Another aspect of Buddhism was revealed by Lobsang’s dealings with the Islanders, some of whom are not conspicuously friendly, even to visitors from the mainland. At first Lobsang found one of the men downright insulting. On the day after our arrival he returned from the village looking somewhat disconcerted and, telling me of this encounter, concluded, ‘I was very angry, but my uncle taught me never to seem angry, even if I can’t help feeling it, so I said nothing. Perhaps if I keep nice to him he will become nice to me. He can’t help being ignorant of outside things and having these terrible manners.’ A few days later I met the man concerned and to my astonishment he was extravagant in his admiration for Lobsang and was most sympathetic towards Tibet, a country of which he had never previously heard. And when we left Inishere three weeks later – by which time Lobsang had become a universal favourite – the ‘Tie-bet-an’ was presented by this man with a farewell gift.
In conversation with Lobsang I often became uncomfortably aware of the crudeness of my own attitudes and reactions. We frequently discussed the general Tibetan problem and the personalities we both knew in India, and as time passed I noticed that my tendency to make harsh criticisms was being curbed by Lobsang’s disinclination to impute evil to anyone. He managed to assess all types of people astutely, without ever being malicious, and if an individual’s misbehaviour was too blatant to be ignored he would, without condoning it, refer to some extenuating factor which should be taken into account before judgement was passed. Nor was this merely esprit de corps; he showed equal charity towards non-Tibetans – except when vigorously denouncing what appeared to him to be the barbarically low standard of Western sexual morality.
Yet Lobsang was no devitalised prig, and I suspect that he followed his uncle’s precepts only when they were acceptable to him personally. With a mischievous gleam in the eye he told me about the elaborate Tibetan carpet, woven in his parents’ home, which he had brought to Switzerland. His uncle had instructed him never to part with this treasure, but as Lobsang wanted a transistor radio and as the Abbot had confiscated the one he bought in India – ‘Because it distracts the boy from his studies’ – Lobsang promptly sold his carpet and acquired a de luxe short-wave set on which he can get All-India Radio and Radio Peking. This transistor was of course brought to Inishere but Lobsang obviously realised that the object of the expedition was to escape such irritations, and we only learned afterwards that it had been used regularly in the small hours of the morning.
In the evenings, after supper, we used to sit around the open fire and return to Tibet with Lobsang. ‘Choo-Lin’ had seen far more of his own country than do most Tibetans, for at the age of fifteen he was taken by his uncle on an eighteen months’ journey to a sacred mountain in west Tibet. This pilgrimage of a Very High Lama to a Very Sacred Mountain was obviously a major operation. The caravan consisted of 100 horses and mules and 300 yaks, carrying camping equipment and stores for sixty monks and servants. The desolate nature of the country in west Tibet made it necessary to carry this vast quantity of food, and Lobsang’s reference to sacks of dried meat and compressed vegetables reminded me that our dehydrated foods are not, after all, unique.
At nightfall, during this trek, everyone except the Abbot helped set up camp and Lobsang remarked that this was excellent training for him and his young companions. Occasionally there was some excitement – when a panther killed a dog or hundreds of wild horses were sighted galloping across the steppes. Quite often dangerously flooded rivers had to be negotiated and then the mules and horses swam with their riders through the swift, icy water and the yaks were ferried on square, flat-bottomed boats of wood and yak-hide. But on the whole this sounded a happy and peaceful journey, and Lobsang looks back on that period with inevitable nostalgia, realising that his Tibet has by now been changed for ever.
At that time Tubung Churbu employed three traders who travelled regularly between Lhasa, India, China and Mongolia. The Monastery also had its own ‘Civil Service’, and a group of these officials annually toured the countryside to collect the dzo-butter tax. It was soon after returning from the pilgrimage, and shortly before the Uprising, that Lobsang was appointed to one such group which, in the course of its tour, encountered a battalion of Chinese soldiers. As the Chinese were then feeling daily more insecure they refused to accept the leader’s explanation of his business and captured all but two of the party. On the following night, while the guards were being distracted by an attempted escape from another of the prison tents, Lobsang managed to break out from his tent, seize a horse and flee towards Lhasa. For ten days he rode alone, avoiding the Chinese-infested main road, sleeping out in freezing temperatures and living on a few handfuls of tsampa: but he says that the loneliness and the fear of recapture were even worse than the cold and hunger. When he finally reached Tubung Churbu he collapsed and was ill for six weeks. A month or so after his recovery the Uprising took place and he never heard what happened to the other members of the group.
