Urgyen Sangharakshita

The Path of true Pilgrimage

2007-06-14T12:27:00.000+05:30

Pilgrimage is a very powerful practice. One’s world is turned upside down. One’s imagination is stretched. Sometimes one sees, experiences, or participates in amazing things.

"A Pilgrimage is a journey into a world of myth. Events which have seemed to be shut away behind the closed doors along time's long corridor become as alive and as fresh as if they had happened yesterday. To the pilgrim, everyday reality and imagination are no longer separate: a shape, a noise, an unexpected meeting, can be charged with significance, becoming a symbol of something 'beyond us, yet ourselves'. One dwells more intensely on how one acts within one's environment, and on the effect of that environment upon oneself. Such intense concentration, coupled with reflection on the life of the Buddha and on the lives of the great sages who followed him, brings about a deep sense of faith which flowers as inspiration. The pilgrim gives himself to the pilgrimage with body, speech, and mind, and the fruits of his devotion manifest as virtue. He comes to feel blessed; in the traditional phrase, he feels, 'richly endowed'." From Suvajra’s 'The Wheel and the Diamond

Your Pilgrimage
The more one takes on the practice of pilgrimage the greater will be one’s experience of it. A key element of preparation is to accept that it is a pilgrimage, and that it is a wonderful opportunity largely created by one’s own efforts. Decide to participate fully, co-creating the pilgrimage with one’s own imaginative engagement, active participation and whole-hearted aspiration.

Purification
A surprising many small things have ‘gone wrong’, during the first few days of almost all previous pilgrimages. Much of it was ‘chance’, much of it seemed karmic. Like all powerful practices pilgrimage does not paper over the cracks or sweep things under the carpet, it rather does the opposite. Pilgrimage tends to draw out of us emotional and karmic poison, so we can purify or release it. We can each do things to avoid or reduce such karmic obstacles. But whatever happens, we know the pilgrimage is not a holiday, and that we need to bring a spiritual attitude to whatever happens.

The Three Precepts of Dorji Drolo

Whatever way things go, may they go that way;
Whatever way things happen, may it happen that way;
There is no purpose.

The Shepherd Boys Song

He that is down need fear no fall
He that is low, no pride
He that is humble, ever shall
Have, God[s] to be his guide.

I am content with what I have,
Little it be or much:
And, Lord, contentment still I crave
Because thou savest such.

Fullness to such a burden is
That go on Pilgrimage.
Here little and Hereafter bliss
Is best from age to age.

From John Bunyan's
Pilgrims Progress

There are various ways avoid bad karma popping up at unfortunate times. They all seem to come down to spiritual practice and making oneself empty and receptive. A few periods of enhanced or extended practice in the lead up to the pilgrimage can make a big difference. Traditional practices for preparatory purification include; ritual bathing, offerings, confession, mantra chanting, Sutra or Dharma reading, generosity, and meditation.

Loose Ends
Sorting out loose ends and unfinished business, as best you can before you go, is a good practice. Likewise, consciously deciding to leave unfinished ‘stuff’ behind, not to take it with you, may be right. If that is not appropriate, consciously decide to take it with you. Perhaps in a contained, symbolic or ritualised way.

Containment
The more you can contain the experience-that you hope to have, the more space you give that experience to unfold. The more you protect your pilgrimage the better it will be. A field of merit builds up, is not leaked away.

Imagination
I remember listening to Bhante describe how in the old days, people would prepare for an opera or concert months in advance. Having read about the composer, libretto etc, their experience of the Opera was greatly enhanced. Likewise we try to create the conditions for pilgrims in enter deeply the path and spirit of true pilgrimage. Partly we do this by introducing each place, each holy site; its history, and the people, events and spiritual energies found there. We do this on the ground, at the sites, but it really is best if these introductions simply bring to mind the reading, reflecting, and imagining that you have already done.

At most of the sites we will make offerings and perform meditation, puja and circumambulations, yet to really get into the pilgrimage we need to internalize it. The path of the true pilgrim leads inward. We use our outer journey to stimulate an inner pilgrimage.

The Imaginal is the doorway between the self-power of imagination, and the other-power of Vision.

We start with self-power; feeding our imagination with information images and stories associated with Sakyamuni and his immediate disciples. Then we reflect on these images and stories; offering them up again and again to our imagination. By engaging our imagination and letting it freely run, we create the conditions for the Imaginal to arise.

Through our Imaginal faculties we perceive the truths of the spiritual world. Perceiving the spiritual world-we begin to enter it. Thus feeding our imagination is of utmost importance. Any reading or stimulus to your imagination that you can do before the pilgrimage will have a very positive effect on it.

Preparatory Practices
As with meditation, the better we prepare ourselves for pilgrimage the more successful and fulfilling we will find it. Some of the following might be useful, but the secret is to find and explore you own ways of connecting with your pilgrimage.

Dedication
Like Chatral Rinpoche’s advice to improve one’s meditation by doing it for others, perhaps the best way to approach the pilgrimage is to dedicate it to benefit someone else.

Daily Practice
Integrate into your usual daily practice a special pilgrimage dedication. This could be in the form of recollection, visualisation, a verse of dedication, reflection or mantra chanting.

Visualisation
One can visualise anything that symbolises or brings to mind the people, places and events on which the pilgrimage is focused, such as the main events in Sakyamuni’s life.

Images
Find and contemplate images of Bhante and his Teachers, and the Buddhas, Bodhisattvas, Devas, Dakinis and Dharmapalas that are associated with them.

Verse
Write a short verse of dedication and recite it daily or whenever you remember. Perhaps something like; “om ah hum, I dedicate my Pilgrimage to the benefit of ………” “May our pilgrimage be blessed by the buddhas and bodhisattvas.” “May I constantly recall the blessings of my teachers, practice, and friends.”

Reflection
Bring to mind the coming pilgrimage; recall, investigate and purify your motivation. We all have multiple motivations for attending pilgrimage, discover your best or highest motivation, and concentrate on strengthening that. If you uncover any less than skilful motivations, make them fully conscious and weaken them as one would work on the hindrances.

Recitation
Undertake to chant a certain number of mantras each day as preparation for the pilgrimage. This can be a very effective way of building up spiritual momentum before the pilgrimage. You may wish to chant a lot of one particular mantra or a smaller number of several mantras, perhaps last thing at night or as part of your morning practice.

Reading
Start reading around the pilgrimage. Facing Mt Kunchenjunga, In the Sign of the Golden Wheel, A Noble Friendship [Kantipalo], Bhante’s poetry, The Wheel and the Diamond [Suvajra], Dhardo Rinpoche: A Celebration, anything by Vessantara, The Way of the White Clouds [Lama Govinda], An Introduction to Tibetan Buddhism, Creative Symbols of the Tantric Path.

Pilgrimage Diary
Starting a pilgrimage diary in the lead up to the pilgrimage is another very effective way to build up spiritual momentum. You could make a record of your mantra chanting and other preparations, and keep an eye out for dreams and coincidences. A big part of entering into the Imaginal, and true pilgrimage, is becoming receptive to the threads of coincidence surfacing in our lives. Take seriously even the smallest thread, the least significant coincidence and the faintest intuition. By honouring them with attention and recognition, by recording and recalling them, they grow in strength and we start to see with pilgrim’s eyes. Seeing with pilgrims eyes, we start to enter the mysterious world of pilgrimage, and a world of mystery starts to enter us.

Offerings
In India, we will be able to offer butter lamps, Khata and incense. Flowers will be rare. You might wish to make a few special offerings to take.

Some people write out some verses or mantras on paper or card – to leave at some special place. Likewise short texts and images of the Buddha’s and bodhisattvas are much appreciated offerings. Also suitable are stones, pebbles, shells, old jewellery and redundant but significant mementoes.

In fact, please bring, 5 or more, small objects such as crystals, semi-precious stones or some small treasure. We will have the opportunity, ritually or informally, to leave these at a number of significant places.

Warning
It is foolhardy and dangerous to take things from holy places, even pebbles or leaves. Buying gifts outside is no problem, but taking anything from a holy site could be. If you do take something, leave a suitable offering, and treat the object like gold.

Practicalities

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How Much to Bring
It is very easy to bring too much. On the first day of a recent Pilgrimage, some people realised this too late. Even with our team carrying their bags between coach and accommodation, most people found that bringing too much really was a hassle. On pilgrimage, the closer one gets to bringing the minimum, the happier and freer one feels. Fewness and simplicity of possessions can be a very real support for your practice. And it’s best not to bring things you would be upset to loose. However, having with you the things that you want is also a real support to practice and happiness. Take your time and pack well.

Bags
Practically every sort of bag or case is ok for this pilgrimage. But, please do not bring big or very heavy bags-unless you notify me before hand. Other than one’s day bag, one is not expected to carry one’s luggage. We will have a team of helpers and will engage porters when necessary. Your cases and bags can be easily damaged in India; they will get dirty and scratched, so please do not bring your best.

Day Bag
Every day you will be using your meditation gear and puja books. You may want to carry incense or other offerings. You should also carry a torch, water, and your basic medical kit at all times. So, you will need something to carry these in, a small pack or shoulder bag.

What to Wear?
In India you are what you wear, so most people take a lot of care over how they look. Students and adult men wear casual or conservative Western clothes. Most women wear some form of traditional dress, although in the big cites Western fashions are common.

I think it is generally best to wear the clothes that one normally wears. However, if you wish to change your image, break-out or dress as a Pilgrim – this is also your opportunity. Most of the people we encounter have very little idea what is normal dress for foreigners; they will accept whatever you wear-so long as it is decent.

Important considerations are: the climate (see below), and comfort when walking and sitting for meditation together with ease of washing and drying.

Do not to bring expensive or difficult to wash clothes; there is a lot of opportunity for them to be damaged while wearing them or when they are being washed. Things do sometimes come back from the wash looking tie-dyed – so bring colourfast clothes.

Climatic Conditions
In September, the plains of India will be hot and humid. Once in the hills it will be the same – but less so. It should be comfortable and pleasant.

On pilgrimage, we will be in the mountainous foothills of the Himalayas. It will be cooler than the plains, but by midday, it will be getting warm, and walking will make it warmer.

Our altitude ranges from a few hundred feet, to several thousand feet above sea level, so there is plenty of room variation in temperature.

Walking
We will be doing quite a bit of strolling around, walking here and there. In the first two weeks, most of the walking will be easy, on roads and paths. Never the less, in Kalimpong and Darjeeling there are numerous potholes and other potentially dangerous obstacles in the roads and paths – mindfulness is required.

In Sikkim we are less busy but tend to walk for longer on stone or mud paths. A potential danger is a sprained ankle, or shoes that are no good in slippery conditions.

Shorts are becoming more acceptable in India, for men at least. If wearing shorts, women as well as men should make sure they are not too short or tight.

In essence; loose, light layers. And easy to wash and dry.

Foot Ware
It would be quite possible to go through the whole pilgrimage in sandals or flip flops/tongs.

In the first two weeks, we visit many temples where it is necessary to remove one’s shoes. Foot ware that is easy to take off and put on is an advantage.

We don’t go on any real treks. Mountain boots are not necessary. Nothing heavier than light comfortable walking/countryside shoes is required.

However, we do walk up some impressive hills on narrow earthen paths that twist around rocks and logs. Therefore, light foot ware, easy to wash and dry, that can handle sometimes-slippery paths, and that gives support to your ankles is best.

Chapples – Flip-flops, Thongs etc. are essential bathroom wear and are good for relaxing around our accommodation.

Hat and Sun Glasses
These are pretty much required; you would probably regret not bringing them.

Basic Medical Kit
Everyone should take personal responsibility for dealing with the types of illness that commonly occur. These include; cuts and blisters, moderate and sever diarrhoea, constipation, colds and flu, dehydration, loss of sleep and depletion of energy. The remedies for all these should be carried at all times and used as soon as symptoms appear; nipping illness in the bud means one gets better much quicker. Some allopathic medicines can be unpleasant, - but taking them quickly can mean you are back on the pilgrimage in hours rather than days. It is necessary to carry on you just a few portions of each remedy; these should fit in a small purse or pocket.

Cuts and Blisters – A few band aids and healing cream.
Moderate and Sever Diarrhoea – Appropriate medication.
Constipation – Herbal or other laxative.
Colds and Flu – Paracetamol and remedies of choice.
Dehydration – ORS Oral Re-hydration Solution.
Loss of Sleep – Herbal Sleeping pills, earplugs. (Ear plugs cannot be obtained in India)
Depletion of Energy – Good multi vitamins.

Those items underlined can be easily obtained in India at a more economical price than in the West.

Of course, everyone should have consulted their Doctors about malaria and inoculations.

Other Items to Bring
MP3 Player – A fantastic resource

Prescription Glasses – Bring spares

Medication – Bring prescription and extra supplies.

Binoculars – If you have a light pair, and enjoy using them.

Gifts – Any little thing from your country is a welcome gift; stamps, coins, any little toy or souvenir. Someone once brought 1000 advertising promotional balloons – and was a source of delight to a thousand children.

Sleeping Bag - Air Mattress
Bedding is available at all the places we stay. Typically, this means a firm mattress with sheets, pillow and pillowslip. Plain blankets and heavy cotton quilts are available. A silk or other sheet sleeping bag is a nice luxury that neither weighs much nor takes up much room.

Most of the mattresses are not good enough for some people. Everyone who has brought a thin inflatable camping mattress, (e.g. Thermarest) on earlier pilgrimages has been relieved they did. But for some people the mattresses are not a problem. If you have concerns about your back or sleep please bring an inflatable mattress.

Loos
The toilets in the places we stay vary from adequate to good. Tashiding is the only place with no western style loos; just your basic squat variety. Some people find squatting physically difficult, if so it is best to limber up before the pilgrimage.

Washing Clothes
We will have our clothes washed for us at most places. The Indian custom is to wash one’s own underwear and socks. Any costly or delicate clothes should likewise be done by oneself; the standard washing procedure is quite rough.

Mosquitoes
At dusk there will be mosquitoes. Please consult your Doctor and bring good anti-mossie spray or cream. Mosquito coils will be provided.

Bathing
Bathing in India is a simple affair; the bucket bath – one douses oneself with water from a bucket using a small plastic jug. Most places have no running hot water – which is provided in small quantities by our hosts. Bring flip-flops to wear while washing – the floors of the bathrooms can be slippery.

Costs, Dana and Spending Money

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Payment
Yours is a true pilgrimage – something you co-create, not buy. The traditional method – which we follow – is for the participants to share the costs, and each individual to follow the dictates of the heart when they give.

Costs
Although the commercial value of the pilgrimage is high, the actual costs – aside from airfares, insurance and pre-travel purchases - are remarkably low. India is economical and our Team is likewise. However, the Teachers of the Present pilgrimage is more expensive than our Heartland pilgrimage due to our small numbers and staying and eating in some very nice Guest Houses and Restaurants. It is also the most comfortable of all our pilgrimages. The cost of all meals snacks and drinks, accommodation, transport, Team wages and offerings is likely to be less than 350 Pounds.

Dana
Our Team simply takes minimal wages that support life and provide something for their family. It’s not a business; we don’t seek to make an ordinary profit. We hope to enable you to experience the joy of giving – by keeping costs down; and by enticing you to support projects that we sponsor.

This year we have several major funding projects; the first is to find two thousand pounds for the young Dhardo Tulku; for rituals that are an important part of his educational fees.

Then we want to find fifteen hundred pounds to help preserve the cottage on a high ridge above Kalimpong, where Bhante received his first Tantric initiation – Green Tara, from Chatral Rinpoche. That meeting and Rinpoche’s direct, spontaneous, simple and informal method of introducing and transmitting the Sadhana is the model of our Private Ordination especially the Initiation. Bhante said he gave Initiation in the same informal way as Chatral Rinpoche gave him Green Tara. Our Private Preceptors continue in the same spirit. The cottage signifies and very much anchors our connection with the ancient Vajrayana tradition of Tibet – especially the Nyingma. It is in danger of demolition; the cottage. I have persuaded the owner to preserve it on the promise of a donation for substantial repairs.

This year we are committed to starting a Wood; a carbon sink where you actually plant the tree that makes your pilgrimage more ecological.

And our main focus is of course the new Sramana Trust. Through Sramana we aim to support men and women renunciants in various ways; chiefly through basic support and accommodation.

Sramana is getting underway in India and is closely associated with the new beginnings of the Movement in the middle land – around the Buddhist Holy places in Bihar and UP. The ancient Buddhist Heartland is now the most backward and poorest part of India. So far our Movement has had very few activities in Bihar, and indeed it appears that no other Buddhist organisation is actively spreading the Dharma in Bihar – outside a few monastic enclaves.

But things are about to change. A team of Dhammamitras based in Bodhgaya are determined to establish the Movement in Bihar and take the Dharma to the poorest most neglected people in India – slowly slowly. We start by assembling a team, making connections at the Holy places, and seeking supporters. Shortly we begin building a base, on our [our Movements] land, in Buddha Gaya.

Spending Money
In Darjeeling and Kalimpong, there is a good opportunity to purchase Buddha rupas, vajras, bells, malas etc. In Darjeeling, there is a good bookshop where you can pick up cheap editions of many Dharma books by well-known authors. In Kalimpong but especially in Darjeeling there are woollens - scarves, jumpers, shawls, hats, etc, in a variety of qualities. Also, in Darjeeling, there is tea! Which like the books and Buddhas can be sent home for you. At Tashiding, you can commission a small ‘mani’ stone to be carved with mantra or seed syllable.

After Darjeeling, we are quite remote and there is not much to spend your money on. Nor is there much need to spend money. We are effectively on a mobile retreat; all meals are taken care of, as is transport and accommodation.

Unless buying something like a Buddha rupa one needs to bring very little spending money.

Some of Bhante’s Kalimpong Poems

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RHYMED TANKA

Mountains bathed in mist
How mysteriously you stand!
But when darkness falls
Deeper on hill after hill
You grow more mysterious still.

RHYMED HAIKU

On the blue hill-side
Village fires like orange jewels
Gleam at eventide.

THE LAMP OF COMPASSION

My heart-wick now is charred with sin,
And dully red it glows
With greed or hate, afloat upon
The viscous oil of woes.

Oh may I set it flaming with
Compassion's golden fire,
Which feeds upon the twisted strands
Of anger and desire,

And hold its rainbowed radiance up
In wisdom's crystal vase
To light their way who from this world
Are stumbling to the stars!

MOUNTAINS

Golden in laughing sunlight,
Silver in mist and rain,
I see thee, mighty mountains,
Tower heavenward from the plain,

And pray my heart unmoved by
Sweet joys or sufferings dire,
Like thee through cloud and sunlight
May upward still aspire.

MESSENGERS FROM TIBET*

Whence come these asses, brazen-belled,
That jingle down the dusty lane
With big brown bales of tufty wool -
A hundred in a single train?

Whence comes their master, crimson-cloaked,
Who drives them onward from the rear,
With braided and beribboned locks,
And gold- and turquoise-studded ear?

Whence comes this music, weird and wild,
Of clashing cymbals, tinkling bells,
And trumpets deep that thunder out
The sorrows of a hundred hells?

Whence come these banners, bright as gems,
Above the images unfurled
On shadowy temple walls, that seem
Like glimpses of another world?

Whence come these memories, vague as dreams,
Of peaks where snow eternal reigns,
Of boundless grassy wastes beyond -
The silent Central Asian plains?

Whence comes this yearning, sharp as life,
Strong as death's self, to mount and go
Beyond the hundred-headed hills
High up the sky-ascending snow?

Oh land of turquoise, land of gold,
Land of the whispered, mystic lore,
Land of the Buddha, land unknown,
Were you my land in days of yore?

Though dense the mists of birth and death
Your messengers are riding through.
How shall peace fill my heart again
Unless I journey back to you?

BAMBOOS

Among all branched things, I for beauty choose
The yellowness and slimness of bamboos,
Whose bunched leaves twinkle on a gusty day
And back and forth the clattering branches sway.

And when from frozen skies the pure snows fall
In large white flakes that softly mantle all
The loaded branches stoop without a sound
Till their green leaf-tips almost touch the ground.

Then, when they seem a kind of crystal tree
Sparkling with diamond buds and silvery
Shoots, by the snowflakes' overburdening
And their own patience freed, the lithe boughs spring

Up, and in powdery showers the white snow flies
Flung by the wind across the freezing skies,
While, as the bamboos dance in wind and rain,
Like stars the bunched leaves twinkle forth again.

Hence, among branched things I for beauty choose
The yellowness and slimness of bamboos,
Which taught me, more than what in books is writ,
That life is conquered when we yield to it.

STANZAS

Let my life burn like incense
Before Thy precious shrine,
Consuming, for Thy Doctrine's sake,
All thought of `I' and `mine';

That from its smouldering selfhood
May rise up unalloyed
The white cloud of compassion -
Pure perfume of the Void.

THE GARDENER

The gardener crops his rose-tree's hundred buds,
That when it grows
Rich with the breath of Summer, it may bear
One perfect rose.

And even so I prune my budding thoughts,
That in me should
Spring sweetly forth the single perfect bloom
Of Buddhahood.

KANCHENJUNGA

One white wave of snow
Towering against the blue
Sky, with clouds below.

RHYMED HAIKU

Below in the deep
Blue valleys the white clouds
Are lying asleep.

`WHITE MIST DRIFTS DOWN
THE VALLEY DIM...'

White mist drifts down the valley dim,
Then spreads and rises noiselessly,
And the blue hill-tops seem to swim
Like islands in a spectral sea.

Swiftly the silver edges rise
Until the white waves overflow
The shadowy hills, and with the skies
Make one vast sheet as though of snow.

One moment all the world seems white,
A pearly whiteness tinged with blue,
Till the fierce storm-gods rush and smite
That sea of massing clouds in two.

Oh when, with darkness overhead,
In two vast waves they roll apart,
A river like a silver thread
Gleams on the valley's azure heart.

INACCESSIBLE

I saw one misty morning
An orchid on a tree,
And like a flute of silver
Its blossoms called to me.

The plaintive cry of beauty
That mid decay is born
I heard there standing breast-deep
In sparkling dews of dawn,

And longed to pluck those mauve sprays
(Too high, alas, for me!)
From the shadow-weaving branches
Of that old and moss-draped tree.

`THE ASHES OF ALL
MY HEARTACHES...'

The ashes of all my heartaches,
The dust of a hundred dreams,
Are swept away in an instant
When forth one white peak gleams.

After long storm and struggle,
My heart with quietness fills
At the curve of this jade-green river,
The sweep of these dark blue hills.

THE EVENING WALK

We walked where thick green bamboo groves
Point down their speary leaves,
Feeling the quietness of the hills,
The silence that is eve's.

The sun's last light, all flecked with gold,
Full on our path did lie,
And mountains piled up inky blue
Against a pale green sky.

How strange, that when night's first white star
Burned through the heavens wide,
My heart should be so lonely, though
My love walked at my side!

BAMBOO ORCHIDS

With slender rosy stem
And long green leaves thrust out
Pink orchids violet-lipped
Stand poised as though for dance
Upon the gnarled tree's fork.

So fairy-like, so frail,
With long green trailing leaves,
So like a butterfly
Each exquisite rare bloom,
We half expect to see
Them flutter and fly away.

`MANY WERE THE FRIENDS...'

i.
Many were the friends who sought with eager hands to lay
hold of me as I passed along the way;
But I have shaken them all off and come with lonely longing
to the door of my Friend.
Many were the flowers that blossomed around me in the garden
where I strayed;
But I have sought out the White Rose while it was still
bright with morning dew.
Many were the instruments I heard playing in the symphony
of life;
But I have cared to listen only to the melancholy sweetness
of Thy flute beneath the stars.

ii.
When the dawn wings like a great golden bird from the East,
In the cool
of early morning, beside the pine trees,
I wait for Thee...
When the sun hangs poised like a red flamingo in the
heavens,
In the quivering heat of noon, wrapped in the mauve-blue
mist of the jacaranda,
I wait for Thee...
When the pale moon breasts the sky like a silver swan on a
blue lake,
In the lone garden of my dreams, beneath the wide-
spreading branches of the Tree of Life,
I wait for Thee...
While youth comes and goes, while manhood waxes and
wanes as the moon,

In the midst of the world's tumult, and in the deep silence
of my heart,
Through life and through death, through the birth and
dissolution of millions of universes, eternally
I wait for Thee...

iii.
When will He come?
When will the dust of my life blossom beneath
the invincible
ardour of His footsteps?
When will the ashes of my heart flame beneath the
all-enkindling touch of His hands?
O listen! By day the tall grass whispers to the listless trees,
When will He come?
And all night the jasmine murmurs to the stars, When will
He come?
But day and night I make question of the heavens and the
earth,
When will He come? When will He come? When will He
come?

