The Epic of Gesar of Ling

by Robin Kornman

  Ala Ala Ala begins the song.

  Thala is the song’s melody.

  May the enlightened bodies of the refuges of guru, yidam, and the Three Jewels

  Remain inseparable as my crown ornament.

  In case you don’t recognize these lands,

  The ever-flowing Dza River courses down on the right

  And a mountain shaped like a snake’s head appears on the left,

  For this is the manifest cannibal demon continent of Chief Joru.

  In case you don’t recognize me,

  I am Tshazhang Denma Jangtra.

  I am the humble minister of the lesser lineage of Mu.

  Well then, honorable divine child Joru,

  Listen and I will tell you the way things are.

  While the people of southern Jambudvīpa are enjoying their sleep,

  Sun, stay not in the firmament, but head for the western mountain.

  Don’t be late, for the darkness is coming behind you.

  While the people of the three continents to the west are astonished and jubilant,

  Golden radiant sun, shine over all.

  Don’t be late, for the dawn is coming to greet you.

  The three months of winter are imbued with hardship

  When greenery and flowers do not stay, but return to the soil.

  Don’t delay, for the frost is pursuing you.

  The three months of summer are endowed with well-being

  When the colorful radiance of the smiling lotus is revealed.

  The sweet rains usher in the summer season.

  They say the six provinces of Ling are like a white paper flower

  Ruined by Chief Joru’s rain.

  The rain-stopping wizard is Chipön—

  He stops the rain, not for a lifetime but just for a day.

  If rain failed to fall for a whole lifetime,

  The grains of the six provinces of Ling would have no way to ripen.

  Have you understood, O divine son of Gogmo?

  If you know how to think about it, these phenomena are wondrous.

  If you know how to see it, it’s like a spontaneous spectacle.

  First, the rainbow between the sun and rain,

  Second, the mirage between the heat and moisture,

  And third, the human corpses between emanation and transformation,

  If recognized, are neither good nor ill.

  If not, that illusion will be held as real.

  The rain of subterranean cold-blooded nāgas—

  They say that when called, it is by the dragon’s roar

  And when it comes, it is adorned with the appearance of white clouds.

  In the upper land of the gods are the zodors of existence.

  They say that when called, it is by the auspicious conch

  And when they come, they confer the siddhis of happiness and well being.

  In the middle realm of humans this divine child Joru,

  They say that when called, it is by the cabinet minister Denma

  And when he comes, he opens the gate to the treasury of magical transformations.

  To the child who understands this talk, one sign is enough.

  If not, I’ll not repeat my words again.

  Divine son, keep this in your mind.

  After he sang the song, they [sat down] and had a long conversation. The awakened one, joyful Joru, offered the minister Denma this narrative song with the melody Nine Swirls of a White Conch:

  The song is Ala Ala Ala.

  Thala gives the melody of the song.

  The dharmakāya teacher Samantabhadra,

  The sambhogakāya teacher Vajrasattva,

  The nirmanakāya teacher Śākyamuni—

  May the embodiment of these three, Padmasambhava, look upon me.

  In the ravine of the powerful land of Snake Head,

  I am the powerful man who is known as King Joru.

  Uḍḍiyāṇa Padma is my elector.

  My spirit father is the nyen Lord Gedzo.

  I am the nephew of Tsugna Rinchen.

  I am the younger brother of dear Zhal-lu of Bumpa.

  Now then, Tshazhang Denma Jangtra

  Listen and I will tell you the way things are.

  Even if the sun does not want to set,

  The dark shadow is free do whatever it wants.

  And even though the heat and moisture of summer doesn’t want to pass,

  The frost to come is free to do whatever it wants.

  If the sun in the sky does not want to set in the west

  The dark shadow cannot be free to do whatever it wants.

  If the heat and moisture of summer do not want to pass,

  The early frost cannot be free to appear.

  Joru brings rainfall that harms

  The white paper flowers of the six provinces of Ling,

  But look, before long they could be blanketed with snow.

  Whoever stops that is the best wizard of all.

  In the southern vast plain [of Jambudvīpa] the bird that lives in the bamboo

  Can’t help but fly north in the summer;

  The heat of the great farmlands will spoil its eggs.

  With that in mind the king of birds takes flight to the north.

  If I, Joru, don’t want to go,

  The six provinces of Ling will find it difficult to expel me.

  I am a chick of the garuḍa king of birds.

  When I reach the highest path in flight,

  There will be no one in Ling with the six wings to follow me.

  I am boy of the lineage of the white snow lion.

  When I hold my home ground on the peak of Mount Kailash

  Even though they intend to exile me, there will be no one who can slice a path in the white snow.

  To subjugate the hosts of māras, this boy Joru

  Was sent here by the imperial gods on high.

  I cannot accomplish this purpose by staying where the weather is warm.

  Therefore all those signs and dreams,

  Whatever appears is the magical display of the gods,

  Banishment is the way Brahmā shows me the path,

  The black magic curses are the enlightened activity of Gedzo,

  The punishment of my faults is Tsugna’s support along the way.

