Chapter 6
About the time Mary Joe was boarding the Jumbo jet that was to take her to New Delhi, Lobsang Ramten, a lama from the monastery of Drepchung, situated five niiles to the north west of the city of Lhasa, quietly crossed an unnamed pass west of the Tibetan town of Gartok and entered the Indian state of Himachal Pradesh. The monastery of Drepchung is the largest monastery in all of Tibet. But it has another distinction, it has a large contingent of lamas who specialise in the art of armed and unarmed combat. These fighting lamas, called dobdos, put up a fierce resistance to the Chinese when they invaded Tibet in 1951. These lamas keep themselves fit by athletic contests, feats of strength and so on, but the most promising pupils are imparted a training which is not carried out in the open, before the eyes of curious . onlookers. This training is given deep inside the cloisters, invisible and unknown to the outside world. This is the knowledge of Chen Yoshi, the Tibetan art of unarmed combat. The initiates are first taught to wrestle with yaks and to ride horses without saddle and bridle. They are allowed more meat in their diet than others, for it is their, dharma to become strong. After the newcomer has toughened his body, he is taught to endure the intense cold of the Tibetan plateau. Those who have mastered this art can sit without a stitch of clothing on their bodies in a roaring snowstorm and still keep warm. It is said that the touch of a lama who knows this art, can melt ice, even in the sub-zero temperatures of the Tibetan dawn.
After these preliminaries have been mastered, starts the actual training in unarmed combat. The monks are taught all about those pressure points in the human body, where even a slight blow can bring about a momentary loss of consciousness. They are taught to use their fists, knuckles, fingers, feet, knees and elbows as lethal weapons. They are taught the 108 postures and 8 basic movements used in Tai Chi and Kung fu.
But Chen Yoshi, like Kung Fu and Tai Chi is a system of combat that believes in using the inner forces of the human body. It is said that the Indian monk Bodhidharma, the founder of Zen and of the Shaolin School of unarmed combat, once bored a hole in the wall of a cave where he was meditating simply by gazing fixedly at a single spot on the wall. He did this to show the Chinese monks, who were until then sceptical of his spiritual power, the enormous force that dwell in the human mind. The Tibetans similarly believe that the physical body is only the outer shell or covering for the subtle body which really controls a man's consciouness and energy. The ultimate aim of chen yoshi, is to influence the enemy's internal command and control systems, thus sapping his will to fight. It is claimed by some, that the greatest masters of this art can overcome their adversary simply by looking into his eyes. The enemy's resistance crumbles as he is transfixed by the overpowering gaze Chen Yoshi master.
It is impressed upon the pupils of Chen Yoshi, that it is defensive in nature and the enemy, who as a living creature is after all deserving of the same compassion as all other living being, must never be deprived of his life if possible. If it is necessary to inflict hurt on the opponent, this must be the minimum possible. The ideal of Chen Yoshi is of course to immobilise the enemy without laying hands on his body at all. Every acolyte keeps before him this ideal, the image of the great master destroying the adversary's will to fight by gazing deep into his eyes.
In keeping with its defensive approach, Chen Yoshi masters have perfected the art of fashioning body armour that can stand up, not only to swords and knives but also to guns of all kind. One simple armour is a toughened yak hide tunic, reinforced with metal backing at critical spots. The tunic is padded with a stuffing of yak hair, and this simple piece of protective clothing can usually successfully stop a.38 calibre bullet fired from a handgun at twenty yards.
Lobsang had been chosen for this mission for three reasons. First he was a Khampa, coming from the eastern border region of Tibet. He had been born in the starkly beautiful mountain terrain where the Mekong river has its source. Coming from an area that is closer to China than the centres of Tibet, he spoke fluent Chinese and was familiar with Chinese manners and customs. The second reason was that the young monk harboured a bitter hatred of the Chinese because they had killed his father, who had been one of the leaders of the Khampa rebellion of 1959. The third reason was the most important of all -Lobsang was one of the acknowledged masters of Chen Yoshi, and considered by the abbot of Drepchung to be the strongest practitioner of this ancient art in the monastery.
After sneaking into India, Lobsang finally arrived at the monastery of Stakna, situated high up on a small crag in the Indus valley in Ladakh. Ladakh is a region of barren mountains that rise suddenly from the plateau and reach heights upto six thousand meters. The Ladakh region is geographically an extension of the Tibetan plateau. The Ladakkis follow the Tibetan form Buddhism and look to Tibet as their spiritual and cultural home.
Straddling the top of the crag that dominates the perfectly flat valley of the Indus, bound on the south by the lofty Zanskar range and on the north by the even loftier peaks of the Ladakh range is the monastery of Stakna, about thirty miles south of the city of Leh. Through the valley the blue Indus flows gently, the channel is broad but shallow and its banks are fringed with willows and fields whose lush green stands out in the stark desolation of the rest of the valley.