1951

LINES

I questioned, in my greener age,
Whether it were best for me
To blossom Poet or burgeon Sage;
But now in riper days I see,
And with what gladness know it:
The Poet is the truest Sage,
The Sage the sweetest Poet -
The piper his own best tune;
And laugh that I could ever
Have striven thus to sever
The moonlight from the moon.

MAITREYA

Lost in these yellowing Autumn woods, I see
A Buddha seated under every tree;
And each white peak, and each dark violet hill,
Seems a giant Buddha meditating still.
So poised this earth, so quiet its sky above,
They seem like Maitreya deep in thoughts of love.

RHYMED HAIKU

Autumn clouds, like snow
In Summer, drift the way
We all must go.

RHYMED HAIKU

Oh darkness is done
And snow-peaks catch crimson
The smile of the sun!

RHYMED HAIKU

How still the mists lie
Growing deeper till hills are
As blue as the sky!

RHYMED HAIKU

On the hillside wait
Clouds calm as my thoughts
And as intimate.

RHYMED HAIKU

Dawn brightening
Across the sky like the unfolding of
A sunbird's wing!

ANIMIST

I feel like going on my knees
To this old mountain and these trees.
Three or four thousand years ago
I could have worshipped them, I know.
But if one did so in this age
They'd lock him in a padded cage.
We've made the world look mean and small
And lost the wonder of it all.

1952

THE POET'S EYE

Though veil on veil of gleaming blue
Translucence o'er the hills is furled,
The poet's eye sinks through and through
Deep as the beauty of the world;

Deep as the Truth all men desire
He plumbs, and then his vision sings
With lightning glance that sets afire
The poetry of common things.

THE CHARCOAL-BURNERS

Once more the deep blue Winter skies
Dissolve in tenderest green;
Once more in purple shadow rise
The hills; once more is seen
Eve's first faint star; and lo, once more
The charcoal-burners pass my door.

First gnarled old men, then cheerful boys,
With young men in the pride
And blush of opening manhood's joys,
Plod up the mountain-side;
And after, sharing all they do,
Red-shawled, blue-skirted women too.

Up the long, winding mountain road,
With naked, sturdy limbs,
Each bears his black, dull-gleaming load,
Before the red light dims;
With broad, bowed backs, and labouring breath,
Like lost souls on the road to death.

The sweat-drops tell how far away
That world where fancy sees
The glooms wherein they heard all day
A noise of falling trees;
And saw, to charcoal slowly turning,
The beauty of the forest burning.

What tongue can tell, what happy flight
Of fancy e'er discover,
How many trees that loved the light
Were stricken from their lover;
How many forests filled with breath
Charred into hideousness and death.

Year after year, this mountain road
Remorseless will they tread,
Like death's own self, with ghastly load,
Till the forests are all dead;
Like man himself, that will not cease
Till he has ruined Nature's peace.

BUFFALOES BEING DRIVEN
TO MARKET

We know when market-day is near,
For village folk to vend their store,
Because the blue-grey buffaloes
Are driven in the night before.

With long-lashed eyes, and massive horns
Low-curving from each patient head,
They shuffle sadly up the road,
Dusty, and lowing to be fed.

Their drivers, shouting from the rear,
Urge them with blows to left or right,
And, mindful of the broad red sun,
Make haste before the fall of night.

One evening, as I watched them pass,
My heart was heavy for their kind,
To see how slowly one great beast
Limped painfully along behind.

Slowly he moved, and slower yet,
Despite their whip and blood-stained goad,
Till, sagging at the knees, he dropped
On the sere grass beside the road.

He tossed his patient head; I saw
The deep blue eyes were glazed with pain.
Though shivering in a storm of blows
He could not rise and walk again.

And as the darkness fell, I mused
That simple folk who sell and buy
Could herd him to the butcher's shed,
Yet could not let him rest and die.

QUATRAIN

Walking along the mountain paths,
A pink-white cloud I saw appear
Floating athwart the trees - the first
Wild cherry-blossom of the year.

`UP AND DOWN THE
GRAVEL PATH...'

Up and down the gravel path,
Between the flowering trees,
I've walked this Summer afternoon
To give my spirit ease.

I could not idly stand, nor sit
Upon the grassy ground,
For like a mill-wheel in my head
The thoughts flew round and round.

Oh thoughts of life and thoughts of death
Chased thoughts of love and pain
Like golden hawk and sable dove
Inside my reeling brain.

The withered hopes like wind-whirled leaves
Thick on my heart did come,
With dreads like shapes that dance for blood
About the sorcerer's drum.

So up and down the shadowy paths,
Between the moon-white trees,
Through pools of silver, I must walk
To give my spirit ease.

TIBETAN TRUMPETS

Knit with my heart these trumpets seem
That deeply sound from hill to hill;
Booming through mist so mournfully,
Holding their note of pain, until
With its reverberation loud
The sympathetic valleys fill.

Groaning their sorrows out, all night
Far off the giant trumpets play;
But the deep thunder of their grief
Resounds within my heart all day -
Type of the anguish of mankind
Rolling among life's hills for aye.

`IN THE WOODS ARE MANY MORE'

Selling wild orchids at my door one day
A man said, `In the woods are many more...
Deep in the gloom, high on the thickset trees,
Wild orchids hang like clouds of butterflies,
Golden and white, spotted with red and black,
As huge as birds, or tiny as a bee,
Wild orchids which no eye has ever seen
Save ours, who wander in these rich green glooms
All day throughout the year.' I bought his sprays,
Paid him, and bore them in; and as I went
My eyes by chance fell on a shelf of books, -
The Buddha's Teachings, - and thereafter glanced
Up to the Buddha's image as He smiled
Above them from the alcove. Strange it was
That, as my eyes from book to image passed,
Dwelling an instant on that calm, pure Face,
There, with the frail cold blossoms in my hands,
The words that man spoke at my door should ring
Through my stilled heart again and yet again
Like music - `In the woods are many more...'

SUMMER AFTERNOON

Now it is early summer, and the woods
Ring all day with the cuckoo's double cry;
The heat grows week by week, and from the blue
Intolerable heavens beats the sun
Fiercer and fiercer on the huge red flowers
That droop among the grasses; dragonflies
In their bright sapphire mail hang glitteringly
Upon the fountain's edge, four gauze wings poised
For instant flight. At peace amid the sights
And sounds of nature, with a drowsy cat
Limp on my knee, and an unheeded book
Of poems slipping down into my lap
Unread, I dream away the quiet hours.

HAIKU

White clouds on the hills
Linger a while, then vanish
In the blue distance.

HAIKU

Waterfalls from stone
To mossy stone trickling
Down deep cool ravines.

THE SURVIVOR

The loose red earth is washed away,
At once the storm-swept hills are bare;
Gaunt trees fall crashing down the slopes,
And sodden leaves stick everywhere.

Day after day the rains drummed down,
Nor sturdiest growth could meet the shock,
Save one frail bush, with scarlet flowers,
Whose root had pierced the stubborn rock.

A RAINY DAY IN THE MOUNTAINS

The rain has been falling all
day; the maize-fields are sodden and
brown;
The green lush growth of the garden is matted and beaten down;
The hills round their bare blue shoulders draw closer their mantles
grey,
And the sun gleams through like a pearl, but so faintly it scarce
seems day.

Yet the road that winds up from the valley is thronged with
market-folk;
White bulls draw the creaking waggons, lurching beneath the yoke;
With wet brown limbs plod the coolies, bearing their loads from
the plain,
While the women hurry behind them, red-shawled from the
streaming rain.
I have watched all day at the window, while strange thoughts came
and went
As I mused on the life of the mountains, wherewith mine own
seems blent;
And I glimpsed through the rain-dark heavens a cloudless Autumn
sky,
While the mists round the mountains' loins hid no secret from
mine eye.

Deeper the life of the mountains, oh richer and grander far,
Than the huddled life of the cities, where the mushroom
hovels are,
Where no change of tint in Autumn, no show of leaf in Spring,
Brightens the dusty wayside trees where bird ne'er hops to sing.

But the cheerless day is ending, and the rains have almost done;
Creeps with the lengthening shadows a redness round the sun;
With eve-gilt limbs, with baskets of charcoal, rice and corn,
In the shadow of the mountains plod on the mountain-born.

1953

LOOKING AT THE MOON
ON A FROSTY NIGHT

The moon is cold and hard and small
And glitters like a crystal ball;
The trees are steeped in silver light: -
Ah, what a clear-cold winter's night!
WINTER IN THE HILLS

The icy wind has planted
Fresh roses in your cheek;
Your voice rings clear and joyous
Through the cold air as we speak.

By day the sky is bluer,
By night the fire more red;
For coldness brings out colours
That heat could ne'er have bred.

Between the leafless branches
The landscape is ablaze
With green and gold and scarlet
All the short bright winter days.

When youth and beauty vanish,
And death impends above,
May age but make more vivid
The colours of our love.

EPITAPH ON KRISHNA,
PRINCESS IRENE'S SQUIRREL

Now he's gone, the best of squirrels,
Not ev'n his mistress can entice
His happy spirit to her shoulder
From the trees of Paradise.

1954

THE GREAT WORK

With grey-green fir and blue-black pine communing,
With tulip-tree and smooth camellia, - where
The last dark red and first white rose are blooming,
I sit, reclining in my cane armchair.

Head propped on hand, from dawn to dusk the garden,
Through sparse leaves peering with a thousand eyes,
Beholds me as I watch the sunbeams harden
And eve drip coldly from the wintry skies.

Day after day, beside my friend the mountain
I sit, and as in dream hear close at hand
My neighbours, tall bamboo and bubbling fountain,
Talking in words that I half understand.

Not indolence or ennui, soul-destroyers,
Nor sickness convalescent, holds me here,
But the Great Work, which to all mere enjoyers
Of `doing' must as idleness appear.

But if against the sun you ever lifted
Red wine or emerald water in a bowl,
You'll know, recalling how their dregs were sifted,
I clear the turbid liquid of my soul.

And since in those dark waters still is lying
Thick sediment uncleared, so many days
Musing I sit, till, slowly purifying,
Shine through them as through crystal the sun's rays.

LINES

Between the mountain-crest and valley hung
A rainbow fragment, yellow, red and blue,
The iridescent child of light and rain,
And as I saw it from the height above
It seemed a symbol of my life, which gleams
Half way between the heavens and the earth
Rich with the rose of friendship, blue of art,
And glorious yellow of religious lore -
A rainbow fragment that one moment shines
And then dissolves in natal light and rain,
Until, as I believe, a purer heaven
Sees its unbroken circle shine serene.

STANZAS

Here, through the deep dark valley,
There, o'er the snow-peaks high,
Flows the turquoise green of water,
Towers the turquoise blue of sky.

As the eye tracks, so the heart treks
Earth below and heaven above -
Plunges deep to seek out wisdom,
Soars on high in quest of love.

1955

QUATRAIN

Evening. Unstirred the western cloudlets lie
Like russet leaves
in a blue lake of sky.
And in between them, silently and soon,
A gilded pinnace, glides the crescent moon.

RHYMED HAIKU

After three months rain
In a million drops the sun
Shines out again.

1956

TO MANJUSHRI*

Lord of the Lotus, Flaming Sword, and Book,
Eternal Wisdom, Ever-Youthful One,
Dispeller of Illusion - as the sun
Packs off the clouds - with single radiant look, -
O Prince, whose pure compassion undertook
Freely, when Land-of-Snows was overrun
With evils, and the Good Law nigh undone,
Rebirth as him whose keen mind could not brook
Impurity or error, - yet once more
Descend! In this cold heart set up Thy state!
Give me Thy Lotus, spiritual rebirth;
Give me Thy Flaming Sword, that I may score
Vict'ry o'er those who darkly congregate
Against Thy Book, and drive them from the earth!

THE VOICE OF SILENCE

Close, eyes; behold no more the rich array
Of forms and vivid colours. Touch, be still;
Grope not for lover's hand, or lips that will
Sting you awake to bliss by night or day.
Relish no more the scent of new-mown hay,
Or flowers, or incense, nostrils. Take your fill
Of tastes no more, O watery tongue, nor trill
Delicious notes in cadence grave or gay.

For when the senses and the sensual mind
Are laid asleep, and self itself suspended,
And naught is left to strive for or to seek,
Then, to the inmost spirit, thrice refined,
Thrice pure, before that trance sublime has ended,
With voice of thunder, will the Silence speak.

STANZAS

From tone to tone of azure
The landscapes round me rise:
Blue-black are the valleys,
Ethereal blue the skies.

So may my love and passion,
That are darkness in the Abyss,
Be, in the heights of being,
All brilliance and bliss.

1957

TRIOLET

A sweet singing bird
In his summer array
This morning I heard
As he perched on the spray,
A sweet singing bird
With his little heart stirred
This fine morning in May -
A sweet singing bird
In his summer array.

QUATRAIN

Peach-bloom, each Springtide, fills my heart with grief
That the so beautiful
should be so brief.
This year, more bright than bloom of peach you come,
And grief is now so deep that it is dumb.

QUATRAIN

What though so near upon the tree
The golden apples bob and dance?
Around them, like a dragon coiled,
Insuperable circumstance!

STANZAS

If but the soil were richer
'Twould ask no gardener's art:
And lyric flowers would overspread
The greensward of my heart.

The odes would tower like cedars,
Your name bloom like the rose, -
If but the soil were richer
Nor strewn with rocks of prose.

COUPLET

What though the mining's done, th' ore told?
While the vein lasted, it was gold.

SPRING - WINTER

The hills of the horizon
With snow are dappled round.
White blooms the sweet plum-blossom
Six foot above the ground.

As a bird in the blue ether
My joy is on the wing
'Twixt the purity of Winter
And the loveliness of Spring.

STUDY IN BLUE AND WHITE

Though depths of perfect azure
Invest the sun on high,
The hills, with haze and distance,
Show darker than the sky,

Save where, as though disrupting
The blueness of the real,
Shine in their absoluteness
The snows of the Ideal.

LEPCHA SONG

The Teesta in the Summer
From distant mystic lands
Winds like a vein of turquoise
Between her silver sands.

In the Rains, with splintered tree-trunks,
Foam, and forest creatures dead,
She hurtles tiger-tawny
Along her bouldered bed.

In Autumn, calm and queenly,
She descendeth statelily
From her castle in the mountains
To her palace by the sea.

When Winter comes, the garments
Wherein she sweeps arrayed
Flash malachite in sunshine,
Gleam amethyst in shade.

Her silver arms in Spring time
She coils, no cloud above,
Around the smoke-blue mountains
And sings to him I love.

QUATRAINS

Spring, in my boyhood it was understood,
Meant crystal streamlets full of bream and perch,
A mist of bluebells in a little wood,
And lambtails shivering on the silver birch.

Now, for my riper years, the meaning's swerved
To mountain rivers green as tourmalines,
And galaxies of waxen orchids curved
Against the ink-blue foliage of the pines.

QUATRAIN

Though sinks into the western hills
The sun through orange-amber bars,
In silence deep the moon fulfils
Her destined path among the stars.

1958

COUPLET HAIKU

Above black pine-trees, on my homeward way,
An orange moonrise in a sky of grey.

THE GUARDIAN WALL

With sweet compassionate faces,
Hands outstretched, humanity's friends,
Up to the golden Zenith
The Hierarchy ascends.

In glory on glory I see Them,
Helpers of all of us;
But the loveliest Bodhisattvas
Are the anonymous.

Lotus-seated, rainbow-circled
In the heaven of the Void,
They rear about the race a Wall
That may not be destroyed.

Its base is built of coral -
The blood that They have shed;
Its turrets sheerest diamond -
The life of purity led.

O Hierarchy Celestial,
O Tara, from Thy throne,
Grant that in Thy Great Guardian Wall
My life may be one stone!
1959

RHYMED HAIKU

Old frog on the brink
Of the lotus pond jumped in -
Not stopping to think.

HAIKU

Visitors all day!
Morning mist, afternoon flowers -
And now the full moon.

QUATRAIN

The periwinkle flowers among the stones;
Where naught else lives, it grows -
A common hardy plant, scarce beautiful,
That shall outlast the rose.

1961

THREE COUPLET HAIKUS

i.
How bare and dead the branch! But look, again
Burst forth pink buds, as soon as
touched by rain.

ii.
The red leaf falls upon the lake below.
Ah well, perhaps the water's
lovelier so!

iii.
Though vigorously the high wind shakes the bough,
The unripe fruit
sticks on to it, somehow.

TIBETAN REFUGEE

You were my mother once, the Scriptures say,
A hundred or ten thousand
lives ago,
And now with bloodstained feet you trudge the roads
Of India, exiled from your native land.
Driven, not exiled! The barbarian horde
That burned down temples, looted monasteries,
Tortured to death old holy lamas, they
That stood your husband up against a wall
And shot him, sent your brothers and your sons
To prison for a sullen look or word, -
Even they who on the holy citadel
Set their unholy flag, the flag of blood, -
They drove you forth with terror of the whip
And torment of the unfilled belly. You
Were working on the roads. Twelve hours a day
Breaking the stones, and you were seven months pregnant.
One night you slipped away. A month it took you
To reach the Indian border. On the way
Was born the baby strapped upon your back,
Born by the roadside. But you could not wait,
And feeble as you were pressed on and on
Through leech-infested jungle, dark and rain,
While all the time the dread of what might come
Behind you, drummed like madness in your heart.
Mother, you do not listen to your son!
Your eyes are dull and vacant, you do not hear
Your infant crying for your breast, nor see
Kind faces round you, hands outstretched to aid!
Above the clouds you see, as in a dream,
The golden roofs of the Potala gleam.

1962

SPRING

The quick sap rises in the dry stalk;
On naked boughs the furled green buds appear;
Returning swallows beat about
The clay-built house they left last year.
Earth smiles, and like an almond tree
The Bodhichitta flowers in me.

PLANTING THE BODHI TREE

Triyana Vardhana Vihara, Kalimpong, 18 June 2506

The morning sunshine saturates the heavenly blue as we
Beside our mountain
hermitage plant firm the Bodhi Tree.

Oh not with turquoise-hafted trowel, nor yet with spade of gold,
We turn the warm and fragrant mould to plant our Bodhi Tree.

No streams of milk from silver pots, no sprinkled rare perfumes
From musk distilled, or crimson blooms, refresh our Bodhi Tree.

With Faith and Energy for hands, and Mindfulness for spade,
The soil of Meditation's glade we dig deep for our Bodhi Tree.

By day among the forest boughs the peacock preens a listless wing;
No frogs in deep-voiced chorus sing all night unto our Bodhi Tree.

With lightning in its dark blue breast if monsoon cloud appears,
What use? Oh blood and sweat and tears must water well our
Bodhi Tree!

The heart-shaped leaves will twinkle out, huge boughs bespread,
and then
May shelter multitudes of men beneath our towering Bodhi Tree.

And so, with joyous-solemn chant, this gold-blue morning, we
Beside our cliff-perched hermitage root fast the Bodhi Tree.

Extracts from Bhante’s Kalimpong Journal

2007-06-14T12:19:00.000+05:30

Introduction
I made this selection from my 1953-1954 diaries some years ago. The originals have since disappeared, having been lost or mislaid. I hope this handful of excerpts will give you an idea of the nature of my life during my early years in Kalimpong. A much fuller account of this period is to be found in 'Facing Mount Kanchenjunga: An English Buddhist in the Eastern Himalayas.
Sangharakshita.

Extracts of Old Diary Leaves
1953
January

January 7 (Wed)
Read some of the 'Sonnets to Orpheus'. Profoundly moving. Was profoundly impressed by Rilke’s idea that poetry is not about existence, but that it is itself a new kind of existence.

January 10 (Sat)
Puja and meditation. Good concentration. Faintly 'saw’ Avalokitesvara, then the Buddha, Who dissolved as it were into a Yab-Yum form. Feeling of great peace and purity.

January 12 (Mon)
Experienced a feeling of great peace and coolness. Understood the illusoriness of individuality.

January 13 (Tue)
Looked at some sprays of peach blossom which I had plucked yesterday and their beauty gave me a feeling of inexpressible delight.

January 15 (Thu)
In the afternoon lay down and contemplated deeply for some time on various aspects of Buddhist thought. Felt very strongly that only the Void could satisfy my aspirations.

January 17 (Sat)
Taught Sachin Logic for more than an hour, and afterwards spoke to him seriously on the meaning of renunciation. Explained that the giving up of family ties did not involve cruelty or selfishness, but that it was inspired by compassion and a desire to help mankind. Hope he will understand. Read Asvaghosha’s 'Awakening of Faith in Mahayana'. I think no other Buddhist book so completely expresses my own deepest intuitions as this matchless treatise.

January 19 (Mon)
Reflected on Asvaghosha’s philosophy. Deep meditation.

January 23 (Fri)
Extremely cold! In the afternoon stitched a new cover, composed of two old civaras, on to my quilt. Puja and meditation. Had an uncomfortable feeling that there was an evil presence nearby.

January 25 (Sun)
While we were talking a magician came and insisted on showing us some tricks. He took handfuls of nails and a big stone from his mouth, made water disappear from a pot etc.

January 26 (Mon)
The remarks Joe made yesterday caused me to feel that I had no earthly refuge, that none understood me or sympathized with the aim I was striving to achieve.

January 28 (Wed)
Advised Indra on a variety of topics and pointed out the connection between culture and religion. Emphasized the necessity of sublimating our emotions through aesthetic appreciation and creation. From the poet’s point of view, those poems are most successful which express his total personality.

February
February 4 (Wed)
Read few more chapters of Dickens’ Pictures from Italy. Found the one entitled 'An Italian Dream’ delightful. February 6 (Fri) It was raining when I awoke this morning, and not until 2 o’clock was a bit of blue sky, or a cold gleam of sunshine, to be seen. The air was cold and raw, and a dull and melancholy atmosphere seemed to hang over the hills.

February 11 (Wed)
An old Nepali nun, who had been on pilgrimage to Lhasa, came with a small boy just before breakfast. Gave her some tea.

February 12 (Thu)
Went outside into the garden, and saw that Cleopatra was about to give birth to her kittens. Put her inside a comfortable box in the small room and shut the door; but she yowled loudly as soon as I went away and insisted on my remaining with her. Stroked her back for more than an hour, which pleased her immensely, but as nothing happened I left her, despite her protests, and had a hot bath.

February 13 (Fri)
Sachin came for a few minutes. He noticed an unfamiliar scent in the air, and I showed him one of the beautiful yellow blossoms of a flowering tree he had admired last year, which I had kept in a vase. The bud is like a great nut. All at once the shell splits in two and a hard, butter-coloured flower is disclosed, its petals waxen-smooth and cold, and emitting a strong keen acrid scent.

February 14 (Sat)
Meditation fairly deep. Experienced a feeling of refreshment pervading the body, especially the forehead.

February 15 (Sun)
Reflected after lunch, and felt a stronger and purer sense of vocation than for a long time past. Felt in curiously the same spiritual mood as at Rajagriha three years ago. Is it the effect of the same Spring weather?

February 18 (Wed)
A beautiful cool clear night, with a crescent moon in the sky.

February 21 (Sat)
Miss Rao came and chattered very foolishly. She mentioned the Sacred Tooth at Kandy and asked if the Buddha had not got His Enlightenment from it!

March
March 1 (Sun)
Reflected on the nature of the poetic experience.

March 2 (Mon)
Strong impression of the impermanence of all things.

March 5 (Thu)
In the afternoon read Kashyapji’s Abhidhamma Philosophy, but though it is very interesting could not help thinking that I belonged to a different form of Buddhism.

March 12 (Thu)
The kittens are a month old today, and have started to lap milk and run about.

March 14 (Sat)
A clear, cold morning, with a fine view of the snows.