  As is said of old:

  If you cross over the treacherous crag,

  You’ll arrive at the flat plain.

  As they say:

  If you do not take the path of a miserable mind,

  Then how can you encounter the wealth of mental joy?

  Whenever I go it is with the gods,

  Wherever I go is my home,

  Whatever I do is for the buddha doctrine.

  This boy Joru is like a great swollen river—

  One day golden fish of the six provinces of Ling will naturally swim here.

  This child Joru is like an alpine greensward—

  One day the deer and wild horses of the father and uncle ministers will naturally graze here.

  In this excellent place, the colorful land of Ma,

  The eternally blossoming lotus Joru

  Will be the best hive for the bees of the six provinces of Ling.

  Ma Pomra has come to receive me;

  The nyen Kulha [Gedzo] is here to befriend me;

  My escort nāga Tsugna has made every arrangement.

  I will stay here no longer but will go to the heartland of Ma.

  Before long, we, chieftain and minister, will meet again.

  If you understood this discourse, it is sweet to your ears.

  If you did not, there is no way to explain it.

  When he had finished, for Denma Jangtra King of Tshazhang it was as though from the stainless space of his unwavering mind the sun of uncontrived faith and devotion arose. He prayed to be able to unceasingly serve the enlightened activities of his station as minister of Denma until Chief Joru’s taming of beings was complete. As Denma was preparing to leave, Joru said, “Ministe
r Denma, you go on ahead and say to the others ‘I didn’t dare get close to Joru, but I yelled out to him what you had said.’ It is crucial that what happened here between us for a period of time must not be heard by anyone either outside or within Ling.” Instantly Denma arrived back at the encampment of Ling and said, “Joru is truly a cannibal. I didn’t dare to go close to him, but you can rely on me that I yelled out all your messages clearly. I heard him say he will come tomorrow.”

  Everyone said, “O Denma, you’ve returned to us safely,” and they rejoiced immeasurably.

  Then some Lingites thought, “Joru’s coming to devour us.” Others said, “With a gathering this large, what harm can come of it?”

  Trothung, a little afraid, thought, “He may not eat everyone, but who knows, he might consume a few of us. Furthermore, between me and him there still exists a subtle grudge. I started this feud; I’m not sure now what Joru’s going to do.” He spoke up, “Everybody should put on armor, take up weapons, and stay in a state of warlike readiness.”

  Zhalkar replied, “What’s the reason for that? Gesar is already being punished enough for his crimes against Tag-rong by being exiled from the land. What more do you want? Chipön, would you sing a song reminding us of the reason we’re here? Concerning this idea that a hundred girls would hold ashes to throw at him—well think about it, first of all there’s no question that he is a true son of the Mukpo Dong paternal lineage. Secondly, without a doubt he is a nephew of the nāga Tsugna. And thirdly, he is my own heartfelt younger brother. As if that’s not enough, wasn’t his mother Gogmo at the outset part of my spoils? So, to throw ashes on both of them is unacceptable as it degrades the dignity of the dralas. So that we don’t contradict the previous ruling of White Ling and, given that tsampa is the ashes of barley, then let them be driven away with a hundred fists of tsampa instead.”

  Having heard this, everyone proclaimed, “Fine! Fine!” their minds and mouths in accord. Everybody stayed there waiting for Joru. Then Joru, with his unsightly antelope hat on his head and his ugly dried calfhide coat and hideous horsehide boots with matted straw soles laced with a single strand of horsetail, came riding his white willow staff. Mother Gogmo was more resplendent than ever before, riding her gray mare with a white blaze, adorned with a saddle that looked like the rising sun. She was leading a roan bay horse and holding a longevity arrow with a white silken pennant. That day the time had come to magnetize the life force and minds of the inhabitants of White Ling. Merely by seeing Gogmo and her son, their minds were irresistibly transformed, and they said, “Oh, look how sweet Joru is and how beautiful Gogmo is!” Riveted, they stared at Joru without blinking. The tribe’s Uncle King, Chipön, thought, “If with all my heart I impose the words of law on this nonhuman, divine child, Joru, it will only cause the corruption of my samaya. Instead if I speak according to the prophecy there is no doubt that this will serve to open the gateway to the auspicious connection and enlightened activity.” And so, thinking that the time had come to speak without hesitation, he began: “Well then! Great inhabitants of this divine White Ling and Joru of the divine lineage of the Bumpa family, listen here! I, Chipön, have this to say,” and he sang with the melody called the Long and Solemn Song:

  The song begins with Ala Ala Ala.

  Thala leads the melody of the song.

  At the crystal mountain of the snow-capped peaks

  I offer to the local deity Magyal Pomra.

  At the copper castle palace of the red crag

  I offer to the king of the dralas Nyentag Marpo.

  At the tent of clouds in the upper firmament

  I offer to Manenei Nammen Karmo.

  May the lore and secular power of White Ling increase.

  In this place Kyidsö Yag-gi Khado

  Is the gathering place called Tagthang Tramo.