I found that forming a friendship with an individual refugee helped me to understand certain aspects of the general problem which I had not fully grasped while working at Dharamsala.
Lobsang’s conversation emphasised the fact that most people depend, perhaps more than they realise, on the stability of that material and moral environment which gives shape and significance to individual lives. Even when families leave their homeland for years at a stretch the consciousness that they belong there in a special sense, and can return in time to their own niche, makes for security and self-assurance. Therefore the sudden violent dispossession accompanying a refugee flight is much more than the loss of a permanent home and a traditional occupation, or than the parting from close friends and familiar places. It is also the death of the person one has become in a particular context, and every refugee must be his or her own midwife at the painful process of rebirth.
Appendix 1
LETTERS FROM JUDY PULLEN
Letter from Judy Pullen, volunteer with Canadian
University Service Overseas
Kangra Boys’ School
3 July 1964
Dear Dervla,
I was so thrilled to get your letter in March – we’d been wondering about you since the day you rode away for Kulu.
Lois was really sick for two months in Delhi with amoebic hepatitis, giardia and another virus infection. The poor kid went through hell – at one time it looked as though she’d have to be sent home to Canada. However, she recovered and returned to us – we have yet to see how wise that was because she’s not in top health yet.
Our CUSO Conference in Bombay in March was great fun. I also went to Pach Marhi for two days – heartwarming reunion with 250 of our precious Kangra family. Got back to Kangra to find the Lama School had moved up to the cooler climate of Lower Dharamsala – a much healthier spot for them, surrounded by lovely gardens and vegetable fields they planted themselves. But I was really unhappy to lose those studious afternoons in their classroom.
And then the big blow – with only two days’ warning our beloved Rimpoche was called to a new job in Delhi. You can’t imagine how stunned and unhappy we were. The kids cried and wailed so hard on his last night that the Indians thought half our school had died.
A pretty desolate time followed until Lois arrived back unexpectedly one day. We cooked all our own food but I’m afraid she didn’t keep that up for long. The weather was as hot as heck and there was no water supply at the school except for an hour morning and night. We walked one and a half miles to the river every day and made the kids wash themselves and their clothes.
Then Mr Kundeling asked me to move to Dharamsala to continue teaching the Lamas. You can’t imagine how torn my loyalties were! My teaching with the children was getting pretty frustrating with the rapid turnover and I was finding it harder and harder to keep my patience in class – ‘This is my nose, that is your nose’ routine. Lois was terrific – she was really firm about me going if I wanted to make any real contribution with my teaching. I felt mis
erable as I said goodbye to the kids and cried the whole way up in the bus as I looked back over those seven crazy, wonderful months in that old building. But as soon as I got off the bus and was greeted by dozens of grinning and friendly children I felt much better.
The work here has surpassed all expectations. In addition to two English classes, I’m giving lectures in geography, general science, hygiene, current events, world history, etc. It all sounds very grand but I’m just trying to give some grounding in each subject. A special translator was brought from Delhi so I lecture in English and he translates as I go. The atmosphere became charged with excitement as they learned about the solar system, changes of season, etc. Late into the evening monks could be seen clustered around the globe with flashlights and little balls trying to work out lunar and solar eclipses. They’re just lapping everything up and it’s such a joy to teach such interested pupils. Zimey Rimpoche, the head Lama and principal, is young, charming and brilliant. He keeps me running to my books with his intelligent questions on satellites, sound-waves, splitting the atom, etc. Who said Tibetans were resistant to Western science and learning? I spend hours curled up on a rug in his room – speaking Tibetan and English and teaching him but, best of all, learning from one of the most learned Tibetan scholars in India!
On Saturday mornings I climb up to the Dance-Drama School where I’m teaching modern dance exercises to the girls. I don’t know who was stiffer after the first lesson – them or me! The girls have improved a lot – they really had no idea how to exercise and develop flexibility and strong backs. Oliver says they all complain of back-aches – maybe we can fix that! Anyway it’s a wonderful chance for me to learn their dances and songs.
