dalai Lama left, fighting broke out and raged on for another two days when the Chinese shelled Norbulingka. Thousands of men, women, and children who had camped around the palace wall were killed while about three hundred officials’ homes within the walls were destroyed.

Afterward, the Dalai Lama’s bodyguards who had chosen to remain in Lhasa were disarmed and publicly machine-gunned. Lhasa’s major monasteries, Ganden, Sera, and Drepung, were shelled, and monastic treasures and precious scriptures destroyed. The Chinese then attacked the Potala and the Jokhang, killing and wounding thousands more. Monks were murdered, deported, or sent to work camps. They went from house to house, searching for arms, dragging residents into the street, and shooting them on the spot. Mr. Kaul sadly summed it up, saying that although the Tibetans made a herculean show of strength, they were hopelessly outnumbered and poorly armed and the uprising was quelled in a matter of days.

He told them that the consulate where they were staying had been in direct line of fire between the Chakpori Tibetan Medical College, the Norbulingka, the Dalai Lama’s summer palace, and the Chinese headquarters. For those two days of combat, he and his staff had to live and work in the basement because of the stray crossfire bullets.

Now eight months later, the entire populace in Lhasa was always on their guard, frightened and unsure what the Chinese would do next. The Tibetan gentry felt like virtual prisoners, constantly monitored and lacking the freedom to go about their daily lives or to leave. The Chinese were concerned that if these educated, traumatized people got out of Tibet to tell their tale, world powers might take more of an interest. Like KC, Mr. Kaul and his staff were doing all they could to help anyone who wanted to leave and support those who couldn’t while sending vital on-the-ground reports down to the Indian consulate in Gangtok.

Before they retired for the evening, he told them that a detailed itinerary for their ten-day visit had been submitted to the Chinese officials, requesting permission, as every activity or tour that they wanted to go on would need explicit consent. Some of the requested tours had been granted, but permission to visit many of the monasteries had been rejected. He told them all activities would need to be cleared on a daily basis.

Tradition has it that everyone who visits Lhasa must ceremoniously visit the Jokhang Temple, the most celebrated temple in Tibet. Permission had been granted for a tour the following morning. Sudha and KC decided that Neera would stay with the nanny, as she was too young to appreciate the sightseeing and would only be a distraction. At breakfast, Mr. Kaill offered some background information about the sanctity and importance of the sacred shrine and mid-morning, with Tempo La acting as their trusty guide, off they went with great expectation to pay their respects.

The Jokhang Temple was first built in 647 A.D. in celebration of the marriage of the Tang Princess Wencheng and the Tubo King Songtsen Gampo. Located in the center of old Lhasa, it was built by craftsmen from Tibet, China, and Nepal, evident in the different architectural styles. Built in the shape of a two-story boat, it was the most magnificent building remaining from the Tupo Dynasty in Tibet. After being refitted and enlarged by the ensuing dynasties, it now covered an area of more than 25,100 square meters.

The temple was not controlled by a particular sect of Tibetan Buddhism; therefore, it attracted followers of all the sects as well as followers of Bon-Po, Tibet’s indigenous religion. There were three circuits and for more than a thousand years, millions of pilgrims had trod these sacred paths with devotion in their hearts, believing that this cumulative focusing of intention and love charged the Jokhang with an enormous and powerful field of energy. Before the Chinese occupation, hundreds of pilgrims a day would circumambulate the three circuits, many prostrating every few feet, while others walked slowly, chanting sacred mantras and spinning their hand-held prayer wheels.

They entered the front courtyard and followed the path around the main temple where twisting sutra drums lined the walkway and on the walls were magnificent frescoes of a thousand buddhas. Inside the temple were several chapels. They walked into the main prayer hall, which houses the Jowo Shakyamuni statue, where there were hundreds of yak-butter lamps and incense burning.

Instead of the normal hundreds of pilgrims and scores of monks of all sects and ages, on this day there were only a few old people saying their prayers and prostrating. It felt like a deserted temple. Tempo La whispered that because of the occupation and all of the restrictions placed on the Tibetan gentry, the lamas, and nuns, people were afraid to visit. Sudha sensed something very odd about this ancient sanctified space. It was like the Chinese had turned it into a stage with a show to pacify any tourist who came. Normal prayers were not being conducted. Only two or three lamas were in attendance where there should have been dozens. In spite of the depressing staged effect, Tempo La was a superb guide, explaining what they were seeing as well as what they would have seen in times gone by. He showed them how to lay their scarves and other offerings in front of a huge floor-to-ceiling image of the Buddha, and they followed his lead, praying for an end to all of this suffering.

