The Handsome Monk and Other Stories

by Tsering Dondrup

  At this, Lozang Gyatso’s personal lha—a white karma cherub—hesitantly slid down from his right shoulder. Taking a seat on the right labeled “Defense,” he uttered meekly:

  If I may have a word, dear king, and ministers of the court.

  I’d like to say they’re mostly true—the claims he’s just put forth.

  To Śākyamuni he bowed low, and offered prayers and khatas.

  To prove his religiosity, I have supporting data.

  Once the court has looked at these, I’m sure you will agree

  to send him on to Paradise, perhaps immediately.

  “You’ll never go to Hell,” they say, “if once you’ve been to Lhasa.”

  Since Lozang’s been there many times, this shouldn’t be a hassle.

  He placed a white metal box on the Lord of Death’s desk and returned to his seat.

  Next, Lozang Gyatso’s personal dü—a small black demonic-looking figure—descended from his left shoulder. With head held high and a steady step, the dü took the chair on the left labeled “Prosecution,” surveyed the room, and declared:

  If anyone knows this man, it’s me.

  At birth he became an orphan and was abandoned like a pup.

  But a kindhearted woman took him in and made sure he grew up.

  She fed him every crumb she had and clothed him as she could.

  But by the time that he’d turned ten, he dreamed of better goods.

  Knowing what monastics get,

  he donned monk’s robes and shaved his head.

  The vows of refuge scarcely uttered,

  he swindled nomads for feastly suppers.

  But as he approached maturity,

  he made a move for his security.

  He broke his vows and took a wife,

  intent on enjoying a secular life.

  Ousting the old woman who’d fostered him, Lozang sealed her fate.

  Due to his cold-heartedness, she starved in the famine of ’58.

  At that time, with China’s liberation,

  the poor were held in veneration.

  Because with learning he’d been anointed,

  as village accountant he was appointed.

  He took all the yaks and sheep he pleased,

  and cheated still others for butter and cheese.

  When the winds of the Cultural Revolution came,

  he pointed, “This one chants mani—he’s insane!”

  Or “He slanders the Party!”—of good men this was said.

  He framed the innocent and became village head.

  Then to all sorts of schemes he put his name,

  while to countless monasteries he set flame.

  Into the rivers he threw statues and pechas,

  treating religious paintings as he might a mattress.

  He straddled a lama as he would a horse,

  and mounted Dharma wheels like a yak—or worse.

  He made old monks serve as beasts of burden,

  and ordered the common people to serve him.

  He even pissed into the mouth of Alak Drong,

  seeing no difference between right and wrong.

  When his tongue had nothing else to do, harsh words crashed like thunder.

  When his hands should otherwise be still, his fists tore things asunder.

  Some people fled their homes, others took their lives,

  unable to bear his cruelty or be wrongly criticized.

  As you can see, this man was mean

  and weaseled his way through the Party machine.

  He first assisted Pema, governor of the county,

  who mistakenly promoted him, an undeserved bounty.

  Suddenly, the governor found his fortunes changed;

  his assistant began to criticize him like a man deranged.

  In struggle sessions, Lozang Gyatso wielded strong didactics

  and framed the kindly governor with rabble-rousing tactics.

  The people’s praise for him was thunderous,

  no accolades could be too wondrous.

  “Lozang Gyatso’s revolutionary stance

  is more stable than South Mountain.”

  In a single bound, Lozang leaped to stellar heights

  and managed to secure what was Pema’s post by rights.

  Ever since then, he’s been filled with arrogance

  and from the masses has kept a distance.

  As he tossed their proposals over his shoulder,

  his official demeanor grew ever bolder.

  He rode the finest horses and drove expensive cars,

  and using the most premium guns, on the landscape left his scars.

  Musk deer, stag, and beasts of prey

  fell to his poaching, day after day.

  While his family and friends filled the county posts,

  those who spoke their minds vanished like ghosts.

  Lozang liked to spread rumors and sow dissension,

  setting factions against others to divert their attention.

  The easy tasks he did himself and bragged of his accomplishments,

  while those who failed at harder tasks were doled out serious punishments.

  To intellectuals he was especially cruel.

  Yet he himself gambled with thugs, as a rule.

  At one point, his avarice grew more and more.

  He gave to superiors what he swiped from the poor.

  He was quick with the bribes when he took ’em and made ’em.

  Hailing “uncles” and “aunties,” their votes he would gain them.

  In meetings with some folks, their palms he greased.

  Others he threatened, and his rank increased.

  Though he wore the Party flag, he corruptly used its forces

  to embezzle all he could of the country’s own resources.

  Secretly, he supported Buddhism, despite the Party’s oath.

  So, in effect, he harbored a disloyalty to both.

  He satisfied a few high lamas by cranking up the taxes.

  Feigning it was “the people’s wish,” to others he gained access.

  His thoughts, in fact, were solely focused on his reputation,

  the Party and the people’s needs were just an irritation.

  Lozang Gyatso shirked his work and traveled where he pleased,

  the costs of which necessitated public funds be seized.

