The Epic of Gesar of Ling

by Robin Kornman

  If you don’t recognize me,

  I am Gogmo’s Joru of Lower Ma.

  Well then, precious doctor,

  Listen, I have a few things to tell you.

  I, Joru of Lower Ma,

  Unclothed, have been tormented by the icy winds.

  First, the physical vitality of my body is exhausted,131

  Suffering from lack of food and hunger, so that

  Second, my inner strength has declined.

  Without a family I am always the target of everyone’s aggression, so that

  Third, my frame of mind is one of utter depression.

  Those three are inseparable as this life’s illness.

  Not only that, but today I’ve got a new illness;

  It came upon me suddenly, and I don’t know what it is.

  I wonder if it’s heat in my upper abdomen.

  The pain feels like tongues of blazing fire,

  My waist feels both hot and cold at the same time.

  This illness seems like something stirred up by a black wind.

  I wonder if it’s coldness in my lower abdomen.

  The pain feels like boiling hot water,

  If I move it’s uncomfortable, and heavier than a mountain.

  If I stay still it’s uncomfortable and lighter than the wind.

  This illness along with Joru is

  Like a mixture of water and milk.

  Alas! What a grave illness.

  I fear this is going to damage my body,

  I fear that this will cut off the flow of my channels.

  My inner mind is just about worn to shreds.

  I wonder if it’s a sign that Joru is meant to die?

  If I die, this death will bring suffering, for the dying child Joru is lacking the dharma.

  The mother I would leave behind has neither food nor clothing.

  Please give me some medicine to cure this illness,

  And check my pulses to see if I would live or die.

  Please identify whether the illness comes from heat or cold,

  And if it’s a harmful dön, expel it.

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

  If not, there is no way to explain it.

  Thus he sang, and sat there acting utterly helpless. The doctor thought, “I don’t have my medicine kit with me, but I can certainly check his pulses, and I do have one medicine called White Panacea, and also several general medicines that I always keep with me as a token of a doctor’s commitment. If it’s just a temporary illness, I can cure it,” he thought as he carefully checked Joru’s pulses. He determined that there was no obvious illness, and he knew that Joru’s corporeal body was untainted. Internally, the impure blood and lymph had ceased to circulate since his channels, winds (nāḍī and prāṇa), and his body, all three, were stainless. Realizing that all of this had arisen based on pure interdependent origination, with a slight smile on his face, he offered this song in the melody of Six Undulating White Scarves of a Physician:

  The song is Ala Ala Ala.

  Thala is the melody of the song.

  From the pure realm of beautiful-to-beholdf

  Medicine Buddha, and Lord Brahmā Atreya,g

  The Youthful Physicians, and others,

  Hold us with your compassion and grant your blessings.

  If you don’t recognize me,

  I’m called the Doctor Künga Nyima,

  The one who has never lost a child to death.

  Now, Gogmo’s Joru, sir,

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

  Illness comes from wind, bile, and phlegm, these three,

  Born from the root causes of passion, aggression, and delusion;

  These three come together, and through the way that they mingle

  The four hundred and four illnesses emerge.

  In the human realm, where sentient beings abide,

  Since the cause of disease, the three poisons, is not abandoned

  It’s impossible to find a pulse that is not free from illness.

  Therefore this pulse of Joru’s is definitely not

  A pulse that comes from a disease of the elements.

  Forget the fact that the coarse four elements don’t even seem to exist;

  When I examine the pure interdependent elements of the channels,

  According to my diagnosis, the meaning of these signs seems to be that

  Not even the slightest illness has been found in your pulses,

  Indicating that you are free from the cause of illness, the three poisons.

  The beat of your pulse is clear and calm,

  Meaning that your knowledge and compassion are without obscuration.

  Except for what arises in the mind of the doctor,

  It seems that your pulses don’t really give a clear reading,

  Indicating that you are a magical manifestation for the welfare of others.

  If illness or demonic forces are not apparent in the pulses,

  The doctor won’t know the treatment.

  Your body and channels are not synchronized;

  Joru and his channels are not the same.

  Either these channels are an illusion,

  Or else Joru is magical manifestation.

  If what these pulses tell me is true,

  It shows that whatever he wants will be spontaneously accomplished.

  It shows that the purpose of his actions will be brought to perfection.

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

  If not, there is no way to explain it.

  Thus he sang, and Joru thought, “The name of this doctor matches his qualities.” Placing the stainless scarf around the doctor’s neck, he rode off on the Lord of Steeds, the swift magical horse. When he caught up to Chipön, his uncle Chipön said, “Joru, where have you been all this time? You’d better hurry up, Dongtsen is about to seize the throne.”

  Joru replied “Uncle, I was appointed by the imperial gods, so what’s the point in losing this race to a mere animal? The gods and gurus are in control here. Earlier, on my way here, I accomplished both the benefit of self and others and witnessed several amazing spectacles. Even now I’m not concerned about speeding up or slowing down. If it’s a question of speed, then, Uncle, ride faster, for there’s no difference between uncle and nephew in terms of who holds the throne. Did you understand me?” Saying that, he rode on ahead.

