by Marco Pallis
When we reached this other mountain, we found the cave blocked. However, the owner very kindly provided a black tent, which was put up near the cave on a flat ledge high up the mountainside. This ledge was sufficiently large for me to walk about, so I could now again take exercise. There was a waterfall on one side, which at that time was frozen, and behind its icicles ran a clear passage through which I would walk out and up the rocks, with no danger of being seen from below. In the rarified air I could hear herdsmen in the distance calling to their animals. At night the cold was intense; several blankets and a well-made sheepskin coat imported from the west of Tibet did not suffice to keep me warm. My attendant found his native sheepskin and felt rugs better suited to this climate.
I remained there quietly for a few weeks and was able to finish my book, which filled about one thousand sheets of Tibetan paper. The landowner’s herdsmen got to suspect, however, that there was a lama in retreat somewhere on the mountain. The rumor spread quickly to the neighboring village. All the inhabitants were very excited and thought it might possibly be me. The headman climbed up to our ledge to find out and when he saw me he used the Tibetan saying “A golden rock has fallen on our doorstep,” adding that it was fortunate for him and his fellow villagers that I had come to their neighborhood. He was quite sure that the news of my whereabouts would go no further and that my retreat was as safe as any other hiding place; he assured me that all the villagers would look after me. He came again next day with his son and daughter-in-law bringing barrels of curd and other food supplies. He said that his wife would like to visit me on the following day; she had not been able to come with them as she had stayed at home to look after the house. The news that he brought about the present situation in the country was that the Resistance party was fighting in the area round Kongpo, where the Brahmaputra enters India. At Chamdo, the Chinese were becoming more and more oppressive; however, he thought that his part of Tibet was safe, and if I wanted to move from my present retreat, there were several equally good and remote places where I could lie concealed.
On April 11, at dawn, we heard neighing and the monk in charge of my horses appeared. He told me that my bursar, who was still attending to the business of selling our cattle at Drölma Lhakhang, was growing increasingly worried about the situation. The Communist troops had now suddenly appeared in the vicinity, so he had sent this monk with my horses to ask what I thought should be done. The messenger had left the evening before and on his way had seen Communist troops marching toward Pashö. They were telling the people that the Chinese had already gained possession of Lhasa and that they were now about to take control of Pashö district. The troops were coming from different directions, some from Chamdo and others from Enda, north of Drölma Lhakhang. He did not know what had happened at the monastery or to Akong Tulku after he himself had left.
This news could mean one of two things; either the troops would go direct to Pashö or else they would attack each of the monasteries on the way. My takpa (divination) indicated that the danger was certainly increasing but that there was no need for immediate alarm. I realized that I could neither go to Drölma Lhakhang nor to Yak, so I sent the monk back to make preparations to move our luggage. He wanted to know the exact date on which he should be ready. I told him, at the full moon, on April 23. This was the Earth Hog year, 1959, and I was now twenty.
After he had left, a second monk came with a message from my bursar; Drölma Lhakhang had not been disturbed, for the Chinese had gone direct to Pashö. I went down to the nearby village, where I met a businessman who had come straight from Chamdo. He told me that the military had been in complete control there since the first week of April. They had put loudspeakers everywhere telling the people that the Dalai Lama had been forcibly abducted by the guerillas. They said that the Chinese had always intended to liberate the Tibetans and that they were there to bring great benefits to the people by peaceful means. They had, however, been forced to fire some guns in Lhasa when the guerillas attacked them and Norbulingkha, the Summer Palace, had been slightly damaged, but now everything was all right. They added that the Chinese had been obliged to take over the civil government because the Tibetans had broken the Seventeen Point Agreement of 1949; they also declared that Tibetans must not have any contact with the foreign “Imperialists.”
My informant told me that Tibetan officials who up till now had worked with the Chinese were being arrested and all telephones in their homes had been disconnected. Every bridge on the two Chamdo rivers was being guarded. The townspeople looked frightened and miserable and all gaiety was at an end. Everyone entering Chamdo was questioned as to his reasons for traveling. Part of the monastery was being used as a jail, though a few monks were allowed to remain in the rest of it; however, anyone visiting them was sighted through field glasses and accused of being a spy. The Communists had dug trenches on the hills round the town and it was estimated that some forty thousand troops were encamped in the vicinity. The Chinese had tried to encourage the Tibetans to return to their homes, telling them that there was nothing to fear and that everything that had taken place was to their advantage.
By April 14 the Chinese had gained complete control of Pashö. They had interned the lamas in the assembly hall of their monastery. The place was desecrated and everything of value removed. All the officials in the town had been captured and the food from the monastery and the government stores, as well as from the local shops, had been taken and sent away to Chamdo. A temporary concentration camp had been set up. The fact that Resistance forces under Andrup had previously visited Pashö now made things worse for the inhabitants. On their way to the town the Chinese had captured any travelers on the road and had forced them to accompany the army, so no one had been able to give any warning of their approach. Previously the Communists had not actually done any damage to the surrounding villages, but the people there were living in terror of spies who might give them away later.
THIRTEEN
Must We Escape?
