in the valley below us—Lhasa, land of the Gods.
I halt my horse for a moment to savor the memory of this view for a lifetime. Lhasa, land of the Buddha—the very name of this place has always sounded so magical to me. Built by the first great dharma king, Songtsen Gampo, many centuries ago, this blessed place is shrouded in tales of mystery and wonder. With magnificent monasteries and towering temples, it holds the holiest of holy, the Jowo Shakyamuni statute.
An overwhelming gulf of gratitude floods my being at the sight, and I can’t contain my happy tears. Lhasa. We’ve made it.
A quick glance from the corners of my eyes reveals that the sight of Lhasa has touched my companions, too. Karma’s lips move in a silent prayer, and Dendup has even taken off his cap, though he’s been here so many times before.
The opalescent sky has opened up. A light drizzle welcomes us and moistens the fertile valley plain as we descend upon it. I raise my face to the fragile midday sun, and I thank the gods for sending such an auspicious sign our way.
“Hear that, sister?” Dendup steers his horse beside mine and holds his hand around his ear. “That’s the call of great tea, decent food, and fortunate trade.” His lips smack aloud, no doubt already relishing the taste of it all.
“But first we give thanks.” I vein a stern look. “Let’s not forget we have been granted such a smooth journey now, brother.” I reign in my horse a bit, as it competes with Dendup’s stallion, wanting to be always in front.
“Of course, sister, of course.” Excitement has taken Dendup’s eyes. “First, we give thanks.” He shifts back in the saddle and pulls his cap back over his furry eyebrows.
As soon as we arrive in Lhasa, it’s the same routine again as in any other town. Dendup takes the lead and steers us away from the caravan, into the winding alleys, towards a smallish inn. The only difference is that this guest house seems to be right in the buzzing middle of Lhasa, and not on the quieter outskirts as the other inns were located. A broad smiling matron welcomes us—well, Dendup—into her open arms and into the packed courtyard.
“I know you’re dying to visit the temple,” Karma says as he swings our bags to a pile. “So, I’ll take you whenever you’re ready. Our brother’s got other engagements.” He nudges at Dendup, already engaged in conversation with long-lost friends.
“Is it that obvious?” I’ve been trying to contain my excitement, but the surge of adrenaline rushing through my veins ever since we entered the gate, it’s just too much. The sudden lightness in my body makes me bounce around the yard with every step I take. My pulse is quickening, the rapid beat urging me on to rush to the most revered of all. “I’m sorry.” My fingers fumble around, inspecting the front legs of my stallion. Looks good.
“Not sorry, love,” Karma says, and he squats beside me. “This place, its sacred sites all radiate an exceptional energy.” He lifts the hoof of my horse and scratches the dirt away. “That’s the pull v in your body right now.” He raises himself. “It’s a true blessing to be here for all sentient beings.”
My hands still on my horse’s leg, I close my eyes to sink into my innermost being. I don’t have to search. There it is. My insides vibrate with an alertness, an aliveness I’ve never felt before. It pulses on the beat of my heart, floats in every vein of my body, and rests on every breath of air swirling in my lungs. A warm glow envelops me, and I immerse myself in this beautiful feeling, this all surrounding, soothing sense of home. Karma’s right; it’s an absolute blessing to be here.
“Come.” With roaring laughter crowding the courtyard, Karma’s hand slides down my back, pressing me to haul our bags to the quietude of the inn. Dendup’s favorable position has secured us a private room this time—simple but sufficient and safe.
A few splashes of water at the back of the kitchen do the trick to clean me up, and we’re off to the temple.
“Please stay close.” Karma draws me in as we join the surge of pilgrims rushing to the shrine. The drizzle has cleared the dust of the town, revealing the vibrant colors of lush green creeping against whitewashed walls, and silken rainbow banners releasing their inked invocations with a fervent swish into a rose blushed sky. With the low hum of prayer surrounding us, the atmosphere is laden with an eager anticipation, sending tiny shivers beneath my skin.
“Ready?” Karma’s calm voice pulls me back from the frenzy, grounding me right at the temple door.
I nod—I’m as ready as can be—and let myself be lifted by the stream of circling devotees. As though carried by an invisible force, I’m drawn into the holiest of the temple, to the life-size statue of Jowo Shakyamuni, carved by the celestial architect Viswakarma in India, in the lifetime of the Buddha himself.
I blink as my eyes turn from the late midday in Lhasa to the eternal time of nirvana, for this is what it feels to me, entering the highest of the heavens. What better fortune is there to be granted than witnessing this sacred image sculpted from his life portrait and blessed by the Buddha himself?
My vision surges to the ceiling, for there it is, the golden radiance of Jowo Shakyamuni Buddha, his two outer eyes gazing in mercy upon us pilgrims, and his inner eye resting in awakened wisdom. I stretch my hands in prayer and lower my numb limbs to the earth-beaten floor.
It’s only after many prostrations that I dare to set my eyes on the statue in front of me again. The splendor of it all—the bejeweled crown adorning the Buddha’s head, the brocade robes draped around his stunning golden and ornamented throne, the giant gemstones embellishing his neck and elongated earlobes, the dazzling appearance—is simply overwhelming. Pearls of cold sweat bead on my forehead, running down my temples and neck. A light-headedness takes over, my knees give in, and I drown in the shattering of dark.