  Trothung’s greatest fear was that Joru would get ahead of Dongtsen, and just then he saw Joru run off in the opposite direction from the race. Then Tro-thung thought, “Well, then, now there can be no other winner than Dongtsen. Hayagrīva’s prophecy was truly undeceiving.” He had more joy and elation than his guts could hold. He was so excited that he didn’t know what to do with himself, and he swiveled in his saddle, riding at ease. It was then that he met up with Joru.

  When Trothung saw Joru, his chest filled up with air. His nerves flared, and his anxiety heightened such that he didn’t know what to say. He let out a big sigh and suddenly blurted, “Hey, Joru, what are you doing racing back and forth like this? How far has my son Dongtsen gone? Who do you think will win today’s horse race?”

  And Joru replied, “Uncle, I’ve already been near the golden throne twice, but I didn’t dare to sit on the brocade cushion. There’s no one ahead of Dongtsen, however:

  Even though a man shouldn’t sweat, his forehead is sweating.

  A horse shouldn’t quiver, but his calves are quivering.132

  I don’t know what he’ll be like by the time he gets to the golden throne. His calves will be shaking while he receives the spiritual attainment.133 Not only that, another proverb says:

  When good fortune comes to the mouth, the tongue accidentally pushes it out.

  It doesn’t seem like he will be equipped to hold the throne.

  I’ve examined those famous steeds of the Thirty Brethren, looking them all up and down twice, and I have seen nothing over there but nostrils panting like bellows and
bodies steaming with sweat. Not even one horse turned out to be an exception. Still, your horse, Trothung, Pharwa Nga-nag, and Denma’s, Ngültrug Denpa, are supposed to be exceptional because they know the human language. Well, perhaps that will be to your favor, but otherwise they certainly won’t be able to accomplish the goal.

  No matter how high your position in the lineage of White Ling, that’s not going to help you win the wager today. There is absolutely no horse that is faster than my Kyang-bu. My horse has not even broken a sweat yet and is but lightly breathed. I don’t know how useful this prize would be for me, so, although I arrived at the throne, I did not sit on it. I’m not sure whether I will even continue [to race]. If I don’t, then I think perhaps Dongtsen will be the one to win,” he said.

  Trothung thought, “If I don’t trick this nephew Joru, who knows what that demon in a human skin will do?” Then he said, “Nephew, you’re right. The booty of this horse race of White Ling is a farce, luring the reckless youth and leading them astray. Actually, it’s laying the foundation for a den of corruption. It will only add to our hardships. Nephew, what you’ve figured out is absolutely right. Still I will clarify this further; there are many stories that the youngsters need to know. Therefore listen to this advice from your old uncle.” Then he sang this song of deception in the melody Long Slow Gentle Tune:134

  The song is Ala Ala Ala.

  Thala is the melody of the song.

  From the palace of mighty Padma,

  Yidam Red Hayagrīva, know me

  And guide me, the wrathful King Tro.

  Grant me the ultimate support of your prophecy.

  If you don’t recognize this place,

  It is the upper valley of Darthang [Silken Plain].

  If you don’t recognize me,

  I am known as the Uncle of Dong, Trogyal.

  Well then, nephew, listen here.

  That which is called the wager of the horse race,

  If you think about it, here is what it’s like.

  It is well known among the guru’s teachings that

  They teach not to be bound by hope and fear,

  And not to maintain attachment and aggression that create saṃsāra.

  They teach that effort-based practice brings more confusion;

  If you’re confused, they say this is the source of suffering.

  I think that these teachings are true.

  If you’re confused, you’ll do all sorts of things,

  You might laugh out loud while you’re fast asleep at night.

  If you’re a glutton, you’ll think all sorts of things,

  And will even think the taste of pure white yogurt is bitter.

  If you’re hungry, you’ll eat all sorts of things,

  You’ll say the starving flesh of cattle in spring tastes terrific.

  The clans of Ling say all sorts of things;

  They say the booty of the horse race is fantastic.

  All of that is confusion.

  Let me explain the root of this confusion,

  The drum of the law, Selwa’i Ödden,

  Is just a dry piece of wood covered with leather.

  The white conch of the law, Karmo Gyangdrag,

  Upon inspection, is just the empty shell of a bug.

  Those cymbals called Nyima Drug-drag

  Are actually cymbals made from a piece of metal.

  Killing them won’t supply meat or fat,

  Milking them won’t bring down any milk,

  Wearing them can’t take the place of clothes,

  Trying to eat them won’t be good for your stomach.

  That Kyalo Sengcham Drugmo,

  Getting to know her will just lead you into sin.

  To become the chieftain, winner of the golden throne of the many districts of Ling,

  Is a position of leadership that just adds to your misery.

  Not only that, I have a few more points to make.

  The flower that grows in a pile of manure,135

  Although the color is brilliant,

  If offered to the gods, it will pollute them.

