In Exile From the Land of Snows

by John Avedon

  There is another story related to this. The scholars of Nalanda,3 the great Buddhist university, were once challenged to a debate by Ashvaghosha, a famous Hindu teacher. At that time, the tradition was that whoever lost a debate had to convert to the faith of the victor. Now Nalanda was the most important of the Buddhist universities. If it fell in debate, the teaching would be severely threatened. The scholars of Nalanda were so worried that they decided to send for Nagarjuna,4 the greatest scholar of the time. Nagarjuna, however, was far away in southern India, too far for a man to take him the note. Since they didn’t have time, they decided to turn the matter over to Mahakala. They prayed and engaged in an elaborate and formal ceremony. Then they placed the letter they had written before the statue of Mahakala, whereupon Mahakala—through the statue—emanated a crow who took the letter and traveled to south India. On receiving it, Nagarjuna understood that Nalanda was in a desperate situation. He determined that his disciple Aryadeva would be the best one to debate Ashvaghosha. Therefore, he trained Aryadeva by engaging in intensive debate with him. At one point, Aryadeva got carried away and behaved in a slightly prideful manner with his teacher. Nagarjuna said this was all right, but because of it, a bad dependent-arising5 would be created. Traveling back to Nalanda, Aryadeva was intercepted by a group of bandits and lost one of his eyes. Nevertheless, he arrived in Nalanda and successfully defeated Ashvaghosha. Ashvaghosha then became a student of Nagarjuna and wrote his books after that.

  JA: Is the connection with the crow because it is black, like Mahakala, or is there something in the crow itself? Have crows appeared in your life since then?

  DL: Actually, I don’t like crows. Crows are generally very cruel to small birds. They always pester and bother them as well as attack them. Another thing that happened, which my mother remembers very clearly, is that soon after I arrived in Lhasa, I said that my teeth were in a box in a certain house in the Norbulingka. When they opened the box, they found a set of dentures that had belonged to the Thirteenth Dalai Lama. I pointed to the box and said that my teeth were in there, but right now I don’t recall this at all. The new memories associated with this body are stronger. The past has become smaller, more vague. Unless I make a specific attempt to develop such a memory, I don’t recall it.

  JA: Do you remember your birth or the womb state before?

  DL: At this moment, I don’t remember. Also, I can’t recall if at that time when I was a small child, I could remember it. However, there was one slight external sign perhaps. Children are usually born with their eyes closed. I was born with my eyes open. This may be some slight indication of a clear state of mind in the womb.

  JA: When you were a little boy, how did you react to being so revered? Were you apprehensive or frightened?

  DL: Tibetans are very practical people. Older Tibetans would never spoil me. Also, I was very self-confident. When I first approached Lhasa on the Debuthang plain, the Nechung Oracle came to further verify that I was the correct choice. With him came an old, very respected, and highly realized geshé6 from Loseling College of Drepung Monastery.7 He was deeply concerned whether or not I was the correct choice. To have made a mistake in finding the Dalai Lama would be very dangerous. Now, he was a religious man—not someone in the government. He came into the tent where I was in a group audience and determined that unquestionably I was the right choice. So you see, though there were certain very proper old people who wanted to be sure, I apparently put on a good performance and convinced them. (laughter) I was never uneasy in my position. Charles Bell8 has mentioned that I was taking it all quite casually. But about fear, there’s one thing I remember clearly. One night I wanted to go visit my mother, who had come with the rest of my family to Lhasa. I was in the tent of the regent. A very large bodyguard was standing by the entrance. It was evening, sunset, and this man had a bad, damaged eye. I remember being scared, frightened then, to go out of the tent. So, like that. There are many mysterious things, stories, when you talk about rebirth.

  JA: Could you describe your feelings for your teachers; they clearly played a central role in your upbringing.

  DL: Nothing in particular. When I first met Ling Rinpoché9 as a small boy, I was a little afraid. When I got older, the fear gradually disappeared, and respect replaced it. So like that, not much.

  JA: Between the ages of sixteen and eighteen, after you assumed temporal power, did you change?

  DL: Yes, I changed … a little bit. I underwent a lot of happiness and pain. Within that and from growing, gaining more experience, from the problems that arose and the suffering, I changed. The ultimate result is the man you see now. (laughter)

  JA: How about adolescence? Many people experience difficulty defining themselves as adults. Did this happen to you?

  DL: No. My life was very much in a routine. Two times a day I studied. Each time I studied for an hour, and then spent the rest of the time playing, (laughter) Then at the age of thirteen, I began studying philosophy, definitions, debate. My study increased, and I also studied calligraphy. It was all in a routine though, and I got used to it. Sometimes, there were vacations. These were very comfortable, happy. Lobsang Samten, my immediate elder brother, was usually at school, but during these times he would come to visit. Also, occasionally my mother would bring special bread from our province of Amdo. Very thick and delicious. She made this herself.

  JA: Did you have the chance to cultivate a relationship with your father when you were growing up?

  DL: My father died when I was thirteen. This is in my book.

  JA: Whom among your predecessors do you have a particular interest in?