As they were leaving the Jokhang, the three were absolutely appalled to witness a band of nuns, perhaps as many as fifty, hands bound behind their backs, flanked by intimidating dead-eyed Chinese soldiers, herded like animals up the street. The nuns were resolute and silent, but KC and Sudha were close enough to see a look of abject despair and helplessness in their eyes. By now they had heard countless stories of such atrocities but seeing it with one’s own eyes was horrifying. Sudha turned to Tempo La to make some sense of this sadistic spectacle, and he explained that because the Chinese were so anti religion, their intent was to close and ransack the monasteries, and then arrest and parade about the resident nuns in an effort to show the local people how ineffective their religion was now in their time of trial and difficulty. The worst part of it all was that Sudha had the distinct feeling that this harrowing charade was staged specifically for them.

There was absolutely nothing they could do with their Chinese “shadows” right behind them. They could only carry on with their walking tour toward the bazaar. This was the shopping district and shops lined both side of the road. Normally, they would be bustling with shoppers and vendors selling their wares‚ thanka paintings, prayer beads, flags, prayer wheels, and rugs. But on this day, the streets were almost deserted but for some dejected people sitting in the middle of the street trying desperately to sell their precious personal goods: carpets, vessels, religious prayer boxes, cups, all kinds of things. They were from all walks of society, but mostly middle-class and poor people, the aristocracy were nowhere to be seen.

Again, Sudha turned to Tempo La, wondering why they were trying to sell their cherished items, so he walked over to a group sitting in front of them and asked. With a profound sadness and despair, they told him their leader the Dalai Lama had left and they wanted to follow him to India. Selling all their effects was the only way they could see to raise the money needed.

There were people buying, but for how much, who knew? What they did know was that this was a city under the iron hand of the Chinese. Thinking it would be of some help, Sudha bought a prayer box from one old man who had tears in his eyes as he handed over the sacred treasure. Every Tibetan carries a prayer box with him wherever he goes, and as they made the exchange he told her that as long as he carried his devotion in his heart nothing else mattered.

This street scene was another eye opener for all of them, as they witnessed how terribly unhappy the people were and how anxious they were to sell their valuables all in an attempt to follow their spiritual leader, the Dalai Lama. It was heartbreaking yet they were helpless to do anything more than offer a little money.

Wherever they went that first day and every day after, they were surrounded by a powerful Chinese presence, all military, the civilians hadn’t arrived yet. The atmosphere everywhere in the city was an uneasy amalgam of electric tension and profound despondence. All the Tibetans they encountered on the street seemed extremely frightened, walking straight ahead, eyes cast down, trying desperately not to attract attention.

Mid-afternoon, their approved agenda for the day complete, Sudha was grateful to return to the consulate Delkyi Linka and just hold her warm, squirming baby close. She prayed for guidance on what she could do to help and reminded herself that in spite of the agnostic nonsense the Chinese were trying to cram down their throats, the Tibetans religion and deep spiritual beliefs would be their salvation.

The next day they were granted permission for a tour of Potala Palace, which until he left, was the primary winter residence of the Dalai Lama. The sprawling compound is made up of thirteen stories of building‚ over a thousand rooms, ten thousand shrines, and about two hundred thousand statues. The foundation is more than sixteen feet thick at the base with copper poured into the groundwork to protect it from earthquakes. The amazing edifice sits one thousand feet above the valley.

They were taken on a private guided tour. Of course “private” was a relative term with the ever-present skulking Chinese surveillance team behind them. They visited all the temples and shrines within and were taken up a steep flight of stairs to the top to see the gilded roofs and the beautiful intricate carvings. Although they asked, they were not allowed to visit the Dalai Lama’s quarters. They were relieved to see the Potala had suffered only slight damage during the March uprising. Years later the Potola would be spared again. Unlike most other Tibetan religious structures, it was not ransacked by the Red Guard in the ’60s and ’70s, apparently through the personal intervention of Chou Enlai. It was eventually converted into a museum, the chapels and their artifacts very well preserved to this day.

