by Marco Pallis
The eighth Trungpa Tulku formed a very close friendship with Gyalwa Karmapa, the supreme abbot of the order, with its two centers of Tsurphu in Central Tibet and Karma Monastery in East Tibet. The latter was noted for its superb architecture and the artistry of its interior, as I saw for myself when I visited it in 1953. The center of the Gardri school of artists was at Karma Geru near the monastery, and the eighth Trungpa Tulku was one of its leading exponents; he himself painted many thangkas for Surmang and specialized in illuminated manuscripts. He was also the founder of its great libraries.
THREE
Dütsi Tel and Namgyal Tse
PERHAPS A BRIEF DESCRIPTION of the whole monastic domain over which I had to preside will help to illustrate the background of my life.
When Adro Shelu-bum gave his two castles to Surmang, his gifts included many acres of land, so that the property extended some fifty miles in each direction. It lay at a high altitude on the border between the cultivated land and that inhabited by highlanders. The chief commercial products of the district were salt and timber from the excellent firs which grew near the Tzi-chu and the Ke-chu rivers to the south of Surmang. Barley and a little wheat were the only grain crops, vegetables being limited to spinach, turnips, and a small kind of leek; besides, there was good pasturage for domestic animals such as yaks and sheep, for the slopes of the mountains were covered with short grass. Willows grew by the streams on the lower ground and in drier places another type of short willow was to be found. Higher up, tamarisk shrubs were plentiful, and above these scented junipers grew. In the short summer months the whole place was ablaze with wild flowers.
Adro Shelu-bum’s castle on the Hill of Amrita had been protected by a separate fort; both buildings were incorporated into the monastery of Dütsi Tel. The fort was a large building and was used for many purposes. Both the assembly hall and the main library were situated there: Some of its rooms served for storing food, others, as a treasure-house for the monastery’s valuables. The supreme abbot’s residence was also above the assembly hall. In my time Dütsi Tel had some 300 monks; of these 170 were bhikshus (fully ordained monks), the remainder being shramaneras (novices) and young upasaka students who had already taken the vow of celibacy. Their quarters in two- and three-storied buildings stretched down the slope of the mountain to the river. Another large assembly hall was built on the lower ground; it was divided in two, the small part being for younger monks between the ages of eight and fourteen, while the main part was for the communal use of the whole monastery. A throne for the gekö, a senior monk in charge of discipline, stood in a prominent position at the entrance from where he could keep an eye on everyone. The monks used to sit cross-legged on low benches covered with rugs and cushions, with their tables in front of them; their rows faced the central aisle leading to the abbot’s throne on its high dais, while his two chief attendants sat close by on each side of the steps. At this end of the hall there were three more thrones; one on the right was for his deputy should the abbot himself be prevented from officiating. Of the other two, the one was for a senior monk in charge of the timetable for the assemblies and the other for the precentor monk who conducted the music and led the chanting. Behind the thrones dominating the hall were three large images depicting the past, present, and future buddhas; these were some twelve feet high, gold plated with an aquamarine glittering on their foreheads to indicate the “third eye” of universal knowledge; each was seated on a throne decorated with precious and semiprecious stones. A second assembly hall built higher up the slope was used for philosophical and other advanced studies and particularly for the “summer retreats” (varshka).
Dütsi Tel Monastery.
Dütsi Tel again suffered much damage when it was attacked in a political border dispute during the lifetime of the tenth Trungpa Tulku; the old wall frescoes were in fact all destroyed. They were eventually replaced with the help of eminent artists of the Gardri school from Karma Geru, who were employed to cover the walls as before with pictures of scenes from the life of Gautama Buddha and also with various buddhamandalas, that is to say groupings of celestial figures representing different aspects of enlightenment. Banners hung from the balconies and hundreds of butter lamps gave light to these lovely halls. The pillars and spreading capitals were lacquered a vermillion red on which designs had been painted in different colors. Several thousands of the ancient thangkas had fortunately been saved when the monastery was attacked; many of these were the work of Chetsang Rinpoche while in prison with the fifth Trungpa Tulku, others had been painted by the eighth Trungpa, whose illuminated manuscripts were kept in the fort library.
One old house, built by the fifth Trungpa Tulku on the mountain slope was kept for the very severe retreat which every monk had to observe for the period of one year twice in his lifetime. It was called the gönkhang (house of the guardian divinities).
The kitchen and food stores were in the east wing of the main assembly hall, and cooking was done on a huge stove made of stone and clay into which the fuel, consisting of dried yak dung and wood, could be shovelled through holes at its sides. The stove was so large that a cooking pot some nine feet in diameter, made of an alloy of copper and iron, fitted over the first opening, and there were other lesser openings. The large pot was used for making both tea and soup; the former was made by boiling some brick tea in water, after which the liquid was poured into pipe-shaped barrels and churned up with salt and butter using a long-handled pestle. When ready to serve the tea was poured into a number of wooden pails with metal decorations and carried round to the monks who could ladle it into their own bowls and if they liked, mix it with roasted barley (tsampa). A big tank of water drawn from the nearby river was always kept in the kitchen.
The extensive storerooms above the kitchen were divided into sections for such treasures as thangkas, shrine objects, banners, costumes for religious dances, etc., indeed all the things required for performing various traditional rites: The gekö was responsible for this department and both his and his subordinates’ rooms were in the same wing. The sanitation of the monastery was by large cesspits, the contents of which were periodically cleaned out and used to manure the fields; scrupulous cleanliness was observed everywhere. Such was Dütsi Tel when I, the eleventh Trungpa Tulku, was enthroned supreme abbot of Surmang.
Namgyal Tse lay some forty-five miles or three days’ journey from Dütsi Tel and was the larger monastery of the two. Adro Shelu-bum’s castle and its fort stood by themselves on a small hill about a mile and a half from the village; the river, fed from the surrounding mountains, flowed past its base. Trung Mase built a small house for his own use at the bottom of the hill. The monastery soon became overcrowded, and after Trung Mase’s death, a building was begun on the mountain to the northeast, where there was already a cave which was used as a meditation shrine. The new building was subsequently kept for spiritual retreats. Garwang Rinpoche, the following abbot, and his successors did not use the small house, but chose part of the fort for their residence, and rooms were later reserved there for the supreme abbot.
Clockwise from top: Amitayur, Buddha of Limitless Life; Vijaya (the Victorious One); and Tara (the Savior).
DRAWN BY SHERAB PALDEN BERU.
So many monks joined Namgyal Tse that three different sections were formed for specific work and teaching. In the lifetime of the fifth Trungpa Tulku a very large assembly hall was built on the lower ground below the hill. This belonged to the whole monastic community; it had very original embroidered hangings festooning its walls, with pictures inset in the spaces. The hall was rather like that of Karma Monastery, having a high chamber at its further end for the images of the past, present, and future buddhas. These were made of clay and painted gold, while about forty images of saints of the Kagyü line were placed at the back of the hall.
A second assembly hall was built on a higher slope of the mountain for the monks of the Dechen Tse tratsang (college); it held some 450 monks and was intended particularly for those who were
interested in the intellectual approach—to start with, it had its own abbot. Another monastic building was erected on the lower part of the slope; it became the Lingpa tratsang, and its 350 monks specialized on the administrative side of Surmang. The Lama tratsang, with 300 inmates, stood in a field on the level ground; among other things, it dealt with Namgyal Tse administration, but a wider responsibility fell on some of its senior members, for they had to deal with matters in the district outside Surmang proper. Each tratsang had its own hall, library, kitchen, and offices. The monks’ dwelling houses were disposed in tiers on the slopes of the mountain, from Dechen Tse tratsang at the top down to the large assembly hall. Above it stood the press building in which we printed our scriptures. The gönkhang stood near by; Tulku Tendzin Rinpoche, who was an incarnation of one of the eight togdens of Trung Mase’s time, had sculptured some wonderful images for it early in the present century; these were made of clay and consecrated herbs, and depicted symbolically the guardians of the teaching. The whole building had a tremendous atmosphere of spiritual presence.
Later, in the lifetime of the tenth Trungpa Tulku, the abbots of Surmang built the first seminary on the lower part of the slope.
When I was its supreme abbot, Namgyal Tse held 600 bhikshus, 300 shramaneras, and 100 novices; five incarnate lamas were included in this company.
FOUR
My Childhood at Dütsi Tel
WHEN I WAS three years old, the heads of my mother’s village invited her to take me to visit them. I can remember the journey very clearly. This was the first time that I had ridden a horse; it was a white one and had belonged to the tenth Trungpa Rinpoche, and when I was told that it had been his, I refused to change it for any other mount: I was put in a little chair saddle. We passed high mountains on the way, and one day we met a herd of about five hundred wild asses (kyang) which trotted around us, and this fascinated me. My parents had always loved their own part of the country and its wild animals, so it was a great joy to my mother to get back to her home, and I too thoroughly enjoyed the change.
During the months that we stayed in our family home, all our relations were exceedingly kind; they brought me cream and all sorts of gifts. However, I was never allowed to play with the children, but only to watch them at their games. They found curiously shaped stones in a particular gully, and these made wonderful toys; I longed to take some back to the monastery, but this too was forbidden.
At the end of our visit, my mother took me back to Dütsi Tel, though my father remained behind; no one told me why and I was very puzzled; then one day, a monk told me that he was not my father but my stepfather, and this comforted me a lot.
All these years I had a very happy time; my mother was with me and I was not expected to do any lessons; sometimes, I was even allowed to play with other children, the sons of the relatives of respected monks.
One day I saw a man, probably a Muslim, being thrashed; he had killed a wild animal on the monastery’s protected ground. His hands had been tied behind his back, and the monk was accusing him of all sorts of crimes while he belabored him with a heavy stick. I felt great pity and asked another monk about it; he replied that this was the way to uphold the law. I said, “Shall I have to do this when I am grown up and have charge of the monastery?” His answer to this was, “You will be able to do as you like.” “Well,” I said, “I will never use punishment like that.”
The tenth Trungpa Tulku’s rooms in the fort at Dütsi Tel had been extremely simple and austere; their only decoration were the thangkas hung on the silk-covered walls. However, after his death my secretary and bursar wanted to change things. They employed some sixteen artists and wood-carvers of the Gardri school to redesign my residence. While this was being done, I had great fun watching the work, especially the artists painting, and the son of one of them and I used to steal their paints and make pictures ourselves, to our own great delight: I have loved painting ever since.
When the work was finished, there were cupboards all around the walls; their doors were beautifully painted with ornamental designs of flowers, birds, etc., and the general coloring was gold on a red background. The tops of the cupboards formed a shelf for the many gifts of bowls and offerings which were brought to me. Behind it there were recesses framed in deeply carved and lacquered wood to hold old and valuable images of buddhas, bodhisattvas, and eminent spiritual masters. Above these was a second row of niches to house images of smaller size. The walls joined the ceiling with a deep gold painted, carved cornice. The wooden ceiling was colored. The furniture consisted of several long settees with deep piled up mattresses which, in our country, take the place of chairs. My bed was like a long box filled with cushions, so made that in the daytime I could sit on it and work at a long table beside it. One side of the room, over the cupboards, was exclusively used for my books; these scriptures were written or printed on separate oblong pages held together between two boards and tied up with a ribbon; at one end the title of the book was written on a white brocade flap, and the books were arranged so that the title faced outward.
My bedroom served both for sleeping and for private study and meditation; it opened into a sitting room where meals were served and formal visits received. My raised throne was beside the door and a row of seats ran lengthwise down each side of the room; those nearest the throne had thick cushions for the more important guests but their size gradually diminished until the end of the rows, when they became merely rugs on the floor.
Since I was now five years old, it was decided that it was time for me to begin my studies. It was a great shock to hear that a special teacher was coming to Dütsi Tel to give me lessons. One of the monks told me that he had a scar on his forehead, and I anxiously watched everyone who came for fear that it might be he. One day Asang Lama arrived; though I saw that he had a scar, I said to myself, “This can’t be my new teacher,” for I had expected him to be a very severe monk, but this man looked so gentle. He held his rosary in his hand and was smiling and talking to my senior secretary.
We began our lessons on the following day in my residence above the assembly hall. It happened to be the first day of winter and snow was falling. Always before, when the monks came to sweep the snow off the flat roof, we children would play among them, throwing snowballs at each other; on that day I could hear my little friends shouting at their play outside, while I had to remain indoors to do lessons. Asang Lama was very kind; he gave me a clay panel made in relief depicting Amitabha, the Buddha of Infinite Light, which delighted me, and he told me how glad he was to be able to be my teacher, for he had been a devotee of the tenth Trungpa Tulku. He began with teaching me the Tibetan alphabet and was surprised that I picked it up in one lesson. I also had to learn to recite a mantra or formula of Manjushri, the Bodhisattva of Wisdom. We went on with both reading and writing lessons; this was unusual, for in Tibet reading is usually taught first and writing comes afterward.
At this time my mother’s visits became less frequent; to begin with she only came to see me every other day, then every third, after which her visits became more and more spaced out, until after a fortnight without seeing her, she came to tell me that she was going back to Dekyil; I missed her as only a small boy can.
The life at Dütsi Tel was found to be too full of distractions, so it was arranged to send me to Dorje Khyung Dzong, the retreat center established by the tenth Trungpa Tulku. It was in a remote spot and had been built over the cave where the fourth Trungpa had spent six years in meditation. The center stood on a ledge of high rock and was approached by a long zigzag flight of steps. The front of the building was supported by pillars grounded in the rock below; its windows looked over a wonderful spread of mountains with the river winding through the valley, and at one place one could see the junction of two valleys; the smoke of Dütsi Tel could also be seen in the distance. There was a large cave under the one in which the fourth Trungpa used to meditate; it was sufficiently big to be used as a byre for over seventy cattle which supplied the needs o
f the center; these animals were cared for by the cook’s family, who had their house in the cave.
Dorje Khyung Dzong, the retreat center of Dütsi Tel.
About thirty monks were at the center; they stayed there for a period of four years to meditate in complete retreat, being neither allowed to pay visits nor to receive them. Their meditation method was based on the teaching of the great Indian adept Naropa which Trung Mase laid down for the Kagyü school. An experienced teacher gave the retreatants guidance. Though the thirty monks were expected to stay for four years, there was some accommodation for others intending to spend only three to four months in the place; they had to conform to the same rules of discipline as those in long retreat.
My own timetable was as follows: I rose with my tutor at five for the first morning devotions, then we were given breakfast, after which my reading lesson went on till midday; this was followed by a meal and half an hour’s rest. Then I was given a writing lesson for half an hour, and again reading until the evening.
There is not much variety in the staple foodstuffs of Tibet, but much ingenuity was used in the different ways of cooking; vegetables were scarce and in this cold climate really nourishing food such as meat and milk products was a necessity. Our breakfast consisted of especially made strong tea mixed with butter and salt and dry powdered tsampa with cheese and butter rubbed into it. At midmorning we were given bowls of thick soup made with meat, thickened with barley, rice, oats, noodles, or sometimes with vegetables. The big midday meal had tsampa dough with large portions of fried or boiled meat; sometimes it was just dried, and for a change we had dumplings filled with meat. An afternoon collation was served with curd (like yogurt) and Tibetan biscuits, and at all times there was tea to drink. The last evening refreshment consisted of bowls of soup. On special afternoons we went for walks and then, in the evening, we practiced chanting. I loved going out with Asang Lama; he used to tell me stories about the life of the Buddha and at other times about the tenth Trungpa Tulku. I was fascinated also to find so many wildflowers on the hills as well as sweet-scented juniper bushes. There were all sorts of birds and animals, and the blackbirds especially were so tame that their songs could be heard all round the center and they would come for food to the windowsills. Occasionally some of the retreatants, and particularly my tutor’s friends, would come to our room to talk; I enjoyed this, for it gave me a little break from my lessons, while in the summer a group picnic was also sometimes arranged, very welcome after so much hard work.