  With claims that it was for the country’s economic good,

  he set up private businesses in any town he could.

  Your messengers allowed him to return to Earth unaided.

  When Lozang offered cigarettes, they finally were persuaded.

  Even your own gatekeepers he similarly coaxed,

  offering bribes along the way at each and every post.

  Great king—you saw it!—he offered you many gifts as well,

  figuring he’d use the back door as a way to escape from Hell.

  Doesn’t this prove that he is one beyond redemption?

  Lozang Gyatso’s few good deeds are hardly worth a mention.

  If I were to detail his every endeavor,

  all of us gathered would be here forever.

  Your Majesty, if you want to reach a conclusion,

  you can shut the door for months of seclusion.

  But when you examine every document here,

  the deeds he has done will be all too clear.

  Whatever he’s done is recorded—I have no secrets.

  I swear by my father’s flesh.

  If he hasn’t done it—I haven’t made it up.

  I swear by my mother’s blood.

  If I’ve added or omitted a single thing,

  I will cut my own son’s throat.

  With these concluding oaths, he stacked upon the Lord of Death’s desk eighteen black metal boxes with all the records of wrongdoings that Lozang had committed during his life. The pile cast a shadow on the Lord of Death’s massive figure, like the shadow of the sun’s eclipse.

  Two of the king’s court attend
ants took the boxes of documents from the desk, and the Lord of Death became visible again. With a white handkerchief, he wiped beads of sweat as large as peas from his face. “Oh my, Merciful Buddha!” He looked agitated and took a couple of sips of coffee. Feeling a bit calmer, he said, “Ya. You’re a smooth talker. Is what the public prosecutor claimed just now true? According to section 3, chapter 8 of the Lord of Death’s Litigation Code, if you, the defendant, have anything to say for yourself, you may do so. But tell the truth!”

  However, Lozang Gyatso said nothing. Only when one of the judges nudged him and Lozang Gyatso toppled out of his chair did they realize he had fainted. The Lord of Death’s doctor arrived and placed a pill into the defendant’s mouth. Lozang Gyatso’s body convulsed, and he eventually revived. The trial continued.

  The Lord of Death repeated his words for a second time, but Lozang Gyatso did not reply. He prompted him once more. “Does the defendant have anything to say?”

  The personal lha raised his hand to speak. “It is true—as the prosecutor has just stated—that during the Cultural Revolution, our man Lozang Gyatso tortured lamas and monks, accused the innocent, and burned down monasteries. However, because of historical forces at that time, most of the population was engaged in such activities. Countless numbers of people even struggled against their own parents, and so forth. Since history is also at fault, it is not fair to place the blame entirely on my client.

  “Furthermore, as for my client taking government money, accepting bribes, and so forth, during these last few years—that is the fault of the current bad social climate. It is not just my client. Many people are under bad influences, and there are even such men in the Lord of Death’s own realm. This is a social condition, not something for which my client alone can be held responsible.

  “Finally, my client performed many good acts. In any case, he has committed no serious crimes, and the wrongdoings we mentioned earlier were rather minor.”

  As soon as Lozang Gyatso’s lha had finished speaking, his personal dü raised his hand to talk. “The defendant has made the following claim: ‘Though I may look materialistic, actually I am pure Buddhistic.’ As everyone knows, according to the Lord of Death’s constitution, whether one is a Buddhist or not, whether one is a Party member or not, does not matter. What is important is one’s own faith and that one holds one’s tenets purely. As a member of the Party, which adheres to no religion of any sort, the defendant, Lozang Gyatso, in fact, opposed the Party by secretly engaging in religious activity. This clearly demonstrates that he is a criminal who cannot be trusted. And he said it wasn’t his fault that he had to give up his robes after his homeland was liberated. That was a lie. Just look at human history! In 1948 he broke his vows and gave up his robes. But the defendant’s homeland was only liberated in 1950.

  “The defendant also lied when he said that he fell under the Party’s control gradually. He actively and ambitiously sought out positions and wrote seven letters for the purpose of joining the Party.” After presenting the Lord of Death with several documents, the dü continued. “Furthermore, he said that he thought the Party wasn’t good because they were atheist and therefore he didn’t want to stay in it. This expresses his resistance to the Party.

  “Moreover, one cannot blame history and society, as the defense has just claimed in explaining this man’s wheelings and dealings during the Cultural Revolution. As everyone knows, if a person has good principles and stands up for them, even when such social transformations occur, he knows the difference between right and wrong and would quite possibly even give up his life for the truth without regret. No-brains like this man, who are indifferent to the laws of karma, will lean whichever way the wind blows, like grass on a wall.

  “It is true the defendant made offerings to many monasteries, invited many lamas to receive empowerments, and went to Lhasa to prostrate before Jowo Rinpoché. But it is a sad fact that all of the money he used was from exploiting the toiling masses’ flesh and blood. Not only were these not the fruits of his own labor, but he also pocketed much of the money, and the amount the monasteries received was but a sliver of the total he collected.”

