by Marco Pallis
This life continued until I was seven, when I was taken back to Dütsi Tel where all our monks were assembled, as the venerable Genchung Lama had been invited to give a kalung (ritual authorization) for all the scriptures forming the Kangyur; these are the sayings of the Buddha, translated from Sanskrit and filling 108 volumes. This kalung gives authority to study, practice, and explain their meaning and confers upon those who attend the rite the blessing of their truth. Though Genchung Lama managed to read some three volumes each day, it took him three months to complete the whole, during which time my lessons were interrupted. It was all a great experience for me, since this was the first time that I had been at a gathering which lasted for so long. Throughout that time my tutor gave me lessons in the evenings by the light of butter lamps, for though I could work at my writing during the ritual recitation, I could not do any reading.
At this stage the regent abbots of both monasteries and my secretary were not satisfied with my tutor. They thought he was a little too indulgent and spent too much time telling me stories, to the neglect of more serious studies. He was indeed almost a father to me, and we knew that if we parted we should both miss each other a great deal; however, he was overtired and needed a rest. At the end of the ritual reading another teacher was found, and Asang Lama had to leave me. I found this parting almost harder to bear than when my mother went away.
My new tutor, Apho Karma by name, had previously taught the younger monks at the monastery, so he had had a great deal of experience, but he was more temperamental than Asang Lama. I felt unhappy in never knowing what was expected of me. My timetable was changed, and the studies now became more difficult; the painting lessons, which Asang Lama had encouraged, were stopped, and writing lessons were made shorter; more time was given to reading and much more memorizing had to be done in the evenings by lamplight, with the lesson having to be repeated correctly the following morning.
We returned to Dorje Khyung Dzong, but the retreatants who came to talk to Apho Karma were very different from Asang Lama’s friends, and we no longer had our little jokes. There were, however, longer periods for walks and frequent picnics, but my tutor was always very serious and solemn, though he too occasionally told me stories. He was not interested in animals and flowers, and I had neither playmates nor playthings. I discovered, however, that the fireworks for the New Year celebrations were filled with gunpowder, my informant being one of the younger monks who used to clean our rooms. I persuaded him to get some of the gunpowder for me, and I concocted some sort of rockets with rolled paper and managed not to be discovered. These were so successful that I wanted to make a better firework that would go off with a bang. I was in my room working at this, when Apho Karma came in and smelled the gunpowder. He did not punish me at the time, but he never ceased to remind me of how naughty I had been.
I never received corporal punishment after Asang Lama left when I was seven years old. When he had thought that it was necessary to admonish me, it was always done with great ceremony. After a foreword such as “It is like molding an image; it has to be hammered into shape,” he would prostrate himself three times before me, and then administer the chastisement on the appropriate part.
About this time I had some strange dreams: though even in pictures I had never seen the things that are made in the West, I dreamed I was riding in a mechanized truck somewhat like a small lorry, and a few days later in another dream I saw airplanes parked in a field. Also about that time, in my sleep, I was walking through a shop which was full of boots, shoes, saddles, and straps with buckles, but these were not like Tibetan ones and instead of being made of leather they appeared to be of sticky dried blood. Later I realized that they were all the shapes and kinds that are used in Western lands. I told Apho Karma about these dreams and he merely said, “Oh, it’s just nonsense.”
When I was eight I had to learn how to perform various rites; how to intone; and how to use drums, bells, and various other instruments. I had to improve my reading, and I was taught the practice and history of Buddhism and about the life of the Buddha. I could visualize him among his monks in their saffron robes, for one day I had had a vivid moment of recollection. When I read about the death of his mother, seven days after his birth, I seemed to share his feeling of loss. I read the life of Milarepa many times over till I knew it by heart, and also the lives of other great saints. Guru Padmasambhava’s story was my favorite, for I loved to read about the way he brought Buddhism to Tibet, established the first monasteries and taught the doctrine, and above all about his great loving-kindness to all our people and the moving message he left with us when he was returning to Lankapuri, an island southwest of Mount Meru. After giving the Tibetans his blessing, he added: “The people may forget me, but I shall not forget them; my eternal compassion is always with them.”