March 17 (Tue)
Condoled with Mrs Perry on her brother’s death. An active and busy day, with perhaps more talking than is good for one.

March 22 (Sun)
Read Plato’s Phaedrus. Wrote to Princess Irene about the silver masks.

March 24 (Tue)
Miss Delannoy came, and we had an interesting talk on Poetry, and on the relative claims of Religion and Art. Advised her not to try and rationalize difficulties away, but in fact consciously and deliberately to cultivate contradictions up to their farthest point, since only in this way could the dichotomizing intellect be transcended and the spiritual world entered into.

March 30 (Mon)
Very cool pleasant moonlit evening.

March 31 (Tue)
The trip down to Siliguri was very pleasant. We saw the sun rise above the misty blue mountains like a disk of liquid gold.

April
April 2 (Thu)
Sat out in the sun and finished reading Barchester Towers.

April 6 (Mon)
Felt in an inspired mood.

April 10 (Fri)
A heavy mist came rolling up from the valley, and there was some rain! On the way back to the Hermitage was deeply impressed by a group of tall trees that were vividly silhouetted against the grey-blue sky whenever the lightning flashed.

April 11 (Sat)
The sky became very black and there was much lightning. An exceptionally violent wind brought down many branches.

April 14 (Tue)
Sachin came as usual, and I explained to him my ideas for an article on 'The Metaphorical Structure of Reality’.

April 20 (Mon)
Finished breakfast quite early, as I rose at dawn, and saw the snow-peaks turn rosy before the mist obscured them.

May
May 6 (Wed)
Thunder, lightning, and high wind, but only a few big drops of rain. Beautiful view of some distant peaks, fresh and clear as though the snow had fallen on them newly.

May 9 (Sat)
Thought very deeply about the nature of Art.

May 14 (Thu)
Glimpsed a whole world of new truths but found it difficult to put them into any sort of order.

May 15 (Fri)
Just as I was about to start breakfast the little black and white kitten came bouncing in, looking very sleek and shiny, after having been missing for three days.

June
June 6 (Sat)
At 6 o’clock evacuated a large white worm. In the evening the rain, which had been falling heavily all day, ceased, and the sky became clear. White clouds showed against the dark blue hills, and black clouds against the golden sunset sky above. Here and there were streaks of luminous green. During the whole day was in a mood of strong revulsion against worldly desires, and was intensely aware of the reality of spiritual things. Though to a certain extent torn between the two, felt that the latter must in the end prevail.

June 12 (Fri)
Dressed the foot of the little daughter of one of the poor people living in the compound as it had been badly burned and the skin was hanging in ribbons.

July
July 19 (Sun)
Many strange dreams during the night. In one of them a goddess spoke about my past and future life. Felt a complete lack of interest in anything. As the evening drew on my mood deepened. When I went out experienced deeply the unreality of all things. People seemed like ghosts and shadows. My body seemed to float along the road. Was half out of my normal consciousness. The mind was poised, steady, and without desires, though not very clear.

August
August 1 (Sat)
Wonderful view of the snow-peaks this morning.

August 5 (Wed)
Reflected on the meaning of philosophy.

August 13 (Thu)
Awoke with a wonderfully cool, clear mind. Felt as though I had been repeating the Mantra for some time.

August 14 (Fri)
Dreamed about a Burmese Pacceka Buddha.

August 21 (Fri)
Read Gogol’s Dead Souls, and liked it immensely. Very Dickensian.
September
September 3 (Thu)
Rose early, and watched the snows turn from rose to gold, and from gold to white at sunrise. Felt in a deeply spiritual mood. How to lead the holy life in the world?

October
October 13 (Tue)
Tashi Rabgias said that while in Lhasa he translated my Biography (of Anagarika Dharmapala) into Tibetan.

October 14 (Wed)
After lunch took Tashi Rabgias to Dr. Roerich’s place. Dr. Roerich spent a couple of hours going through the Tibetan translation of my biographical sketch of Ven. Dharmapala.

November 19 (Tue)
Fine clear night. Snows visible in the light of the moon, which is almost full. Rather cold.

1954
February
February 26 (Fri)
Started reading An Introduction to Jung’s Psychology by Frieda Fordham. Found it clearly written and very interesting.

March
March 10 (Wed)
Sat outside in the garden and read Baudelaire, whom I continue to find endlessly stimulating.

March 15 (Mon)
As we approached Darjeeling saw many beautiful flowering trees, white and pink and red, on the hillside.

March 24 (Wed)
James came, obviously with the intention of trying to prove the claims of Christianity. Had a long discussion which wasted a lot of time and led nowhere and almost made me resolve never again to discuss religion with a theist.

April
April 7 (Wed)
Very trying day with innumerable disappointments and luck apparently dead against us. But we have to carry on.

April 8 (Thu)
Felt in an exalted and spiritual mood.

May
May 18 (Tue)
Sat out in the garden and read Buddhist Texts [Through the Ages]. Felt in deeply spiritual mood.

May 21 (Fri)
In the afternoon read several chapters of Conze’s Buddhism. Suddenly had a deep intuitive understanding of the truth of the Tantric Buddhism and its relation to the Mahayana generally. Experienced in consequence a feeling of mastery and exhilaration which lasted for some time.

May 25 (Tue)
From early morning felt the Kundalini bubbling in the Manipura Chakra on and off all day. Towards evening felt in a very indrawn mood.

May 30 (Sun)
Decided to devote the day to poetry, so sat out in the garden and read Sir Philip Sidney’s 'Astrophel and Stella' sequence. After lunch, sat outside again and read Yeats. Some of the earlier poems had acquired a fresh beauty and significance.

June
June 8 (Tue)
Rose late, after an extraordinary dream in which I attended a Tantric ceremony. At the end of this ceremony was served with prasad made from human body, while the body of a child lay beside the low table at which we were eating.

June 9 (Wed)
Felt in a very indrawn mood all the evening and spoke very seriously to Anagarika about the necessity of practising mindfulness.

June 20 (Sun)
Read 'The Voice of the Silence' straight through and received a much clearer impression of its total meaning. Vedantic admixtures displeasing, though.

1955
January
Jan 12 (Wed)
Very vivid dream of being initiated into a mantra beginning AUM HRING BE.

February
Feb 6 (Sun)
Deep concentration and some development of vipassana.

Feb 9 (Wed)
Deep concentration and faint vipassana. Felt very inspired by reports of Swami Ramdas’ world tour.

Feb 22 (Tue)
Puja, reading and meditation. Second jhana.

May
May 4 (Wed)
Very beautiful moonlight night. Snows clearly visible. Read Don Quixote and slept.

June
June 3 (Fri)
Spent most of the afternoon and evening reading Suzuki. Felt in deeply meditative mood. Had a new insight into Zen.

June 11 (Sat)
Read a number of short stories including 'The Last Laugh’ by D.H. Lawrence. Though I did not understand it at all this last left a very profound impression on my mind.

June 12 (Sun)
Woke suddenly some time after midnight. My unconscious seemed to have opened and I saw clearly the meaning of Lawrence’s story. A kind of mystical experience. Understood intuitively his whole philosophy. Impression of tremendous power, something demoniacal yet divine. Could not help thinking Lawrence a Buddhist Tantric reborn. More than ever impressed by his genius.

July
July 14 (Thu)
Read S.N. Dasgupta on Vijnanavada. Very inadequate account.

August
August 28 (Sun)
At 4 o’clock one of the Catholic fathers came with a Cistercian monk. Had a long talk about ascetic life, mysticism, Buddhism etc.

September
September 12 (Mon)
Woke at 3 o’clock and lay thinking about the interpretation of Faust etc.

September 29 (Thu)
Ani-la brought to see me a Dominican father who is making a study of Islamic mysticism. Had an interesting talk about Buddhism.

November
November 14 (Mon)
Had some discussion with a Sinhalese Catholic. Explained what universality in religion really means.

November 30 (Wed)
Felt a change of consciousness.

December
December 15 (Thu)
On returning read an abridgement of Dr Johnson by an American author. Then started reading The Life of the Heart, a biography of George Sand, but found it very poor stuff after the Johnson, idealism the pimp, most unpleasant.

Memoranda
Yesterday I saw a man trying to swim where there was no water; today I met a poet without religion. (28.1.53)

Doctrines are only hooks on which to hang experiences. (2.2.53)

To love is a necessity; to be loved a luxury. To share your pain were bliss, compared with the pain of being excluded from your pain. Evil is unrealized potentiality for good. (20.6.53)

Extracts from Bhante’s Seminars and Memoirs

2007-06-13T23:33:00.000+05:30

Teesta
Between Siliguri and Teesta Bridge there were some forty landslides. Once I had to tranship, scrambling knee-deep in mud along the mountainside for about thirty yards, with a sheer drop to the swollen waters of the river far below.

Kalimpong
A QUARTER OF A MILE UPSTREAM, the graceful white arch of Teesta Bridge floated like a dream between the steep tree-clad slopes. Within a few minutes we were across, and the jeep that had been sent to fetch us from Siliguri Station was shooting up the mountainside along a succession of hairpin bends that lifted us several hundred feet above the river every few minutes. Already the figures on the bridge looked no bigger than ants, while the river itself lay like a ribbon of grey-green jade between the mountains. Every time we swung round a bend new perspectives opened up before us, each one vaster and more awe-inspiring than the last. Behind us, to the west, loomed the mauve and indigo masses of the Darjeeling hills, while across the River Rungeet, to the north, the mountains of Sikkim flowed in ridge upon smoke-blue ridge to the far horizon. Soon the air grew quite cold, though the sky was a vivid blue and the sunshine more brilliant than ever. We were above the clouds. Looking down, we could see them drifting in fleecy white masses down the valley, following the course of the river. With the change of altitude came a change of vegetation. Sal forest gave way to fir and pine, while the bamboo became smaller and less frequent. Every few hundred yards an explosion of pure scarlet proclaimed the presence of the giant poinsettias. Thatched cottages flashed past. Shops, shrines.... When we were seven or eight miles from Teesta Bridge, and nearly 3,000 feet above sea level, thatched cottages began to change into English bungalows with tiled roofs and trim gardens and soon, strung out along the saddleback before us, I saw the town of Kalimpong.

It did not take Kashyap-ji and me many days to realize that we were in a new world. On our arrival we had been accommodated in a two-storey building just above Ninth Mile, and every day we walked through the main street to Tenth Mile, where a Newar merchant whom Kashyap-ji had once met in Calcutta gave us our morning meal. Most of the shops that were jammed up against one another on either side of the road seemed to belong to Indians, but the people passing up and down were of a dozen different national origins. By far the greater number were Nepalis of various castes and tribes, many in traditional Mogul-type costume, with kukris thrust into their waist-bands and enormous wicker baskets on their backs. Indians were well represented, though, and included Marwari merchants in saffron-yellow headgear, turbaned and bearded Sikhs, Bihari sweepers with long crown-locks, and Bengali clerks. There were also stocky Bhutanese in striped knee-length gowns, a few Chinese - the older generation in black silk trouser-suits - and a sprinkling of small, shy Lepchas from the forests of Sikkim. There was even the occasional pink-faced European, more often than not with a big black bible clutched beneath the arm.

Most striking of all, however, were the Tibetans, who so far as numbers went were second only to the Nepalis. Tall and barrel-chested, with gowns kilted up to the knee, ten-gallon hats thrust far back on their heads, and short swords dangling at their sides, they swaggered down the main street looking as though they owned the place. In a sense of course they did own it. Kalimpong owed its undoubted prosperity to the fact that it was the focal point of the trade with Tibet, exporting such things as cigarettes, kerosene, fountain-pens, and wrist-watches to the Land of the Lamas, and receiving in exchange wool, yak-tails, and musk. In the absence of motorable roads, everything had to be transported on the backs of mules. As we approached Tenth Mile, Kashyap-ji and I often saw forty or fifty of the heavily-laden beasts coming along the road in a great cloud of dust to the accompaniment of a tuneful jingle-jangle of mule bells and much cheerful shouting and whip-cracking on the part of the red-cheeked muleteers. Whether they were arriving or departing we had no means of telling, but men and beasts alike seemed in good condition, while the leader-mule tossed his red plumes proudly as he stepped out at the head of the caravan.

But much as Nepalis and Indians, Bhutanese and Sikkimese, Europeans and Tibetans, contributed to the colourfulness of the scene, it was not simply on account of their presence that Kalimpong was a new world. The whole atmosphere of the place was different. Coming as we did from the plains, where only too often life stagnates in its accustomed channels, we experienced everything as being not only fresher and cleaner but more sparkling and alive. It was like drinking ice-cold champagne after warmed-up soup. People went about their perfectly ordinary affairs in a perfectly ordinary manner, but whether on account of the altitude, or for some other reason, there was a sense of exhilaration in the air, as though it was the festive season, or as though they were all on holiday. Missionaries alone excepted, there was a smile on every face, and while it would be an exaggeration to say that there was a song on everybody's lips we could hardly put our head out of the window without hearing, loud and clear in the distance, the cheerful melody of the latest popular film song. And the colours! On account of these alone Kalimpong would have been a new world. From the blues and purples of the mountains to the reds and yellows of the flowers in the Nepali women's hair, they were all preternaturally vivid, as in a Pre-Raphaelite painting. Sometimes, indeed, they glowed with such intensity that everything seemed to be made of jewels. And all the time, above the mirth and the music, above the life and the colour, above the steadfastness of nature and the security of civilization - above everything - there were the snows.

On the morning of our arrival they had been veiled, and we had seen nothing of them, but since then they had shone forth every day, and often for the whole day. With the blue of the valleys at their feet and the blue of the sky above their heads, the shimmering white masses stretched from end to end of the horizon majestic beyond belief. Since the building where Kashyap-ji and I were staying faced north, we had an uninterrupted view of Mount Kanchenjunga, the second highest peak in the entire Himalayan range and the third highest in the world. In the early morning it was particularly beautiful. Looking out of the window just before dawn, I would see it glimmering ghostly in the blue twilight, more like ice than snow. Then, as the sun started rising, the bluish tip of the summit would be flushed by a fiery pink that, in a matter of minutes, had travelled all the way down the peak. Soon the whole range would be a mass of pink embers glowing against the pale blue sky. Pink would change to crimson, crimson to apricot, apricot to the purest, brightest gold. Finally, as the sun cleared the horizon, gold would change to silver and silver to dazzling white. On particularly fine days the mountain wore a white plume, almost like a plume of smoke. According to the experts, this was caused by a strong wind blowing the loose snow from its summit. But whether it wore its plume or not, and regardless of the time of day, I was never tired of looking up at Mount Kanchenjunga as it sat enthroned in the sky. Totally absorbed in itself though it was, and utterly oblivious of my existence, the great white peak nonetheless seemed to speak to me. What it said, I did not know, but perhaps, if I stayed in Kalimpong long enough, and looked hard enough, I would come to understand.

Though I did not then know it, I was to stay there for the next fourteen years. After weeks of indecision, Kashyap-ji had finally made up his mind not to return to the Benares Hindu University. Instead, he would spend some time meditating in the jungles of Bihar, where a yogi whom he knew had a hermitage. Perhaps, as he meditated, it would become clear to him what he ought to do next. Meanwhile, I was to remain in Kalimpong. `Stay here and work for the good of Buddhism,' he told me, squeezing himself into the front seat of the jeep that was taking him to Siliguri. `The Newars will look after you.' There was little that I could say. Though I did not really feel experienced enough to work for Buddhism on my own, and though I doubted whether the Newars were quite so ready to look after me as Kashyap-ji supposed, the word of the guru was not to be disobeyed. Bowing my head in acquiescence, I paid my respects in the traditional manner, Kashyap-ji gave me his blessing, and the jeep was off.

I was left facing Mount Kanchenjunga.

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If Darjeeling was the Queen of the Hill Stations then Kalimpong, smaller and situated at a lower altitude, was undoubtedly the princess, as least so far as north-east India was concerned. The town's importance was due to its position as a terminal of the Lhasa-India trade-route, which, having traversed the Chumbi Valley and negotiated the Julep Pass, cut across the south-eastern corner of Sikkim to wind its way round the foothills and finally peter out among the dust and mule-droppings of Topkhana, as the Tibetan quarter at Tenth Mile was called. Being the terminal that it was, Kalimpong had a sizeable Tibetan population that included, besides merchants and muleteers, officers of the Tibetan government and maroon monks.

Most Tibetans; they never knew that my name was Sangharakshita, because nobody ever used it. During the first few years they called me Injigelung, which meant English Monk. And when I had been there a few years they called me Injigelung Geshe Rimpoche, which is much more respectful. But they always keep these titles going. They never descend to use your personal name. This would be regarded as very familiar and disrespectful.

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I settled in Kalimpong, and Kalimpong ‑ the name is usually interpreted as meaning 'a skull capsized' or ‘a capsized skull' ‑ a small town in the Eastern Himalayas, 4,000 ft above sea level, and from Kalimpong, from practically all quarters of Kalimpong, we had a wonderful view of the snow ranges of the Himalayas. I can see them in my mind's eye even as I speak. And among these snow ranges, among these snow peaks, is the second highest peak in the world - Kanchenjunga - which means 'The Five Treasures of the Snow'. And one could see Kanchenjunga, except during the rainy season, almost every day, just standing there against the blue sky; way up, as it were, in the blue sky. The whole area, in fact, was a very, very inspiring area indeed. One could say that Kanchenjunga was a very inspiring sight; it certainly was; and especially when one saw it practically every day ‑ one never got tired of looking at it ‑ this great snowy peak right up there in the blue sky, with the clouds far below, wearing its white plume, very often, where the snow was blown off it by the winds. But the whole area was very, very inspiring. I remember the atmosphere was very, very clear. You could see, very often, for many, many miles. The atmosphere, in fact, was so clear - and I believe that of Tibet, which of course was very near, just a few miles away, was even clearer ‑ so that in this very clear atmosphere everything stood out with greater vividness, with a very strange, almost hypnotic, vividness of colour. One seemed to see the colours much more clearly than one saw them down in the plains; much more clearly, certainly, than one sees them in this country ‑ even in Brighton! And sometimes it seemed, especially just after the rains, as though everything was made of jewels, that one was living in a world made of jewels, the colours of everything were so bright and so vivid. The white, of course, the snowy white of the mountains, the intense blue of the blue sky, the vivid green of the vegetation, and the scarlet and the yellow and the blue of all the wonderful mountain flowers. And also the gay costumes of the people, whether they were Nepalese or whether they were Tibetans or Bhutanese or Sikkimese, or even Indians. The only people who weren't very colourful in appearance, I'm sorry to say, were the Europeans, especially the missionaries who usually wore black.

So in this world, made, as it were, of jewels, in Kalimpong, I lived for fourteen years, and I founded a small monastery there after seven years a small vihara; and I had people staying with me from time to time. And all during this period, during these fourteen years, I was getting deeper and deeper into the study and the practice of Buddhism. And I had, fortunately, contact with quite a number of teachers, especially teachers from Tibet, who were at that time beginning to come out, including some very great teachers indeed, and from them I was so fortunate as to receive various ordinations and initiations.

But during those fourteen years I didn't stay all the time in Kalimpong, I sometimes went down to the plains, as it were just to see what it was like, at first. Went down sometimes to Calcutta, sometimes across the sub‑continent to Bombay, and also to Delhi; visited sometimes the Buddhist holy places like Buddhagaya and Saranath and Lumbini and Rajgrha and Nalanda, and eventually, towards the end of the fourteen years, or rather during the second seven of the fourteen years, I became involved with a very big movement, that is to say the movement of mass‑conversion of ex‑untouchables, ex‑untouchable Hindus, to Buddhism. That again is another story; a very lengthy story. But most of the time I spent in Kalimpong, and there I did, also, a certain amount of literary work, especially during the rainy season. I must say that I used to enjoy the rainy seasons in Kalimpong very, very much, it's a very beautiful season of the year; it's not cold, it's still quite warm, but all day, or most of the day, the rain simply comes down. You hear it just peacefully falling on the roof, peacefully falling on the leaves of the trees, peacefully falling on the crops in the fields; Just peacefully falling down. And everything becomes so quiet and so hushed. And of course there are no visitors, so you can get on with your work, you can get on with your meditation, you can get on with your writing. So the rainy season was my favourite time for quite a number of years, for writing. So this was my life; this was my life in India; this was my life in Kalimpong, for fourteen years. This was my life until 1964.

Begging Round
A monk's robes and his bowl were his two wings, and equipped with them he was free to go, or to stay, wherever he pleased, dependent on all, and dependent on none. With robe and bowl, therefore, I made my way from the Dharmodaya Vihara to the bazaar at ten-thirty each morning, not walking at a respectful distance behind Kashyapji as before, but on my own. As the custom was, I went barefoot, with lowered head, and did not speak to anyone on the way. According to the most austere tradition, a monk should gather alms without omitting any house but accepting from all impartially, whether rich or poor, believing or unbelieving. Kashyapji had chosen not to follow this procedure. We had accordingly `begged' - the Buddhist monk is not supposed actually to ask for alms, thus differing from his Hindu counterpart - exclusively from Buddhist Newars and such Hindu Biharis and Marwaris as Kashyapji had become acquainted with in the course of the week following our arrival. At first I continued to go for alms in this way, but as the weeks went by I gradually extended the scope of my operations, preferring to take smaller amounts of food from a number of houses rather than larger amounts from only two or three, even though this meant going further afield and, in consequence, spending more time out on my almsround. Such an extension of the scope of my operations would, I hoped, better enable me to act upon the Buddha's advice to the wandering monk and - as the Dhammapada puts it - `gather alms in the village even as the bee, without injuring their colour or scent, collects honey from the flowers.'

For the greater part of the way my almsround lay along the road between the Dharmodaya Vihara and Nepali Building. This road, which was the main road, ran straight through Kalimpong, winding up from the plains of Bengal to join the middle of the saddleback along which the town was spread out and plunging down, a few miles farther on, into the valleys of southern Sikkim. My first halt after leaving the Dharmodaya Vihara was about half way along the high street, at the open-fronted shop of a Marwari cloth merchant. This merchant was extremely kind to me. As soon as I took up my station outside his shop he would appear from the back part of the premises, where the living quarters were situated, with a brass tray piled high with rice, curried vegetables, and crisp, crinkled-up poppadams. Had I allowed him to do so he would have filled my bowl to the brim. At the end of the high street the road divided, the left hand fork winding on up to Nepali Building and beyond, the right hand fork falling steeply into the lower reaches of the bazaar. My way lay along the first of these. On the left, on the way up to Dailo, the pine-covered hill that formed the more northerly hump of the saddleback on which Kalimpong was situated, stood the buildings of the Church of Scotland Mission, the most prominent among them being a church, the square grey tower of which was one of the first things one saw on entering the outskirts of the town. On the right, backing onto the lower bazaar, stood a straggling row of open-fronted wooden shops, none of them more than a single storey high and all rather ramshackle. Indeed, they looked as though they might fall down at any time. Outside three of these shops in turn I halted for a few minutes. The first two, which were situated next door to each other, belonged to two Newar silversmiths, with furnaces and shabby display shelves both occupying the front part of the premises, facing onto the street, while the third shop contained the dispensary of a Bihari homoeopathic doctor. In contrast to the Marwari merchant, who wore a white shirt and dhoti and a bright yellow puggaree, the Bihari doctor wore a white dhoti, a long navy blue waistcoat, and a brown pillbox hat of the Nepalese type. As for the two silversmiths, they and their teenage sons and nephews were dressed in loose-fitting white jodhpurs and double-breasted Nepalese shirts that made them look as though they had just got out of bed, especially as they were all red-eyed from bending over the small charcoal furnaces. At each of the three shops I was received with folded hands and given a few spoonfuls of rice and curried vegetables. Depending on how much food I had already collected, I either went round to the back of the shops, where an old Newar woman lived, or on past Nepali Building to Kodamull Building, a cold, gloomy warren of a tenement block in different parts of which stayed four or five Newar merchants. Sometimes I did not go to either place, but went straight back to the Dharmodaya Vihara. All the way along the road there were, of course, plenty of shops and houses other than the ones at which I had stopped with my bowl, but some of these were occupied by Tibetans and Chinese, and not being sure of getting vegetarian food from them I did not include any of them in my almsround.