They weren’t allowed to go anywhere freely and every morning they had to resubmit their daily agenda at which time the authorities often changed their minds arbitrarily. They had initially been granted permission to visit Norbulingka and the Chakpori Medical College, but on the day they were to tour, it was rescinded. There was no reason given, and consequently they had to content themselves with a drive-by, noting the vast damage both of these magnificent historical buildings had sustained in the shelling.

Having their itinerary approved daily had another aspect—the Chinese would know exactly where they were at all times. They did not provide guides, they just shadowed them wherever they went. Sudha was always aware of the surreptitious eyes and ears behind her. If they deemed anything inappropriate, they would immediately step menacingly out of the shadows. After some time, KC and Sudha just didn’t care about their presence, they got used to it, and carried on doing what they came to do; see Lhasa for themselves and help their friends in any way they could.

A large part of the trip involved driving and walking around the town with eyes and ears open. KC was expected to file a detailed report from his perspective; therefore, his “mission” in Lhasa was to document all of the atrocities that he witnessed in an effort to inform India and beyond what was going on there, as Lhasa was almost totally cut off from the rest of the world. Being as closely monitored as they were made this a real challenge. There were no visible reactions from their “moles” when KC photographed landmarks or scenery, but the second he pointed his camera at the populace or certain controversial situations, one of them would step forward and stop him. There was one incident when he was trying to document a group of monks and nuns being paraded with their hands tied behind their backs like prisoners. The Chinese shadow threatened to confiscate his camera if he did not pocket it immediately. KC was furious, and not one to normally conform to irrational authority, but he knew in this situation he had no choice.

Another abhorrent Chinese tactic, aimed at further humiliation of the monks and nuns, was to circulate pictures of them engaged in sexual activity. The Johoreys were extended VIP invitations to attend lewd exhibitions, displaying vulgar toys and articles of sexual abuse: whips and objects of self-flagellation that the Chinese claimed were confiscated from local monasteries. These displays, pitifully intended to impress upon the people that the monks and nuns were not practicing religion but indulging in sexual orgies. They were obviously staged and embarrassing and degrading to anyone who had the misfortune to attend. Furthermore, no one believed it for a second. Ironically, these exhibits were an exercise in futility because they were aimed at foreigners yet there were very few people from the outside world in Tibet at the time to take note. They made no impression on any Tibetan who viewed them because they knew the truth.

KC was working closely with the Consul, Mr. Kaul, helping to identify members of the Tibetan aristocracy and doing what he could to help them get out. Of course, like their staff back in Yatung, the consulate gave everyone who applied a permit to leave but whether the Chinese allowed them to go was another matter. Although peasants were often allowed to leave, the Chinese did not feel it in their interest to allow the aristocracy to exit; they wanted to keep them under their watchful eye in order to keep their stories from getting out.

The Johoreys were not permitted to meet with any of the Tibetan leaders outright, but they had their ways of making contact, mainly through servants. They would send furtive notes and messages desperately seeking assistance and advice in escaping. Unfortunately, offering help in the sense of taking them along when they left was not possible, but KC offered advice as best he could on how to apply for permits or go clandestinely. Through these correspondences, KC tried to impress upon them that if they chose to stay they would have to organize some kind of covert resistance.

One of these poor detainees was Tess’s sister and the daughter of their friend the Tibetan defense minister, who insulted the Chinese at the banquet for Nehru. While he and the rest of his children were now safely in India, Nancy had gotten trapped in the days following the Dalai Lama’s exile. She was still in Lhasa, not allowed to leave. In fact she is still there to this day. Even before they left Yatung, KC received word from Gangtok to do whatever he could to help her. Although they weren’t sure what they could do, Sudha and KC at the least wanted to make contact with her to assure her father and sister that she was alright, but in occupied Lhasa that was easier said than done. It wasn’t that they couldn’t find her, they knew precisely where she was, but the Chinese did not allow them access to her. Every time they tried to make contact, their efforts were thwarted; they weren’t allowed near the house and even attempts to contact her through servants were foiled. One day they actually ran into her on the street. Sudha recognized her instantly from one of the parties in Gangtok, in spite of the fact that she was clad in ordinary peasant attire, not dressed like the aristocrat that she was. Nancy saw and recognized them as well, but she hurried on, too frightened to stop and talk. There was no doubt the Chinese were keeping an eagle eye on her as well as on the rest of the Tibetan gentry who were close to the Dalai Lama.