WAITING FOR THE twenty-third, I went down to the village where I stayed with several families in succession. Yak Tulku came to see me, which was a great pleasure as he had always been so helpful with his mature advice and had shown such understanding about my difficulties at the time when the bursar was so insistent that I should go back to Surmang. This time, however, his mind was taken up with the Chinese situation; he seemed to be more nervous than I was myself and could give me no clear guidance. I told him that I had fixed the date for my departure; it was to be on April 23. He wanted to come with me, but said that he would have to bring some of the senior monks with him and also a good deal of baggage. We discussed the route and I pointed out to him that we might have great difficulty in crossing the Gyemo Ngül-chu River, for there was only one bridge, and at other places it was crossed by ferry. Since the Communists were in control at Pashö, they would probably have put guards all along the river. We had no knowledge of the conditions at the bridge. I tried to explain to Yak Tulku that this would not be an easy journey like the tours we used to make, this time it was going to be a life-or-death escape. We would have to reduce our baggage to a minimum and make ourselves as inconspicuous as possible. He still wanted to come with me, but felt he must first consult his secretary. He thought that the baggage question could be solved if he came with us on horseback with a few monks only bringing whatever was required for the journey; a small additional number of mules would suffice to carry the most valuable possessions, leaving a second party to follow consisting of the other monks with yaks to transport the remainder of the baggage. However, he doubted whether he could make all these arrangements by the twenty-third. I emphasized that the party must be kept as small as possible, or there would be no chance for any of us. If many people wanted to try and escape, they must split up into smaller groups and travel separately. Whereupon Yak Tulku went back to his monastery to collect his party.
The monk horseman who had come to see me in my mountain retreat was now returning to Drö
lma Lhakhang. I gave him a letter to Akong Tulku telling him that I had decided to leave on the twenty-third and that, if he wanted to come with me, he must discuss the matter with his monks and come to an early and firm decision. I thought it unlikely that Drölma Lhakhang would be left in peace after what had happened in other parts of Tibet and particularly at Surmang. Should he come with me, I promised his monastery that I would do my best to look after him, but I realized that such a journey might be dangerous for both of us. My own date for departure was fixed and I had every intention of sticking to it. Yak Tulku might be coming with us and, if he decided to do so, I had told him that his baggage must be severely cut down. We should have to keep a small party; with every additional person the danger would become greater and my own responsibility would also be increased; moreover, there was always the possibility that others might wish to join us on the way; this was how I wrote to my friend Akong.
Until the 22nd I remained in the village and then set off at night for Drölma Lhakhang which I reached at six o’clock the next morning after a roundabout journey avoiding villages, while a tremendous snowstorm was raging. Both Akong Tulku and my bursar had tried to keep our plans secret, but the news of my intended departure had leaked out and on my arrival at the monastery I found a number of monks and villagers assembled who wanted to receive my blessing and to consult me about what they themselves should do. Some of them suggested organizing local resistance. I had very little time to talk to them and none to give any individual advice, so I spoke to the crowd in the assembly hall. I told them it would be useless to fight and, since I did not even know myself where I was going, I could offer them no concrete suggestions. At the moment I was thinking of Central Tibet; however, they must realize that there was danger everywhere. I told them to remember the teaching we had shared during the wangkur. Before I said good-bye they all filed past me to receive a blessing, after which I left hastily for fear of further delays as more and more people were arriving.
Akong Rinpoche had decided to come with me with the approval of his monks, but my bursar had changed his mind; he could not bear to leave so many treasures behind while I, for my part, kept firmly to the decision to travel on horseback with a few mules to carry the basic necessities for the journey. It was arranged for a Lhathok woman to inform my monks at Kyere about my departure. After all this delay, our party could not even wait to have a meal, though my attendant and I had not eaten since the night before, so we set out on empty stomachs. Yönten came with us as acting bursar and the two attendants who had been with me in the Valley of Mystery were also of the party. Akong Rinpoche brought his two brothers and we were also joined by Lama Gelek, the monk who had taken the kalung when I gave the wangkur at Yak. A young novice from Drölma Lhakhang and an older monk from the retreat center also came with us. The older monk was a very spiritual man, prepared to face any difficulties and dangers.
We started with a tearful send-off from all the monks of the monastery. It was a desolate moment for Akong Tulku who was leaving his own monks, especially the senior ones, who had brought him up with such loving care. My bursar accompanied us as far as the nunnery which was to be our first stopping place. We had some thirty horses and fifty mules with us. The neighboring villages had been asked to watch out and report if any Communists were in the district.
On our arrival at the north nunnery I found the nuns very calm and thoughtful over the turn in affairs. They asked me to advise them what to do, saying they understood that they must accept whatever fate might bring. Some of the nearby villagers came to see me and we all talked for about an hour. As soon as there was a pause, the nuns offered us a meal which was very welcome. After we had eaten I went up to the hermitage and found the nun who was in retreat there. She was more concerned with my well-being than with her own personal danger. We had a spiritual talk and I encouraged her to consider the disturbances of this life as an element in her meditation.