  DL: The Thirteenth Dalai Lama. He brought a lot of improvement to the standards of study in the monastic colleges. He gave great encouragement to the real scholars. He made it impossible for people to go up in the religious hierarchy, becoming an abbot and so forth, without being totally qualified. He was very strict in this respect. He also gave tens of thousands of monks ordinations. These were his two main religious achievements. He didn’t give many initiations, or many lectures. Now, with respect to the country, he had great thought and consideration for nation-building—the outlying districts in particular—how they should be governed and so forth. He cared very much about how to run the government more efficiently. He had great concern about our borders and that type of thing.

  JA: During the course of your own life, what have been the greatest internal challenges? Which realizations and experiences have had the most effect on your growth as an individual?

  DL: Regarding religious experience, some understanding of shunya10—some feeling, some experience—and mostly bodhichitta,11 altruism. It has helped a lot. In some ways, you could say that it has made me into a new person, a new man. I’m still progressing. Trying. It gives you inner strength, courage, and it is easier to accept situations. That’s one of the greatest experiences.

  JA: On the bodhichitta side, are you speaking about a progressive deepening of realization or a certain moment associated with external experience?

  DL: Mainly internal practice. There could also be external causes or circumstances. External factors could have played a part in the development of some feeling for bodhichitta. But mainly it has to come from internal practice.

  JA: Were there specific moments in your practice when you crossed a threshold?

  DL: Regarding shunya theory, first shunya theory, then bodhichitta feeling … around ’65, ’66, in that period. This is really a personal matter. For a true religious practitioner, these things must be kept private.

  JA: Okay. Beyond personal practice, how have the events of your life affected you as a man? How have you grown through experiencing them?

  DL: Being a refugee has been very useful. You are much closer to reality. When I was in Tibet as the Dalai Lama, I was trying to be realistic, but somehow because of circumstances, there was some distance, I think. I was a bit isolated from the reality. I became a refugee. Very good. So there was a good opportunity to gain exper
ience and determination—inner strength.

  JA: What helped you gain this strength? Was it the extent of others’ suffering or the loss of your position and country? Were you called on to lead your people in a different way than you had been accustomed to?

  DL: Being a refugee is a really desperate, dangerous situation. At that time, everyone deals with reality. It is not the time to pretend things are beautiful. That’s something. You feel involved with reality. In peace time, everything goes smoothly. Even if there is a problem, people pretend that things are good. During a peaceful or smooth time, they can practice that. But during a dangerous period, when there’s a dramatic change, then there’s no scope to pretend that everything is fine. You must accept that bad is bad. Now when I left the Norbulingka, there was danger. We were passing very near the Chinese military barracks. It was just on the other side of the river, the Chinese checkpoint there. You see, we had definite information two or three weeks before I left that the Chinese were fully prepared to attack us. It was only a question of the day and hour.

  JA: When you crossed the Kyichu River to rendezvous with the Khampa guerrillas, did you assume leadership? Who, for instance, made the decisions on your flight?

  DL: As soon as we left Lhasa, we set up an inner group, a committee to discuss each point. Myself and eight other people.

  JA: Was it your idea to make it unanimous?

  DL: Yes. Those who were left behind in Lhasa also established a People’s Committee. Something like a revolutionary council. Of course, from the Chinese viewpoint, this was a counterrevolutionary committee. Chosen by the people, you see, within a few days.… They set up that committee and all major decisions were made by it. I also sent a letter to that committee, certifying it. In our small committee, those who were escaping with me, we discussed the practical points each night. We would sit together and discuss, but not always. Originally, our plan was to establish our headquarters in southern Tibet, as you know. In my book, I discussed these things. Also, I mentioned to Pandit Nehru—I think on 24 April 1959—that we had established a Tibetan temporary government, shifted from Lhasa to southern Tibet. I mentioned this casually to the prime minister. He was slightly agitated. (laughter) “We are not going to recognize your government,” he said. Although this government had been formed while still inside Tibet, and I was already in India.…

  JA: I’d like to ask about your identity as the incarnation of the Bodhisattva of Infinite Compassion, Avalokiteshvara. How do you personally feel about it? Do you have an unequivocal view one way or another?

  DL: It is difficult for me to say definitely. Unless I engaged in a meditative effort, such as following my life back breath by breath, I couldn’t say exactly. We believe that there are four types of rebirth. One, which is the common type, wherein a being is helpless to determine his or her rebirth but only incarnates in dependence on the nature of past actions. The opposite is that of an entirely enlightened Buddha who simply manifests a physical form to help others. In this case, it is clear that the person is a Buddha. A third is one who due to past spiritual attainment can choose, or at least influence, the place and situation of rebirth. The fourth is called a blessed manifestation. In this the person is blessed beyond his normal capacity to perform helpful functions, such as teaching religion. For this last type of birth, the person’s wishes in previous lives to help others must have been very strong. They then obtain such empowerment. Though some seem more likely than others, I cannot definitely say which I am.

  JA: How, then, do you feel about the practical aspects of your position? Only a few people in history have been considered divine. Is the role a burden or a delight?