While they had been apprised through reports of heinous acts of violence across Tibet, the Chinese aggression seemed particularly brutal in Lhasa. Subsequently KC’s reports were filled with stories of monasteries being robbed and vandalized, monks and nuns treated to the most inhuman of acts, indoctrination programs popping up everywhere, and people being indiscriminately interrogated, detained, and beaten.

Sudha had so hoped on this trip that she would have the opportunity to reach out and help or at the very least visit her many Tibetan friends, people she had met through Nozin and Tess and their staff, and others being held against their will, but sadly that was not to be. She knew that weeping for the Tibetans was no use; it would not help them. So she made a vow to herself to do everything she could to make the world aware of the plight of these people in this far-off land.

What impressed her beyond words was that in spite of the Chinese aggression and intimidation, the Tibetans in Lhasa still relied heavily on their religion. This devotion served to develop in her an intense desire to further her studies in Buddhism, a practice so powerful that it provided these beleaguered souls the strength to endure the unthinkable. She longed to know how, in the face of such horror and persecution, they could wear looks of serene acceptance on their faces.

The intentions of the Chinese were crystal clear; ever since March 31, when they received official word that the Dalai Lama had crossed the Indian border and the Indian prime minister had granted him asylum, their anger had escalated and they were taking it out on the Tibetan people. They launched simultaneous campaigns aimed at destroying their culture, punishing and indoctrinating them. Every day on the square below the Potala they would show propaganda movies of the prosperity and beauty of China, filling them with misinformation of how fortunate they were that the Chinese had come and how they were going to turn Tibet into a land of milk and honey.

This was the beginning of the annihilation of the Tibetan people‚ their culture, their heritage, and their individuality‚ because the Chinese grand plan was to bring more and more of their civilians into the province for the exclusive purpose of intermarriage in an attempt to dilute the Tibetan population. That is how the whole demography of Tibet eventually changed.

The Chinese were simultaneously working hard to destroy the arts and culture by destroying their books, their religious artifacts, and stealing whatever gold and silver they could find to melt down into who knows what. They forbade the people from holding traditional festivals. Everything was given a drab, Chinese pallor. We should all be forever grateful that the Dalai Lama had the foresight to send out to India as many treasures of his culture as possible, where they safely sit today, preserved in Dharamsala.

While KC and Sudha were saying their goodbyes to Mr. Kaul outside Delkyi Linka, they knew this would be their last meeting in Tibet. KC’s tenure was naturally coming to a close, and they all assumed that the Chinese would close their agencies and consulates and all official ties between the governments of India and China would end. Ever since college, Sudha had dreamed of visiting this mystical city. To have done so at this time, witnessing the utter destruction of the way of life of a people who were so innocent and peaceful, people who never wanted to interfere with anyone, left her with a melancholy that spanned the actual historical atrocities and her own adolescent dreams. This experience in Llasa taught her something of profound importance, but it was very difficult to separate that from her anger and anguish.

It was almost November when they returned to Yatung. Even in the short time they were gone, change for the worse was clearly visible. The numbers of soldiers seemed to have swelled in those two weeks, their presence even more hostile and stifling. Back inside the Agency House compound, life had become more unbearable and difficult by the day; they felt now as though their very survival was at stake. The Chinese had stopped their supply of milk, there were no food items readily available and firewood was now non-existent. It appeared they were trying to squeeze all the Indians out of the country. KC was busier than ever, his priority shifted to seeing that all Indians were safe and that all those who wanted to leave could leave unharmed. The Indians from Ladakh, Nepal, Sikkim, and northern Bengal all bore Mongoloid features and they were having a particularly difficult time getting out, but KC with his commitment and tenacity managed somehow to get them the necessary papers to safely exit. For those few who chose to stay, he was attempting to facilitate their continued existence. One thing was for sure: nobody was coming into Tibet; everyone was going.

Their Tibetan staff were now constantly harassed. They were being ordered to attend re-education classes, where they were forced to sit through entire evenings of indoctrination and fed a steady dose of communist propaganda; “Chinese are good!” “You are being saved from slavery!” “You are now free!” “You are your own masters!” “You don’t have to bow to anybody! “Don’t go to the monasteries; the monks are bad and will teach you all bad things!” “Don’t let your children go into the monastery!” These sessions were positively inane and a complete waste of time. The local peasants didn’t even understand the language because the Chinese interpreters were using classical translations, and they spoke colloquial Tibetan, so they just suffered through in bewildered silence. Later in the evenings these poor souls would return to Agency House in tears, unable to grasp what was happening to them.