His Holiness Tenzin Gyatso, the fourteenth Dalai Lama.
Rikpe Dorje, the sixteenth Gyalwa Karmapa. Chögyam Trungpa at right.
Lacquered pillar with spreading capital.
Tsurphu Monastery.
PHOTO: PAUL POPPER, LTD.
My tutor and the senior lamas found me very enthusiastic and interested in my studies, always asking a lot of questions. They thought that it would be a good time for me to learn the rules for a novice (shramanera), and I began my first instruction in metaphysical doctrines, though at the time it was not known that I was to be ordained.
According to Buddhist scriptures, a boy of eight can be ordained as a novice, and when the news came that the renowned teacher Jamgön Kongtrül of Palpung was going to Tsurphu Monastery to give his disciple the Gyalwa Karmapa some further spiritual instruction, while at the same time visiting his mother at Lhasa, Rölpa Dorje and my secretary decided to ask him to ordain me, since his route would take him near Surmang. Jamgön Kongtrül accepted the suggestion, saying, “Thus I can serve and offer help to the incarnation of my own teacher.”
He was warmly welcomed at Dütsi Tel. I remember him as a small man, neat and precise in all he did, with a dry sense of humor. This was the first time that he had visited Surmang since the death of the tenth Trungpa Tulku, and he told me a great deal about him; when he saw things that had belonged to his beloved guru he was much moved, and because I was his incarnation, he was particularly friendly to me.
My ordination took place at the full moon. Four bhikshus had to take part in the rite; one was Rölpa Dorje Rinpoche and the three others were senior lamas. I had to make profession of the monastic rules for a shramanera of the Sarvastivadin order, to which most northern Buddhists—that is to say, Tibetans, Chinese, and Japanese—belong; whereas southern Buddhists of Ceylon, Burma, and Thailand belong to the Theravada order. After the ceremony, Jamgön Kongtrül preached me a sermon; he said, “From today you enter the community of the sangha,” after which he explained to me the meaning of the life of my predecessor and how he had always kept the rule. He said that my ordination was a very important step in my life, and added that I was the youngest novice that he had ever ordained. After giving me some further teaching and advice, he continued his journey.
I was now much less afraid of Apho Karma, who had become more understanding, and I looked forward to our walks together.
At eight years old a child is very sensitive, and it is the time to inculcate ideas which must last him his lifetime, so at the end of this year I went into retreat for a simple form of meditation. This was upon the nyendrup of Manjushri, the Bodhisattva of Wisdom: that is to say, I was instructed to visualize him with his various symbolic attributes and to contemplate his transcendental wisdom, to repeat his mantras or sonorous embodiments, and to recite the verses which preceded and followed them. I took a vow that I would live in solitude for three months away from all contacts other than my tutor and my cook attendant; no one might come to see me. My diet was strictly vegetarian, and I was not allowed to go outside the retreat center. This continued until the New Year.
As my story unfolds it will be seen how the whole line of the teaching
was carried to me directly from guru to disciple. The great Jamgön Kongtrül taught the tenth Trungpa Tulku, who in turn became the guru of his own incarnations Jamgön Kongtrül of Palpung and Jamgön Kongtrül of Sechen. The latter, as my spiritual father, was my instructor in meditation, and Jamgön Kongtrül of Palpung was my ordainer and also gave me a great deal of teaching. Though the great Jamgön Kongtrül did in fact have five incarnations, the other three do not come into my story.
I was nine when Jamgön Kongtrül of Sechen was invited to Dütsi Tel to give a wangkur (empowerment rite) on the teaching of the Treasury of Spiritual Instructions (Dam Ngag Dzö). This was contained in thirteen volumes, and was a selection of the sacred writings of renowned gurus of all the various Tibetan schools which had been collected by his predecessor.