  When it was apparent that Lozang Gyatso could again say nothing, or had nothing to say, the little lha seized his last chance. Hanging on by a horsetail, he asserted: “With regard to my client offering cigarettes to the Lord of Death’s messengers and carrying these gifts with him, may I remind you of the saying: ‘There is no seller without a buyer.’ Likewise, no one can offer a bribe without somebody to accept it. Given that the Lord of Death’s own messengers are at fault in this matter, how can my client alone be blamed?”

  It was as if these words opened the door of the Lord of Death’s mind. “Hmm … how was it that you carried these things here?”

  Lozang Gyatso reflected, Since they know everything anyway, there’s no use holding back now. He then related the entire story about how he had given cigarettes to Boarhead and Bullhead, how the two had sent him back, how he had offered the things he brought as bribes to each of the gatekeepers, and how he consequently didn’t have to face any great difficulties along the way.

  Lozang Gyatso was dumbfounded, however, when his dü interjected with the following: “Everyone should think about this. If a person were good, it would be impossible for him to sell out on someone to whom he owed so much, even if he were on his deathbed. Yet this cheater, without a second thought, even sold out on the two kind messengers who let him go back because of their compassion for him. From this, one can clearly see that the defendant is an inferior sort who betrays those who have treated him kindly.”

  In any case, the Lord of Death immediately summoned Boarhead and Bullhead before the court and questioned them. He then ordered a number of the gatekeepers to set aside their work and write statements regarding their actions.

  Then, all who were gathered in the Lord of Death’s Special Investigations Court examined the small white cardboard boxes with their two videocassettes on which were recorded the merits Lozang Gyatso had accumulated in his life. Next, they turned to the seventy small black cardboard boxes whose contents documented his demerits. After every last videocassette had been examined, the Lord of Death sighed. “Okay. There is no need for further discussion regarding your merits and demerits. All can be clearly seen here. Now, in keeping with the Lord of Death’s Litigation Code, the public prosecutor, the defending attorney, and the defendant himself all have the right to make a final statement. So if you have anything to say, speak now!”

  The personal lha spoke first:

  Ministers and, above all, the Lord of Death, please hear me out.

  It is true that my client Lozang has committed many crimes.

  However, as I said before, he is a product of the times.

  In a rotten social climate, one might as well be cursed.

  Many people there on Earth behave like him and worse.

  If you send this man to Hell, you’ll have to send the rest.

  The eighteen realms will overflow, and that would be a mess.

  So think about the future. What are you going to do?

  Where will you put the others who’ve committed these crimes too?

  The Lord of Death removed his glasses and furrowed his brow. He sat for a while, then let out a long breath and shook his head from side to side. “That’s true. This is really an issue.” And he continued pondering for some time.

  Alak Drong had first received word of Lozang Gyatso’s death when he was offered a horse along with the request to offer prayers for the deceased. He spontaneously responded, “Ah ho! What a shame.” Why did he have to die just now? he wondered. Feeling a great deal of remorse, he tugged on his lower cheek. With his omniscient eyes, he had a look into the Lord of Death’s realm and saw that they were still deciding how to punish Lozang Gyatso. He immediately shed his Chinese clothes and put on his monk’s robes. Then he hopped into his car and drove off, reciting mantras. After some time, he arrived at the border of the Lord of
Death’s realm.

  The border guard was extremely respectful as he blocked Alak Drong’s path and asked the lama where he had come from, where he was going, the purpose of his travel, and to please produce his passport. Alak Drong leaned his cheek on his left hand, and while revving the gas pedal with his right foot, sang this short heroic song:

  Aro, Border Guard for the Lord of Death!

  With your ears of a pig and eyes of a pup,

  turn them here and listen up.

  This is a car, yet it flies through the sky,

  and all because the driver is I.

  In my first life, I was in the Buddha’s throng.

  Now they call me Alak Drong.

  At Tsezhung Monastery, I am a lama,

  a devout protector of the Buddha Dharma.

  Today, for the sake of every sentient being,

  I have come to find the One All-Seeing.

  I must speak to him without delay.

  So do not dally. Clear the way!

  The border guard didn’t understand Alak Drong’s song clearly, but he decided that the man inside this car that could fly through the sky was a living being, and certainly no ordinary one. This set him at ease, and he was happy to reverentially step aside and say, “Have a good journey.”

  Alak Drong pulled up to the door of the Lord of Death’s court, applying the brake with a screech. After grabbing a khata and a few blocks of tea previously offered him by a faithful Buddhist, he moved to enter the building. Through the clear glass walls, however, he could see that the Lord of Death and the judiciary ministers were seated inside the courtroom, each absorbed in thought. Alak Drong paused. I need to meet with the Lord of Death alone. It’s not good to talk about such matters in front of a lot of people. But then, reconsidering, he thought: Once the Lord of Death makes a decision and stamps it with his seal, it will all be over, won’t it? He decided to proceed inside. At the same time, I am a lama, and there is little precedent for a person of my stature to make such an unfounded request amid a group of so many people. As opportunity would have it, while Alak Drong was wondering what he should do, the time came for the afternoon recess and the ministers emerged from the courtroom and headed home.