THE LAMA’S STORY.
“I am a Ringding, of the order of Gelong Lamas. That is neither a high
rank nor a low one; but high enough to provide the outer forms of
dignity, and low enough to avoid the snares of pride. I have ever found
contentment in the Middle Way. I was born in Lhassa,” Tsiang Samdup
began, and then paused and got down on the rug, where he could sit
cross-legged and be comfortable. Diana went and laid her great head on
his knee.
“Just a minute,” said Ommony. “How old are you?”
But Tsiang Samdup smiled. “My son,” he answered, “we live as long as we
are useful, and as long as it is good for us to live. Thereafter we die,
which is another form of living, even as ice and water and rain and dew
are the same thing in different aspects. When the appointed time comes,
we return, as the rain returns, to the earth it has left for a season.
As I told you, I was born in Lhassa.”
He rubbed the dog’s head as if he were erasing unnecessary details from
the tablets of memory. Then he laid a stick of pine-wood on the fire
deliberately, and watched it burn. It was several minutes before he
spoke again.
“The Dalai Lama is a person who is mocked by Western thinkers. The few
Europeans who have been to Lhassa have hastened to write books about
him, in which they declare he is the ignorant head of a grossly
superstitious religion. To which I have nothing to say, except this:
that it is evident the writers of those books have been unable to expose
the Dalai Lama’s secrets. An army which invaded Lhassa failed to expose
them with its bayonets. I, who took the highest possible degrees at
Oxford and have lived in Paris, in Vienna, and in Rome—so that I know
at least something of the western culture—regard the Dalai Lama with
respect, which is different, my son, from superstitious awe. The Tashi
Lama, who does not live in Lhassa, is as high above the Dalai Lama as a
principle is higher than a consequence.
“There was a Tashi Lama who selected me, for reasons of his own, for
certain duties. I was very young then—conscious of the host of lower
impulses and far from the self-knowledge that discriminates between the
higher and the lower. To me in those days my desire was law, and I had
not yet learned to desire the Middle Way, which leads between the
dangers of ambition and inertia.”
Tsiang Samdup paused again and stared out of the window at an eagle
which soared higher and higher on motionless wings, adjusting its
balance accurately to the flukes of wind.
“We learn by experience,” he went on after a while. “Few of us remember
former lives and those who say they do are for the most part liars,
although there are some who are deceived by imagination. But the
experience of former lives is in our favor—or against us, as the case
may be. Its total is what some call instinct, others intuition; but
there is a right name for it, and there are those whose past experience
equips them with ability to recognize that stage in others at which the
higher nature begins to overwhelm the lower. They are able to assist the
process. But such men are exceedingly rare, though there are hosts of
fools and rogues who pretend to the gift, which comes not by desire but
by experience endured in many lives.
“That Tashi Lama said to me: ‘My son, it may amuse you to linger for a
few lives on the lower path; for you are strong, and the senses riot in
you; and it is not my duty to impose on you one course of conduct, if
you prefer another. It is very difficult to rise against the will, but
very easy if the will directs.’ And I, because I loved him, answered I
would do his bidding. But he said: ‘Nay. Each man must, each minute,
make his destiny. It is your own will, not mine, that directs you. Shall
I fight your will, and force you to attempt the better way? Not so;
because in that case you would surely fall, for which I should be
responsible. But I perceive that the time has come when you may choose,
and that your will is strong enough to make the choice and hold to it.
You may be a benefactor or a beneficiary—a man, aware of manhood, or a
victim of the lower senses, bound to the wheel of necessity. Which shall
it be?’—And because he had discerned, and had chosen the right moment,
there was a surging of the spirit in me, and as it were an awakening.
“I said to him: ‘I have chosen.’ And he asked me: ‘Which way?’ To which
I answered at once: ‘The higher.’ Whereat he laughed; for I do not doubt
that he saw the pride and the ambition that were cloaked within the
answer.
“Thereafter he considered me for a long time before he spoke. And when I
had waited so long that I supposed he would say no more at all, he said
this: ‘They who take the higher way in the beginning are consumed with
arrogance; they mortify the flesh and magnify the will until there is no
balance left; and when, after their period of death, they are born
again, it is into a feeble body possessed by a demon will that tortures
it; even as they who choose the lower way are reborn into brutal bodies
with feeble wills.’
“Whereat I asked him: ‘How then shall I choose between the higher and
the lower, since both are evil?’ And he considered me again, a long
time.
“At last he said this: ‘There is the Middle Way; but there are few who
find it, and yet fewer who persist in it, because pride tempts one way
and sloth the other.’
“And I said: ‘I have chosen.’ And he said: ‘Speak.’ And I said: ‘Let it
be the Middle Way.’ Whereat he did not laugh, but considered me again
for many minutes; and at the end of it, he said: ‘My son, you have much
strength. If you persist and keep the Middle Way, you have a destiny and
you shall not die until you have fulfilled it. But beware of pride; and
above all, seek no knowledge for your own sake.’
“At that time he said no more, but I became his _chela_. I washed his
feet, and I swept the floor of his chamber, which was less than this one
and less comfortably furnished. He taught me many things, but mainly
patience, of which I lacked more in those days than a snake lacks legs.
I supposed that before his time should come to die he would prefer me to
high office. But nay. On a certain day he sent for me and said: ‘I shall
die on the eleventh day from now, at noon. To-morrow at dawn take the
road into India, and go to Delhi, to a certain house in a certain
street, and there learn the tongue of the English. Thence, I having made
provision for it, journey to England, to a University called Oxford; and
there learn all that the University can teach—and particularly all they
think they know about philosophy and religion.’
“I said to him: ‘Why?’ And he said: ‘I know not why; but I tell you what
I know it is good for you to do. There is a destiny which, if you fail
not, you shall fulfill. But beware of the Western knowledge, which is
corrupt and strained through the sieve of convenience. I do not know,
but it may be that you must learn the Western teachings for another’s
sake. Who can teach a horse unless he understands the way of horses? Who
can make a sword unless he understands the qualities of steel?’
“And I said to him, ‘Shall I be a swordsmith?’ But he answered: ‘Nay. I
said you have a destiny to fulfill.’ So I asked, ‘When?’ But he said, ‘I
know not. However, I know this: if you seek your own advancement, you
will fail. And there is a certain condition in you that will inevitably
bring you to a death by violence, because of lies that you yourself will
tell; but because of your strength that may not come to pass until your
work is finished.’
“So I said to him, ‘How shall I know what my work is?’ And he answered,
‘That will appear.’ But I said, ‘If you, my great and very holy master,
are to die, who then shall show me how to fulfill this destiny?’ And he
answered: ‘It is for you to become fit to be the tool of destiny, and to
hold yourself at all times ready. There are those from whom, at the
proper time, you may receive the right advice.’ So I asked: ‘How shall I
find them?’ And he answered: ‘They will find you.’
“Thereafter I besought him earnestly that I might remain with him in
Lhassa until his death, because I was his _chela_, and that is no
commonplace relationship. Its roots lie deeper than the roots of trees.
But he answered: ‘The first duty of a _chela_ is obedience.’”
Tsiang Samdup paused and stared through the open window at the sky for
several minutes. Eyes and sky were so exactly the same color that it
looked as if the substance of the sky had crept within him and appeared
through slits amid the walnut wrinkles of his face.
“It was midwinter,” he said after a while, “and no light task to cross
the passes. But the route the Tashi Lama gave me was this way, through
the Ahbor Valley, and I lay for a month in this monastery, recovering
from frost-bite and exhaustion. And as I lay between life and death, one
came to me who had a pilgrim’s staff, and no outward appearance of
greatness, who considered me in silence for a long while; but the
silence appeared to me like the voice of the universe, full of music,
yet without sound. He went away. But in three days’ time, when I was
already far recovered (for I was ever strong), he returned and led me to
what I will show you to-night and to-morrow. And I saw myself within
myself.”
He paused again, and again the far-away look in his eyes searched the
sky and seemed to blend with it.
“He carried me forth,” he said presently, “I lying like a dead man in
his arms. His voice in my ear was as a mother’s speaking to a child. ‘It
is well,’ said he. ‘Now set forth on your journey, and remember. For you
know now what you have to overcome, and also what is yours _wherewith_
to overcome.’
“So after certain days I set forth, and in due time I came to Delhi,
where I studied English. Thereafter I went to England.”
The wrinkles moved in silent laughter, and the old eyes twinkled
reminiscently as they looked into Ommony’s.
“My son, that was no light experience! It was warfare, and myself the
battle-field. Warfare, and loneliness. Curiosity, contempt,—courtesy,
discourtesy, indifference—all these were shown toward me. And there
were very generous men at Oxford, whose pride was racial, not
intellectual, who were as patient in the teaching as the sun is patient
to the growing grass—most worthy and laughter-loving men, mistaken in
much, but as sure of the reward of generosity as there is surely good
will in their hearts. They did not know I was Tibetan; they believed I
was Chinese, because I speak and write that language, and none knew
anything about Tibet.
“I came to understand that the cycles of evolution are moving westward,
and that the West is arrogant with the strength it feels within itself.
I saw, my son, that the West is deceived by the glitter of results,
knowing nothing of causes, and that the East is in turn deceived by the
wealth and ostentation of the West—for this is Kali Yuga,[44] when
delusion and a blindness overspreads the world. I knew—for none had
better right to know—that strength can be guided into the grooves of
destiny, and that knowledge is the key. But I perceived that great harm
can be done by interference. There is danger in another’s duty. Also I
saw that _my_ voice, however reasonably raised, could accomplish
nothing, because of the racial prejudice. The West is curious about the
East, but proud—contemptuous—and most cruel when it most believes it
is benevolent. The West sends missionaries to the East, who teach the
very culture that is poisoning the life-springs of the West itself. The
strength of the West and its generous impulse must be guided. Its
rapacity must be restrained. But it was clear to me that I could not
accomplish that, since none would listen to me. The few who pretended to
listen merely sought to use my teaching for their own enrichment and
advantage.
“I met a certain one in London. He appeared to be English, but that
meant nothing. He had the Ancient Wisdom in his eyes. I had taken my
degrees at Oxford then, and I was sitting in the Stranger’s Gallery of
the House of Parliament. I remember I grieved; for I saw how eager those
debaters were to rule the whole world wisely—yet how ignorant they were
of the very rudiments of what could possibly enable them to do it. I
said to him who was in the corner next to me: ‘These men boast of what
is right, and they believe their words; but they do not know what is
right. Who shall save them?’ And he answered, after he had considered me
a while in silence: ‘If _you_ know what is right, you will attend to
your own duty.’
“So l went and lived in Paris for a while, and in Vienna and in Rome,
because it was my duty to learn how the West thinks, and in what way it
is self-deceived. And thereafter I returned to Tibet, wondering. It did
not seem to me that I was one step forward on the path of destiny. I
could see (for I had walked the length of India with pilgrim’s staff and
begging-bowl) that the West was devouring the East and the East was
inert in the grip of superstition, inclined, if it should move at all,
to imitate the West and to corrupt the Western energy by specious
flattery, hating its conquerors, yet copying those very methods that
made conquest possible.
“An unfathomable sadness overwhelmed me. It appeared to me that all my
knowledge was as nothing. I doubted the stars in the sky; I said ‘These,
too, are a delusion of the senses. Who shall prove to me that I am not
deceived in all things?’”
Tsiang Samdup paused and thought a while, stroking Diana’s head.
“My son,” he said presently, “it was as if the knowledge that was born
within me, and all the false Western doctrine I had studied, were as
waters meeting in the basin of my mind, and in the whirlpool my faith
was drowning. It is ever so when truth meets untruth, but I did not know
that then.
“I went to the Tashi Lama—the successor of my teacher. He was but a
child, and I was ashamed to lay my heart before him, though I laid my
forehead on the mat before his throne, for the sake of the traditions
and my master’s memory. And to me, as I left the throne-room sadly, one
of the regents, drawing me aside said: ‘I have heard a destiny awaits
you.’ I asked: ‘From whom have you heard that?’ But he did not say. To
him I laid bare the affliction that was eating out my heart; and to me
he said: ‘Good. This is a time of conquest of self by the Self; I
foresee that the higher will win.’ Thereafter he spoke of the folly of
stirring molten metal with a wooden spoon. He bade me let my thoughts
alone. And because he saw in me a pride of knowledge that was at the
root of my affliction, he appointed me a temple neophite. He who was set
over me had orders to impose severe tasks. I hewed wood. I carried
water. I laid heavy masonry, toiling from sunrise until dark. I labored
in the monastery kitchen. I dug gold on the plateau, where for nine
months of every year the earth is frozen so hard that a strong man can
with difficulty dig two baskets-full. By day I toiled. By night I
dreamed dreams—grand dreams full of quiet understanding—so that to me
it seemed that the night was life, and the day death. I was well
contented to remain there in the gold-fields, because it seemed to me I
had found my destiny; the miners were well pleased to listen to me in
the intervals when we leaned on the tools and rested, and when the
blizzards blew and we were herded very close together for the warmth,
with the animals between us in the tents.
“But when the Tashi Lama, who succeeded him whose _chela_ I had been,
came to man’s estate he sent for me. And after he had talked with me a
while on many matters he promoted me. I became a Lama of the lowest
rank, and yet without the ordinary duties of a Lama. I had time to study
and arrange the ancient books; of which, my son, there are more than the
West imagines; they are older than the West believes the world to be,
and they are written in a language that extremely few can read. But I
can read them. And I learned that my dreams were realities—although the
dreams ceased in those days.
“Once, that one who had come to me when I lay sick in this place on my
journey southward, came to me in Lhassa, where I was pondering the
ancient books and rearranging them. And to him I said, ‘Lo, I have met
my destiny! I see that it is possible to translate some of these into
the Western tongues.’ But he answered: ‘Who would believe? For this is
Kali Yuga. Men think that nothing is true unless they can turn it into
money and devour what they can purchase with it. If you give too much
food to a starving horse, will he thrive? Or will he gorge himself to
death?’
“Said I; ‘Light travels fast.’ Said he; ‘It does. But it requires a
hundred million years for the light of certain stars to reach the earth.
And how long does it take for the formation of coal, that men burn in a
minute? Make no haste, or they will burn thee! They have Plato and
Pythagoras and Appolonius—Jesus, the Buddha, Mohammed—and others.
Would you give them a new creed to go to war about, or a new curiosity
to buy and sell for their museums? Which?’
“Thereafter the Tashi Lama sent for me, and I was given no more time to
study the ancient books. But I was promoted to the rank of Gelong, and
became a Ringding, whose duty was to teach the people as much as they
could understand. I discovered it was not much that they could
understand. They knew the meaning of desire, and of the bellyache that
comes from too much eating. I found that if one man learns more than
another, he is soon so filled with pride that he had better have been
left in ignorance; and I also found that men will accept any doctrine
that flatters their desires or excuses ignorance, but that they seek to
vilify and kill whoever teaches them to discipline the senses in order
that their higher nature may appear and make them wise. There is no
difference in that respect, although men are fond of saying that the
West is quite unlike the East. East or West they will murder any one who
teaches them to think except in terms of the lower self.
“There was an outcry against me in Lhassa, and there were many Lamas who
declared I should be put on trial for heresy. I was stoned in the
streets; and the great dogs that devour the dead were incited to attack
me. So I said: ‘Lo, it may be then I have fulfilled my destiny. For he
who was my teacher prophesied that there is that in me which must
inevitably bring me to a violent end. Nevertheless, I have told no lies
yet, that I know of!’
“But the Dalai Lama sent men—they were soldiers—who, under pretense of
throwing me in prison, hid me in a certain place. And escaping thence by
night, with one to guide me, I went on a journey of many days, to a
village where none knew me, where I dwelt safely; so that I thought that
my teacher had prophesied falsely, and for a while again I doubted.
“But there came to me that same one who had come when I lay sick in this
place on my journey southward, and he said to me; ‘Have you learned yet
that the stars and the seasons keep their course and the appointed
times, and that no seed grows until the earth is ready?’ And I said:
‘How shall I know when it is ready? And who shall tell me the appointed
time?’ For I was full of a great yearning to be useful. But he answered:
‘Who rules the stars? Until you can control yourself, how shall you
serve others?’ But I was burning with desire to serve, and moreover
indignant at persecution, for in those days I had very little wisdom. I
was a fool who puts his face into a hornets’ nest to tell the hornets of
the Higher Law. And I said to him: ‘I am beginning to doubt all things.’
‘Nay,’ said he, ‘for you began that once before, and made an end of it.
You are beginning now to doubt your own impetuosity, and that is good,
for you will learn that power lies in patience. He who will play in the
symphony awaits the exact moment before he strikes his note. You forget
that the world existed many million years, and that you lived many
scores of lives, before you came to this pass. Will you sow seed in
midwinter because it wearies you to wait until the spring?’
“And when he had considered me again for a long while, he went away,
saying that he would doubtless speak with me again, should the necessity
arise. And before many days there came a message from Lhassa, saying
that one was dead who had charge of this monastery in the Ahbor Valley,
and that the Dalai Lama had appointed me to take his place.
“So hither I came, and was at peace. And many years, my son, I lived
here studying the ancient mysteries, considering the stars, and not
seldom wondering what service to the world my destiny might hold in
store. I made ready. I held myself ready.”
-----
[44] The age of darkness.
And I have asked this of the priests, but though they answered
with a multitude of words, their words were emptiness: If it is
true that a priest can pacify and coax God, or by meditation can
relieve another from the consequences of his own sin, why should
any one be troubled and why do the priests not put an end for
ever to all sin and suffering? If they can, and do not, they are
criminals. If they can not, but pretend that they can, they are
liars. Nevertheless, there is a middle judgment, and it seems to
me that SOME of them may be mistaken.
From the Book of the Sayings of Tsiang Samdup.