So many monks from outside monasteries kept coming that Jamgön Kongtrül found Dütsi Tel too crowded and disturbing, and it was decided to move to Dorje Khyung Dzong. The rites began on the day of the full moon; first with offerings at the shrine, followed by chanting and ending with a communal meal. However, since Jamgön Kongtrül was so renowned as a meditation teacher, hundreds of people came to hear him as well as to receive his blessing, and in some cases to put their private troubles before him. They established themselves in the open and in nearby caves, and soon the conditions became as involved and difficult as they had been at Dütsi Tel. Jamgön Kongtrül could get no rest and in consequence fell ill. He was forced to move to a small house a short distance from the retreat center, and Rölpa Dorje took over the work while he was resting. Later, when his health improved, he only undertook to give individual meditation teaching; I remained one of his pupils.
When I first saw him, I was enormously impressed; he was so different from any other teacher that I had met. He was a big jolly man, friendly to all without distinction of rank, very generous and with a great source of humor combined with deep understanding; he was always sympathetic to the troubles of others. Though he was not well at the time, to be near him was to experience unbelievable peace and joyousness. He used to say that now that we had met again he was my teacher as, the time before, my predecessor had been his. He so clearly remembered all that the tenth Trungpa Tulku had taught him, and all his kindness to him from his earliest childhood. He said how happy he was to give back to me that which he had received from his own guru, or as they say in Tibet “to return the owner’s possessions.”
I found later that every word he spoke had significance. I went to him every morning, and one day he told me that he saw me as a grownup man looking like my last incarnation.
He would say, “Nowadays people are changing and all the world is in darkness and surrounded by suffering. My generation has been fortunate in living in a country which has been so happy; I hope suffering will not come to you. You must indeed come to Sechen to receive the full cup of spiritual milk (pumpa gangjö oma); young people like you are our hope for the future; you are like a flower in bud which must be properly looked after so that it may bloom both in our monasteries and in the homes of our people. You are very sensitive, and all of us must help you; I in particular have the privilege of cultivating you with the spiritual water of teaching and practice.”
One morning he sent for me; as I entered the room the first rays of the sun fell upon me, and he remarked that this was a very significant sign. After this, the teaching he gave me was so profound that I felt he was giving me back the spirituality he himself had received from the tenth Trungpa Rinpoche. He was overjoyed when he realized that I could absorb his teaching without any barrier between us. He told me that from now on I must continue to meditate, but must keep things to myself and not speak about them to other people. A little later he explained that since I was still a child and would not be able to sustain concentration for a long period, I must appoint a special time for meditation and keep to it regularly. He emphasized that I must come to receive various teachings from him and particularly instruction in devotion, compassion, and the way of behavior in everyday life. He also said that without knowing the other side of the mountain one could not risk taking to a mountain pass. I should have knowledge of both absolute and relative truths, and should realize why it is necessary for one to know more about suffering and impermanence before renouncing the world; he added that there was great meaning when the Lord Buddha turned the wheel of the doctrine, showing the three stages of the path.
Soon after this Jamgön Kongtrül Rinpoche said he wished to leave; he explained that though he was sorry that he could not continue the wangkur, his purpose for being at Surmang had been fulfilled. All, and I in particular, were very sad that he could not remain with us; his visit had meant so much. He was always so full of the joy of living and was a delightful storyteller, telling tales of different gurus and lamas, but his jokes always could be interpreted as having a second and deeper meaning, so that even while he entertained he taught. I well remember one of the stories he told us.
“Once,” he said, “there was a great teacher called Paltrül Rinpoche. He did not belong to any monastery, but traveled everywhere about the country, without any attendants or baggage. One day he went to visit a certain hermit who had been living alone in a hut for many years: In fact he had become quite famous and many people came to see him there. Some came for advice and some to test how advanced he was in spiritual knowledge. Paltrü Rinpoche entered the hut unknown and unannounced.