Since I went on my almsround with lowered head I did not see much of Kalimpong on such occasions. Apart from the road immediately in front of me, all I saw was legs. Some of the legs were short and thick, of the colour of weak tea, and with enormously developed calf muscles, almost like footballs. These, as I knew, were the legs of Nepalese coolies, dozens of whom could be seen at any hour of the day straining beneath the weight of enormous loads borne on their backs in cone-shaped wicker baskets. Others were black and stick-like, with ends of off-white dhotis flapping above bony knees. Some legs were sheathed in tight-fitting white jodhpurs or were encased in Western-style trousers, while others were decently concealed behind the skirts of black, brown, or blue gowns or heavy maroon robes. Besides human legs there were animal legs. There were the dun-coloured legs of the mules, and they sometimes passed by in such numbers, and raised such clouds of yellow dust, that I was forced to stand at the side of the road until they had passed. Some pairs of legs were going in the same direction as I was, others in the opposite direction. Some moved quickly and briskly, some slowly and saunteringly. For my own part, going and coming, I did my best to maintain the modest, measured gait considered appropriate to the alms-gathering monk.

Returning from my almsround one day, I was accosted near the two silversmiths' shops by a tall, handsome Nepali, apparently a year or two older than myself, smartly dressed in immaculate Western-style clothes. Dropping to his knees directly in front of me, there in the road, he inclined his head in a deep reverence and remained in that position, with eyes closed, for several minutes. On rising to his feet he asked me who I was and where I came from. In accordance with monastic tradition, I did not speak to anyone when I was out alms-gathering, not even to the extent of returning a salutation, but so open and friendly was the young man's manner, and so alive his face with genuine interest and sympathy, that I willingly answered his questions.

Dharmodaya Vihara
I filled several pages in the front part of my notebook with passages from Shantideva's Shiksha-samuccaya, or `Compendium of Instruction', an English translation of which I had found in the wall cupboard in my room. Several pages in the back part of the notebook were filled with haiku.

There were haiku with images of mountain and mist, of snow-peaks flushed with dawn and of blue hillsides gleaming, at eventide, with the orange jewels of village fires. There were haiku with images of cloudless blue sky, and of pink and white roses in bloom.

The Rains
In June the rainy season began. The grey clouds came rolling up from the plains, first of all infiltrating the valley of the Teesta in loose, detached masses, then moving in across the hills in a solid wall of rain that at times blotted out the entire landscape. For days on end Mount Kanchenjunga could not be seen. Instead, even when the sky cleared, there was only thick white cloud piled up against the horizon. Though the rain fell heavily enough at times, the rainy season was much less severe in the hills than in the plains. In between the downpours the sun was hot and bright, and the sky intensely blue, though the thick white cloud hardly ever moved - hardly ever moved aside to reveal the snows of Mount Kanchenjunga sparkling through the rain-washed air. It was my fourth year in India. Already I had learned to love the rainy season. I loved the heavy drumming sound of the rain on the roof. I loved the sense of green things thirstily drinking up the rain and growing as they did so. Above all, I loved the way in which the rain insulated one from the rest of the world, weaving around one a silver-grey cocoon of silence within which one could sit, hour after hour, and quietly muse. No wonder the Buddha had advised his monks not to wander about during the rainy season but to remain in one place, whether in a mountain cave, a woodland shrine, or a shed at the bottom of somebody's garden! No wonder the rainy season had come to be regarded, in the course of centuries, as a time of spiritual retreat - a time of more intensive study of the scriptures and more intensive practice of meditation!

YMBA
Classes were held from four o'clock to six o'clock in the afternoon, and no fees were charged. Most students came to the vihara straight from school or, if they happened to live in the bazaar, after dashing home and gulping down a cup of tea. Initially about forty students attended the different classes each day, but as the weeks went by and examinations, both internal and external, drew ever nearer, numbers rose first from forty to fifty, then from fifty to sixty. With so many students coming for tuition each day we were rather hard pressed for space. In the end Joe took his students in the room he had been given downstairs, while Swale used the big room next to the library where we held our lectures. As for me, I took my students in the corresponding room upstairs which was my bedroom, study, editorial office, dining-room, and reception room. At the close of the two hour session there would be a general stampede to the Recreation Hut. Having devoted themselves to their studies for the greater part of the day, most of the students felt that they could now throw aside their books and enjoy themselves for a while with a clear conscience. Gradually some of them got into the habit of spending, altogether, anything from four to six hours at the vihara every evening. This was not just because they enjoyed playing ping-pong, carrom-board, and draughts, and the other games we provided. It was not just because they enjoyed one another's company. In some cases, it was at least partly due to the fact that, when they went home, it would be to a hut full of younger brothers and sisters, where the only light was that of a paraffin lamp, where there was no quiet corner, and where, more likely than not, a stern father would expect them to sit up studying long after the rest of the family had gone to bed.

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From half-past-three the vihara started filling up with young men. Despite the fact that they already had a day of school or college behind them they were rarely late, and indeed seemed to look forward to their evening tutorial classes. Having left shoes and sandals in the back hall, and having leapt up the stairs two at a time in their bare or stockinged feet, the students of each of my own two classes came crowding into my room with broadly smiling faces, most of them bidding me a cheerful `Good evening, Sir,' as they took their places on the floor in front of me and pulled out their books and notebooks. Sitting on my bed with my back to the window, I took first the Class X or matriculation students for English, then the Intermediate students for English and logic, one class playing ping-pong and carrom-board in the Recreation Hut while the other studied with me. Altogether I had not less than thirty students, the greater number of them being in the lower class. Most of the students were in their late teens. Ethnically, religiously, and linguistically, they were quite a mixed lot, as were the students in the classes taken by Joe and Swale. Features ranged from the definitely Mongoloid (high cheekbones, slant eyes, and hairless faces) to the definitely Aryan (prominent noses and incipient beards and moustaches), while complexions varied from blue-black to pinkish white, and from dark brown to light yellow. Some students were high caste Hindus, others tribal Buddhists. There were locally born Nepalis and Tibetans, as well as Sikkimese from the Protectorate of Sikkim and Indians from the states of Bihar, East Punjab, and Rajputana. Some students had Nepali for their mother tongue, some Tibetan, and some Hindi: several spoke two of these languages, or even three. Among the Hindus (who overlapped with the Nepalis and Indians) there were a dozen different castes, and among the Nepalis (who overlapped with the Hindus and the Buddhists) a dozen different tribes. The typical student, however, tended to be Mongoloid rather than Aryan in appearance, light brown rather than dark brown in complexion, Hindu rather than Buddhist, speaking Nepali as his mother tongue rather than Tibetan or Hindi, and occupying a lower rather than a higher place in the caste system.

Panorama
At this point Burma Raja intervened. Hearing that he had called to see me, I at once went to the front of the vihara, where I found the magnificently beturbaned old man standing stiffly on the veranda, ignoring Aniruddha's clumsy attempts at polite conversation. `I have come to take you back with me,' he announced, tapping the ash from his big Burmese cheroot with his forefinger. `My guest cottage is at your disposal. The taxi is waiting.'

I had met Burma Raja once before, when he came to the vihara with Prince Peter to hear Dr Roerich's lecture, and we had then exchanged a few words. Swale had met him a number of times, and knew him quite well, as did Gopal Babu. In Swale's case, he had got to know Burma Raja mainly on the strength of his fluent Burmese. The old man was naturally delighted to meet someone with whom he could converse in his native tongue - someone who had, moreover, spent much of his life in Burma, and who enjoyed a good Burmese cheroot. As for Gopal Babu, in former days he had been Burma Raja's manager. Even as a boy, in fact, he had run errands and done odd jobs for him. It was from these two people that I had learned what little I knew about the personage who had intervened thus dramatically in my affairs, and who now awaited my response to his generous proposal with a smile of such warmth and understanding. From Swale I had learned that he was the nephew of King Thibaw, the last king of Burma, and that his wife was the second daughter of King Thibaw and the notorious Queen Supayalat, known to history as the Cobra Woman. Had Burma now been a kingdom instead of a republic Burma Raja - as he was popularly known - would in all probability have been king. As things were, however, he remained Prince K.M. Latthakin. From Gopal Babu I had learned that for many years Burma Raja had been a leading figure in the social life of Kalimpong, taking a prominent part in everything that went on, from tennis parties to tiger hunts. In the case of his wife the princess, however, there had been no question of any social life, and hardly anybody ever saw her. Burma Raja was emphatic that until she could appear in society in a manner befitting her position she would not appear in society at all. Since 1947, the year of Independence, there had been no question of either of them appearing in society. The new Indian government having cut their modest allowance by more than half, the old couple were now living in greatly reduced circumstances, and Burma Raja himself led a quiet, semi-retired life. His life was not so quiet as to prevent his seeing his friends, however, nor so retired that he did not know what was going on in the world. Both Swale and Gopal Babu visited him regularly, as I knew, and it must have been from one or the other of them - perhaps from both - that he learned of my predicament. Being as impulsive as he was generous, he came at once to the vihara to place his guest cottage at my disposal.

It did not take me long to make up my mind to accept his offer. Apart from bundles of unsold Stepping-Stones I had very little luggage, and everything was soon stowed away in the back of the taxi which was waiting below at the roadside. While I was packing Burma Raja remained standing on the veranda, sternly ignoring Aniruddha's requests that he should come in and sit down. `He can't be a real monk!' he exclaimed in disgust, when we were seated in the taxi. But I did not want to think about Aniruddha. I was too glad to be leaving him and the Dharmodaya Vihara behind me. Turning right at the T-junction we passed the thana, the post office, the Town Hall, the jail, and then, swinging slowly round bend after bend, drove along the Upper Cart Road, through the Development Area, until we came, after about two miles, to the top of a narrow lane flanked by dense evergreens. Turning right down this lane, we eventually emerged into a small, grass-covered compound on the open hillside. At the rear or hillward end of this compound there stood a red-roofed bungalow of modest dimensions. Beyond, on a slightly lower level, there was another compound, and another bungalow, also red-roofed. Both bungalows faced north-west, and commanded much the same view as the Dharmodaya Vihara. Burma Raja lived in the first bungalow, which was appropriately named `Panorama'. The second bungalow was the guest cottage, and to this he now led me. It consisted of four or five small rooms, the most attractive of which was the front sitting-room, where there hung several oil paintings. In this pleasant retreat I soon made myself at home, monastically speaking. A glassed-in veranda at the back became the Stepping-Stones editorial office. A bedroom was transformed into a shrine and meditation room, the first separate one of my own I had ever had. In this room I placed all the shrine equipment I then possessed - a large Tibetan-style colour print of the Buddha and a miniature stupa or reliquary. At night the bungalow - or guest cottage, as Burma Raja preferred to call it - was strangely quiet. The only sound to be heard was the intermittent tinkle of the tiny wind-bells hanging from the eaves of the little Burmese pavilion outside. Sometimes I could hear the silvery chime through my dreams. Life is sweet, the wind-bells seemed to be saying, but not lasting. It passes away, even as the sound of the wind-bells passes away on the breeze.

The Hermitage
`The Hermitage' was situated at a bend of the road a few hundred yards short of Ninth Mile. I must have passed it more than once, but could not remember having noticed it before. This was not surprising, since it stood well back from the road, and on looking up all one saw against the hillside was a small wooden bungalow that had evidently known better days. It had not always been called `The Hermitage'. What it was originally called I do not know, but it had been built twenty years earlier by an Englishman, probably a missionary or a retired army officer, and had been untenanted for some time. Joe had come to know about it through Karka Bahadur, who had heard about it from his father, who had heard about it from his Hindu Newar mistress and her half-Sikkimese son, to whom it jointly belonged. It had first been offered to Joe himself, but since he did not like the place he had suggested it might do for me and the YMBA. So far as I was concerned, it would more than do. In fact I fell in love with the place as soon as I saw it. Joe therefore discussed the question of rent with Mrs Bishnumaya Pradhan and her son Tashi Tsering, who were so delighted with the idea of their bungalow being occupied by the English Buddhist monk who had recently organized the reception of the Sacred Relics that they declared themselves happy to take only sixty-five rupees a month. They also declared that they intended to rename the bungalow in my honour. In future it would be known as `The Hermitage'.

Like so many other buildings in Kalimpong, the bungalow into which I moved at the beginning of June stood on a narrow ledge that had been cut out of the hillside. In this case the ledge was rather broader than usual and was bounded at each end by a jhora or ravine in which grew clumps of bamboos. `The Hermitage' was situated at one end of the ledge (the one that was nearer the town), while at the other end stood an octagonal summer-house. Between `The Hermitage' and the summer-house, as well as all the way along the front of the property, was an extensive garden - or what had once been a garden - in which grew a variety of fine ornamental trees. There were magnolias and tulip trees, besides camellias and chocolate palms and a number of other trees whose names I did not yet know. There was also an ornamental pond in front of the summer-house, circular in shape, and surrounded by a parapet.

`The Hermitage' itself was a simple frame building with a corrugated iron roof that had once been painted red. What colour the walls had been painted it was difficult to tell, for the paint had peeled off long ago, both inside and outside. Moreover, many of the boards that comprised the exterior walls of the bungalow had warped and shrunk to such an extent that light penetrated through the chinks into the rooms. There were also cracks between the floorboards, through which one could see the bare earth only a few inches below. Despite its semi-derelict condition, however, I was delighted with the place. It seemed to suit our requirements exactly. No sooner had the question of rent been settled, therefore, than the YMBA moved in from Banshi's Godown, and I moved in from Burma Raja's guest cottage.

There were five rooms, three of which opened directly onto the veranda, which was scarcely big enough to accommodate three chairs. In the middle one of these three, which extended from the veranda to the back of the house, we installed our ping-pong table, which filled practically the entire room, leaving only a narrow gap on either side and barely space enough at each end for the players. The front room on the left, which contained a plank bed, a rickety gate-legged table, and a kind of settle, became my bedroom and study, while the corresponding room on the right, which contained a small cabinet which had once been glass-fronted, became our library and reading room. The two smaller rooms at the back were reserved for guests. As for the summer-house at the far end of the garden, which unlike `The Hermitage' was a pukka building, that is to say, constructed of reinforced concrete, this naturally became the shrine room. Here I pinned up my Tibetan colour print of the Buddha, which apart from the miniature stupa was still the only religious object I possessed, and here I performed my devotions each morning and evening and meditated.

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For the last few months of my tenancy I therefore had the place entirely to myself and was able to enjoy its peace and seclusion undisturbed …

I soon settled down in my former room on the left of the games room, which was bigger and brighter than the corresponding room on the right, besides being farther away from the smoke of the kitchen. From the curtainless front and side windows of this room I could see a portion of the road below, as well as the foothills of Sikkim towering in the distance, and sitting at the rickety gate-legged table I would sometimes look up from my work to study the passers-by. This was especially the case when it happened to be raining heavily and I had no visitors, and when in any case I was in a reflective mood. Apart from the loudly chattering boys and girls on their way to - and from - school, most of the people who passed the bottom of the track leading up to my front gate (actually there was no gate but only two mildewed posts) were peasants and coolies bound for the bazaar, and many of these - women and bare-legged men alike - carried on their backs the traditional cone-shaped bamboo basket. On Wednesdays and Saturdays, which were market-days in Kalimpong, they would pass by earlier than usual, and in greater numbers, and their baskets would be heavily laden with charcoal, vegetables, and grain. Some of them would have chickens dangling head downwards from their wrists, legs tied together and wings feebly flapping, while others would be driving before them two or three protesting goats or even a whole herd of buffaloes. Whatever it was that they were taking to market, I knew that they were taking it with the intention of selling it for the best price they could get and with the proceeds buying such things as paraffin, cooking oil, and matches, which they could not produce themselves. (Clothes were of course bought only once a year, at the time of the autumn pujas.) I also knew that regardless of what price they succeeded in getting, some of them were sure to end up spending a good part of the money in the liquor shops with the result that the next time they passed by, on their way home, they would be shouting incoherently and staggering from one side of the road to the other.

But even though most of the people who passed by the bottom of the track that led up to my front gate were peasants and coolies, this did not mean that those who did not fall into this category were not sufficiently varied in type. On looking up from my work I might see a Tibetan official in dark-coloured chuba and homburg out for a morning stroll - though most Tibetans lived at Tenth Mile, and were rarely seen in the vicinity of Eighth Mile or Ninth Mile. Or I might see a well-to-do Sikkimese nurseryman from Seventh Mile hastening to the bank, or a Muslim roti-wallah or bread man on his rounds staff in hand and tin box balanced on turbaned head, or a white-shirted Bihari barber making his way to the house of a regular customer. Or I might even see a priest from the Roman Catholic Mission, or a pair of nuns. The priest would be wearing a white tropical soutane, and would generally have his nose in his breviary, while the nuns, whose habits were either black or blue in colour, would keep their heads well down and hurry past `The Hermitage' as though conscious that the place contained something - or someone - inimical to their faith.

When tired of sitting at the rickety table I sometimes walked up and down the path that ran between `The Hermitage' and the octagonal shrine room, as I had often done when living in the chalet. This path divided the garden into two unequal parts, in the more extensive of which - the one that lay farther back from the road - stood the majority of the ornamental trees that had been planted by the original owner of the property. With the exception of the forty-foot eucalyptus standing immediately opposite the front door of `The Hermitage', the biggest of these trees were the magnolia and the tulip tree, both of which were now perfect specimens of their kind, as were most of the smaller trees by which they were surrounded. Since not all the trees bloomed at the same time of year, there was always a gleam of colour to be seen among the branches apart from the glossy green of the leaves. At one time it might be the cream colour of the enormous, globe-shaped magnolia blossoms, at another the mingled pink and white of the tulip tree's upward-pointing blossoms, conspicuous on their leafless branches, at yet another the deep red of the camellias or velvety-white of the gardenias. As well as the blooms of the ornamental trees there were those of the bamboo orchids and ginger lilies which grew in clumps at the foot of the bank to the rear of the garden. Though the former were partly pink and partly cerise, while the latter were wholly white, both looked more like butterflies than flowers and one half expected them to fly away. Yet whether the gleams of colour among the branches were many or few, as I slowly walked up and down the path, which sometimes was bordered with shocking pink zinnias and bright orange marigolds, I nearly always experienced a deep sense of peace and harmony, of fulfilment and well-being. It was as though the trees were my silent companions - companions who could share my thoughts and feelings, and from whose tranquil presence I derived nourishment and inspiration. Indeed, as I walked up and down in their leafy neighbourhood sentences of articles and stanzas of poems would come unbidden into my mind, as well as feelings and insights for which I as yet had no words. When that happened I would experience an intense joy, the flowers above my head and at my feet would shine with an unearthly radiance, and to me it would seem that the garden of `The Hermitage' was a veritable Garden of Eden.

Spooky Kalimpong
I can cite an experience of my own in this connection where invoking the name of Avalokitesvara certainly helped; but it wasn't any such occasion as being shipwrecked or devoured by wild beasts or executed or anything of that sort. But it goes back to Kalimpong. I have related the story before; some of you may have heard it. Someone came to stay with me in Kalimpong - it must have been 1953 or 1954 - and he was very (...) He was of a well-known family, he must have been to public school. And he was about 24, 25, quite good-looking, quite well-dressed, well-spoken, the perfect young English gentleman. But it transpired, in the course of conversation that he was up to his eyebrows in black magic. You can't trust these public schoolboys! (Laughter) And he told me all sorts of hair-raising things about black magic going on - the main centres were London, Paris and Brighton (Laughter). He really told me some dreadful things about deaths being brought about by black magic and contests between black magicians, and all that sort of thing. It was really quite horrific, quite hair-raising.

Anyway, he was going on talking and talking about these things, and we were eventually left alone together, and he started talking about this subject. There was nobody else staying with me at that time, he was just staying for a few days, and my cook at that time lived outside. So after serving us with our meal, the cook left and we were left talking about black magic; and it was getting later and later, and darker and darker, and he was telling me more and more horrific things. My hair wasn't standing on end because I had didn't have any! (Laughter), but I started to get a rather uneasy feeling. I wasn't reassured when looking at him I saw that in the pupils of his eyes there appeared a little green flame, a little bright green flame in each eye. I thought, 'That's odd!' (Laughter) It was vivid green, emerald green, like two little green lamps, right in the centre. So as we talked, the little green flame got bigger and got brighter. I thought, 'That's very odd, it must be the reflection of something in his eyes.' I just glanced around the room: but no, it couldn't have been a reflection. To cut a long story short, this green flame got bigger just like the flame of a lamp that you turned up - bigger, brighter; big, green flames, and eventually they engulfed the whole room. So I thought, 'Something is going on.' (Laughter) I had heard - I think I must have read it in the Saddharma Pundarika Sutra, I'd read it by that time... 'There's something going on here' I thought, so I'd better do something about it.' So I just repeated 'OM MANI PADME HUM' to myself once - and the green flames vanished. And so it worked, you see.So there are certain circumstances, one might say, under which, yes, it works, apparently, where another human mind is involved which can be influenced, but I really doubt whether the invocation of the name of Avalokiteshvara would influence in the same way inanimate things, rocks and stones and trees - well, not trees - ships and so on, I'm really doubtful; even animals I'm quite doubtful about.

Jamyang Khyentse Rinpoche and Vajrasattva
The chanting of the Vajrasattva mantra could be performed at intervals throughout the day. But why the hundred syllable mantra of Vajrasattva? Why not the mantra of Tara, or Manjushri, or Vajrapani, or Padmasambhava? The answer is quite simple. Vajrasattva is connected with death. The manner in which I first discovered this takes me back to 1958 or ‘59, when I was living in Kalimpong.

On one occasion I went up to Gangtok, the capital of Sikkim, to see Jamyang Khyentse Rimpoche, who was one of my Tibetan teachers. He was staying at the Palace Temple, on the outskirts of Gangtok. Upon arriving I was ushered into an antechamber and asked to wait for about half an hour. When I was ushered into his presence he received me, as always, in a very kindly and fatherly sort of way, and apologised for having kept me waiting--adding, by way of explanation, that he had been performing the Vajrasattva puja and recitation of the Vajrasattva mantra on behalf of a lama friend who had just died. As he talked a little more about this, I came to understand that Vajrasattva was connected with death.

A few years later, in the winter of 1966-67, I had a rather strange experience in this connection. I was back in Kalimpong, having spent two years in the West. By now I had decided to settle in England, and was in Kalimpong on a farewell visit, staying at my Triyana Vardhana Vihara.

One night I woke up at about two o’clock in the morning. I really did wake up--this was not a dream or a vision. Everything was bright as if I was in daylight. I sat up on my bed and, looking down towards the side of my bed, I saw a great pit in the floor that certainly had not been there the previous evening. I looked down into the pit. Standing there was an old friend--one who had been dead for several years.

The pit must have been just over six feet deep because he was about six feet tall and was completely contained in the pit. For some minutes I just looked. I knew that he was dead, of course. I also knew that something was wrong and that something had to be done. But what? That was when I thought of Jamyang Khyentse Rimpoche and what he had told me about the Vajrasattva Mantra.

Sitting up on my bed, I started repeating the Vajrasattva mantra. As I did so, the words of the mantra--in Tibetan characters--came out of my mouth. They came out of my mouth and formed a sort of garland, or chain, which went right down into the pit and then looped back up again--just within reach of the person in the pit. My friend caught hold of this garland, and so pulled himself out of the pit. He then disappeared.

At that moment I suddenly heard horns being blown just outside. Only then did I remember that it was the night of the new moon and that the Jogis were abroad. The Jogis are a particular caste or sect of the Nepalese, a very strange people. A hereditary duty has been imposed upon them to go around at certain times of the year, on the night of the new moon, to collect the souls of the dead. The Nepalese people keep away from them. Dogs keep away from them too--even the fiercest dog will not touch them. In the morning they come to the houses that they have been clearing of spirits, and you are supposed to give them a little raw rice and some money. Most Nepalese people are so afraid they just throw the money and rice to them from a distance and retreat as quickly as they can.

Since that experience I have had a certain amount of faith in the Vajrasattva mantra in this connection. Vajrasattva is associated not only with death, but with `hell’--not hell in the Christian sense, of course, but in the sense of lower states of temporary suffering. And Vajrasattva is perhaps associated with hell because he is associated with death, at least so far as `ordinary’ people are concerned, people--that is to say--who have not attained Stream Entry.