Lobsang was brought before the abbot, who told him all about his mission.
"Brother Lobsang, you should feel honoured that you have been chosen for this mission."
Lobsang bowed low. "I am conscious of the honour Rinpoche. "
"You will accompany the American woman to Tibet. She is unused to our ways, unfamiliar with the teachings, a complete stranger to our way of life. It is your task to make her learn." The Abbot gestured to a lama, "take Lobsang to meet the American woman."
Lobsang was brought face to face with Mary Joe for the first time. He was expecting a white woman, fair haired and light eyed, but Mary Joe looked like just another Tibetan woman, wearing a chuba, with dark hair tied in a single long pigtail.
"Hello, I am Mary Joe, you, must be Lobsang."
Lobsang did not shake the proffered hand. One did not shake hands with women if one were a monk. He merely bowed politely and repeated her name.
"Mai Hoe, Mai Hoe, good."
"Not Mai Hoe, Mary Joe."
"Yes, Mai Hoe, it is good."
A monk took her baggage and showed her to a tiny cell where she was to live for the next month. It was ten by ten cell with a mattress for sleeping on the floor, a samovar and a small pitcher and glasses. Out of the window one could see far out over the tremendous mountainscape of ladakh and the Indus river dividing the valley into two halves and dwindling to a thin blue line against the ochre and buff coloured crags on the horizon. The monastery was like a mountain fortress. There was a wall enclosing the complex of buildings on the mountain top. The main buildings situated at the northern end of the crag were at least six stories tall, with thick inward sloping walls and rows of windows with black surrounds. The red-roofed and whitewashed buildings with their thick walls and commanding position looked like a castle. Inside the building was a perfect maze of dark passages and cell like rooms. But Mary Joe was given a room on the top floor, a privilege reserved for senior monks. It was here that she spent her first night in Ladakh. Mary Joe found someone shaking her awake in the morning.
"Mai Hoe wake up." Lobsang was shaking her by her feet.
"What time is it."
"Morning."
She looked at her watch and found it was just past three in the morning.
"Morning, for Chrissake, this is the middle of the night almost. Let me get some sleep please."
"No, Mai Hoe, in the monastery you live as the monks do. All the monks get up before the dawn. This is the most auspicious time. The best time for prayer and meditation."
"Damn, this is the witching hour man, when the human spirit is at the lowest ebb. That's what I was always taught to believe."
No, no, must get up. It would be wrong to sleep."
The monk looked at her as if sleeping beyond three in the morning was blasphemy and sacrilege. She had to leave her bed reluctantly and walk up to the wash rooms in the cold. She had just completed her ablutions when Lobsang came in again with a steaming samovar. She was offered a cup.
"What's this?"
"Tea, drink it. It is veiy good."
She tried drinking the tea, made with rancid butter and found it difficult to gulp the strange smelling saltish liquid. It tasted more like a soup than tea. She wished she could have a steaming Cup of coffee.
"Lobsang!"
"Yeah."
"Don't you drink coffee over here."
"No coffee. Tea, veiy good. "The monk downed several cups while she struggled with her first one.
After tea the monks gathered in the chapel for the morning prayers. This was a large dark hall with a golden statue of the Buddha. Hundreds of butter lamps burned here, casting their flickering lights on the gold of the statue, and the silver of prayer wheels, and censers. Long tankhas, gorgeously embroidered, hung on the walls. The smell of rancid butter mingled with the fragrance of incense. In the permanent twilight of the hall, the statue of Buddha glowed with a radiance of its own. One's eyes were drawn, naturally to the towering statue, seated in the lotus pose, with one hand raised in the abhay mudra, the four fingers of the hand pointing up; the special blessing that gives freedom from fear. The level eyes seemed to be gazing out on the world with an infinity of compassion. And the hand upraised in blessing was a reminder to suffering humanity that release from sorrows was possible.
The monks chanted the ancient mantras with fervour, the sound of their hymns reverberating among the vault of the roof. The prayers ended with the fervent invocation -Buddham sharanam gacchami -I seek refuge in the Buddha.
After a breakfast of tsampa -a porridge made of barley -the rest of the day was spent in taking long walks and getting acclimatised. Once Mary Joe was used to the thin air, she started climbing the nearby peaks. In the beginning even the smallest climb made her breathless, but she was young and fit and it took only a few days for her to get going. After two weeks, she was almost keeping pace with Lobsang and they were able to tackle some of the nearby summits. They also started camping out it yak-hair tents, so that Mary Joe could get used to the cold and the bitter wind which blew at all times with terrible force.
