Who strives to
possess worldly goods,
Instead of
developing his mind,
Is like an eagle
whose wings are crippled.
(Tagpo Lhadje)
Bearded, hollow-eyed and torn the five men and the girl had moved for days in the direction given by Dubtób. The pace of travel was quite slow.
In a remote gompa, whose monks stood out through extraordinary silence, they took
in a day of rest on the courteous invitation of the abbot, since the distant construction
offered considerable security. Yet they had to contend with a simple storage
room in an extension of the gompa, for
the monks did not allow a woman to walk through the halls of the Holy
Monestary. The llamas here were more strict and ascetic than the people from
the gompa of the Seven Lotus, and
they were also clearly of a different sect.
Through the whole day one could hear
the murmurs of the praying monks and the creaking of prayer-wheels, “Om mani padme hum – Oh, Lotus-Jewel!...”
In this cloister Gutmann made a
remarkable discovery. In the brief and merely formal farewell ceremony, given
by the abbot of the abstruse gompa,
Gutmann saw on a low table top a round copper plate with the form of a temple’s
rising tower in the middle.
He stepped closer to the abbot, “Permit
me a question, Light of Amithaba in this holy house,” Gutmann pointed to the
curious disc, “What is thus, oh tangpo,
oh Abbot?”
The tangpo’s air was almost hostile, “Why would you want to know,
stranger?”
“It reminds me of a thing we call mani and has an archetypal form that
resembles this piece.”
It wasn’t appearent for sure whether the tangpo, the ordinary abbot, had understood the explanation. His
face betrayed neither knowledge nor ignorance. After a brief pause he allowed
reluctantly, “It is a symbol of of a Buddhist city, we call it Chot-Mandal…”
Gutmann looked meaningfully at Juncker, who’d accompanied him when
they were leaving. In a low voice he said, “A very peculiar name. Undoubtedly a
synonym of the mani-form. Right here
in this monestary…”
The abbot had tried distrustfully to catch the whispered words,
but he was unable to understand their foreign language. With an almost
rude-imperious gesture he demanded attention, “Are you scribes, that you know
more about this disk?”
“We’ve seen disks flying,” diverted Gutmann, “They glowed with
different colors, or had a long flaming tail!”
“Kye – He-! – Nis-chu' terykh – flying carts!” The tangpo did not hide his excitement. “You are guests of my gompa,” he continued, after a brief
moment of surprise, “But I have the right to ask: are you spies for a foreign
power who are seeking these disks? If that’s so, then know that I know nothing.
I don’t know anything!” The tone bespoke his lies.
“We’re no spies,” assured Juncker
calmly, continuing in Gutmann’s place, “But surely you’ve seen disks in the sky
at least once, like us. It doesn’t make me a spy if you saw some things and acknowledge
that you remember them!”
“Kye!”
cried the tangpo again, “Nis-chu' terykh
mk'a la – the flying carts in the heavens, kye, they’re the sign of some new era! And it could be that our
secret writings in Potala are right, that report of a time that will come to
finish the tests. When it is fulfilled, the King of Shamballa will appear and
save those who are faithful and lead them from the sorrows of this world into
his realm of bliss, which is more beautiful than the paradise of Amithaba. Who
but resists will be destroyed must suffer through agonies before, and then,
chastised by this, being able to move into bliss. That is the last battle on
this earth, the last strife of the three worlds. Then the teachings of
Tsongkhapa will rule the universe and all the blessings and gifts will be common
to all men…” The cheeks of the zealous tangpo showed a hectic color, “Hear, you
strangers, hear and say it further!”
“He cited the Lamaist world-mission,”
said Juncker to Gutmann quickly, who scarcely understood a piece of it. To the tangpo he went on loudly, “We have heard
what you have said to us, oh tangpo.
But you said not but earlier that you knew nothing, and now you show us the
signs in the sky!”
The tangpo made a scowl and at the same time a threatening hand
gesture, grabbing the little thungerbolt symbol and holding the demon-banishing
cult fetish with the thumbs as well as holding the middle two fingers of his
right hand while sticking just his index finger and little finger up. “Evil
spirits guide your thoughts! How could you even allege a tangpo? I see you want to say bye and go. I won’t hold you up – right,
strange men, right?”
Juncker and Gutmann left after a
formal gesture from the belligerent abbot. A bit later the little group rode on
into the partially quilted landscape.
The groups of nomads appeared much
less dangerous, abundantly against Indian coins and gladly gave milk, cheese
and brick tea. Even flour and some millet could be acquired.
TN: I'm glad to be able to put this out. Translation has been erratic so far as I've not had a lot of time to continue it. I hope to post the completed first chapter by the end of Autumn 2012.
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