  If you don’t recognize me,

  I am Uncle King Chipön of Dong.

  This is my sincere Long and Solemn Song.

  And here is a genuine account of how it is.

  The strong and solid four-sided castle built of stone

  Beautified by its juniper-timbered roof

  And not only that, adorned with the golden pinnacle—

  We think this is a mighty fortress that will protect us for a lifetime,

  But if there is an earthquake, it will be the hammer that smashes us.

  Whatever karma you collect is like dirt piled upon you.

  A bride-to-be is acquired by giving the treasured articles,e

  The station of her in-laws is placed in her hands,

  And not only that, their minds and hearts are tied like a knotted scarf.65

  We think this one companion will last for a lifetime,

  But if she’s shameless she turns her whoring face to another man;

  Her earnings are the bribery of her ass.

  We think that by physically sustaining and nurturing our sons and nephews

  Our children will be successful in worldly ways,

  And not only that, we value them like our own precious lives.

  If a boy makes good, it’s expected that he will hold his father’s seat,

  But if a boy turns out wrong, he is charged as the thief of his father’s estate

  And once he grows up he may end up just beating his parents with a club.

  The boy Joru is the honorable nephew of Tsugna

  And we had hoped he would be the ornament of the golden throne of White Ling,

  And not only that, he’s the essence of Zhalkar’s heart.

  In an ideal world, he would have grown up to be the hammer that that strikes the enemy,

  But something went awry, for he killed the hunters of Tag-rong.

  If his thieving hands have stolen the horses, his boots will tell.

  These wrongdoings must be punished—

  Massacring the wild animals roaming the mountain passes

  Imprisoning the travelers passing through the valleys,

  Eating human flesh and drinking human blood—

  What he has done amounts to disturbing the gods of Ling—

  That came clear in the divinations, prophecies, and charts.

  Therefore we decided that we must expel Joru.

  I, Chipön, will “decide for a hundred.”

  It’s just as the proverb says:

  If from the exalted imperial palace of the divine ones

  The gods and dharma protectors were banished to the land of demons,

  Then the dying will await their karmic destiny alone.

  If from the subterranean land of the cold-blooded nāgas

  Nāga Dungkyong [Nāga White-Conch Guardian] was forced to ascend,

  Then the irrigated fields will await their karmic destiny alone.

  If from this middle land of humans, the sight of which fulfills all wishes,

  The boy Joru was banished to the north,

  Then the fathers and uncles will await their karmic destiny alone.

  Did you understand this, divine son Joru?

  It is impossible to avoid timely karma.

  Even soft mushrooms can emerge from a hard unyielding meadow,

  And if the time is not right, even an iron stake can break [striking the ground].

  Today in Min-drug Dawa [early winter]66

  On the fifteenth day of the broad pathway of the gods,

  You can tell it’s the right time by the conch moon in the sky,

  By the twinkling Pleiades converging like friends offering consolation, and

  By the lamp that dispels darkness [called]

  The mandala of the royal parasol of the shining sun.

  At the virtuous time when these three unite,

  Likewise Gogmo and her son are united, and together

  Depart from Yongdzom Nyima Shar-yag [Great Eastern Sun that Completely Unites]

  With the aspiration prayer that we will meet again.

  The punishment for an ostracized man

  Is to be driven out by one hundred father
gurus blowing the conch,

  By one hundred tigers in their prime letting loose their arrows,

  And by one hundred maidens throwing handfuls of ashes.

  Don’t lose heart; take these bad signs as your good luck.

  These handfuls of ashes strike the heart of Zhalkar.

  Tsampa is the ash of barley—

  These hundred handfuls of tsampa will drive you out.

  Whatever you need you must take from Zhalkar;

  We’ll escort you wherever you wish to go.

  If you understand this song, it is sweet to your ears,

  If you don’t understand it, there is no way to explain it.

  Thus he sang, and the minds and life force of all the inhabitants of Ling were magnetized; as a result nearly everyone forgot their fearful memories of what he had done in the past, and instead they felt deeply attached to Joru. So they all sat there, their eyes welling with tears.

  Zhalkar had perfectly arranged for all the horses, yaks, provisions, and whatever was necessary, including the escort. Then Joru whispered to Zhalkar, “My leaving indicates that the time has come to fulfill the divine prophecy. After I’m gone, please don’t be worried about me. I don’t need any escorts and provisions for my trip today, since already yesterday Magyal Pomra and the virtuous zodors of the land of Ma came to receive me.”

  Joru leaned on his staff and said, “Well then, great inhabitants of the divine land of Ling, although I, Joru, have done nothing, even though you wish to paint a picture of my faults and shortcomings, in truth here is how it really happened,” and he sang this song:

  The song begins with Ala.

  Thala leads the melody of the song.

  The great god White Brahmā

  And the lord of the nyen, Gedzo, the god of power,

  The wealth god Tsugna Rinchen,

  And all the virtuous gods inspire me to sing this song.

  Oh, you people of the six districts of Ling,

  Listen, for I have a few things to tell you.