The highlight of their stay in the monastery was the new year festival, celebrated that year in March. The monks brought out all their musical instruments and set up a Tibetan orchestra. There were tubas, oboes, clarinets, flutes kettledrums and when this orchestra started playing a solemn high-pitched melody rose from it, a strange keening sound which, combined with the measured thunder of the drums, sounded like the sound of the fierce gales that blow through these mountains and the avalanches that thunder down their flanks. Monks emerged, putting on masks of demons and ghosts. Others came out with the masks of the tutelary deities Incarnations of the Buddha. The dancers moved in circle in a slow and dignified movement, and the forces of good, after well choreographed ritual moves, finally vanquished the forces of evil. There was a lot of laughing and joking. The monks were as jolly as a set of circus clowns.
The climax of the proceedings was a series of bouts, fought without weapons naturally, between various monks on one side and Lobsang and Mary Joe on the other side. The monastery had several monks who were adepts of Chen Yoshi, in particular one large, hulking monk, with a stony, inscrutable face was reputed to be the best practitioner of this art in Ladakh. He was drawn to fight Mary Joe. The monks who were gathered in the courtyard of the monastery had formed an impromptu ring and into this ring stepped Mary Joe and the monk.
They touched their. hands in acknowledgement that this was a friendly match. But this gesture was not accompanied by any smile from the monk. He obviously meant business and was keen to show this American girl, how unarmed combat is really fought. They circled around warily, seizing each other up. Lobsang had taught Mary Joe the basic moves of Chen Yoshi. His advice was to keep away from the opponent, remaining just out of reach, and to attack suddenly. But it was the monk who drew first blood when he bent down, spun around swiftly and sent a flying kick aimed at Mary Joe's face, which just nicked her cheek and left a red welt on it. Throwing caution to the wind, Mary Joe stepped up to the monk. She looked straight into his eyes and stuck her tongue out in a gesture of derision. The monk was furious. He forgot his training and allowed anger to overwhelm him. He rushed out at Mary Joe trying to enfold her in a crushing embrace. This was the opportunity she was waiting for. She caught both his arms by the wrist and pulled him forward, and then side-stepping smartly, kicked his feet from under him. A simple move, but effective. The monk fell heavily on his face, his breath swooshing out of him. Mary Joe was declared the winner. Then it was time for the final bout, the grand finale, to be fought between Lobsang and Mary Joe.
Mary Joe had won the admiration of the crowd and she was cheered by a number of monks, but there was no doubt whose side they were on as a whole. It was their fellow monk whom they were cheering and most of them had no doubt he would win. The two fighters again stepped into the ring and went through the ritual of touching hands. This time the spirit was more friendly.
Then the bout began. At first they both circled around, like hovering kestrels, each keeping a safe distance from the other. Then with a sudden yell, Lobsang started pirouetting like a ballet dancer Slowly at first, then gathering speed, he moved towards her like a revolving tornado with his extended arms moving like flailing scythes. It was an amazing display. The crowd applauded. Lobsang moved closer to her, spinning like a top. This was a move that he had not taught her. The clever fellow. Then Mary Joe put her arms out and in a series of lightening somersaults went out to the far side of the ring, evading the moving tornado and for a while distracting him. He couldn't get at Mary Joe this way. This was clear. Whenever he approached her, she moved away like a wriggling eel.
Mary Joe tried a flying kick aimed at the monk's head, but Lobsang was too quick for her. He ducked and side-stepped all her blows. Then she did the one thing that Lobsand had forbidden her to do. She stepped close to the monk. He had asked her never to look into the eyes of Chen Yoshi master, but she couldn't help it. She found herself drawn by a strange magnetism. The monk sought her eyes, and transfixed them with his own gaze. His eyes were very still, they seemed to be staring unblinkingly, deep down into the depths of her own being. She was forced to look at his eyes, at the narrowed lids, the puckered brows, at the pupils so strangely still. Then she could see only the pupils, like stars shining in a black sky. Why was she fighting Lobsang after all, she thought suddenly. Weren't they supposed to be friends. As she kept her eyes locked with the monk, her aggression seemed to he draining out of her. Before she knew what was happening, she had raised her arm, with a single finger pointing upwards. This was supposed to be the sign of submission. Lobsang had won. The monks were Jubilant. Yellow hats were tossed up into the air, and Lobsan was picked up and chaired on their shoulders by a score of young monks. Mary Joe wasn't sure that she had lost, but she also joined in the celebration.
There last day in the monastery finally came, and an Indian army Jeep came to take them to their next destination. They were taken to see the abbot in the chapel, who said special prayers for them. Mary Joe looked at the Buddha, the serene presence that seemed to fill the darkened shrine with the blessing of peace. As she bowed her head low, she said out loud with as much conviction as any monk -Buddham sharanam gacchami - I seek refuge in the Buddha.