And then early the next morning they would all be awakened to the PA system down on the exercise ground, blaring the same incessant insipid slogans at increased volume. There were daily demonstrations of thousands of robotic Chinese shouting, “Go back to India!” “Down with India and expansionism!” and “Down with Indian imperialist dogs!” New rumors were constantly flying about the Dalai Lama; that he’d been kidnapped by the Indians; he was no longer living the life of a lama, and so forth. One day there was a demonstration in front of their house in which they accused KC of personally spiriting away the Dalai Lama to imprison him in India.

KC was both disgusted and amused at these laughable accusations. In order to assuage any doubts and to convince the Tibetans that the Dalai Lama was not in prison but rather safe and well in India, KC rigged up a screen made out of a wide sheet and with an ancient projector showed recent films sent up from Gangtok of His Holiness in India. They showed him in Bomdila, Tezpur, and his procession on the way into Mussoorie, where he was presently preparing to set up his Tibetan Government-in-Exile.

The grainy films proved to the Tibetans what they already knew, that their revered leader had been welcomed into India with great respect and honor. This slapdash screening was rather comical because they were not allowed to open their gates, so the great multitudes of Tibetans who came to see the film had to stand outside the locked doors. Of course anything one did to ignite the wrath of the Chinese at that time was daring and had an element of danger, but KC reveled in the drama and the knowledge that they wouldn’t dare do anything to them because of their diplomatic immunity.

This episode took the Chinese by surprise and they didn’t have time to react that night, but they retaliated the next day with a bigger and more volatile demonstration, specifically targeting KC. It took place directly outside the agency gates, where the screening had taken place the night before, and it had an exceptionally ugly tone, one clearly meant to inspire fear and intimidation.

It was successful. For the first time, Sudha seriously feared for her safety and that of her baby. She and KC began weighing the option of her leaving before his tenure was up.

Every day was more challenging. It was now mid-November and the weather had turned very cold. Staying warm was difficult because there was no firewood. The servants were foraging the estate for any downed or standing dead wood. Milk for the baby was their biggest dilemma. They had an emergency supply of powdered milk, but Sudha was not sure of the quality, and even it was in limited supply. Food was not critical. They had prepared for such a siege and the larders were brimming with rice and lentils, the root cellar full of vegetables. Electricity posed no problem since they didn’t have it anyway and thankfully they hadn’t thought to cut their water supply.

There was a complete blackout of information from the outside world. For a while, Sudha had no news of Geeta or her mother. However, with things as unstable as they were, she was so busy trying to survive, she didn’t have time to think of much else. Worrying about them was futile, she knew where they were and with her mother being the epitome of competence, she knew they were just fine.

By early December, it was freezing, everything was still in short supply or nonexistent and the Chinese had stepped up their demonstrations against KC. It was clearly time for Sudha to take the baby and leave. KC’s tenure wouldn’t be over for another month or so and with such a young child, they both deemed it wise for the two to go as soon as possible. Of course the obvious thing for them to do was to reunite with her mother and Geeta, who were still in Simla. KC contacted Apa Pant, who began the plans for yet another evacuation, this one in the dead of winter.

Sudha set about packing up all of their belongings yet again. She would carry out what she could and she wanted everything else packed in readiness to be taken out of Tibet in the event of an emergency evacuation of KC. Carefully she wrapped in shawls (paper was being saved for fires) all of her precious Tibetan souvenirs, the embroidered thankas, the silver spoons, and of course the prayer box that she bought from the elderly Tibetan gentleman in Lhasa. There was a picture of the Dalai Lama that she really wanted to take but it was too large and precious to transport on the mules. It was extremely upsetting to leave KC, she had truly hoped that they would leave Tibet together for the last time, but he had to follow orders from Gangtok, and of course there was still work left to do to help the Tibetans.

Sudha left Tibet for the last time in December of 1959. The lessons she had learned pulled her further toward Buddhism, the religion and spiritual practice that has remained with her till today, its tenets engraved on her heart. Through the years she encountered gurus and devotees, gone on pilgrimages, practiced Hindu prayers and rituals, but in her heart foremost dwells the simplicity of the Buddhist teaching.