“‘Where have you come from,’ said the hermit, ‘and where are you going?’
“‘I came from behind my back and am going in the direction I am facing.’
‘The hermit was taken aback, but he asked, ‘Where were you born?’
“‘On earth’ was the reply.
“‘Which school do you follow?’
“‘The Buddha.’
‘The hermit was now feeling rather put out, and seeing that his visitor was wearing a white lambskin hat, he asked him, ‘If you are a monk, why are you wearing that hat?’
“‘Now I see your sort,’ said Paltrül Rinpoche. ‘Look here. If I wear a red hat, the Gelukpas will be looking down their noses, and if I wear a yellow one, the others will be at me. So I have a white one; it saves trouble.’ He was referring jocularly to the fact that the Geluk order of monks wear a yellow hat and all the remaining orders a red one. This was a little joke about intermonastic rivalries!
“The hermit did not understand what he was saying, so Paltrül Rinpoche began asking him why on earth he had come to live in such a remote and wild part of the country. He knew the answer to that one, and explained that he had been there for twenty years meditating. ‘At the moment,’ he said, ‘I am meditating on the perfection of patience.’
“‘That’s a good one,” said his visitor, and leaned forward as if confiding something to him. ‘A couple of frauds like us could never manage anything like that.’
“The hermit rose from his seat—‘You’re the liar,’ he said. ‘What made you come here? Why couldn’t you leave a poor hermit like me to practice meditation in peace?’
“‘And now,’ said Paltrül Rinpoche, ‘where is your perfection of patience?’”
When Jamgön Kongtrül Rinpoche left us we all felt that something very lovely was missing; he had given the whole place such a wonderful atmosphere. We continued to receive the teaching of the Treasury of Spiritual Instructions under Rölpa Dorje Rinpoche, and when it was finished I went back to my lessons with Apho Karma.
In Tibet, the greatest respect has always been felt for spiritually endowed lamas, who act as priests or teachers without being monks. Such people would have promised to keep to the upasaka discipline and practice the fundamental rules of virtue as well as to observe the bodhisattva’s vow of compassion with the aim of leading all sentient beings to enlightenment; finally, they would undertake to obey the sacred word of the vajrayana by dedicating themselves to the supreme knowledge.
Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche was one of these married lamas, a man advanced in spiritual knowledge. He had bee
n an important disciple of the tenth Trungpa Tulku and was a reincarnation of a famous author and teacher called Khyentse Rinpoche, who was born in 1817. Because of his profound learning, the monks of Dütsi Tel invited him to give the wangkur (initiation) of Tzokchen Düpa on anuyana which contains advanced vajrayana teaching. The empowerment rite lasted for a month and when it was over, Dilgo Khyentse undertook to give me special instruction. I felt drawn to him as if he had been my father; and thus I often addressed him without any shyness or doubt. He welcomed me as the incarnation of his own guru, and since I was still only a child of ten he brought me toys and sweets. He was very tall and dignified and never seemed in a hurry. Whatever he did was perfection of its kind, even the way he walked into the hall showed this quality; all he said was expressed to perfection, in fact, he surpassed anyone I had ever met; his writings were equally remarkable, and added to this he was a poet and had a gift for telling delightful stories.
All the previous year I had had a great deal to do, meeting lamas from other monasteries and taking part in many rites, so my lessons had been rather neglected, though my general knowledge and understanding had increased. Dilgo Khyentse gave me private teaching on atiyana (ati means “the ultimate”) and handed on to me much that he himself had received from the tenth Trungpa Tulku and from gurus of other schools. He left after several months, which was so great a sorrow and shock to me that for a few days I could neither study nor eat. I felt this parting more severely than when my early tutor Asang Lama had had to leave me, and to fill the blank I set to work harder than before.