I happened to be in Kalimpong on my sort of farewell journey, when I'd been in the West for 2 years and I'd decided to stay on in the West, went back to India, to Kalimpong to say goodbye to my friends. So I was staying at my vihara and some years previously I'd had a western disciple who was blind, a rather awful person. Anyway he'd been dead several years, and what happened was this: in the middle of the night I woke up, it was pitch dark, but I could see, I could see quite clearly. And by the side of my bed there was a deep pit, well literally a pit as if someone had dug it. So I looked down and there was this old disciple of mine, he was standing in this pit with his head just level with the edge. And he was standing there like that, very sad and very sorrowful. So it had occurred to me that he must be in a not very happy state, and I wasn't surprised knowing what he'd been like and how wilful he'd been. So I wondered what could I do, I should help him or try to help him in some way. Then I remembered JK and I remembered that he had recited the Vajrasattva mantra for this dead lama. So I started reciting the Vajrasattva mantra, and as saw the letters of the mantra come out of my mouth. And the letters of the mantra, and there are 100 of these letters - it's called the 100 syllable mantra - went down into the pit like a sort of chain, like a garland or like a mala, and were sort of circling like this and this disciple seized hold of me, like you see on a rope, and hauled himself up out of the pit. I saw this just as clearly as I see you all sitting here, and when he hauled himself out of the pit, everything vanished and it was pitch dark. And I heard the sound of a rams horn in the distance, and a rams horn was being blown by the jogi. Now what was the jogis? The jogis are a caste in Nepal who are sent out at certain times of the year by the king, the king sends them a special instruction, they go around the whole Himalayan area gathering the souls of the dead and people are very afraid of them. And the dogs are very afraid, even the fiercest dog won't go near the jotis. And just as darkness fell again, pitch darkness, I heard the sound of the jogi. I looked at my clock, it was 2 o'clock in the morning. The following morning of course a jogi came round with ??? and rice?? and ??? They are not poor, they don't do it for money, it's just the custom. And they're very very strange people. People don't like to talk to them, but I used to talk with the jogis and ask them about their work and all that sort of thing, I was quite interested. But anyway - I'm not going into all that - my servant, and disciples were very very afraid, they wouldn't go near the jogi, they'd run away. I'd say 'come out, bring out some rice and money for the jogi', they'd bring it and put it down and run away. I used to ask a jogi to sit down and I'd start talking with him, because I could speak Nepali. We used to have a bit of a chat. The jogis looked very strange, almost haunting not surprisingly. They had a little bag over their shoulder; some people believed that the souls of the dead were in that little bag. They came on the night of the new moon when it was very dark. But anyway, that's just by the way, that's just to illustrate my contact with Jamyang Khyentse, the use - the efficacy even - of the Vajrasattva mantra. And this is one of the reasons why in the FWBO we always receive the Vajrasattva mantra in connection with after-death ceremonies.

Bhante’s Tibetan disciple Sherab Ngawang (Prajnaloka)
“he'd been a monk in Tibet. He'd given it up, he'd traveled widely, he'd been married, he'd had all sorts of adventures, and then in his relative old age he decided he wanted to become a monk again, but he didn't want to become a Tibetan monk. And for some reason or other, he'd made up his mind that he wanted to be ordained be me and be my disciple, so I ordained him eventually, with some reluctance, after trying to persuade him to be ordained by Dhardo Rinpoche, I ordained him as a sramanera, and he remained a sramanera for many years. He was quite a character, nearly 20 years older than myself, but still a disciple. And I used to use him as an interpreter quite a lot, his English was good. Seminar.

The Sacred Relics
Since the procession was more than half a mile long, and since the road into the town was not only very steep but twisted round the hillside in a series of sharp bends, I could see large sections of it at a time. Right in front of the procession moved the tiny figure of the Long-Lived Deva, very upright and walking with a kind of military strut. Behind him, walking in single file, came a long line of red-robed Tibetan monks, about fifty in number, and mostly from the Tharpa Choling Gompa. Some of the monks carried musical instruments, while about a dozen others bore aloft the multi-coloured, many-flounced `banners of victory', which had been spaced out in such a way as to produce the maximum effect. Immediately behind the monks, and in front of our own jeep, came the palanquin containing the Sacred Relics. This was bright yellow in colour, and shaped like a Chinese-style pavilion, with curved roof and curled-up eaves, and it was borne on the shoulders of eight stalwart Tibetans, who were relieved, at intervals, by eight other stalwart Tibetans, so that the merit of carrying the Sacred Relics could be shared by as many people as possible. Behind us followed the vehicles that had accompanied the Sacred Relics from Gangtok, which were in turn followed by an ever-growing number of local people. The whole procession moved to the slow, heavy beat of an enormous Tibetan drum, while the almost continuous sound of the shrill, harsh geylings was punctuated from time to time by the prolonged roar of the twelve-foot trumpets, the echoes of which reverberated from the hillside.

After we had gone about a mile I saw ahead, on the right hand side of the road, the sheltered spot that Tibetan mule-drivers sometimes used as a camping ground. Beyond this, I knew, was the Dharmodaya Vihara. But there was no sign of any trouble. Indeed, as we passed the vihara the light `auspicious shower' that had started when the Sacred Relics arrived from Gangtok suddenly stopped, the sun came out, and the dazzling white peaks of Mount Kanchenjunga were revealed looking down on the scene. As the procession turned left into the High Street - the Long-Lived Deva still marching ahead, and the geylings and twelve-foot trumpets making a tremendous racket - we found ourselves moving between the densely packed ranks of the cheerful and excited people that lined it on either side. Smiling faces looked down from the windows and balconies of the two- and three-storeyed buildings. On the steps in front of many of the shops stood braziers, from which the smoke of burning juniper-twigs drifted across the street in dense white clouds. Chuba-clad figures prostrated themselves in the path of the procession, while others, detaching themselves from the crowd, darted between the legs of the eight stalwart Tibetans and passed underneath the palanquin to the other side - thus obtaining, as they believed, the blessing of the Sacred Relics, or at least good luck. By the time the procession had debouched from the High Street into the more open road that led to Tenth Mile the crowd had thinned out considerably, and I could see the figure of Thubden Tendzin walking incense-stick in hand beside the palanquin, the black chuba that he had donned for the occasion contrasting strangely with the intense pallor of his face. On their arrival at the Tharpa Choling Gompa the Sacred Relics were received by the abbot and, no doubt, by Rani Dorji. I had noticed that as we drew near to Tirpai the monks carrying the twelve-foot trumpets detached themselves from the procession and rushed on ahead. As we entered the gompa there they were, inside the gate, blowing for all they were worth on their prodigious instruments, the mouthpieces of which rested on the shoulders of red-robed novices.

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The Himalayas
I was deeply affected by my surroundings. They stimulated and inspired me, and without that inspiration I probably would not have written `Advice to a Young Poet' at all, at least not in the same enthusiastic manner. I was inspired by the bamboos and the orchids, by the haze-softened foothills, gashed red here and there by the landslides, by the changing cloud formations, by the breadth and blueness of the sky. Above all I was inspired by the snows.

The snows were not visible from `The Hermitage', but as one walked up the road, in the direction of the bazaar, they gradually hove in sight. By the time one reached the Dharmodaya Vihara, which was situated half a mile from `The Hermitage', there was the dazzling white mass of Kanchenjunga, with its twin peaks, piled up on the horizon at an unbelievable height. For the best view of the snows one had to climb up to Dailo, the skull-shaped hill beyond Dr Graham's Homes, and one day, with three companions, Sachin and I did just that. The three companions were Jungi, Dawa, and Omiya, the cheerful Bengali proprietor of a small watch-repair business in Darjeeling with whom Sachin had become acquainted and who was now spending a few days with him. As agreed the night before, we met at Sachin's house after breakfast and from there set out. The climb was a stiff one, especially towards the end, and it was not until nearly midday that, having emerged from the pine forest, we found ourselves on the bare top of Dailo Hill. The sun was shining brilliantly. Below us was the River Ranjit, winding through silver sands towards the plains, while around us, and stretching away into the distance, rose innumerable hills, all covered in soft blue haze. Aloft on the horizon, and extending in an unbroken line from farthest east to farthest west, were the snow peaks of the eastern Himalayas. There must have been hundreds of them. Except for Kanchenjunga and Lama Yuru, a pyramidal mountain so called from its resemblance to a meditating monk, I did not know their names. Nor did I care to know them. For me it was enough to sit there in that intense stillness, five thousand feet above sea level, simply contemplating those silent white forms. Contemplating them in this way - taking darshan, as my Indian friends would have said - I could begin to understand why the Himalayas had such a hold on the imagination of the people of the sub-continent and why they occupied so prominent a place in the religious and cultural life of Hindus, Buddhists, and Jains alike. I could understand why Kalidasa, in an oft-quoted phrase, had described the Himalayas as `the congealed laughter of Shiva', and why the author of the Skanda Purana had gone so far as to personify the Himalaya or Himachala, in the singular, and extol him as a deity, saying:

He who thinks of Himachala, even though he should not behold Him, is greater than he who performs worship at Kashi. And he who contemplates upon Himachala shall have pardon of all sins. All things that die on Himachala, and in dying think of His snows, are freed from evil. In a hundred years of the gods I could not tell you of the glories of Himachala, where Shiva lives and where the Ganga falls from the feet of Vishnu like the slender thread of the lotus flower. Truly, as the dew is dried by the Sun so are the sorrows of mankind dried up by the sight of Himachala.

I had contemplated Himachala, and though I did not feel that my sins had been pardoned I could well believe that my sorrows had dried up, at least for the time being. Sachin and the others, however, were growing restless. After a picnic lunch we had lain in the sun for a while, steeping ourselves in the silence and solitude, but now they were moving about and talking. It was time for us to depart. Having commemorated our visit with a poem, which we traced out on the ground in charcoal, we therefore started making our way downhill.

Khachu Rinpoche and Padmasambhava
The discovery in question took place in Kalimpong, shortly after I had received the abhishekha of the Greatly Precious Guru, Padmasambhava, from Khachu Rimpoche, a leading disciple of Jamyang Khyentse Rimpoche. I received the abhishekha on 21 October 1962. The following morning I went into town and on my way through the bazaar happened to see a Tibetan monk squatting at the roadside. In his lap was a small bundle of rather grubby xylograph texts that he was offering for sale. Since the monk was obviously in need of money, and since the texts were very cheap (so cheap that even I could afford to buy them), I at once bought them and returned with them to the Vihara, where I showed them to Khachu Rimpoche. His response was one of surprise and delight. They were Nyingmapa texts, he exclaimed joyfully, as he thumbed his way through them. Most of them had to do with the Greatly Precious Guru, and the fact that I had come across them so soon after receiving the abhishekha, and in such a totally unexpected manner, was extremely auspicious. It showed that I had a special connection with the Greatly Precious Guru, and with the Nyingmapa tradition, and that my efforts to realize the import of the teachings which the abhishekha had empowered me to practise would prove successful. Whether or not Khachu Rimpoche's `reading of the signs' was correct is not for me to say. In any case, what I am concerned with at this juncture is the fact that among the texts I had bought, and which Khachu Rimpoche had greeted with such enthusiasm, was one entitled Tharpe Delam or `The Easy Path to Emancipation'. This little work dealt with the general and special preliminaries to the practice of Ati Yoga, the highest teaching of the Nyingmapas, and the main general preliminaries consisted of the four mula or `foundation' yogas, in the first of which Khachu Rimpoche had already given me some instruction.

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I remember about ten years ago or maybe a little less, in Kalimpong, up in the Himalayas, I was entertaining to lunch an American couple - he afterwards wrote a book about his experiences called The Razor's Edge - and a Tibetan lama, rather a distinguished one - he was the head of the Pemayangtse monastery in Sikkim, and he was a friend of mine, a man of about forty-five who had arrived in the area fairly recently. So in the course of the lunch - and it's rather interesting that the lama himself didn't understand any English - in the course of the lunch the American said rather sceptically, and with rather a knowing sort of smile, said to the lama through the translator, `I suppose you haven't heard of anyone who can levitate?' So the lama said rather modestly `Yes. In fact, I do a little myself.' So the two Americans nearly fell off their chairs. They said, 'You can do it yourself?' He said 'Yes. I don't think I could do it right now, but if I'm alone in the jungle, in a secluded monastery, if I spend about six months there meditating, I can do this at the end of that period.'

Dhardo Rinpoche and Guhyasamaja
Though Lobsang was writing the article, in a sense he was not its author, as the material for it was being supplied by Dhardo Rimpoche, for whose knowledge of the Dharma he had the highest regard and with whom he was in regular contact. The Rimpoche was aware, of course, that I was helping Lobsang and aware, therefore, that material supplied to the young Tibetan aristocrat was also material supplied, indirectly, to me, and that I would need to understand it thoroughly if I was to give the article an adequate revision. Sometimes Dhardo Rimpoche seemed to be communicating to me, through Lobsang, material not intended for the article or indeed for publication at all. Thus for four or five afternoons in succession, apparently at the Rimpoche's behest, Lobsang gave me a detailed account of the meditational practices of the Guhyasamaja Tantra. So complex were these practices that as soon as he was gone I wrote down what I remembered of them, in this way accumulating quite a sheaf of notes on a highly esoteric subject. It was curious, I reflected. Ever since my first encounter with it, some years earlier, in an article written by a Bengali Indologist, the mere name of the Guhyasamaja Tantra had possessed a strange resonance for me. In Nepal a lay Tantric yogin had told me that together with the Prajnaparamita `in 8,000 lines' and the Bodhicharyavatara it was one of the three foundational texts of Nepalese (Newar) Buddhism. With the Prajnaparamita or `Perfection of Wisdom' literature and the Bodhicharyavatara or `Entry into the Life of Enlightenment' of Shantideva I was already familiar. Indeed, I prized them highly. Was there, then, a hidden spiritual connection between these two texts and the Guhyasamaja, and why had Dhardo Rimpoche chosen to reveal to me some of the secrets of Tantric Buddhist meditation?

When I was in the midst of writing the Survey a Tibetan friend asked me to help him with the English of an article on `Buddhism in Tibet' that he had agreed to write for an American publication. The friend was Lobsang Phuntsok Lhalungpa, an official of the Tibetan government who had grown up in Lhasa and now lived in Kalimpong, and the publication was The Path of the Buddha, a book aiming to present Buddhism `from the Buddhist point of view'. Helping Lobsang with the English of his article actually involved the complete re-writing of some three-hundred foolscap pages of manuscript, my friend's command of the `tongue/That Shakespeare spake' being then quite rudimentary. Though the work was onerous, and could hardly have come at a more inconvenient time, I did it willingly, the more especially when I discovered that in writing his article Lobsang Phuntsok was drawing not so much on his own knowledge of Tibetan Buddhism as on the knowledge of an eminent Incarnate Lama who afterwards became one of my most revered teachers. This was Dhardo Rimpoche, the Greatly Precious One of Dharsendo. For a period of several months, therefore, I not only carried on writing the Survey but wrestled with Lobsang Phuntsok's grammar and syntax, not to mention his spelling and handwriting. Sometimes what he had written was so confused as to be unintelligible. When that was the case I was obliged to call on him for verbal explanations of what he was trying to say, and these explanations often led to our becoming involved in prolonged doctrinal discussion. Such discussion did not always succeed in making his account of Shunyata, or of the Trikaya doctrine, seem any the less confused, with the result that he had to refer back to Dhardo Rimpoche, the original source of his material, for further clarification. Having done this, he could be sure that whatever explanations he now gave me were correct and I, for my part, could be sure that in re-writing his pages in accordance with them I was not misinterpreting Tibetan Buddhism. All this naturally took time, but eventually the work was done and the article despatched to the United States where, after being edited and drastically shortened, it appeared as Chapter Six of The Path of the Buddha in 1957. As so often happens, a benefit conferred turned out to be a benefit received. As a result of re-writing Lobsang Phuntsok Lhalungpa's article, and especially as a result of the prolonged doctrinal discussion to which this frequently led, in the space of three or four months I received from him and, through him, from Dhardo Rimpoche, a comprehensive grounding in the history, the schools, the doctrines, and the practices of Tibetan Buddhism - a grounding that often went far beyond the topics actually dealt with in the article. At a time when reliable books on Tibetan Buddhism could be counted on the fingers of one hand the experience was of immense value to me, and laying down my pen after re-writing the last sentence of Lobsang's manuscript I felt as though I had been given an intensive course in the subject.
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It reminds me of a little story, as it were a little illustration sometimes given by the great modern Indian teacher Ramakrishna. He says you catch a parrot and you teach the parrot to recite the name of God. This is what they sometimes do in India and not only Hindus but Buddhists do this sort of thing. I remember Dhardo Rimpoche, my old friend in Kalimpong, had a very curious collection of birds and cats and dogs and one of his birds a mynah he had taught to recite om mani padme hum and believe it or not this was bird hung up in a cage on the verandah and as you went up the stairs to see the Rimpoche the bird would sing out om mani padme hum just like that and you would look around at first thinking it was a human being but it was this bird. And if the Rimpoche wanted to show the birds tricks to a visitor he would just go up and give it a little piece of fruit and he would say mynah om mani padme hum and at once the mynah would say om mani padme hum clearly as the Rimpoche.

Chattrul Rimpoche and the Tri Yana Vardhana Vihara
In the course of his visit Chattrul Rimpoche elicited from me the information that Everton Villa was only a rented property, that our lease would expire in September, that it would be difficult for us to find an equally suitable property that was to let, and that although my real aim was to establish a permanent monastic centre in Kalimpong there seemed at present little likelihood of my being able to do so. The centre, I explained, would be dedicated to the study, practice, and dissemination of the total Buddhist tradition, for I had long been convinced that, in the noble words of Dr Edward Conze, `the doctrine of the Buddha, conceived in its full breadth, width, majesty and grandeur, comprises all those teachings which are linked to the original teaching by historical continuity, and which work out methods leading to the extinction of [ego-]individuality by eliminating the belief in it.' The Rimpoche's response to this information was as categorical as it was unexpected. There was no doubt that I would establish a permanent monastic centre in Kalimpong, he assured me. In fact I would establish it quite soon, and I should call it `The Vihara Where the Three Yanas Flourish (or Blossom)'. Having given the as yet non-existent monastery its name in what I afterwards described as a mood of high spiritual inspiration, Chattrul Rimpoche addressed to me the Tibetan original of the following stanzas:

In the sky devoid of limits, the teaching of the Muni is
The sun, spreading the thousand rays of the three sikshas
[i.e. morality, meditation, and wisdom];
Continually shining in the radiance of the impartial disciples,
May this Jambudvipa region of the Triyana be fair!

In accordance with his request, [made] in the Fire-Monkey Year
On the ninth day of the first month by the Maha Sthavira Sangharakshita,
This was written by the Shakya-upasaka, the Vidyadhara
Bodhivajra: [may there be] happiness and blessings!

The fact that Chattrul Rimpoche had named my future monastery of his own accord greatly impressed my Tibetan friends, especially those of the Nyingma persuasion. According to Kachu Rimpoche, who came to see me shortly afterwards, it was exceptionally auspicious, as whatever Rimpoche Chattrul Sangye Dorje named was sure to prosper. I was pleased to hear this, but before the Triyana Vardhana Vihara - as I had decided the place should be called in Sanskrit - could prosper it had to come into existence, and as yet there was no sign of this happening. It was not that I doubted the reliability of the Rimpoche's prediction, but `quite soon' was a relative term and could as well mean next year as this year, or even the year after next.

In the event, my dream of a permanent monastic centre was transformed into a reality much sooner than I had dared hope. The turning point in its fortunes came less than six weeks after Chattrul Rimpoche's visit, when I was in Calcutta, having flown to the City of Dreadful Heat (as it now was) from Cooch Behar after a short lecture tour in the Doors, an important tea-growing area near the Bhutan-Assam border where there were many thousands of Nepalese Buddhists. In Calcutta I saw the Vaishakha number of the Maha Bodhi Journal through the press, gave weekly lectures in the hall of the Sri Dharmarajika Vihara, and spent time with friends like Soratha and Sachin. One day I received a batch of redirected mail from Kalimpong. Among the letters there was a rather disturbing communication from the landlord of Everton Villa. Though our lease did not expire till September, he wrote requiring us to move out by 15 May, as the property had been bought by a Tibetan who insisted on immediate occupation as one of the conditions of the sale. It looked as if the Maha Bodhi Society's Kalimpong branch would soon be homeless. The next letter I opened was from Marco Pallis, and in it my old friend promised very substantial assistance towards the realization of my plans. Having been buffeted one minute by the `worldly wind' of loss, I was being assailed the next by that of gain, and it was not easy for me to contain my feelings of joy, thankfulness, and relief. We would not be homeless, after all, and I would be able to establish my permanent monastic centre! The plans to which Marco Pallis referred were, of course, the ones I had already outlined to Chattrul Rimpoche and which had prompted him not only to give the monastery its name but to predict its establishment `quite soon'. Earlier in the year I had written to four or five people asking for their help in acquiring a place of our own in Kalimpong, as owing to the influx of Tibetans, who were buying up properties right and left, it would be impossible for me to find another suitable place when the lease on Everton Villa expired. So far the only response to my appeal had come from Dinoo, who had promised a thousand rupees. On the strength of Marco Pallis's promise of very substantial assistance (he did not mention the actual figure) I was in a position to start looking for a property and entering, perhaps, into preliminary negotiations.

There were three properties which I knew to be for sale and which were, severally, suitable for conversion into a small monastic centre, besides being of a price that might be within my reach. Two of the properties were situated down at Seventh Mile, not far from the Tamang village, the other at Chebo Busti, on the Lower Bridle Road, a mile or so beyond Chitrabhanu and Manjula. On my return to Kalimpong on 21 April, after spending exactly a month in Calcutta, I viewed each one of these in turn. It did not take me long to make up my mind. The Chebo Busti property was far and away the most suitable, and the most attractive, comprising as it did a stone cottage, sheltered on the north and south by magnificent Kashmir cypresses, and four acres of terraced hillside land. The cottage, which was perched on a rocky spur high above Fifth Mile, faced due west and commanded a panoramic view of the foothills of both the Darjeeling and Sikkim sides of the River Rangit.

Lama Govinda
Lama Govinda was at that time a little over fifty. In appearance he was of medium height, and his very slight corpulence was virtually concealed by the brown chuba that fell in loose folds to his feet, on which he wore Indian-style sandals. The chuba was made not of the usual heavy woollen cloth but of some light material more suited to the Indian climate. Over one shoulder he wore an embroidered bag of the type carried by South-East Asian Buddhist monks, while round his neck there hung a Tibetan rosary with the usual attachments. His costume was completed by a kind of stole which he wore over the rosary and which hung down on either side almost to the hem of his chuba. Being a married lama he was not shaven-headed, and his light brown hair was brushed straight back from a forehead of unusual loftiness and intellectuality. His forehead was, in fact, the dominating feature of his face, contrasting strongly with his rather full lips and weak, receding chin. In manner he was mild and conciliatory in the extreme and, as I soon discovered, courteous almost to the point of ceremoniousness, with an air of distinction as though he had always moved in good society. Only the subtlety of the smile that played about his lips, and the keenness of the glance that occasionally shot from his deep-set eyes, gave one any indication of the extent of the life - and the fire - that lurked within. Li Gotami was about twenty years younger than Lama Govinda, as well as shorter and plumper. Apart from the fact that her chuba was sleeveless (she wore a long-sleeved blouse underneath), she was clad in much the same hybrid but artistic costume as her distinguished husband. Though her dark hair was bobbed in Western style, she had the creamy complexion, the prominent nose, and the large black eyes that, at a later date, I came to recognize as typical of the Parsi stock from which she sprang. Besides being extremely vivacious, she was sociable and talkative, and possessed a clear, ringing laugh that was very infectious.