Our party spent the night in the shelter of the nunnery and we talked until late in the evening. During the day all the baggage had had to be sorted and properly packed. No one except the nuns knew that we were on our way to escape or for how long we would be staying at the nunnery; in fact, we disappeared after an early breakfast.
Not long after, we met a man who had just crossed the river by the bridge without meeting any Chinese; this was cheering news. The next night we stayed in an isolated house belonging to a celebrated doctor, who welcomed us warmly. He specialized in the use of herbal remedies and had several sheds where he kept a stock of local herbs together with other medicines imported from India. A wonderful meal was put before us, in which special spices were used to flavor dishes our host himself had invented. He was convinced that at the moment we had nothing to fear from the Communists. Next day he gave us detailed instructions about what food to eat or avoid on our journey, also telling us where the water was good, bad, or medicinal.
We set out very early in the morning; some of the neighboring villagers, however, had somehow got to know that we were in the district and came to ask for my blessing and also for advice and this delayed us somewhat. Our next stop was by a lake surrounded by five mountains, known as the Five Mothers; these had been held to be sacred by the followers of the old Bön religion. Here we had tea and then changed into ordinary Tibetan civilian clothes with European felt hats such as many people wear in Tibet. As I have mentioned before, such a change of clothes has a bad psychological effect on a monk, it gave one a sense of desolation.
Our track now led us over heights, with the land sloping down to a distant river. A message had been sent to Kino Monastery which lay some miles from the bridge, announcing our coming. On the way down we were overtaken by Akong’s tutor from Drölma Lhakhang who had followed us to see that all was well with our party. A little farther on we met a traveler coming from the direction of the bridge; he too reassured us saying that there were no Chinese in the vicinity. Since the monks at Kino had been forewarned, they had prepared a small procession to welcome us at the entrance to the monastery. Its abbot was a married lama who lived outside the precincts but was still in charge of the community, while the khenpo (master of studies) lived within the monastery and acted as deputy abbot. Being received with all the traditional monastic ceremonial, I felt a sense of personal shame at appearing in lay dress. During our three days’ stay there many people from surrounding villages came to ask for a blessing and to put their personal troubles before me.
We had to be particularly careful in this place since it lay near the bridge, so that there was always the possibility of the Communists coming this way, since Pashö lay only a few miles upstream, on the river Pashu which joined the Gyelmo Ngül-chu just above the bridge; this gave the place a certain strategic importance.
Kino Tulku and his wife now wanted to join our party. Unlike Yak Tulku, he was quite prepared to leave all his possessions behind. His wife came from near Drölma Lhakhang and they were both great friends of Akong Tulku. He said that since his friend was leaving and the situation with the Communists was becoming ever more menacing, he thought they should escape with us. He and his wife made immediate preparations for the journey and decided to bring with them two monk attendants, five horses, and eleven mules. A man with his wife and little daughter also asked if they could join us. They had sold up their home and bought three horses in addition to the two they already possessed.
According to information received locally, if we could cross the bridge the country on the farther side would be safe as it was under the administration of the Resistance. We made ready to go on and Akong’s tutor returned to Drölma Lhakhang; he was in great distress over having to leave us for he realized that this was a complete separation from his beloved abbot.
We soon reached the Shabye Bridge which we crossed without difficulty; on the farther side we met a guard of the Resistance army who checked our party to ascertain that we were not carrying arms. One of my attendants was carrying a rolled-up pictorial scroll over his shoulder
and the guard thought it looked suspiciously like a gun! When we had been cleared we were given passports. We enquired what steps were being taken to protect the area and were told that the whole district was being guarded and they thought that the Communists would not be able to break into it. He was very optimistic and said that the Resistance was even preparing to attack. We told him that the Communists had spread a report that the guerillas forced His Holiness the Dalai Lama to leave Lhasa early in March and that he had escaped and was now in India; also that Lhasa was now entirely under Communist control, though we ourselves did not believe this to be true. The guard likewise thought that this report was merely Chinese propaganda. Most of our companions were greatly cheered and muttered among themselves that such tales as these were not to be taken too seriously.
All the party felt relief at not being in immediate danger. We stayed the night in a house in the village and Kino Tulku’s monks returned to their monastery. The next day, getting up very early before sunrise, we started off to cross a high mountain range by a very steep zigzag track; our animals had to stop frequently to regain their breath; we met some of the Resistance soldiers coming down it. At the top we saw stone defense works which had been built on both sides of the road. Some of the soldiers came from the Lhathok district and among them was a doctor who knew me. He told me that he had left his home as a pilgrim and had joined the Resistance army in Lhasa before the crisis. All the soldiers were tall, well–set-up men and looked very warlike; most of them carried rifles but a few only possessed old-fashioned muskets. The young soldiers seemed enthusiastic and proud to wear their military medals hung on yellow ribbons, inscribed with the words National Resistance Volunteers; they were all singing songs and looked very cheerful. My personal attendant Karma Ngödrup, who had a simple optimistic nature, was much impressed with them; he said he felt sure that the Tibetans would get the better of the Chinese for, according to the law of karma, we who had never molested other countries must now surely deserve the victory.