“I got you.” Karma’s firm hands seize me from behind. He yanks me to the side and steadies my back in the sturdy folds of his chuba. As his hands wipe the clammy veil of my heated face, I resurface into the twilight of the temple.
“Let’s get you out of here.” Karma throws an insistent arm around me, but I resist, pulling his sleeve tight, my vision till blurred.
“No, please.” My voice wavers as I straighten my back. There’s no way I’m leaving without circumambulating at least three times. “Let me go kora, I’m fine.” I throw him a pleading look as my fingers dig into the felting wool of his coat.
He shakes his head at my dogged determination.
“Yeah,” he says, trying a tone of consent to hide what the frown on his forehead reveals. “But we’ll go together.” He opens his arm and leads me back into the swirling tide of prayers and chant. “I’ll follow you.”
So we circle, around and around, and I feel better with every step. The lightness returns to my body, and a crystal clarity sweeps the left-over silt from my mind. As the shadows lengthen within the golden rays cascading through the temple door, the stream of pilgrims keeps swelling. It’s at the end of the day that all come seek sanctuary here, hoping to find a glimpse of their own personal reprieve.
“Love.” Karma points at one of the wood benches at the side. “Sit here and wait for me a moment, I see an old friend.” I nod and slide on the low seat—Om mani—with my mind steeped in prayer.
The beads flick through my fingers, and I settle my gaze on the red dots among the pilgrims. A tinge of regret tugs at my heart as the devout monks and nuns pass me by. So many of them. Who would have thought, me sitting here, in the holiest of holy, dressed in lay woman’s clothes? Not me!
Heavy incense stings the back of my throat. I swallow. It’s still not easy to admit my next thought. I’m not only dressed in lay woman’s clothes; I am a lay woman. Albeit by choice, and it’s precisely this truth that strengthens me—I made the choice of my own free will. I’m here as a lay woman because I chose to serve the dharma this way.
My eyes glide up to the gilded shimmer of Jowo Shakyamuni Buddha. So, I’m here. What now? The back of my head rolls against the timber banister. A strange calm descends on me. Somehow, I expected a sense of anxiety, or at least a rattling unsettlement, arriving at this destination. There’s none of that. A deep relief settles within me. My eyes dwindle into the passing blur. So many people.
With a jolt, I shoot up. No way!
A gush of adrenaline sends my mind on high alert. I crane my neck for the passing man who just now crossed my vision. It can’t be. Without thinking, I shoot into the circling swarm.
Heated bodies pack against mine, stifling me with their briny stench of sweat as we push around the shrine. Spurred on by my intense desire to be sure, I shove the bitter nausea to the back of my throat. I must know.
My eyes spy ahead to find him in the mingle of unruly mops, beaded tresses, naked skulls, and long scarfs. There he is! Broad shoulders, a head full of graying curls, striding with that wild, yet sophisticated air I know so well. It’s Sonam!
I raise my hand, trying to slice through the sluggish mass, but my attempt yields no result. The crowd’s too dense. With a last effort, I throw myself to the side. This will be faster. My panting breath’s running out on me, and I skid along the polished timber of the banister. I can’t let him get away.
“Nordun!” A powerful tug pulls the tail end of my coat, bringing me to a sudden standstill. “Where did you go?”
I turn, baffled by the instant halt. Karma. His voice echoes in my ears, but somehow his presence is a distant distortion. Bewildered, I look back for the familiar figure I thought I saw, but he’s nowhere in the crowd. Sonam’s gone.
“I…” I bend over, hands to the knees, to catch my breath. “I….” I pull myself up at Karma’s sleeve and wring out my words out of my heaving breath. “I saw Sonam.” I gulp.
“You what?” Karma grabs both my arms and leads me out of the temple into the orange, charred dusk of the evening. “You saw what?” He keeps me close as his hands smoothen the sticky strands of my hair behind my ears.
“I saw Sonam,” I say, still out of breath. “You know, Sonam from Zinzin…” My eyes try to catch his, but he keeps his gaze over my shoulder.
“Sonam?” A careful smile curls his lips and he draws his gaze back in. “You must be mistaken.” His hand slides along my cheekbone in an unsettling caress. “We’re in Lhasa, not in Rongdrak.” At last, he rests his eyes rest on me. They absorb me into an opaque veil of green, a dense, dark forest with no shade to be found.
I shiver as I’ve never seen his eyes like this.
“You must be tired, love. Let’s get some tea and a good rest,” he says, his voice soothing. I let him lead me into the winding alleys downtown and pull my scarf tight.
“You’re probably right,” I say.
The weariness of the long day’s settling in my bones and my mind’s a perfect mess. Arriving at Lhasa, beholding the most holy Jowo Shakyamuni—it’s all been good, but also overwhelming.
Karma’s firm arm pulls me along in deep thoughts. My stomach clenches at the thought of his imminent troubles, so I’ll let it rest—for now—but my thoughts keep running back to that tall, broad man striding along in the temple.
It was a long day, but my eyes didn’t deceive me.
That was Sonam. Here in Lhasa. That I’m sure of.