When one has looked forward to meeting two people as much as I had been looking forward to meeting Lama Govinda and Li Gotami - and as they, apparently, had been looking forward to meeting me - there is always the possibility of mutual disappointment. In the event, this was far from being the case. Within half an hour of their arrival at `The Hermitage' a definite rapport had been established between us and we were talking as freely as though we had known each other for years. As might have been expected, I felt a greater rapport with Lama Govinda than I did with Li Gotami, who in any case had only a fraction of the wisdom and insight that was manifest in almost every word that Lama Govinda spoke. Nevertheless, I appreciated Li Gotami for her liveliness and intelligence, as well as for her delightful outspokenness, which at times bordered on the outrageous. Though her religious affiliations were by no means exclusively Buddhist, she knew enough about Buddhism to be able to take a serious interest in the subject and there was, therefore, no question of her being excluded from the lengthy discussions in which Lama Govinda and I soon became involved.

What these discussions were about it would be difficult to say. It was as though in the course of the five days that my two guests spent with me in Kalimpong, as well as the seven days that I spent with them in Ghoom immediately afterwards, Lama Govinda and I ranged over practically the whole field of Buddhist thought and practice. On whatever topic we happened to touch, we found ourselves in agreement to an extent that would have been surprising had we not been familiar with each other's writings and had we not already exchanged ideas in a number of letters. Indeed, as the cloudless autumn days went by, my feeling that we were kindred spirits received more abundant confirmation than I had dared to hope, and I was left in no doubt whatever that despite the fact that he was a married lama and I was a celibate monk I had more in common with Lama Govinda than with any other Buddhist I had ever met.

One of the most important topics on which we touched, and in fact touched more than once, was that of the relation between Buddhism and the spiritual life, on the one hand, and literature and the fine arts, on the other. Besides being a Buddhist by conviction, Lama Govinda was himself an artist and poet of no small repute. He had held exhibitions of his paintings in a number of major Indian cities, and had brought out two small volumes of poetry in his native German. For my part, I had written poetry since the age of eleven or twelve, and was even now thinking of putting together some of my more recent poems for publication in book form. A few of these poems had already appeared in the pages of the Illustrated Weekly of India, which had financed Lama Govinda's expedition to Tsaparang in Western Tibet and afterwards serialized Li Gotami's account of their experiences, and from the nature of these poems he was well aware that I was no more indifferent to the claims of Beauty than I was to those of Truth or Goodness.

The fact that Lama Govinda and I cultivated literature and the fine arts did not, however, mean that he painted pictures or that I wrote poems in addition to doing such specifically Buddhist things as observing the precepts, meditating, studying the Dharma, and giving lectures. For him as for me the painting of pictures and the writing of poems was an integral part of the spiritual life itself. The relation between Buddhism and the spiritual life, on the one hand, and literature and the fine arts, on the other, was not, therefore, one that was merely external, as between different material objects. On the contrary, there was a deep inner connection between them. For this reason there could be no question of the cultivation of literature and the fine arts being inconsistent with the practice of Buddhism and the living of the spiritual life, as I had for a time supposed (or had been led to suppose), much less still of the one being actually inimical to the other. Thanks largely to his intimate acquaintance with Tibetan Buddhist art in all its forms, Lama Govinda's understanding of this important truth was at that time much clearer and more explicit than my own. In particular he had a deep appreciation of the relation between art and meditation. `Art and meditation are creative states of the human mind,' he had written in a little book on the subject that he afterwards gave me, `Both are nourished by the same source, but it may seem that they are moving in different directions: art towards the realm of sense-impressions, meditation towards the overcoming of forms and sense-impressions. But the difference pertains only to accidentals, not to the essentials. First of all, meditation does not mean pure abstraction or negation of form - except in its ultimate illimitable stages - it means the perfect concentration of mind and the elimination of all unessential features of the subject in question until we are fully conscious of it by experiencing reality in a particular aspect or from a particular angle of vision. Art proceeds in a similar way: while using the forms of the external world, it never tries to imitate nature but to reveal a higher reality by omitting all accidentals, thus raising the visible form to the value of a symbol, expressing a direct experience of life. The same experience may be gained by a process of meditation. But instead of creating a formal (objectively existing) expression, it leaves a subjective impression, thus acting as a forming agent on the character or the consciousness of the meditator.'

Since Li Gotami too was an artist, and had almost as intimate an acquaintance with Tibetan Buddhist art as her more celebrated husband, she naturally had more to contribute to the discussion when Lama Govinda and I touched on the relation between Buddhism and art than when we touched on more abstruse topics. At such times it seemed as though all three of us were kindred spirits, and that there was a meeting of three hearts and minds as well as of three bodies. With her hearty good humour, and her readiness to say - especially in connection with certain prominent figures in the Buddhist world - things that Lama Govinda only permitted himself to think, Li Gotami indeed enhanced the rapport that had been established between us and made it possible for us to talk more freely than ever.

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Ghoom is a strange place; even higher than Darjeeling it is frequently lost in the mist from whence it get its name. This was the scene when Lama Govinda was snowed in during that winter so many years ago. "I had taken refuge in this temple during a terrible blizzard which for days on end covered the roads with snow and ice. The suddenness and violence of the storm were something which even the local people had not experienced in their lifetime, and for me, who had come straight from Ceylon clad only in the yellow robes of a Theravada monk and a light woolen shawl, the contrast was such that I seemed to live in a weird dream. The monastery itself, situated on a mountain spur jutting out high above the deep valleys which surround the Darjeeling range, seemed to be tossed about in a cauldron of boiling clouds, rising up from invisible dark valleys, lit up only by continual lightning, while other clouds seemed to be sweeping down from the icy ranges of the central Himalayas from which they were rebounding, thus adding to the confusion of the elements. The uninterrupted rumble of thunder, the deafening noise of hail on the roof and the howling of the storm filled the air."

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`The Pines' was small and dark, and set among pine trees the foliage of which was inky black rather than dark green. There was mist everywhere. The name Ghoom was indeed said to mean mist or fog, and it was well known that however clear a day it might be down at Teesta Bridge, or in Darjeeling, on passing through Ghoom one would be sure to encounter anything from a thick blanket of white cloud, through which the grey-blue shapes of the pines loomed like the shadows of giants, to a veil of mist so fine as to be almost invisible. Surrounded by mist as it was, `The Pines' was naturally both cold and damp, especially as the place had not been lived in for a while, and the three of us spent much of our time huddled round the tiny charcoal fire trying to keep warm. We also spent much of our time talking, and in the greater silence and isolation of Ghoom the rapport that had been established between us in Kalimpong was considerably deepened. One morning, however, when the weather was brighter than usual, we paid a visit to the famous Ghoom Monastery, which was only a short distance away. This monastery occupied an important place in Lama Govinda's spiritual history, for it was here that he had met his guru who, as I knew from the articles that had appeared in the Illustrated Weekly of India, was Tomo Geshe Rimpoche. The monastery also occupied a place in my own spiritual history, though not nearly so important a one as in the case of Lama Govinda. I had been to see it six years earlier, on the occasion of my first visit to Darjeeling, and had vivid recollections of the golden face of the colossal seated image of Maitreya, the coming Buddha, looking down at me through the gloom. Now I was happy to be able to visit the monastery - or rather, the monastery temple - with Lama Govinda and Li Gotami.

As we lifted the heavy felt curtain that screened the entrance I saw the same colossal figure seated there in the semi-darkness, the same golden face glimmering beneath the great jewelled tiara. Smaller figures gleamed from behind the glass doors of showcases and glowed with a subdued richness from the frescoed walls like reflections seen in deep water. Rosary in hand, Lama Govinda and Li Gotami moved clockwise round the chamber, pausing for a moment in front of each image or thangka and reciting the appropriate mantra, and I followed in their wake. Some of the mantras were new to me, and of these two in particular - the mantra of Shakyamuni and the mantra of Padmasambhava - not only sounded strangely familiar but also set up reverberations that made themselves felt in the remotest corners of my being. The whole experience affected me deeply. There was the rectangular chamber itself, dimly lit from above by the light that filtered in at a kind of skylight, there was the brooding presence of the images, with the colossal Maitreya silently dominating the rest, and there was the sound of the mantras as the two dark figures in chubas made their way with bowed heads round the chamber. What affected me most deeply, however, was the evident devotion with which Lama Govinda and Li Gotami recited the mantras and the way in which they seemed to feel, behind each image, the living spiritual presence of which the image was the representation or, indeed, even the veritable embodiment.

Darjeeling
Darjeeling was thirty-two miles from Kalimpong by road but only fifteen miles away, so I was told, `as the crow flies'. It was scattered along a ridge, at a height of eight thousand feet, on the other side of the River Teesta. This meant that in order to get there from Kalimpong one first plunged down four thousand feet to the valley (or rather, to the bottom of the crack between the two hillsides), crossed over Teesta Bridge, then shot up eight thousand feet through tropical jungle, tea gardens, and tracts of pine forest to Ghoom by a series of hairpin bends even longer and more acute than those by which one had come down from Kalimpong to Teesta Bridge - all in the space of two to two-and-a-half hours, depending on the precise degree of impatience and recklessness on the driver's part. This was altogether too much for my stomach, and between Ghoom and Darjeeling I was violently sick. Hardly without exception, this was to be my experience on nearly all my subsequent visits to Darjeeling, at least until I discovered car sickness tablets, and the fact may have accounted for the somewhat mixed feelings with which I came to regard the Queen of the Hill Stations. On the present occasion, having recovered from the effects of the journey, and adjusted to the change of altitude, I started looking about me.

Darjeeling was much bigger than Kalimpong, much closer up (apparently) to the snows of Mount Kanchenjunga, much more definitely Nepalese in character - and also much less Europeanized than at the time of my previous visit. (This visit had taken place in 1945, when I was still in the army, and I had vivid recollections of the Chowrasta and Observation Hill, as well as of the Tibetan monastery at Ghoom.) Whether on account of the rarified atmosphere of the place, or whether because, the rains being over and gone, the festival season - the season of the autumn pujas - was now coming upon us, a marked sense of exhilaration prevailed. The rose-cheeked young men seemed more animated than in Kalimpong, as well as healthier and happier. Seeing their cheerful Mongoloid faces, I could not but feel more animated myself. So much so, indeed, that before long I had seen all the things I wanted to see, and met all the representatives of religious and humanitarian organizations I was supposed to meet.

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The Tamang Gompa and Bhante’s talk on “om mani padma hum”
The two members of the Tamang Buddhist Association were brisk, dapper little P.T. Lama and his big, pan-chewing brother Inspector T. Moktan. The latter, who was in the West Bengal police, was the more religious-minded of the two, and always came to see me when his duties took him to Kalimpong. A widower with two small daughters, he had decided, most uncharacteristically for a Nepalese, not to remarry. Though the two brothers were looking for me, and I was looking for them, we did not meet until we happened to bump into each other in the bazaar. They at once took me to the Tamang Gompa, as the pagoda-style Nyingma temple was called, and showed me the new mani chamber they were constructing there. A mani was a prayer-wheel or, more accurately, a prayer-cylinder, and a mani chamber was a chamber containing, not a prayer-cylinder such as was twirled by old-fashioned Tibetans as they took their evening stroll, but a giant version of the same devotional aid, a version which in this case would stand eight or ten feet high and occupy practically the entire chamber. They were constructing the mani chamber in memory of their mother, the brothers explained; it was nearly completed, as I could see, and they would like me to speak at the opening ceremony. I at once accepted the invitation. The principal object of worship in the Tamang Gompa was the enormous sedent image of Padmasambhava that had given me, three years ago, so overwhelming an impression of the spiritual reality of the Precious Guru, and I was happy to renew my connection with the place. I also accepted the invitation because I knew that even educated Buddhists like P.T. Lama and Inspector T. Moktan knew very little about Buddhism, and I was glad, while remaining personally not keen on prayer-cylinders, to have the opportunity of explaining the meaning of an ancient Buddhist tradition.

A few weeks later, therefore, I was back in Darjeeling and back at the Gandhamadan Vihara. This time Sachin did not accompany me. He was more than willing to do so, but according to the Hindu calendar both the days for which I would be away were inauspicious and his mother did not want him to be from home then. On arriving in Darjeeling I again renewed acquaintance with the Burmese Maha Thera, then spent the remainder of the day seeing people, visiting bookshops, and executing various small commissions for Sachin and Miss Barclay. The day concluded with a three-cornered philosophical discussion between me and two Bengali Hindu friends - a discussion which lasted until the stroke of midnight. Next morning, after an early bhojana-dana at the home of Kali Kinker Barua, I made my way down the hillside to the Tamang Gompa, my host escorting me. The opening of the new mani chamber was a very public occasion, with the Deputy Commissioner, Sri Dutt-Majumdar, presiding, and my own lecture as the principal item on the programme.
I had decided to speak on the meaning of the mantra om mani padme hum hri, this being the mantra embossed on the great copper cylinder that stood awaiting the push that would give it its first ponderous revolution on its axis. A good part of my lecture was devoted to explaining the significance of the Jewel (mani) and the Lotus (padma), which were, I said, universal symbols, being found, in different forms, all over the world. In the words of the summary I afterwards wrote of the lecture:

The lotus grows in water, and water always represents life. Philosophically speaking, life is what we call Samsara, the repeated process of birth and death. Life and birth are closely connected, and for this reason the Lotus stands for the Garbha, the feminine principle, as well. It also represents the heart, and the emotions, since these are both associated with the feminine principle.

The jewel, on the other hand, symbolizes light. Light represents knowledge. The source of light is the sun, the heat of which fecundates the earth. The Mani or Jewel therefore represents the active generating power, the masculine principle. Since reason is supposed to predominate in man, it also stands for reason, intellect and spiritual understanding.

In explaining the significance of these two symbols I was careful to insist that whereas a concept had only one meaning a symbol suggested innumerable meanings, so that the significance of a symbol could never be exhausted intellectually. It was therefore possible to interpret the words mani padme, literally `the Jewel (is) in the Lotus', in a number of ways. They could signify the presence of a spiritual reality behind the veil of appearances, or the fact that every man and woman possessed the potentiality for Enlightenment, or the desirability of harmonizing the rational and emotional sides of our personality. Thus the meaning of mani padme was not abstract and philosophical but concrete and practical, and might be summarized as follows:

All our thinking is in terms of pairs of opposites. We think of the true and false, right and wrong, etc. The Jewel and the Lotus represent the ultimate duality of existence. In China these two principles are called Yang and Yin; in India they are sometimes called Purusha and Prakriti, Shiva and Shakti. When we say that the Jewel is in the Lotus, we are reminding ourselves that things are not really separate from each other, and that our dualistic way of looking at things is a delusion. When we realize, by spiritual practice, that duality is only the creation of our own minds, we become enlightened.

The references to Purusha and Prakriti, and Shiva and Shakti, were for the benefit of the Hindu members of the audience, the opening of the new mani chamber being not only a very public occasion but something of an inter-faith one as well. It was not that I really believed in the possibility of establishing an exact correspondence between Buddhist and Hindu symbols.

Besides explaining the meaning of the mantra I sought to account for the effect produced by its repetition. Words were sounds, and sounds consisted of vibrations. Every word we uttered not only conveyed a meaning but set up certain vibrations, which could be either harmonious or discordant. It was these vibrations, and not the rational content of the words, which influenced us most deeply, and it was possible for us to be influenced in this way because we, too, were made up of vibrations. Not only our physical bodies, but our minds as well, were vibrating at a certain rate. Everything in the universe vibrated. Buddhism and science agreed that nothing in the world was solid, but that everything was in a state of perpetual oscillation. At this point I referred to an American scientist's success in measuring the power of mantra vibrations numerically by means of radiation (particularly radiesthesia). The highest rate at which a mantra could vibrate, according to this authority, was 250,000 times a second. Several mantras vibrated at this rate, the mantra om mani padme hum being among them. This information, which I had gleaned from the writings of the Tantric scholar Dr Benoytosh Bhattacharya, was music to the ears of my Tamang Buddhist friends, as was the information, gleaned from the same source, that the revolution of a mani-cylinder released beneficial cosmic forces in favour of the person revolving it. When I sent a copy of the printed summary of my lecture to Lama Govinda, however, he responded with a flat rejection of the idea that the emotional and spiritual effect of a mantra had anything to do with its vibrational value as measured by a scientific device. Mechanistic interpretations of this kind, he roundly declared, were rank materialism, and as such quite inconsistent with the principles of true Buddhism. In deference to his superior understanding of the subject I therefore never reprinted the little article in which I had summarized my lecture at the opening of the Tamang Gompa's new mani chamber, but years later, particularly after becoming acquainted with Pythagoreanism, I sometimes wondered, pace Lama Govinda, whether there might not be a correlation, even a correlation expressible in mathematical terms, between the numerical frequencies and ratios that obtained in the outside world and human emotions, and whether the one might not, conceivably, have an effect on the other.

The new mani chamber having been opened and the massive cylinder given its initial push, I returned to the Gandhamadan Vihara and spent the next few hours absorbed in one of the books I had bought the previous day. It was T.S. Eliot's The Use of Poetry and the Use of Criticism. In my lecture I had spoken of the desirability of harmonizing the rational and emotional sides of our personality. There were certainly sides of my own personality that needed to be harmonized and integrated, though these were not so much the rational and the emotional as the religious and the aesthetic. Sometimes the two overlapped, even coincided, but more often they remained separate and distinct, even mutually antagonistic. This meant that usually they tended to alternate, sometimes even within the space of a single day, with now one now the other predominating, whether in respect of my inner preoccupations or my outward activities. On the day of the opening ceremony this was certainly the case. Having given a lecture on the meaning of a Buddhist mantra in the morning, and spent the afternoon absorbed in English literary criticism, in the evening I attended the full moon day puja in the Vihara's shrine-cum-lecture hall, administering the five precepts to the assembled Baruas and delivering my first sermon in Hindi.

Yiga Choling, Ghoom
Bhante’s 1st visit to Dargeeling and Ghoom
On the mornings that Audrey complained of headaches I walked alone round Observatory Hill, where already trees stood leafless in the mist. Not having seen the snow ranges, I looked out eagerly for them every time the white cloud masses drifting past on the precipitous farther side of the deep, haze-blue valley seemed about to leave the sky clear. After waiting and watching for nearly an hour I happened to raise my eyes and there they were, seemingly half-way up the blue, more jaggedly white and splendid, and bigger and bolder and closer, than I had ever imagined mountains could be. Despite their size they rose clear of the bastions of cloud with an ethereal lightness that made them seem almost to float in the midst of the air.

Shortly before my departure I hired a pony and rode over the ridge into the nearby village of Ghoom. Though seemingly meek and docile enough when I had selected him at the pony-stand at the end of the Chowrasta, no sooner were we well out of town than my mount did his best to unseat me, first by galloping furiously and then by rubbing himself against a railing that overlooked a sheer drop of several hundred feet. But I clung grimly on and soon we were in the thick of the swirling white mist of Ghoom, pierced here and there by the shadow-like shapes of pines. Turning off from the main street, down which ran the track of the little toy railway, I rode through the drizzle between rows of low, open-fronted shops which sold nothing but knives and daggers, up a track leading away from the town to a spur swept by icy blasts. Through the mist came a curiously muffled sound of drums and horns. Presently the white walls and curved red roof of the Tibetan monastery, which was my destination, rose vaguely through the prevailing greyness.

Inside the temple all was gloom, for light filtered in only through the open door behind me and a kind of well in the roof. As my eyes became accustomed to the semi-darkness, I saw hanging in two rows from the ceiling, so as to form a sort of aisle, great cylinders made up of silk flounces of different colours. At the far end of the chamber a lamp flickered above rows of brass and silver bowls. Only gradually did I grow aware of the atmosphere of the place, a peculiar combination of stillness and vibrancy which I have since come to recognize as characteristic of Tibetan temples.

As I stood and gazed, I slowly made out, above the bowls and the lamp, first a great pair of hands, laid flat one above the other, then an enormous trunk with a swastika on the breast, and at last, more than twenty feet from the ground, the broad gently smiling face of the image. In the forehead gleamed a huge precious stone. This was Maitreya, the Coming Buddha. Later I learned that the founder of the monastery, the great Tibetan saint and yogi Tomo Geshe Rimpoche, had installed the image of the Lord Maitreya there as a prophecy that the time of his advent, as well as of the world-wide dissemination of Buddhism, was at hand. To me the great figure portended the dedication of my own life to the service of the Dharma.

Gangtok
For my part, I knew that a mystery of some kind surrounded the person of the Maharaja of Sikkim. According to one account, he was a mystic of an advanced type who spent most of his time in meditation. According to another, he was an alcoholic. Whatever the truth may have been, he in fact led the life of a recluse, appearing in public only on the most important occasions.

One such occasion was that of the first public exposition of the Sacred Relics, which took place the following morning in the palace lhakhang or temple. This was not a mere chapel within the palace, as I had thought (thinking, perhaps, of Rani Dorji's chapel at Bhutan House), but a very new, very square, dazzlingly white, yellow-roofed building of traditional Sikkimese type that stood at the opposite end of the ridge from the palace which, I could now see, was a medium-sized country house built after the English pattern. More than that I did not have time to observe. With Sangharatana and Kashyapji I was ushered up the narrow staircase and into the first-floor chamber in which the Sacred Relics - both those of the two arahants and of the Buddha - were being kept. Here too the impression was one of light and colour. Crimson pillars with elaborately carved and painted capitals supported the roof, while the walls were covered with frescoes of the most brilliant hues. At the far end of the chamber the enormous golden figures of Buddhas and Bodhisattvas gleamed from behind panes of glass. The reliquaries containing the Sacred Relics were placed on a kind of throne that stood immediately in front of the central image, leaving only a little gangway behind. The silver-gilt reliquary containing the remains of Shariputra and Maudgalyayana was the more interesting of the two. It had been presented by the Buddhists of Ceylon, and was a replica of the stupa in which the Sacred Relics of the Buddha's two chief disciples had been found by General Cunningham. After the three of us had chanted the Refuges and Precepts in Pali, followed by some verses of blessing, Venerable Sangharatana took out two small keys and proceeded to open the reliquaries and remove the lids. The lid of the reliquary containing the Sacred Relics of the two arahants was modelled after the dome, harmika, and umbrella-spire of the stupa, while its base, which was about sixteen inches in diameter, was modelled after the stupa's railed circular plinth. On the raised middle portion of this base were the two steatite boxes in which the Sacred Relics had originally been found and two golden lotuses, the boxes being situated to the north and south and the lotuses to the east and west. On the lotuses stood two gold-rimmed glass capsules, circular in shape. These capsules were about half an inch thick, and about two inches in diameter, and each was attached to its lotus by a little golden ball. The greyish crumbs of bone on which all this artistry had been lavished, and which the Government and people of Sikkim were receiving with so much enthusiasm, lay at the bottom of the capsules - all that was left, humanly speaking, of the two lifelong friends who had been the Buddha's chief disciples.

By the time we had finished arranging the opened reliquaries on their brocade cushions the chamber was full, and presented a more colourful appearance than ever. Sikkim being a Buddhist kingdom, and its ruler not an ordinary Maharaja but a Chogyal or Dharmaraja, that is to say, a Righteous Monarch, the first exposition of the Sacred Relics was being attended not only by the reclusive Maharaja but also by the royal family, the royal court, and members of the clergy and nobility, all resplendent in traditional costume. Since for the laity this costume was the chuba (long-sleeved for men, sleeveless for women), and since on occasions like this the chuba had to be of Chinese silk brocade, the two or three hundred people ranged on the right hand side of the throne supporting the Sacred Relics and down the side of the chamber were an unforgettable sight. There were chubas of every imaginable hue - magenta, bottle green, chocolate brown, orange, peacock blue, royal purple, and violet, all shimmering and glittering in the sunlight that streamed in through the lattices of the big square windows. There were ruby chubas, sapphire chubas, and amethyst chubas. There were even chubas of silver and chubas of gold. Amidst all this magnificence it was easy to forget that Sikkim was a country a third of the size of Wales, that its capital, Gangtok, contained two thousand souls, and that its entire population numbered less than one-hundred-and-fifty thousand.