  DL: It is very helpful. Through this role I can be of great benefit to people. For this reason I like it; I’m at home with it. It’s clear that it is very helpful to people, and that I have the karmic relationship to be in this role. Also, it is clear that there is a karmic relationship with the Tibetan people in particular. Now you see, you may consider that under the circumstances, I am very lucky. However, behind the word luck, there are actual causes or reasons. There is the karmic force of my ability to assume this role as well as the force of my wish to do so. In regard to this, there is a statement in the great Shantideva’s Engaging in the Bodhisattva Deeds that says, “As long as space exists, and as long as there are migrators in cyclic existence, may I remain—removing their suffering.” I have that wish in this lifetime, and I know I had that wish in past lifetimes.

  JA: With such a vast goal as your motivation, how do you deal with personal limitations?

  DL: Again, as it says in Shantideva, “If the blessed Buddha cannot please all sentient beings, then how could I?” Even an enlightened being, with limitless knowledge and power and the wish to save all others from suffering, cannot eliminate the individual karma of each being.

  JA: Is this what keeps you from being overwhelmed by the suffering of the six million Tibetans?

  DL: My motivation is directed toward all sentient beings. There is no question, though, that on a second level, I am directed toward helping Tibetans. If a problem is fixable, if a situation is such that you can do something about it, then there is no need to worry. If it’s not fixable, then there is no help in worrying. There is no benefit in worrying whatsoever.

  JA: A lot of people say this but few can really live by it. Did you always feel this way, or did you have to learn it?

  DL: It is developed from inner practice. From a broader perspective, there will always be suffering. On one level, you are bound to meet with the effects of the unfavorable actions you yourself have previously committed in either body, speech, or mind. Then also, your very own nature is that of suffering. There’s not just one factor figuring into my attitude but many different ones. From the point of view of the actual entity producing the suffering, as I have said, if it is fixable, then there is no need to worry. If not, there is no benefit to worry. From the point of view of the cause, suffering is based on past unfavorable actions accumulated by oneself and no other. These karmas are not wasted. They will bear their fruit. One will not meet with the effects of actions that one has not done oneself. Finally, from the viewpoint of the nature of suffering itself, the aggregates of the mind and body have as their actual nature, suffering. They serve as a basis for suffering. As long as you have them you are susceptible to suffering. From a deep point of view, while we don’t have our independence and are living in someone else’s country, we have a certain type of suffering, but when we return to Tibet and gain our independence, then there will be other types of suffering. So, this is just the way it is. You might think that I’m pessimistic, but I am not. This is the Buddhist realism. This is how, through Buddhist teaching and advice, we handle situations. When fifty thousand people in the Shakya clan were killed one day, Shakyamuni Buddha, their clansman, didn’t suffer at all. He was leaning against a tree, and he was saying, “I am a little sad today because fifty thousand of my clansmen were killed.” But he, himself, remained unaffected. Like that, you see. (laughter) This was the cause and effect of their own karma. There was nothing he could do about it. These sorts of thoughts make me stronger, more active. It is not at all a case of losing one’s strength of mind or will in the face of the pervasive nature of suffering.

  JA: When you experience happy feelings, how do you stay detached?

  DL: From the point of giving up one’s household or home, as a monk does, many limits are set on your life and behavior. These automatically give one contentment. It depends on your attitude. If you have a disposition that wants more, then when you go into a store, you’ll want everything there or even everything in all stores. But if your attitude is to want just what is needed, then none of it is needed.

  JA: I’m interested in what you do to relax: gardening and fixing watches.

  DL: Oh, my hobbies. Passing time. (laughter) When I can repair something, it gives me real satisfaction. I began dismantling things when I was young because I was curious about how certain machines
functioned. I wanted to know what was inside the motor, but these days I only try to fix something when it breaks.

  JA: And gardening?

  DL: Gardening in Dharamsala is almost a hopeless thing. No matter how hard you work, the monsoon comes and destroys everything. You know, a monk’s life is very gratifying; very happy. You can see this from those who have given up the robes. They definitely know the value of monkhood. Many have told me how complicated and difficult life is without it. With a pretty wife and children you might be happy for some time. In the long run, though, many problems naturally come about. Half of your independence—your freedom—is lost. If there is some benefit or meaning to experiencing the trouble that arises on giving up your independence, then it is worthwhile. If it is an effective situation that helps people, then it is good. The trouble becomes worthwhile. But if it isn’t, it is not worthwhile.

  JA: But none of us would even he here discussing this unless we had mothers and fathers!

  DL: I’m not saying that having children is bad, or that everyone should be a monk. Impossible, (laughter) I think that if one’s life is simple, contentment has to come. Simplicity is extremely important for happiness. Having few desires, feeling satisfied with what you have, is very vital. There are four causes that help produce a superior being. Satisfaction with whatever food you get. Satisfaction with rags for clothing, or acceptance of any covering—not wishing for fancy or colorful attire. Satisfaction with just enough shelter to protect yourself from the elements. And finally, an intense delight in abandoning faulty states of mind and in cultivating helpful ones in meditation.