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On my origins

      I was born in a small village called Taktser, meaning “the roaring tiger,” on 6 July 1935. Taktser is in the northeast of Tibet, in Amdo province, which borders on to China. My parents were peasant farmers. On the whole, my parents grew enough to feed the family. In peasant families such as ours, it was important to have many children, and my mother gave birth to 16 children, but nine of them died when they were very young. Of course, at that time nobody imagined that I was anything but an ordinary baby.

      After I was born, a couple of crows began frequenting the roof of our house. They would arrive each morning, stay there for a while, and fly off again. This is of interest because a similar event took place after the births of the First, Seventh, and Eighth Dalai Lamas.

       How I was recognized as the reincarnation of the 13th Dalai Lama

      When I was barely three years old, a team charged by the Lhasa government with the task of finding the reincarnation of the Dalai Lama arrived at the monastery in Kumbum. Various signs led these men to my parents’ farm, where they spent the night playing with me and observing me very closely. They returned a few days later with a set of objects that had belonged to the 13th Dalai Lama, and other identical objects that had not belonged to him. Presented with each one of the objects that had belonged to him, I would cry out, “This is mine! This is mine!” That is how I was eventually recognized as the new Dalai Lama.

      

      My mother remembers very clearly that as soon as I arrived in Lhasa, I said that my teeth were in a box, in a particular room of the Norbulingka (the summer palace). When the box was opened, it was found to contain a set of teeth, which had belonged to the 13th Dalai Lama.

       Bodhisattva of compassion, holder of the white lotus

      I am considered to be the reincarnation of each one of the previous Dalai Lamas – the first was born in 1351 – and, in turn, each one is considered to be a manifestation of the bodhisattva of compassion, the holder of the white lotus. Tibetans therefore believe me to be the 14th manifestation in a lineage, which goes back to a Brahmin child who lived at the time of Shakyamuni Buddha, some 2,500 years ago.

      

      Very few people indeed have ever been considered in any way divine. Thanks to my role, I am able to bring a lot of benefit, and for this reason I appreciate it. This role is also very useful for people in general, and I owe it to my karma to have been reborn into it. You could say that my circumstances are extremely fortunate. However, behind the idea of good fortune actually lie real causes and conditions: there is the karmic force of my capacity to take on the role, and there is my wish to do so.

      

      The Indian monk Shantideva wrote:

      

       “As long as space endures,As long as sentient beings remain,Until then, may I too remainAnd dispel the miseries of the world.”

      I make this wish in my present life, and I am sure I have made it in past lives too.

       My mother

      My mother was without doubt one of the kindest people I have ever met. She was really wonderful and full of compassion. One day, when there was terrible famine in the neighboring area of China, and when many poor people would cross the border in the hope of finding something to eat in Tibet, one couple came to our door with a dead child. They pleaded with my mother to give them food, which she did immediately. And then, pointing to their child, she asked them whether they needed help to bury him. Once they had understood her question they shook their heads, and gestured that they intended to eat him. Horrified, my mother asked them to come into the house, and gave them everything she had in the larder. Even at the risk of depriving her own family, never would she let a beggar leave empty-handed.

       Loneliness as a small child

      Several months after the search party had decided that the child they found in Taktser was the true incarnation of the Dalai Lama, my parents took me to Kumbum Monastery where I was enthroned during a ceremony held at dawn. The period after that was a lonely and rather unhappy phase in my childhood. My parents left, and I was alone in a totally unfamiliar environment. It is very hard for a child to be separated from loved ones. Most of the time, I was unhappy. I did not understand what it meant to be a Dalai Lama, because I felt I was a little boy like any other.

      

      In the winter of 1940, I was taken to the Potala where I was officially enthroned as spiritual leader of the Tibetan people during a ceremony that took place in the largest reception room in the palace. I remember especially the first time I sat on the large wooden “lion” throne, sculpted and encrusted with precious stones. Soon after, I was taken to the Jokhang Temple, where I took the vows of a novice. Reting Rinpoche symbolically shaved off my hair. He was the Regent, acting as the head of State until I came of age.

      

      Apart from Reting Rinpoche, I had two other preceptors and three monks who served me: the master of ceremonies, the master cook, and the master of robes. Wherever I went I was accompanied by a large retinue of ministers and advisors from the most eminent and noble families in the country, all dressed in sumptuous silk gowns. Each time I left the Potala, almost the entire population of Lhasa, the Tibetan capital, would try to catch sight of me. And as my procession went by, everyone would prostrate in respectful silence, frequently in tears.

       The master cook

      When I was very young, I was very fond of the master cook. I loved him so much I always wanted to be with him, even if this meant just being able to see the hem of his gown below the curtains, which serve as room partitions in Tibetan houses. Luckily, he tolerated my behavior. He was virtually bald, very gentle, and simple. He was not a very good storyteller, and he did not like to play much, but these things did not matter at all.

      

      Since then, I have often wondered about the nature of our relationship. Sometimes I think that food is an essential ingredient in every type of relationship between living beings.

       On my studies

      My life was strictly regulated. I studied twice a day, for one hour each time, and spent the rest of the day playing. Then, at the age of 13, I was obliged to do the same studies as any monk preparing for a doctorate in Buddhism. There were 10 subject areas, of which the five “higher” subjects are: the art of healing, Sanskrit, dialectics, arts and crafts, and the philosophy of religion. The five secondary subjects are poetry, astrology, dramatic arts, literary style, and language studies.

      

      My studies were not well balanced and did not meet the training needs of anyone who was to become a national leader in the 20th century. They were based on a routine, but I got used to it. Occasionally I would have holidays, and they were happy times. Lobsang Samten, my older brother, would come to visit me. Sometimes my mother would also come and bring me a loaf of the thick and delicious bread that is a specialty of Amdo province. She would bake it herself.

       Losar, the New Year festival

      The most important festival in the year is Losar, the New Year, celebrated in February or March of the Western calendar. For me, Losar meant my yearly meeting with Nechung, the State oracle, who would offer me, and the government as a whole, the opportunity to consult the Tibetan deity Dorje Drakden about the year to come.

      

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