  The good looks of that reckless maiden

  May be pleasant to look at,

  But if you get together with her, it will be a den of corruption.

  The sweetness of poison fruit,

  May be sweet to eat,

  But you risk your life when it hits your stomach.

  Becoming the leader of the people of these many districts,

  Sounds good to the ears but

  Actually carries with it more suffering than anything.

  This is the advice of your uncle.

  Don’t race, let uncle and nephew ride on slowly,

  If we tell stories as we go, the path won’t seem as long.

  First of all, the way the eon of this world was created,

  And afterward, the way in which this kalpa endures, and

  Finally, the way that it will be destroyed and emptied.

  Except for me, Trothung, it’s rare to find another who understands all of this.

  The way of taking a precious human rebirth,136 and

  After birth, the way of maintaining life in the world, and

  At death, the way of passing through the bardo.

  Except for me, Trothung, it’s rare to find another who understands all three.

  Those are the things I have to tell you;

  There’s an important reason for my telling you this.

  From among the ancestral six clans of Tibet

  How the great people of Mukpo became an offshoot, and

  How the Thirty Brethren all branched off.

  Except for me, Trothung, it’s rare to find another who understands all of this.

  Those are the things I have to tell you.

  The four kingdoms that border White Ling,

  Yellow Hor, Multicolored Mön, Black Düd, and Maroon Jang;

  The way the diverse clans originated in these countries, and

  All about the ranks of the ministers and the rest of the population.

  Except for me, Trothung, it’s rare to find another who understands all of this.

  I’ll tell you everything as we ride along.

  I will share with you many meaningful and helpful things.

  Besides, we could have some lighter fascinating discussions.

  We’ll loosen our muscles with melodious songs and

  Decipher the difficult words.

  As we ride along, we’ll talk and talk about all sorts of things.

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

  If not, there is no way to explain it.

  Thus he spoke, and Joru replied, “Yes, Uncle, your words are true, but right now I’d like to tell you some of my own thoughts,” and he sang this song in the melody Reverberating Playful Song:137

  The song is Ala Ala Ala.

  Thala is the melody of the song.

  Buddha, dharma, and sangha, these three,

  Please remain inseparably as my crown ornament.

  This land is the upper valley, Darthang,

  And I am the one called Gogmo’s Joru.

  Now then, Uncle, listen here.

  The finish line of the horse race of White Ling,

  I don’t think it’s such a big deal that I am intimidated.

  Nor do I think it’s so insignificant that it offends me.

  For this, each person has their own karmic portion;

  That is the mandate of the imperial gods.

  First, telling stories about all the great cultures, and

  Second, the exciting stories that break one’s jaw to recount,

  And third, the chronicles of the history of Ling called the Precious Lamp

  Are gifts that I, Joru, inherited when I was born in this world.

  That is why I don’t have any need for your advice, Uncle.

  As for this hat of the unsightly heads of all these antelopes,

  The fathers and uncles are getting more and more irritated by the
sight of it;

  I just wish that one day I could be the person to wear a white pennon helmet.

  My back is being bitten over and over by the lice in my calfskin chuba;

  I just wish that one day I could be the person to wear a longsleeved cloak.

  Everybody insults me again and again by putting me down;

  I just wish that one day I could be a powerful and mighty chieftain.

  The frigid icy cold winds whip me again and again;

  How I wish I’d be the one to get a turquoise tent.

  I’m tormented time and again by the desire for a companion;

  I wonder when the day will come that I will get Drugmo for my bride.

  In fact, I don’t even have time to keep singing this song.

  I shouldn’t be too early; they’ll just make fun of me.

  Now I’m not staying here any longer, for I must go on to fulfill my dreams.

  Now, Uncle, keep this in your mind.

  Thus he sang, and the Lord of Steeds instantly departed. All this set Tro-thung’s nerves on edge, but there was nothing he could do.

  Elder brother Gyatsha Zhalkar was wearing his armor Karmo Lhazang [Pure Benevolent God] underneath his chuba on his bare skin, and he was putting his sword Yazi Kartren [Invincible Sword Little Star] into the pouch of his chuba. Joru was racing along and thought to himself, “Older brother Gyatsha was the kind of man who would hold his sword above his fellow brethren and flex his biceps. Now he should see what [Gyatsha] would do if he suddenly encountered an outside enemy.” He then emanated himself as a man in black on a black horse and like a storm cloud filling the sky, its dark shadow extending across the lake. He held a black iron spear that seemed to reach into the heavens, shouting ki! so! ho! With a shout that shattered the earth and the sky, he bore down on Gyatsha. Then the warrior Gyatsha Zhalkar of Bumpa saw him and thought, “It is impossible for this to be happening on this happy occasion of the horse race of White Ling. This has to be a māra or a rākṣasa. What an unbelievable insult to White Ling and particularly to me personally. I will stand firm even at the cost of my life, for I will have no regrets.” He stroked the pommel of his sword and waited. Instantly the man in black drew his sword and sang this song to Gyatsha in the melody of Six Modulations of the Māras: