Military Orders

by Martin Roth

  A third smile, so weak that Harel wondered if his former student was sick. “Thank you. I shan’t object.” Then he summoned a waitress, and with a virtuoso display of language skills placed their order. He looked back at Harel. “It was dreadful when I heard about your brother. When you phoned from California a couple of days ago. It came right out of the blue. I had no idea there was a problem. I hadn’t seen him for a week or so, but that didn’t mean anything. Someone said they read about it in one of the English newspapers, but I never look at those. I’m very sorry. What about his wife? Sue. I met her a few times. How is she? You said on the phone that she wasn’t here when it happened.”

  “She’s pregnant. Heavily pregnant. She left a month or so ago, to have the baby back home.”

  “That’s very lucky.”

  Harel stared at his former student. “Peter, I’m going to be blunt. You think you might have caused my brother’s death. Or contributed to it. That’s what you said this afternoon on the phone.”

  Peter was silent for a long time, his eyes slowly opening and closing. “Look, I didn’t know him well, of course. You gave him my name when he came to Dharamsala about - what? - I guess a year or so ago.”

  “A year ago. That’s right. I hope he didn’t try too hard to convert you.”

  “He tried. He tried. But I think he quickly realized it was a lost cause. And I felt he didn’t want to antagonize me. I was a good source of local knowledge, not to mention knowing a bit of the local language.”

  More than a bit, most likely, thought Harel, judging by what he had just seen with the waitress. He knew that Peter was an exceptionally bright student.

  “But he was very active. He seemed to be getting to know a lot of the people here. He started running English classes at a lot of the temples, not just in Dharamsala but even in some of the other towns nearby. And we used to meet sometimes. Not regularly, but now and again. He invited me to dinner a few times with his wife and their little boy. I remember a great Thanksgiving. Anyway, right from the start he took a keen interest in the discernment process for the new Dalai Lama.”

  “Why on earth would he be so concerned about that?”

  “It’s the main topic of conversation around here. Everyone’s excited about it. And this place is a hive of gossip. It seems all people ever talk about is when we’re going to learn who is the new Dalai Lama.”

  “But what did you mean when you said you caused his death?”

  Peter was about to answer, but then a waitress arrived with a large plate of about a dozen moon-shaped dumplings, white and shiny and almost translucent in their paper-thin pastry skins, hot steam spiraling from them. They were arranged in a circle, with a couple of small bowls of dipping sauce - one black, looking like soy sauce, the other red, apparently chili - in the center of the plate. Harel immediately recognized these as similar to the Chinese-style dumplings known as gyoza that he used to devour in Japan.

  Peter poured a couple of cups of tea from a large vacuum flask on the table, and took some wooden chopsticks from a container. He handed a pair to Harel and indicated that he should eat.

  Harel took a momo, dipped it in the chili sauce and took a bite. “Chicken,” he said. “Are you allowed to eat this? Aren’t you vegetarian?”

  “We don’t eat meat at the temple. But we can eat what we like outside.”

  “It’s very tasty. Similar to dumplings I’ve eaten in Japan, though these seem to be steamed, like in China. In Japan they fry them.” He watched as his former student tucked in, as if he hadn’t eaten in days. “So, Peter, you think you might have caused Matt’s death.”

  Peter stopped eating and laid down his chopsticks. “The thing is, I was encouraging him to learn more about all that he was being told. About the search for the new Dalai Lama.”

  “Encouraging him?”

  “Well, as I said, all we seem to talk about nowadays is where they will find the new Dalai Lama. And it’s been two years since the last one died, so everyone expects that anytime soon they will find him. And we keep hearing all kinds of rumors that various high-level priests have seen visions or received signs or whatever. Anyway, Matt had actually been trying to meet me quite regularly. Usually I was too busy. But, when we did meet, he always wanted to exchange information. And I have to tell you, Professor…Rafa…that he seemed to know more about what was happening than anyone else in town, including the senior priests at our temple. He was talking to everyone. He was running English classes at so many of the temples around here. So a couple of weeks ago I met Matt and he told me that the priests at the Manjushri Meditation Temple were talking about some amazing new vision that a particular priest had had…”

  “At the Manjushri Meditation Temple? But that’s where they worship the Dorje Shugden. They’re no friends of the Dalai Lama. And the police are saying Matt stole a Dorje Shugden statue from that place.”

  “I don’t think it was a monk at Manjushri who had that vision. My point is that they seemed to know more about what’s going on than anyone else. But it was just such an unbelievable revelation - that a senior lama at one of the monasteries had received an amazing vision about the location of the new Dalai Lama.”

  “The location?”

  “Yes. We believe that the new Dalai Lama is born soon after the old one dies. So it is up to the priests, using dreams and visions and divination, to find him.”

  “And?”

  “Well, Matt told me about a vision one old priest had, and so I encouraged him - encouraged might not be the right word - I urged him to find out more. As much as he could. As quickly as he could. And then I get your phone call from California telling me he’s dead and accused of stealing artworks.”

  Harel took another momo and placed it in his mouth, and then he looked at the man. He knew there was something in what he said. But he decided to reassure him. “Peter, it’s touching that you have these concerns. I didn’t know Buddhists suffered such feelings of guilt. I thought that was mainly an affliction of us Christians. But I cannot believe that it was your urging, or your encouragement, that led him to try to find out what was happening. It seems he was pretty determined all by himself.”

  “I suspect that when he went to talk again to them they didn’t like it. They thought he was spying.”

  “It sounds pretty innocuous to me. I think you can sleep with a clear conscience. But what was the information that Matt was hearing?”

  Now it was Peter’s turn to pause and chomp down a momo. “Rafa, you’ll find this hard to believe. It was something pretty amazing.”

  Chapter 9

  Kangra Valley, Northern India

  Tenzin lay on his bed. The evening meal was over, and soon he would try to sleep. Morning prayers started at 4:30. He actually wished he were on duty - cooking, or cleaning, or something - as he knew that he would have trouble sleeping. The knowledge that the Christian’s brother was here continued to knock at his brain.

  He thought back to the events of a week earlier. Killing the Christian hadn’t been difficult, although it was the first killing he had carried out. It was necessary, he knew that. The man had to be eliminated. He was asking too many questions and had learned too much. Anyway, why did he keep visiting their temple? Why was he so interested in Dorje Shugden? Why did he want to know all about the next Dalai Lama?

  The problem of course was that the Christian was too friendly. He had offered English lessons to the priests, along with an English discussion group for some of the priests whose English was already good. Naturally, everyone wanted to join. Everyone wanted to practice their English.

  The Rinpoche was furious when he learned that a group of younger priests had initiated an English club without requesting permission. He was also suspicious. Why did a Christian missionary come to Dharamsala of all places? How many converts did he expect to make among Tibetan priests, many of whom had risked their lives to make the dangerous escape to India? He had been about to ban it, but then decided instead to order Tenzin to join th
e group and monitor it, even though Tenzin already spoke excellent English.

  So Tenzin joined the group. And he found that the Christian was asking questions. Gently at first. But then more and more. In particular, he started discussions about the late Dalai Lama and the discernment process for finding his successor. He knew a lot himself, because he was visiting so many temples. And of course everyone wanted to find out what he knew.

  And some of the priests, speaking in English, said things they might not have said in their native tongue. The Christian had learned too much.

  Killing him had been easy. His wife and son had left India, so Tenzin simply turned up at his home one evening saying he needed help reading a complex letter he had received from friends at his former college in the United States. Once inside he quickly felled the Christian with a series of hammer blows to the head, and then he left him to bleed to death.

  He had planted the statue and the Rinpoche had worked with police contacts to prepare a story about a missing priest who had been stealing temple artworks.

  Everything had gone to plan, without repercussion. But Tenzin now wondered - would he also have to kill the Christian’s brother?

  Chapter 10

  Dharamsala, Northern India

  “I’m guessing this place doesn’t serve coffee,” said Harel. They were still at the Momo Palace.

  “Not any kind of coffee that you and I used to drink in California.”

  “I could really do with a good cappuccino.”

  “I’m not sure how good it will be. But I’m sure I can find you something acceptable.”

  Harel paid and then let Peter lead him up the busy road in light drizzle to a crowded pizza shop that could almost have come out of downtown San Francisco, right down to the Buddhist statues and the portrait on the wall of the late Dalai Lama. The patrons included a surprisingly large number of handsome and ultra-cool young Tibetan guys with long hair and jewelry, along with equally fashionable young Western girlfriends.

  Harel and Peter took a seat near the window, looking out at the alley, still jammed with people and vehicles. They ordered a couple of cappuccinos from a waiter with jeans and earrings.

  Harel spoke. “Look, I simply don’t understand why Matt was taking such an interest in the discernment process for the new Dalai Lama. There’s just no reason for it. No reason at all. But more and more I’m feeling that this is the key to what’s happened. Can you tell me all about it?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I know that Tibetan Buddhists believe in reincarnation. I’ve read all about that. They believe - you believe, rather - that when the Dalai Lama dies he chooses a time and place to be reborn into this world. Actually, that applies to any high lama or monk. I’ve heard that some priests, when they know they’re dying, might tell a certain woman that she’s going to become pregnant soon, with his reborn body.”

  Peter seemed impressed with his former professor’s erudition. “You’re absolutely right. These people are called tulku. They’re particularly high and revered priests. Usually they are part of a long line of reincarnated priests. Sometimes they date back to someone very famous. Or, like the Dalai Lama, they’re seen as the reincarnation of an actual deity. For the Dalai Lama it’s the Buddhist deity of compassion.”

  “Anyway, you’ve got problems, haven’t you? Since the Chinese invaded Tibet, you can’t search for your new Dalai Lama inside Tibet. Not openly.” The waiter arrived and placed two coffees on their table.

  “Well, it doesn’t quite work like that. It’s not that we actually search. The Dalai Lama, or any tulku, when he dies will send signals to help us find his reincarnated body. So we have to wait until we receive those.”

  “Astrological signals…”

  “Astrology is very important to us. We have senior priests who are able to interpret the meanings of all kinds of strange events. And other priests will have visions and dreams and so on. And we have lots of spiritual mediums - priests who can receive messages from spirits. The Dalai Lama never used to make any important decision without asking the spirits for guidance.”

  “So what happens after they find a kid they believe is the new Dalai Lama? Is it like in that movie ‘Kundun?’ You know, that Martin Scorsese movie about the search in the 1930s for the late Dalai Lama? The priests went to the home of this little boy and presented him with items that used to belong to the former Dalai Lama, and the boy cried ‘It’s mine, it’s mine.’ Something like that.”

  “Yes, I’m sure it’ll be just like that. That’s usually the key - the child shouts out ‘It’s mine’ or something similar after he recognizes things that belonged to him in his former life.”

  “And they used astrology to locate the former Dalai Lama?”

  “Lots of methods. One of the keys was when the head of the embalmed body of his predecessor suddenly rotated, pointing to the north-east instead of the south. So the priests knew in which direction to look.”

  “But it used to be that all these tulku were reborn - reincarnated - in Tibet.”

  “Yes, that’s true. But since the Chinese invasion Tibetan Buddhism is really now centered here in Dharamsala.”

  “Little Lhasa.”

  “That’s right. Little Lhasa. That’s what they call this place. And then there are a lot more important monasteries and temples in other parts of India, or in Nepal, or even in the West. So recently when tulku have died they have usually chosen to be reincarnated outside Tibet. The Dalai Lama, when he was alive, made it very clear, many, many times, that he would choose to be reincarnated outside Tibet.” Peter raised the cup and sipped at his coffee.

  “The Dalai Lama himself.” Harel drank some coffee. “This isn’t too bad.”

  Peter smiled. “Good pizza and good coffee. An amazing place, Dharamsala. Yes, even the Dalai Lama. He said he would definitely not be reincarnated inside Tibet while it was under Chinese occupation.”

  “So probably in Dharamsala?”

  “Well, that’s what’s interesting. And a source of great gossip. And it’s where Matt is involved. Because in the past few years a number of tulku, when they die, are choosing to be reincarnated in the West. Have you heard of a monk named Thubten Yeshe?”

  Harel shook his head.

  “He came back as a little Spanish boy. And then a guy in Florida was identified as the reincarnation of a lama named Tradak Tulku.”

  “And Stephen Seagal. The actor. You forgot him.”

  Peter smiled again. “I think I deliberately forgot him. Yes, well, who knows? One monk has declared that Stephen Seagal is the reincarnation of a seventeenth-century lama. The thing is, the Chinese are dead set against the whole system of the Dalai Lama. We’re very worried that they might try to kidnap anyone discerned to be the new Dalai Lama. They did this with the Panchen Lama. Do you know about that?”

  “I know a little. The Panchen Lama is the next-highest lama in Tibet, isn’t he? After the Dalai Lama.”

  “Yes. So when a new one was found the Chinese kidnapped him, and named instead another young man as the real Panchen Lama. No one knows what has happened to the real Panchen. What’s interesting is that the Chinese probably didn’t kill him. Even they are scared of the powers of Tibetan Buddhism. If they killed him he would be reincarnated again into another body. So they have almost certainly kept him alive, but have appointed another person in his place as a figurehead. We expect they might try to do the same with the new Dalai Lama. So that is another reason the late Dalai Lama might try to be reborn as far from China as possible - in a Western country where it would be difficult for the Chinese to kidnap him.”

  Harel slowly finished his coffee. Then he looked his former student in the eye. “Do you really believe all this?”

  “Yes, I do. And do you believe that Jesus rose from the dead?”

  Harel smiled. “I do actually. Anyway, what is it that my brother is alleged to have learned?”

  “Well, this is the amazing part. I still can’t believe it myself.”
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  “He’s going to come back as a frog or something?” Harel immediately regretted his words. He felt that Peter might not appreciate this attempt at humor. But his companion did not even seem to have heard, or at least he didn’t care.

  “No, no. Matt heard some really strange stuff. That a leading monk had had a vision. And you know what it was? That the new Dalai Lama has been born in Australia.”

  “Australia?”

  “That’s right. Somewhere in central Australia. Way out in the desert.”

  “Australia? Why Australia?”

  “Well, no one knows. But it’s up to the Dalai Lama himself, after he dies, to decide where he going to be reborn. And it seems it’s Australia. It seems he was reborn there, about two years ago. My guess is he wanted to be born in a modern Western country, where he isn’t going to be killed or kidnapped by the Chinese.”

  “In the Australian desert? You’re sure the astrologers aren’t pulling your leg?”

  ”I actually heard it first from Matt. I didn’t believe it. That’s why I was urging him to find out more. But now others are talking about it. Including in our own temple. There is a special ceremony taking place at my temple right now, as part of this process. They are making a sand mandala. You know all about that.”

  “The sand mandala. I do know about it. It’s a representation of Buddhist teachings, a kind of giant artwork done in colored sand. It can take days to make, and then it is destroyed, to show the Buddhist belief that all material life is transitory. I actually teach about it in some of my classes.”

  “Have you ever seen it actually being done?”

  Harel smiled. “I teach it. But no, I’ve never seen it performed. Though there is the famous movie, ‘Wheel of Time,’ by that German film director, what’s his name? Werner Herzog. And I’ve seen other documentaries. And read books.”