I go home to Kangra once or twice a week to spend the night and help Lois. I really look forward to those visits because I miss the children dreadfully. Those Kangra nights are usually sleepless ones – if we aren’t battling bed-bugs or rats it’s the heat or a storm that keeps us awake. But it’s well worth it.
My first night at the Lama School was a bit of a nightmare. I didn’t get to bed till about 1 a.m. after the streams of visitors finally left. Then I started having terrible dysentery pains that got worse and worse. The climax came when something dropped off the shelf onto my head – a large, ugly rat! Soon I had five huge monsters rushing about my room – I had to leave the light on all night and keep kicking them off the bed. I’ve never seen such bold monsters! At 5 a.m. a Lama came to sweep my room. I remember wondering if they thought they were going to sweep at that unearthly hour every day – but I’ve never been so happy to see a human face after that nightmare with the rats! The rest of the day passed in a haze of pain as monks rushed to and fro to nurse me. Then a jeep came in the late afternoon and took me up to Juliet’s little bungalow where I stayed for four days to recover.
Then, five weeks ago now, I got sick again but stayed home at the Lama School where I was smothered with loving attention. At one point, when I had a fever, there were five monks standing in a circle around my bed fanning me with newspapers. The head Lama and two other Rimpoches were amongst them. They practically blew me off the bed in their enthusiasm but we had a good laugh over it. When I seemed to be getting sicker after five days, Rimpoche insisted on calling Juliet. I was vomiting all my meals by this time and feeling very dizzy. Mr Kundeling came with his jeep and I felt a fool as they took me back to Juliet’s. And so began a dandy bout of jaundice and infectious hepatitis. I stayed with Juliet till 21 June and then came down here to Dr Haslem. She says it will be another week before I can go back. You can’t imagine how frustrated and fed-up I am at losing so much precious time.
Juliet was a dear – nothing was too much trouble for her and she took wonderful care of me.
And God bless Oliver! He was such a crazy dear – kept me laughing instead of crying. Claudia (Oliver’s fiancée) arrived ten days before the wedding and she couldn’t be better suited for Oliver – a good head on her shoulders, modest, sweet and full of fun. We got along famously. Deirdre and a friend arrived for the wedding. The rehearsal the night before had me in fits of laughter. Everything was in a shambles because Stuart Menteth didn’t come and Thomas (Oliver’s best friend from Switzerland) didn’t come. Finally, Mr Kundeling was asked to give away the bride and his interpreter, Rinzin, was best man. But neither they nor the bride and groom knew the Anglican wedding service. It was 10 p.m., Friday, before Juliet finally hounded Oliver into getting Rinzin and she went through the whole service for them. Oliver concentrated very hard but got hopelessly muddled and had us all in an uproar.
They had a gorgeous day for the wedding – I was determined to go. The little church looked lovely and was filled with Tibetan, Indian and Western friends. Claudia looked sweet in a white and silver sari – Deirdre in a pink one – Mr Kundeling and Rinzin in full Tibetan dress with high boots – what a scene! The service went very well considering English wasn’t the native tongue of any of those involved – including the Indian minister. Oliver repeated his vows with such intensity and volume that I nearly fell off my seat!
The luncheon at Dall Lake was a feast like I’ve never seen before – Chumba did a superb job. Your telegram gave us all a thrill. The Nursery children danced, we had a lovely tea at four o’clock and then everyone left.
Finally Claudia and Oliver set off on their one and a half day honeymoon up to Daramkote – Claudia on a horse and Oliver walking beside with a huge pack on his back – they looked adorable.