After the Maharaja and his entourage had paid their respects to the Sacred Relics by prostrating themselves and offering, one by one, the usual silk khata or ceremonial white scarf, the doors of the palace temple were opened to the public, and for the next few hours Sangharatana, Kashyapji, and I were kept very busy indeed. In front of the Sacred Relics passed a stream of people, all desirous of paying homage to the Buddha and his two chief disciples. Besides the Sikkimese themselves, who in any case were of quite mixed descent, there were Tibetans, Bhutanese, and Nepalese, all in their distinctive national costumes. There were even a few Indians, mainly Marwaris and Punjabis. Most of the worshippers were content simply to press their foreheads to the edge of the throne on which the two reliquaries had been placed, offer their silk or cotton khata together with some money, and then pass on. The more orthodox, or the more devout, retreated a few paces from the throne in order to make a triple prostration, after which they would insist on having the reliquary containing the remains of Shariputra and Maudgalyayana, which was the larger of the two, lifted up and placed on the top of their heads by way of a blessing. Followers of Tibetan Buddhism, it seemed, attached great importance to actual physical contact with sacred objects. Every few minutes, therefore, Sangharatana and I, who were stationed on either side of the throne (Kashyapji found it difficult to remain standing for very long) had to grasp the base of the reliquary firmly in both hands and then, between us, lift it up a few inches before gently lowering it onto the bowed head of the devotee, who would receive the blessing with hands resting on the edge of the throne and tongue respectfully protruded. Whenever there were a number of such worshippers in quick succession, this process of raising and lowering the reliquary was apt to degenerate into the administration of a series of rapid bumps on the bowed heads that appeared in front of us. Sometimes, for one reason or another, the bump would be quite a hard one, whereupon Sangharatana would laugh heartily. As for the recipient of the bump, from the pleased expression with which he or she looked up at us afterwards it was clear that they were only too happy to be blessed in this emphatic and unmistakable manner.

Time Place Teacher Disciple and Topic

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The Tibetan tradition holds that at the moment of initiation five things are paramount; time, place, teacher, disciple and the topic or content of the transmission. Who is Urgyen Sangharakshita, what is his connection with the tradition, who were his teachers, and what did he learn from them? What were the augers of time and place, and what does it all mean to us?

This pilgrimage aims to strengthen our awareness and connection with these auspicious five; Time Place Teacher Disciple and Topic, as they constellated in the life of our founder Urgyen Sangharakshita. Pilgrimages are trails of tales. The tales and the trails of this pilgrimage take us into a magical world; the Hidden land in which Sangharakshita unfolded, and the crucible in which our Movement was forged.

What’s it Like

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The pilgrimage has two distinct parts. First, we explore Kalimpong, Darjeeling and Ghoom, and then we go on Retreat in beautiful Sikkim.

Kalimpong, Darjeeling and Ghoom are so thickly populated with sites connecting us with Bhante and his eight main teachers that the pilgrimage is quite naturally outward going and stimulating.

Typically we explore the sites, wander around, taking them in. Sometimes, we can simply look – perhaps it’s someone’s house – so we just take darshan, reflect on its significance, gathering impressions, making connections. Sometimes we sit listening to readings; poems, bits of life stories, teachings, memoirs, and at others we meditate and perform puja together.

In Sikkim, we approach the heart of the Beyul or the Hidden Land of Dremo Shong. The Fruit Bowl Beyul is a mandala of fertile river valleys, lakes, mountains, ravines and caves. Blessed by Padmasambhava, it was discovered and opened in the fourteenth century by Rigdzin Godem - one of the Three Supreme Emanations of Guru Rinpoche. It was for a millennium a paradise for practitioners, some of the greatest sages came here and left their mark. Especially at Khechupari and Tashiding; where we have longer stays, the pilgrimage is naturally less active, more meditative and reflective. Our main task will be to allow ourselves to open up to the blessings focused at those places.

In Brief

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When: 7th - 30th September
The Teachers of the Present pilgrimage takes place twice a year – Usually in March and September.

Cost: The commercial value of the 24 day pilgrimage is high, but our Pilgrims simply agree to cover the remarkably low costs (Approximate: 250 UK Pounds), and then make a donation towards Dharma and Social projects we sponsor.

Included: All accommodation transport food and site fees.

Excluded: Airfares and Insurance.

Connections: You can be met at either Delhi or Kolkata Airports and accompanied to Kalimpong by Train. Kolkata (Calcutta) is the closest international airport, Delhi a little cheaper. Alternatively, you can get a Domestic flight to Bagdogra and likewise be met and accompanied to Kalimpong – 3 ½ hrs.

Travel: 6-9 pilgrims, plus your guide and two assistants. Easy walking every day. Not much travelling. The short trips on good scenic roads are by Jeep. In Kalimpong, Darjeeling and Gangtok, we use Taxis when it’s too far to walk. A day-long trek in Sikkim is optional.

Accommodation and Food: Mostly twin share. In Sikkim, we twice stay in clean rustic rooms and eat good home cooked food. Other accommodation and food is of a medium or high standard.

Practice: The first half is active, and stimulating. Every day filled with constant reminders of Bhante and his eight main teachers. The second half is rural; meditative, reflective, - a rare chance to deepen one’s connection with the ancient tradition at places blessed by Padmasambhava.

More Information: When you book we will send information sheets covering; Spiritual Preparation, Visas, Insurance, What to Take, What to Expect, Health and Safety, Recommended Reading, Detailed Itinerary, Character Notes, Literary Extracts and the Practice of Pilgrimage.

Booking: Contact us at justratna@yahoo.com

An Ancient Connection Re-Awoken

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Some of the most familiar object from Sangharakshita’s childhood were Tibetan ritual implements from the Lama Temple of Peking; favourites included a Thanka of the Buddha and a large Vajra bell - which “rarely could I refrain from ringing”. At nine Bhante studied the life of the Buddha, and at 11 began praying daily to the Buddha and wrote “The Life of Siddhartha Gautama the Buddha” “which when finished I copied out in purple ink on my best notepaper”.

By the age of 17, Bhante had already regained Insight. “At John Watkins, which thereafter I visited frequently, I bought the two books by which I have been most profoundly influenced. These were the Diamond Sutra, which I read first in Gemmell's then in Max Muller's translation, and the Sutra of Wei Lang (Hui Neng). If, when I read Isis Unveiled, I knew that I was not a Christian, when I read the Diamond Sutra I knew that I was a Buddhist. Though this book epitomizes a teaching of such rarefied sublimity that even Arahants, saints who have attained individual nirvana, are said to become confused and afraid when they hear it for the first time, I at once joyfully embraced it with an unqualified acceptance and assent. To me the Diamond Sutra was not new. I had known it and believed it and realized it ages before and the reading of the Sutra as it were awoke me to the existence of something I had forgotten. Once I realized that I was a Buddhist it seemed that I had always been one, that it was the most natural thing in the world to be, and that I had never been anything else. My experience of the Sutra of Wei Lang, which I read in the original Shanghai edition of Wong Mou Lam's translation, though taking place at a slightly lower level, was repeated with much greater frequency. Whenever I read the text I would be thrown into a kind of ecstasy.”

Going Forth

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Within two years, in 1944, two days before his nineteenth birthday, the Army dispatched Bhante to the land of the Buddha. After a further two years with the Army in Delhi, Sri Lanka and Singapore, and six months in India testing the waters, on the 18th of August 1947, at Kasauli in the foothills of the Himalayas, Bhante ritually and actually went forth.

“There was only one way out. Religious societies, organizations, and groups, far from being a help to spiritual development were only a hindrance. However lofty the ideals with which they were founded, they had a natural tendency to degenerate, in the hands of selfish human beings, into instruments for the acquisition of money, position, power, and fame. Instead of trying any longer to work with them we would follow the example of the Buddha and sever at one stroke our connection with an incorrigible world. We would renounce the household life and go forth into the life of homelessness as wanderers in search of Truth. For the last few months we had only sat hesitantly on the shore of the vast ocean of the spiritual life. Now, casting aside all fear, we would plunge boldly in.

“Having made this resolution, we lost no time putting it into effect. With the help of a handful of gerua-mati, the reddish-brown earth used since time immemorial by Indian ascetics, we dyed our shirts and sarongs the traditional saffron of the world-renunciant. Suitcases and watches were sold, trousers, jackets, and shoes given away, identification papers destroyed. Apart from the robes that we were to wear we kept only a blanket each and our books and notebooks. As for the last three months hair and beard had been allowed to grow we did not need shaving tackle.”

“As we left Kasauli it was raining, but, as in the course of our descent we emerged from the clouds into the bright sunshine below, we saw arching the road, at intervals of a few dozen yards, not only single but double and triple rainbows. Every time we turned a bend we found more rainbows waiting for us. We passed through them as though through the multicoloured arcades of some celestial palace. Against the background of bright sunshine, jewel-like glittering raindrops, and hills of the freshest and most vivid green, this plethora of delicate seven-hued bows seemed like the epiphany of another world.” The Rainbow Road

Entering the Mandala

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A free-lance wanderer, Passport and ID burned, clothes dyed in mud, barefoot, moneyless, without shaving or cutting hair; Bhante walked India with a single companion for three years. On the 12th of May 1949, Bhante became a Sramanera in Kushinagar with U Chandramani as his Preceptor. In March 1950, Jagdish Kashyap took Bhante to Kalimpong and left him there.

Only in London has Bhante lived as long as he has lived in Kalimpong; 14 years – 1950 - 1964. No other place recurs so frequently in Bhante’s lectures seminars or literary work. Here Bhante wrote A Survey of Buddhism, The Eternal Legacy, The Three Jewels, The Rainbow Road, and The Religion of Art together with numerous essays and articles on Buddhism. More poetry burst forth from Bhante here than at any other place. Kalimpong is also unique in that here Bhante met with all of his eight main teachers. In Kalimpong Bhante received his Bodhisattva Ordination, and all of his tantric initiations took place in Kalimpong or Darjeeling. In Kalimpong Bhante was given the name Urgyen and discovered a connection the ancient Nyingma tradition. It was in Kalimpong that Bhante started Teaching, and it was also in Kalimpong, in 1967, that Bhante made the decision to start a new Buddhist Movement; the FWBO.

Said to be a place of great auspiciousness blessed by Guru Rinpoche; journey to the Sikkimese Hiddenland and discover your Tantric roots. Explore holy mountains, sacred lakes, dakini caves, temples, shrines, schools, stupas, and hermitages associated with Urgyen Sangharakshita and his eight main teachers in Ghoom, Darjeeling, Kalimpong and the wilds of Sikkim.

Parayana - The Way Beyond

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When we started the Pilgrimage service in 2001, our aim was to create resources for men and women Sramanas – renunciants practicing in simplicity. Still dedicated to Sramanas, Parayana has unexpectedly become an important part of new initiatives taking our Movement into the Buddhist Heartland – the Indian states of Bihar and Uttar Pradesh.

Pilgrimage has become another sparkling facet of our Movement. We enable pilgrims to enter the spirit and path of pilgrimage, to gain experiences of India, of the holy places, and of the Refuges that would scarcely otherwise be imaginable. Parayana provides employment, community, and skills training for our team members, and brings the East and West of our Movement together.

Parayana Main
Visit the Parayana page to learn more about us.

The Money Goes Around

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Yours is a true pilgrimage – something you co-create, not buy. The traditional method – which we follow – is for the participants to share the costs, and each individual to follow the dictates of their heart when they give.

Costs
Although the commercial value of the pilgrimage is high, the actual costs – aside from airfares, insurance and pre-travel purchases - are remarkably low. India is economical and our Team is likewise. The cost of all meals snacks and drinks, accommodation, transport, Team wages and offerings is likely to be less than 250 Pounds or Indian Rupees 22,000.

Dana
Our Team simply takes minimal wages that support life and provide something for their family. It is not a business; we do not seek to make an ordinary profit. We hope to enable you to experience the joy of giving – by keeping costs down; and by enticing you to support projects that we sponsor.

Dana

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This year we have several major funding projects; the first is to find two thousand pounds for the young Dhardo Tulku; for rituals that are an important part of his Monastic education.

Then we want to find fifteen hundred pounds to help preserve the cottage on a high ridge above Kalimpong, where Bhante received his first Tantric initiation – Green Tara, from Chatral Rinpoche. That meeting and Rinpoche’s direct, spontaneous, simple and informal method of introducing and transmitting the Sadhana is the model of our Private Ordination especially the Initiation. Bhante gave Initiation in the same informal way as Chatral Rinpoche gave him Green Tara. Our Private Preceptors continue in the same spirit. The cottage signifies and very much anchors our connection with the ancient Vajrayana tradition of Tibet – especially the Nyingmapas. It is in danger of demolition; the cottage. I have persuaded the owner to preserve it on the promise of a donation for substantial repairs.

And, this year we are committed to starting a carbon sink; a wood where you actually plant the tree that makes your pilgrimage more eco-friendly.

Our focus however is the new Sramana Trust. Through Sramana, we aim to support men and women renunciants in various ways; chiefly through basic support and accommodation.

Sramana is getting underway in India and is closely associated with the new beginnings of our Movement in the middle land – around the Buddhist Holy places in Bihar and UP. The ancient Buddhist Heartland is now the most backward and poorest part of India. So far, our Movement has had very few activities in Bihar, and indeed, it appears that no other Buddhist organization is actively spreading the Dharma in Bihar – outside a few monastic enclaves.

Things beginning to change. A team of Order members and Dhammamitras based in Buddhagaya are determined to establish the Movement in Bihar and take the Dharma to the poorest most neglected people in India – slowly slowly. We have started by assembling a team, making connections at the Holy places, sending people on retreat and seeking supporters. Shortly we begin building a base, on our land, in Buddha Gaya.

Glimmers from a Hidden Land

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A QUARTER OF A MILE UPSTREAM, the graceful white arch of Teesta Bridge floated like a dream between the steep tree-clad slopes. Within a few minutes we were across, and the jeep that had been sent to fetch us from Siligiri Station was shooting up the mountainside along a succession of hairpin bends that lifted us several hundred feet above the river every few minutes. Already the figures on the bridge looked no bigger than ants, while the river itself lay like a ribbon of grey-green jade between the mountains. Every time we swung round a bend new perspectives opened up before us, each one vaster and more awe-inspiring than the last. Behind us, to the west, loomed the mauve and indigo masses of the Darjeeling hills, while across the River Rungeet, to the north, the mountains of Sikkim flowed in ridge upon smoke-blue ridge to the far horizon. Soon the air grew quite cold, though the sky was a vivid blue and the sunshine more brilliant than ever. We were above the clouds. Looking down, we could see them drifting in fleecy white masses down the valley, following the course of the river. With the change of altitude came a change of vegetation. Sal forest gave way to fir and pine, while the bamboo became smaller and less frequent. Every few hundred yards an explosion of pure scarlet proclaimed the presence of the giant poinsettias. Thatched cottages flashed past. Shops, shrines.... When we were seven or eight miles from Teesta Bridge, and nearly 3,000 feet above sea level, thatched cottages began to change into English bungalows with tiled roofs and trim gardens and soon, strung out along the saddleback before us, I saw the town of Kalimpong….

….Kalimpong was a new world. The whole atmosphere of the place was different. Coming as we did from the plains, where only too often life stagnates in its accustomed channels, we experienced everything as being not only fresher and cleaner but more sparkling and alive. It was like drinking ice-cold champagne after warmed-up soup. People went about their perfectly ordinary affairs in a perfectly ordinary manner, but whether on account of the altitude, or for some other reason, there was a sense of exhilaration in the air, as though it was the festive season, or as though they were all on holiday. Missionaries alone excepted, there was a smile on every face, and while it would be an exaggeration to say that there was a song on everybody's lips we could hardly put our head out of the window without hearing, loud and clear in the distance, the cheerful melody of the latest popular film song. And the colours! On account of these alone Kalimpong would have been a new world. From the blues and purples of the mountains to the reds and yellows of the flowers in the Nepali women's hair, they were all preternaturally vivid, as in a Pre-Raphaelite painting. Sometimes, indeed, they glowed with such intensity that everything seemed to be made of jewels. And all the time, above the mirth and the music, above the life and the colour, above the steadfastness of nature and the security of civilization - above everything - there were the snows.

On the morning of our arrival they had been veiled, and we had seen nothing of them, but since then they had shone forth every day, and often for the whole day. With the blue of the valleys at their feet and the blue of the sky above their heads, the shimmering white masses stretched from end to end of the horizon majestic beyond belief. Since the building where Kashyap-ji and I were staying faced north, we had an uninterrupted view of Mount Kanchenjunga, the second highest peak in the entire Himalayan range and the third highest in the world. In the early morning it was particularly beautiful. Looking out of the window just before dawn, I would see it glimmering ghostly in the blue twilight, more like ice than snow. Then, as the sun started rising, the bluish tip of the summit would be flushed by a fiery pink that, in a matter of minutes, had travelled all the way down the peak. Soon the whole range would be a mass of pink embers glowing against the pale blue sky. Pink would change to crimson, crimson to apricot, apricot to the purest, brightest gold. Finally, as the sun cleared the horizon, gold would change to silver and silver to dazzling white. On particularly fine days the mountain wore a white plume, almost like a plume of smoke. According to the experts, this was caused by a strong wind blowing the loose snow from its summit. But whether it wore its plume or not, and regardless of the time of day, I was never tired of looking up at Mount Kanchenjunga as it sat enthroned in the sky. Totally absorbed in itself though it was, and utterly oblivious of my existence, the great white peak nonetheless seemed to speak to me. What it said, I did not know, but perhaps, if I stayed in Kalimpong long enough, and looked hard enough, I would come to understand.

… from practically all quarters of Kalimpong, we had a wonderful view of the snow ranges of the Himalayas. I can see them in my mind's eye even as I speak. And among these snow ranges, among these snow peaks, is the third highest peak in the world - Kanchenjunga - which means 'The Five Treasures of the Snow'. And one could see Kanchenjunga, except during the rainy season, almost every day, just standing there against the blue sky; way up, as it were, in the blue sky. The whole area, in fact, was a very, very inspiring area indeed. One could say that Kanchenjunga was a very inspiring sight; it certainly was; and especially when one saw it practically every day ‑ one never got tired of looking at it ‑ this great snowy peak right up there in the blue sky, with the clouds far below, wearing its white plume, very often, where the snow was blown off it by the winds. But the whole area was very, very inspiring. I remember the atmosphere was very, very clear. You could see, very often, for many, many miles. The atmosphere, in fact, was so clear - and I believe that of Tibet, which of course was very near, just a few miles away, was even clearer ‑ so that in this very clear atmosphere everything stood out with greater vividness, with a very strange, almost hypnotic, vividness of colour. One seemed to see the colours much more clearly than one saw them down in the plains; much more clearly, certainly, than one sees them in this country ‑ even in Brighton! And sometimes it seemed, especially just after the rains, as though everything was made of jewels, that one was living in a world made of jewels, the colours of everything were so bright and so vivid. The white, of course, the snowy white of the mountains, the intense blue of the blue sky, the vivid green of the vegetation, and the scarlet and the yellow and the blue of all the wonderful mountain flowers. And also the gay costumes of the people, whether they were Nepalese or whether they were Tibetans or Bhutanese or Sikkimese, or even Indians. The only people who weren't very colourful in appearance, I'm sorry to say, were the Europeans, especially the missionaries who usually wore black.

So in this world, made, as it were, of jewels, in Kalimpong, I lived for fourteen years, and I founded a small monastery there after seven years, a small vihara; and I had people staying with me from time to time. And all during this period, during these fourteen years, I was getting deeper and deeper into the study and the practice of Buddhism. And I had, fortunately, contact with quite a number of teachers, especially teachers from Tibet, who were at that time beginning to come out, including some very great teachers indeed, and from them I was so fortunate as to receive various ordinations and initiations.

Sangharakshita

WILD RICE

2007-02-12T14:29:00.000+05:30

Urgyen Sangharakshita And The Genesis Of A New Buddhist Sangha

Time Place Teacher Disciple and Topic
The Tibetan tradition holds that at the moment of initiation five factors are paramount; time, place, teacher, disciple and the topic or content of the transmission. Who is Urgyen Sangharakshita, what is his connection with the tradition, who were his teachers, and what did he learn from them? What were the augers of time and space, and what does it all mean to us?

This pilgrimage aims to strengthen our awareness and connection with these auspicious five, Time Place Teacher Disciple and Topic, as they constellated in the life of our founder Urgyen Sangharakshita. Pilgrimages are trails of tales. The tales and the trails of this pilgrimage take us into a magical world; the Hidden land in which Sangharakshita unfolded, and the crucible in which our Movement was forged.

An Ancient Connection Re-Awoken
Some of the most familiar objects from Sangharakshita’s childhood were Tibetan ritual implements from the famous Lama Temple in Peking; favourites included a Thanka of the Buddha and a large Vajra bell - which “rarely could I refrain from ringing”. At nine Bhante studied the life of the Buddha, and at 11 began praying daily to the Buddha and wrote “The Life of Siddhartha Gautama the Buddha” “which when finished I copied out in purple ink on my best notepaper”.

By the age of 17, Bhante had already regained Insight. “At John Watkins, which thereafter I visited frequently, I bought the two books by which I have been most profoundly influenced. These were the Diamond Sutra, which I read first in Gemmell's then in Max Muller's translation, and the Sutra of Wei Lang (Hui Neng). If, when I read Isis Unveiled, I knew that I was not a Christian, when I read the Diamond Sutra I knew that I was a Buddhist. Though this book epitomizes a teaching of such rarefied sublimity that even Arahants, saints who have attained individual nirvana, are said to become confused and afraid when they hear it for the first time, I at once joyfully embraced it with an unqualified acceptance and assent. To me the Diamond Sutra was not new. I had known it and believed it and realized it ages before and the reading of the Sutra as it were awoke me to the existence of something I had forgotten. Once I realized that I was a Buddhist it seemed that I had always been one, that it was the most natural thing in the world to be, and that I had never been anything else. My experience of the Sutra of Wei Lang, which I read in the original Shanghai edition of Wong Mou Lam's translation, though taking place at a slightly lower level, was repeated with much greater frequency. Whenever I read the text I would be thrown into a kind of ecstasy.”

Going Forth
Within two years, in 1944, two days before his nineteenth birthday, the British Army dispatched Bhante to the land of the Buddha. After a further two years with the Army in Delhi, Sri Lanka and Singapore, during which he furthered his studies and took up meditation and a further six months in India testing the waters, on the 18th of August 1947, at Kasauli in the foothills of the Himalayas, Bhante ritually and actually went forth.

“There was only one way out. Religious societies, organizations, and groups, far from being a help to spiritual development were only a hindrance. However lofty the ideals with which they were founded, they had a natural tendency to degenerate, in the hands of selfish human beings, into instruments for the acquisition of money, position, power, and fame. Instead of trying any longer to work with them we would follow the example of the Buddha and sever at one stroke our connection with an incorrigible world. We would renounce the household life and go forth into the life of homelessness as wanderers in search of Truth. For the last few months we had only sat hesitantly on the shore of the vast ocean of the spiritual life. Now, casting aside all fear, we would plunge boldly in…

“Having made this resolution, we lost no time putting it into effect. With the help of a handful of gerua-mati, the reddish-brown earth used since time immemorial by Indian ascetics, we dyed our shirts and sarongs the traditional saffron of the world-renunciant. Suitcases and watches were sold, trousers, jackets, and shoes given away, identification papers destroyed. Apart from the robes that we were to wear we kept only a blanket each and our books and notebooks. As for the last three months hair and beard had been allowed to grow we did not need shaving tackle.”

§

“As we left Kasauli it was raining, but, as in the course of our descent we emerged from the clouds into the bright sunshine below, we saw arching the road, at intervals of a few dozen yards, not only single but double and triple rainbows. Every time we turned a bend we found more rainbows waiting for us. We passed through them as though through the multicoloured arcades of some celestial palace. Against the background of bright sunshine, jewel-like glittering raindrops, and hills of the freshest and most vivid green, this plethora of delicate seven-hued bows seemed like the epiphany of another world.” The Rainbow Road

Entering the Mandala
In many ways the original Hippy; a free-lance wanderer, Passport and ID burned, clothes dyed in mud, barefoot, money less, without shaving or cutting hair: Bhante walked India for three years with a single companion. Then on the 12th of May 1949, Bhante became a Sramanera in Kushinagar, with U Chandramani as his Preceptor, and in March 1950, Jagdish Kashyap took Bhante to Kalimpong and left him there.

