Tibet, the land of the forbidden.
Maya was a simple young lady who lived in the Tibetan settlement on the outskirts of Mundugod, near Hubli in North Karnataka. She used to teach the Tibetan language to the children in the camp, so they could not forget their roots. She was smart and hard-working.
My father was a doctor working in Hubli and he occasionally visited that settlement. If any of the Tibetans wanted further treatment, they would visit my father at the government hospital in Hubli, Maya too started visiting my father and she was expecting her first child.
Over the months she became quite friendly with all of us. Whenever she came to the hospital she would pay us a visit too. My mother would invite her for a meal and we would spend some time chatting.
In the beginning, we would be in awe of her and stare at her almost-white skin, dove eyes, the little flat nose and her two long, thin plaits. Slowly we accepted her as a friend and she graduated to become my knitting teacher. Her visits were sessions of knitting, chatting and talking about her life in the camp and back in her country for which she still yearned. Maya would describe her homeland to us with great affection, nostalgia, and at times with tears in our eyes.
‘Tibetans are simple people. We are all Buddhists but our Buddhism is of a different kind. It is called Vajrayana. There’s been a lot of influence from India, particularly Bengal, on our country and religious practises. Even our script resembles Bengali.’Her words filled me with a sense of wonder about this exotic land called Tibet they I would pester her to tell me more about that country. One day we started talking about the Dalai Lama.
‘What is the meaning of the Dalai Lama?’ I asked.
‘It means “Oceans of knowledge”. Ours is a unique country where religious heads have ruled for 500 years. We believe in rebirth and that each Dalai Lama is an incarnation of the previous one. The present Dalai Lama is the 14th. You know, India is the holy land of Buddha. Historically, we have always respected India. There is a nice story about how Buddhism came to Tibet through India….’
I could not wait to hear about this!
‘Long ago there was a king in Tibet who was kidnapped by his enemies. They demanded a ransom of gold, equal to the weight of the king. When the imprisoned king heard this, he somehow sent word to his son: “Don’t waste any gold to get me back. Instead, spend that money to bring good learned Buddhist monks from India. With their help, open many schools and monasteries so that our people can live in peace and gain knowledge.””
Months passed and Maya delivered a baby. After that our meetings became less frequent. But she succeeded in awakening within me a curiosity about Tibet and a great respect for Buddhism.
Recently I got a chance to visit Tibet and memories of Maya filled my mind. I knew I would be seeing a Tibet filled with the Chinese but nevertheless I was keen to go. Among the places I wanted to see was a Buddha Temple in Yarlung Valley that she had described to me.
When I finally reached the valley, it was past midday. There was a cold wind blowing though the sun was shining brightly. The Brahmaputra was flowing like a stream here, nothing like the raging torrent in Assam. Snow-capped mountains circled the valley and there was absolute silence all around.
The monastery at Yarlung is supposed to be a famous pilgrimage spot, but I could see only a handful of people in the entire place. After seeing everything inside I sat down on the steps and observed the serene beauty of the place.
I noticed an old woman accompanied by a young man walking into the monastery. The Woman was very old, her face was wrinkled and she walked slowly and weakly. She was wearing the traditional Tibetan dress and her hair was plaited. The young man on the other hand was dressed in the usual modern manner, in tight jeans and a body hugging T-shirt. The woman started circumambulating the monastery using her stick for support while the man sat down on the steps like me.
When she finished, I realised the old lady was staring at me. Then she said something to the young man in Tibetan. She looked tired by her ritual and sat down on the steps. She said something to her companion again but he took little notice of her. So she slowly picked up her stick and came towards me. She sat down near me, took my hand and, saying something, gently raised them to her eyes and kissed them. Before I could say anything, she got up and started to walk away. But I noticed she was smiling, as if she had achieved a long-held desire. I realised there was a wetness where her eyes had touched my hand.
Now the young boy reluctantly came up to me and apologised. ‘Please forgive my grandmother,’ he said. ‘She is from a village in the interior part of Tibet. She has never ventured out of her village. This is the first time she has come to Yarlung. I beg your pardon for her behaviour.’
He was talking to me in English with an Indian accent.
‘How come you speak English like us?’ I asked in surprise. ‘My name is Ke Tsang. I was in India for five years. I studied at Loyola College in Chennai. Now I run a restaurant in Lhasa. People here like Indian food and movies. I accompanied my grandmother for her pilgrimage. She was thanking you.’
‘But for what? I have not done anything for her!’
‘That is true, but your country has. It has sheltered our Dalai Lama for so many years. He is a living God to us, particularly to the older generation. We all respect the Dalai Lama, but due to political reasons, we cannot express it in public. You might have seen that there isn’t a single photo of his in any public place in the whole of Lhasa. He’s the 14th, but we have paintings, statues and pictures only upto the 13th.
I still did not understand old lady’s gesture. The grandson explained, ‘She said, “I am an old lady and don’t know how long I will live. If I don’t thank you before I die, I will never attain peace. Let anyone punish me for this it does not matter. It is a gift that I met an Indian today and was able to thank you for sheltering our Dalai Lama. Yours is the truly a compassionate land.””
Her words eerily echoed Maya’s from many years back. I could only look down at the wet spot in my hand and smile.
Story courtesy: Mrs Sudha Murty.