Lois is now living in Upper Dharamsala in what used to be the Education Department. The house was quickly vacated three weeks ago and Lois went there to receive 120 kids who arrived nearly dead. She, Oliver, Claudia, Juliet and Doris battled long into the night to save their lives. Those kids had camped four months on the border without shelter, food or help. They buried two of their number there and then permission came to enter India – on grounds of compassion. Seventeen were left in a nearby hospital – nearly dead – and the others came on here on a nightmare of a train ride in the most blistering heat. You wouldn’t believe it unless you saw it – they’re still only shells and skeletons of children. Two more have died – one in Lois’ arms on a frantic jeep-ride to Kangra – of worm-convulsions. Lois had to cremate the body herself. And now they’re having emotional fits, hysterics and an attempted suicide – it’s so criminal I can’t believe it’s true. And we’ve had three tragic deaths in our Kangra family in the past four days – this blistering heat in Kangra is taking its toll. Life is a bit of a nightmare now. But I’m still madly in love with my Tibetans and don’t see how I’ll leave in September.
Love, Judy
Upper Dharamsala
4 September 1964
Dear Dervla,
Lois cracked up again about three weeks ago and spent ten days at the Mission Hospital. It was the same old liver trouble and I am quite worried because it bothers her constantly though she’s back on the job again. It’s a miracle she lasted this long after the terrific strain she’s been under since early June when those very sick kids arrived. It was a long, hard struggle but she lost only two of them, and even the most seriously disturbed children are now normal, healthy and delightful Tibetan kids. By now they are such a boisterous and energetic crew that they quite wear Lois out. Since their health improved, however, she has time to enjoy them and goes for long walks all over the mountainside with them. When Lois was away sick I spent the weekend there. One of the three TB girls (sleeping in Lois’ bedroom because there is no other place) developed pneumonia and was a pretty miserable little tyke. I took all three of them over to the Nursery where Thomas (who has replaced Oliver) put them in a separate room. I was just getting ready to dash back down here to teach on Monday morning when His Holiness strode into the school on a surprise visit. We were all terribly thrilled. I dashed down here after he left and was in the middle of teaching my morning class when the door curtain was swept aside and in strode His Holiness again. I don’t know who was more shocked – he or I! He stayed at the
back and watched me teach for five minutes – I was a little heap of nervous jelly by the time he left. He’d even spoken to me in English when he first came in. Both his Senior and Junior Tutors came to lecture to our students on different afternoons.
I sat in on both lectures and was pleased at how much I understood. The Junior Tutor is a particularly wonderful person – I was most impressed by him. He seems so wise and kind and compassionate – I had a wonderful talk with him after but got stumped a couple of times when he used high honorific words that I’d never heard before. All the Lamas have the highest and most devoted regard for him – as many as 5000 people at a time used to sit for six hours on end in Lhasa to listen to his sermons. He certainly had me spellbound when he spoke though I couldn’t follow everything he said.
Lois and I have decided to stay for another year and a half – I couldn’t possibly leave now with all there is to do. I’m trying to write a series of English–Tibetan readers to be used in the schools – all the Indian ones are hopeless. Now that I’m quite fluent in Tibetan and familiar with the situation and the people, it would be a waste to throw it all over and pull out now when I might be able to make a concrete contribution in Tibetan education. Besides, I absolutely adore all these people and don’t see how I could say goodbye. My work is so exciting and challenging that it doesn’t even seem like work. Lois feels the same and will probably stay on as long as I do. She’s terribly excited at the prospect of perhaps helping a Doctor who hopes to come here next spring and set up a school in Macleod Ganj where she can train Tibetan nurses.
And now for the Nursery situation. Lois and I have seen a lot of Pema (younger sister of His Holiness, who has replaced Mrs Tsiring Dolma) and the more we see her the more we like her. She’s a wonderful gal and is working like a dog at the Nursery. She’s there from 9 a.m. to 8 p.m. seven days a week. She was sick with tonsillitis one week and Thomas ordered her to bed but she refused to go and came to work every day. Everyone is just thrilled with her, and things at the Nursery have improved 100% since she and Miss Betts have come. Miss Betts (who has come from Simla to replace Juliet) thinks the world of Pema. Thomas is happy with both of them. The two lovely new white Tibetan buildings, above Juliet’s house, have both been given over for the new Dispensary. Thomas will have a beautiful big room for himself, a lab, examination room and lots of room for sick children. Tibetans built the houses and did all the labour. The children should be moving in soon, but unfortunately Thomas has already fallen victim to hepatitis and has been down in the Kangra Mission Hospital for a week now.
Tibetan Foothold Page 22