Only in London has Bhante lived as long as he has lived in Kalimpong; 14 years – 1950 - 1964. No other place recurs so frequently in Bhante’s lectures, seminars or literary work. Here Bhante wrote A Survey of Buddhism, The Eternal Legacy, The Three Jewels, much of The Rainbow Road, and The Religion of Art together with numerous essays and articles on Buddhism. And more poetry burst forth from Bhante here than at any other place. Kalimpong is also unique in that here Bhante met with all of his eight main teachers. In Kalimpong Bhante received his Bodhisattva Ordination, and all of his tantric initiations took place in Kalimpong or Darjeeling. In Kalimpong Bhante was given the name Urgyen and discovered a connection the ancient Nyingma tradition. It was in Kalimpong that Bhante started Teaching, and it was also in Kalimpong, in 1967, that Bhante made the decision to start a new Buddhist Movement; the FWBO.

Hidden Lands
So our movement was conceived in Kalimpong, but where is Kalimpong, what sort of place is it, and what does it signify?

In every culture, there are stories, typically associated with mountains, which go something like this: A farmer misses a cow and goes looking for it. While searching he finds the entrance to a valley he had never seen before despite being familiar with the place. He goes inside, finds his cow and meets kind good folk who invite him to stay for a meal of simple food - usually cereals. After eating, he returns home to discover his parents, friends and wife dead and his children very aged, no one believes who he is – many decades had passed in a single afternoon.

Lord Dunsany, in his book “The King of Elfland’s Daughter” describes the process by which time expands in such a magical place. Siting on his throne the King of Elfland takes a moment of his experience and develops ever deeper contentment with it. As his contentment deepens, time slows down around him. As his contentment spreads and expands it creates a realm where others can live long happy lives.

Padmasambhava is King of numerous Elflands. In the Himalayas these Elflands are know as Beyul – Hidden Lands. High up in the snow mountains of India, Tibet, Bhutan and Nepal there are several famous Hidden Lands. Pretapuri – Vajravarahi’s Hidden Land, is near Mt. Kailash; Tsari is near the Tibetan border with Arunachal Pradesh; and Pemako – where Dudjom Rinpoche was born, is near the great bend in the Brahmaputra where it enters India from Tibet.

In Nepal are several important beyul; Khembalung is near Mount Chamlang - south of Mt. Makalu; another is near Mt. Manaslu. Lapchi is one of the holiest beyul to Tibetans. Converted to a Buddhist holy site by Vajrapani and his zombie-consort Vajra-vetali, Guru Rinpoche blessed it and finally Milarepa, who meditated there for several years, opened it up.

North of Kathmandu is the hidden land of Yolmo in the district of Helumbu. This ancient hidden land is where Yeshe Tsogyal received her highest Dzogchen initiation, and where Milarepa had one of his most important retreats. Many important terma were discovered and within this ancient hidden land of Yolmo Chatral Rinpoche has discovered and opened up a new hidden land; a high remote valley especially auspicious for practice. Called Pemthang, like all hidden lands it is a space of many dimensions in which spiritual beings live-not the least a fearsome Dakini inhabiting a sacred lake.

Hidden Lands are both lands that ‘anyone’ can visit – though few people do – and within those lands places accessible only to those in harmony with Hidden Land’s inhabitants; practitioners of a high level: be they gods or humans.

Hidden lands are places of practice. Practice is the path and the door to the Hidden land. Even if one does not find the entrances to the innermost parts of the Beyul proper, the landscapes outside or beneath them are abundantly bathed in spiritual energies and blessings. Hidden Lands are filled with auspiciousness, radiating blessings. They are places where practice finds quick results because they are sources of ‘other power’; places perfumed with the transcendental.

Wild Rice The Sikkimese Hidden Land
The modern Indian state of Sikkim only came into existence in 1974; but Sikkim contains one of the most important of all Beyul. Guru Rinpoche is reported to have said that of all the hidden lands that he had blessed Denjong in Sikkim was the most auspicious, and will be a place of refuge in troubled times. Vast stores of Terma were hidden here for future generations. For us this Hidden Land certainly is a place of refuge and renewal, containing as it does so many places of such significance in the origins of our Movement.

Variously designated Dremo Jong, Denjong and Dejong – Tibetan contractions meaning Fruit Bowl, and centred on Tashiding in west Sikkim, the Fruit Bowl Hidden Land extends its influence over the hills of Darjeeling and Kalimpong - as the bird flies less than a dozen miles from Tashiding. Both Darjeeling and Kalimpong were once part of the Nyingmapa Kingdom of Sikkim. These eastern Himalayas above Bengal- itself an ancient seat of Tantric Buddhism, hold special significance in the Tara Rahasya Tantra. But from well before our earliest written records, Buddhist wanderers would have found their way into the mandala of valleys and mountains that the Teesta and Ranjeet rivers have created here; valleys endowed with a very beneficial climate.

The Fruit Bowl beyul was largely uninhabited but it was a paradise for practitioners, containing not only plentiful fruits and vegetables, but also an abundance of potent medicinal herbs and fields of self-sown rice – Wild Rice becoming one of the beyul’s appellations. In this tiny Himalayan pocket of 7096 sq.kms and 540,000 people, we find 535 different orchids, more than 400 different wild flowers and, after the Amazon, the second largest concentration of butterflies and moths in the world. Hot springs rise at several places, caves are plentiful, wood seemingly unlimited. There are now 107 Monasteries in Sikkim, and 175 Prayer Halls (Mani Lhakhang), 35 major stupas, 32 important shrines, 30 sacred caves, 29 sacred lakes, 11 meditation centres (Tsamkhang), and 9 hot springs with curative powers.

Padmasambhava
The only pre-Padmasambhava references to Buddhism in the Sikkimese hidden land, which I have been able to find, and they are just traces, are references in the life story of Krishnacharya or Kanha, and the Tara Rahasya Tantra.

One of the eighty-four Mahasiddhas, Kanha went, at the end of his life, to a lake at the foot of the big Mountain above Bengal. There, he had an altercation with a powerful witch who cursed or poisoned him; he succumbed when the right herbs did not arrive in time. It is quite possible that the Mountain was Kunchenjunga and the lake Kechupalri; which means Abode of Witches in Sanskrit, viz. Kechari Puri.

There is a possible reference to Kalimpong in Yeshe Tsogyal’s biography. On page 140 of Keith Dowman’s translation of the life of Yeshe Tsogyal; “Sky Dancer,” one finds; “Yeshe Tsogyal visited Kaling Sinpo Dzong and concealed treasure there.” Kaling Sinpo Dzong – Kalim pong? Sinpo Dzong means Fortress of Cannibals. Kalimpong is said to mean Inverted Skull. Cannibals are frequently associated with hidden lands.

Legend has it that Padmasambhava wandered over a vast area – from Sri Lanka in the South to Siberia in the North, from Burma in the East to Afghanistan and Tajikistan in the West. And of the incomparable Yeshe Tsogyal they say that there is not a single handful of earth that has not been blessed by her, in which she has not hidden treasures of Dharma.

Sikkim contains many important Padmasambhava sites. A remote cave in North Sikkim is amongst the most important of Guru Rinpoche’s power places. Then there are the four main caves (we visit two), several sites in the far north and Tashiding and Kechupalri. The Hidden land of Sikkim is close to Paro Taksang, a very important Padmasambhava site in Bhutan, where Guru Rinpoche manifested as Dorji Drolo – one of his eight main forms.

Guru Rinpoche entered opened up and tamed the Sikkimese hidden land. In particular Padmasambhava defined it, envisioned and blessed it as the mandala of Lama Gongdu, one of the three main Nyingmapa tantras.

Ridzin Godem and the Northern Ter
After Padmasambhava, the next Tibetan reference to Sikim comes in the fourteenth century with Terton Sangay Lingpa and Terton Ridzin Godem.

Sangay Lingpa (1340 - 1396) was an early and great Terton who revealed the famous Lama Gondu cycle of teachings, which includes the Denjong Ney-Yik, the first guide to the hidden land of Denjong. Tashiding is described as a celestial palace of Padmasambhava - Padmavajra, the surrounding peaks as the abodes of the deities of his mandala - the Lama Gongdu.

Ridzin Godem (1337-1408) was the tulku of Nam Dorji Dudjom (one of Padmasambhava’s 25 closest disciples). More importantly Ridzin Godem is renowned as one of the three supreme emanations of Guru Rinpoche himself -along with Guru Cho-bang and Nyang Nyima Odzer. Ridzin Godem was the body incarnation of Guru Rinpoche. At 11, three feather-like growths appeared on his head, and by the time he was 23 there were five – hence his name Godem – Vulture Feathers.

The Nyingma Gyubum - a collection of the Nyingma exegetical tradition - preserves an enormous 780 texts attributed to Ridzin Godem. The Rinchen Terzo – a more recent collection of Treasure Texts – contains 49 texts revealed by the great Terton.

One of the most important Termas Ridzin Godem revealed was the Gongpa Zang thal, said to be the distilled essence of one hundred thousand Termas. Another, the Chang Ter - the Northern Ter, became the basis of one of the most important sub-schools of Nyingma tradition. Ridzin Godem is also renowned for his discovery of the guidebooks to seven Hidden Lands - including one for Denjong in Sikkim.

So important is the Nyingma Northern Ter considered to be, for the wellbeing of all Tibet, successive Dalai Lamas dedicated elite Gelugpa monasteries to its practice. Thus, Namgyal - the personal Monastery of the Dalai Lama, together with the Monasteries of the State Oracles; Nechung and Gadong, uphold the Northern Ter Tradition of Ridzin Godem.

A great siddha, Ridzin Godem came to Sikim in his old age subjugating the deities and blessing the land; preparing the way for those who would come later. He established meditation centres at Tashiding and Pawo Humri – Hum Mountain – an enormous hill above Tashiding that is depicted in thankas emblazoned with an enormous blue hung. Ridzin Godem recovered Ter from the central peak of Kunchenjunga; images of Guru Rinpoche and the goddess Thing-kha. At Zilon, a spur of Humri just above Tashiding, in the year 1408, at the age of 71, Ridzin Godem attained the rainbow body, dissolving the karmic residue of the five great elements; earth, water , fire, air and space into the five lights yellow, white, red, green, and blue, leaving nothing behind but his hair and nails.

Ngari Rigdzin Chenpo Legdan Dorji 1512-1625Born in Lo-Mantang in Mustang Nepal, (and the younger brother of the great Ngari Mahapandita Padma Wangyal), Legdan Dorji was a master of the Northern Ter and an important link in the transmission of Anuyoga. He lived to be over one hundred and thirteen and was the second tulku of Ridgzin Godem. His root guru was Sakya Zangpo of Yolmo, who discovered the Legend of the Great Stupa and restored Boudhanath in Nepal.

In 1568 Legdan Dorji journeyed to Sikim where at the northern cave of Lhari Rinchen Nyingpo / Lhari Sang Phu, the Secret Cave of The Mountain God’s Precious Heart, he discovered terma including a sadhana of Amitayus, and in the western cave of Great Bliss many other profound teachings.

The Three Holy Ones and the birth of Sikkimese Buddhism
After being tamed and blessed by Guru Rinpoche in the tenth century, and tamed and blessed again by Ridzin Godem in the fourteenth century, it was not until the last half of the seventeenth century that Sikkim began to emerge as a Buddhist society.

In Tibet, Nyingmapas being oppressed by ascendant Gelugpas began to look for new lands where they could practice freely. Sikkim was the prize; and they guarded it jealously. It wasn’t until the reign of the fourth Sikimese Chogyal or Dharma King that the Nyingmapas permitted another Dharmic tradition to be established here; the Karma Kargu. The Fourth Chogyal, disguised as a layman, had gone on pilgrimage to Tibet. When he reached Tsurphu-chief monastery of the Karma Kargu, the Karmapa recognized him, rose from his seat and gave the Chogyal a welcome fit for a king. The Chogyal, pleased and impressed, promised to build several Kargupa Gompas in the up-until-then exclusively Nyingma Sikim. Perhaps significantly, the Karma Kargu sect differs from other Kargu schools in following the Terma tradition of Jatson Nyingpo; the Konchog Chidu – from which comes our Tharpe Delam. Even today there is only one Gelugpa and one Sakyapa monastery in all Sikkim.

Four Founders
Interestingly, the four people credited with founding Buddhist Sikim represent four distinct archetypes; a layman, a scholar-monk, a hermit meditator and a tantric yogi. They form a four-fold model for the Sangha and one often sees their images on Gompa walls throughout Sikim. The scholar-monk, the hermit and the yogi were from Tibetans from three important Nyingma sub-schools; the layman was a local Lepcha whom the Tibetans crowned as King at a place they called Norbugang. Norbugang is Yuksom in Lepcha; both names mean The Three Jewels.

Given our own emphasis on the Three Refuges, it is at least interesting to learn that this Kingdom, so interconnected with our own tradition, was founded at, one could even say founded on, The Three Jewels. It is also interesting that the main Terma tradition established here was Jatson Nyingpo’s Konchog Chidu or Unity of the Three Jewels – a very FWBO/Sangharakshita sounding title.

The Three Nyingma Schools
The three Tibetans came from different Nyingmapa sub-schools associated with important Tibetan monasteries; Mindroling in Central Tibet, Dorji Drak southeast of Lhasa, and Katok Dorji-den in the east. Not surprisingly Bhante, and we, are connected to those monasteries and their teaching traditions through several of his teachers.

The Tantric Yogi: Lhatsun Chenpo
Lhatsun Chenpo was allied to Mindroling Monastery [1676] which practices the terma tradition of its founder, Ridzin Terdak Lingpa - the Southern Ter.

In addition to the Southern Ter of Terdak Lingpa, Lhatsun Chenpo also established the Termas of Jatson Nyingpo, together with his own discoveries in the monasteries that he founded in Sikkim; Dubdi [1701], Pemayangtse [1705], and Sanga Choling [1705]. Lhatsun Chenpo also built the large Wish-fulfilling Chorten at Tashiding Gompa, but mainly he wandered from place to place living in caves and mountain recesses, discovering Ter, writing texts and selecting auspicious sites for future Shrines, Gompas and Chortens. “He blessed and showed us thousands of caves and rocky terrains as places of meditation.” Khenpo Dechen Dorji

“While residing, and in accord with a prophetic declaration of the dakinis, in the Dhaki-nying Cavern at Trakar Tashiding, the Doctrinal Cycles of the Vital Attainment of the Awareness-holder, which are the extraordinary instructions of Ati, the unsurpassed innermost Spirituality, emerged in a pure vision.” Dudjom Rinpoche

This terma of Lhatsun Chenpo, discovered in the Ancient Dakini cave of Tashiding, became the basis of the Sikimese Dzogchen tradition. The central figure of the Refugee Tree is Padmasambhava in the form of Vajrasattva, in union with a white concert; perhaps Mandarava the white long-life Dakini.

Subsequently, tulkus of Lhatsun Chenpo, now know as Khachu Rinpoche, founded many monasteries including Enchey Gompa {1840}, and Phensang Gompa {1840}, and now most Gompas in Sikim follow Lhatsun Chenpo’s tradition.

The founder of the Southern Ter, Ridzin Terdak Lingpa was both teacher and disciple of ‘the great fifth’ Dalai Lama who entrusted Mindroling with State rituals that the monastery has kept up until today.

Also know as Terchen Chokyi-Gyalpo and Minling Terchen Gyurme Dorje, Terdak Lingpa had a daughter Migur Paldron who was exiled to Sikim during a period of Gelug inspired Mongolian suppression of the Nyingmas. Jetsunma Migur Paldron was a great practitioner and Dharma teacher, the four vehicles of Mindroling where established by her in 1718. In the top temple of Mindroling in Tibet, Migur Paldron is portrayed holding a rosary and a vase with leaves. Choshaygang; a stone throne used by the Jetsunma when teaching, is still visible between Pemayangtse and the royal ruins of Rabdentse.

Dudjom Rinpoche was the lineage holder of Mindroling and worked tirelessly to re-establish Mindroling in Dera Doon. “From Mindroling Vajracharya, Namdrol Gyatso, Dudjom Rinpoche learned the rituals, mandalas, songs, dance and music of Tertag Lingpa, along with many other teachings.”

Khachu Rinpoche is closely associated with Jatson Nyingpo’s Konchog Chidu, Lhatsun Chenpo’s Dzogchen tradition and Terdak Lingpa s Southern Ter. At present, the young Khachu Tulku is studying in the new Mindroling Monastery that Dudjom Rinpoche re-established in Dera Doon.

Dhardo Rinpoche, who was a Nyingma tulku three lives ago, also practiced the Terdak Lingpa’s Southern Ter and was associated with Mindroling Gompa. However, the Dhardo Tulku lineage is considerably older than Mindroling and the Southern Ter. Rinpoche had a monastery in Dharsendo called Dorji Drak, [Vajra Rock] so it is likely that Dhardo Rinpoche also has roots in the Northern Ter tradition of Ridzin Godem based at the original Dorji Drak Gompa south-east of Lhasa.

Bhante’s teacher Jamyang Khyentse Choki Lodro had a connection with the Mindroling tradition. After being ordained at Katog (see below) Rinpoche took monastic Ordination for a second time at Mindroling from Sangye Kunga, the seventh Throne-holder of Mindroling. This was because his predecessor Jamyang Khyentse Wangpo had received his Ordination and the Bodhisattva Vows at Mindroling.

The Hermit: Nadak Sempa Chenpo
Nadak Sempa Chenpo Phuntshog Ridzin (1591 - 1654). Nadak is Tibetan for Nil Kanth, which means blue throat and is a reference to Avalokitesvara whose throat turned blue after drinking the poison of the world. Nadak Sempa Chenpo was an emanation of the great Terton Nadak Nyangral Nyima Odzer (1124-1192).

Nyima Odzer, one of the three supreme emanations of Padmasambhava, was the first of the Five Great Tertons; 550 texts by him are preserved in the Nyingma Gyubum and 43 in the Rinchen Terzo. He was prophesied by Padmasambhava; "There will be so many fugitives that the land will become deserted. Warned by these signs not to fail, and to bring to light the treasure hidden among the Mons of the South, Nyima Odzer, Jarong the Cynosure of Ekara will appear, who will know how to revive the dead."

Nadak Sempa Chenpo entered Sikim from the South in 1642, shortly before Lhatsun Chenpo, and founded a gompa at Yuksom, then others at Tashiding [1716], Silnon [1716], Namchi, Thangmoche and Nadak all of which follow the Northern Ter tradition of the terton Ridzin Godem as practiced in the Dorji-Drak Vajra-rock Monastery southeast of Lhasa.

Bhante’s teacher Chatral Rinpoche is an important practitioner and lineage holder of the Northern Ter.

The Monk: Katog Ridzin Chenpo
Katog Ridzin Chenpo Tsewang Norbu (1698-1755) entered Sikim from the west and founded a monastery at Yuksom as well as Katog Gompa, Doling Gompa, and the Dorji-ling Gompa, which once stood in Darjeeling. These monasteries adopted the Terma tradition of Terchen Dorje Lingpa (1346-1405) as practiced at Katog Monastery.

Katog is one of the oldest [1159] and most important of all Nyingma monasteries, it had 112 branch monasteries in Mongolia, China and Sikim and is entrusted with State rituals. Prophesied by Guru Rinpoche Katog Dorji-den Gompa was founded on the slopes of Yul-ri – the Hidden Mountain in Dergey district in Kham east Tibet.

Terchen Dorje Lingpa started discovering ter at 13 and had revealed so many texts by the age of 20 that they are called the mad treasures (ternyon). Dorje Lingpa was the first Terton to discover Ter by public revelation (tromter) whereby the terma is extracted in public. Ridzin Jatson Nyingpo also discovered much of his Ter in public. Dorje Lingpa spent many years at Bumthang in neighbouring Bhutan.

Significantly, Katog Ridzin Chenpo Tsewang Norbu is the fourth lineage master or guru of the Tharpe Delam. “An important teacher of vast learning, a peacemaker, a preceptor, an author prolific and eclectic, and an advanced yogi and Terton”, Katog Ridzin Tsewang Norbu journeyed three times to Nepal where he restored both Svayambhu and Boudhanath stupas.

Katog Ridzin Chenpo Tsewang Norbu also did much to revive the Zhentong “other voidness” teachings that had earlier been suppressed by the Great Fifth Dalai Lama.
Katog Ridzin Chenpo was the heart incarnation of Namkhai Nyingpo. Namkhai Nyingpo was one of Guru Rinpoche's 25 closest disciples and became one of the most important early Nyingma masters, even writing and concealing termas -including the life stories of Yeshe Tsogyal and Padmasambhava. He was amongst the first five Tibetan’s sent by Padmasambhava and Tri Song Detsen to India in search of tantric texts. He journeyed several times to India, meeting several important teachers, and attained there the non-dual Jnanakaya. As a fruit of his practice, he could ride the rays of the sun and he is usually depicted soaring in the sky with arms outstretched. "Pebbles blessed by this miracle worker yielded fruit and flowers when planted. He could turn rocks into turquoise and leave hand prints in the rocky cliffs as signs of his accomplishments."

Namkhai Nyingpo was a tulku of Maha Laksminkara – the sister of King Indrabhuti and like him one of the 84 Mahasidddha’s. She is a very important teacher in the lineage of the Guhyasamaja and Vajrayogini tantras. Laksminkara is credited with initiating the tradition of visualizing bija-mantras on the power points of ones body and with revealing the sadhana of Jal Lus Phagmo or the severed-head Chinnamunda form of Vajravarahi, together with a system of practice called the Seven Topics of Laksminkara. Laksminkara is also credited with taking the Dharma to Sri Lanka.

Chatral Rinpoche is closely associated with Katog Monastery. Katog Khenpo Ngawang Palzang (Khenpo Ngakchung), 1879-1941, the abbot of Katog and one of the greatest Dzogchen teachers of the 20th century, was Rinpoche’s root Guru.
Predictions of Chatral Rinpoche’s birth included references to Katog. “A supreme emanation of the great scholar Vimalamitra, will appear in the area of Katok with the name Buddha.“ (Sange Dorje = Buddha Vajra)“This present Gyalwa Lodro will in future times, to the south of Katok, have the name Buddha, endowed with wisdom. It is to that person you must give this teaching.” Chatral Rinpoche has founded Pakyong Katok Monastery in Sikkim.

Dudjom Rinpoche’s father was Katog Tulku Norbu Tenzing, a famous tulku from Katog monastery. Previous lives of Dudjom Rinpoche include Dampa Deshek: the founder of Katog Gompa, Trakthung Dudul Dorje: the Terton who revived Katog and second guru of the Tharpe Delam lineage, and Gyeltse Sonam Detsen: a spiritual head of Katog Gompa.

Jamyang Khyentse Choki Lodro also had a connection with the Katog tradition; in fact he was originally known as Katog Khyentse Rinpoche. Rinpoche was born close to Katog monastery. When he was seven, he was taken to Katog and was recognized as the activity-manifestation of Jamyang Khyentse Wangpo by Katok Situ Chokyi Gyatso-the nephew of Jamyang Khyentse Wangpo. Katok Situ, who also performed the hair-cutting ceremony and named him Jamyang Lodro Gyatso, became the most important person in Rinpoche’s spiritual and secular life. Jamyang Khyentse Rinpoche took charge of Katog Monastery for about 15 years after the death of his teacher Katog Situ.

The Tip of the Iceberg
Guru Rinpoche, Yeshe Tsogyal, and Mandarava, Dorji Lingpa, Ridzin Godem and Terdak Lingpa, The Mad treasures, The Southern Treasure, and The Northern Ter, Katog, Dorji Drak and Mindroling gompas, Lhatsun Chenpo, Ngadak Sempa Chenpo and Katog Ridzin Chenpo; we are connected to these illustrious teachers and teachings through Bhante, his teachers, and through the Hidden Land of Denjong. Wonderful as they are these connections are just the tip of the iceberg.

Sangharakshita connects us, in a pure and direct way, with so many Dharma traditions one is compelled to see the hand of fate at work. This essay just begins to recollect the blessings that emanate from Padma’s Sikimese Hidden Land, the crucible of our Movement. We have seen how these connections are strengthened by Bhante’s teachers who themselves uphold and transmit those blessing lineages. But Bhante’s teachers also connect us to a much wider tradition, Tibetan, Indian and Chinese that is beyond the scope of this tentative exploration.