Fear and loathing in Tibet, Part Five. Shechen

The shame of it all- As we continued down the gently sloping road closer and closer to Shechen, Gesar and I were struck by the sheer amount of destroyed monasteries that we could see. Their remains were everywhere. Some of the ruins were massive, spanning most of a hillside, and what once must have been vibrant city/communities now reduced to mere dust, rocks and echoes. Such is impermanence, I thought, and so potent must have been the fear of the communist chinese that when they first looked upon these enormous colleges they planned their complete destruction. We were told that some 10,000 monasteries or communities had been destroyed after the chinese takeover. The stories we heard from survivors were vivid enough though, and still held real terror for many of the victims. But more of them later....for now we just gazed at the ruins and wondered at the waste. Other than that, was saw evidence of a huge army camp, its enclosing fence following the path of the road for some time before we veered off towards another range of mountains. The driver told us through our interpreter that we would be wise to keep clear of this area as the chinese army often held manoeuvers near there as a way to keep the rowdy and fiercely independent Khampas in line. Gesar and I silently nodded in agreement, and tucked ourselves down into the jeep as small as possible. We were nearly there...

Words are not enough-About lunchtime, we came to a fork in the dirt road. Our translator told us that 30km straight ahead lead to Dzogchen Monastery, another famous Nyingma buddhist center, while the turn up the hill and valley to the right would take us to Shechen. The car rolled off the main dirt road to what was then something akin to a goat track. We were not far now, and the anticipation, despite our still very weak physical condition, was causing my pulse to race. We rolled effortlessly down a verdant green valley, the road dissappearing in parts to pure lush grass, the surrounding hills crested with tall pines. I will never forget the sky; brilliant, azure, highlighted in parts by a brief cloud or two. It was beautiful, soft and welcoming to us.
We drove closer and closer, and suddenly...there it was, a group of buildings clustered on the western slope of the valley, with a small meandering stream on the valley floor. Gesar asked for the car to stop- we would walk in from here; it seemed the most approriate way to announce our arrival. We got out, and the Tibetan translator and I helped G put on his chuba, the traditional tibetan dress. I cannot imagine how Gesar must have felt at that time, and what thoughts must have been racing around his mind, we just smiled at each other and laughed, two filthy dirty westerners in this glorious blue day with air that was so clean it was like liquid as it absorbed into our eager lungs.
We stumbled slowly towards the group of buildings, our feet feeling like lead as we tried to adjust to the extremely high altitude, our breath coming in hard fought gulps and wheezes. The sudden shock of the altitude hit us. It was the first time we had done any serious exercise in days, compounded by the fact we were utterly physically exhausted, having hardly slept or eaten in four days.
That kilometer long walk took forever- we literally crawled towards the temple at a snail's pace on this spongy soft grass that carpeted the valley floor. Yaks wandered everywhere, gazing placidly at our progress, ultimately ingnoring our presence. About halfway to the complex, a khampa on his horse approached us, curious as to who the hell was walking down this valley. The tibetan translator said a few brief words which had him off his horse and asking for a blessing in a second, arms in prayer position, toungue out and head down, body bowed in supplication, eyes shining like fire. We were all just smiling and smiling and smiling- it felt like a dream. He was back on his little pony in a second, and went racing back down the valley toards the monastery at top speed shouting out his news, singing and laughing, whooping and hollering.

As we started the last climb up the hillside a group of monks approached us, as we could see that the monastery had burst into a hive of activity. People were emerging from buildings, other monks stared at us from the half rebuilt main building. Most held back as a smaller party approached us. The resident tuku and khenpo (abbot) made their way forwards solemnly, greeting us, recognizing Gesar's face and bulk, but still not sure of who they had with them. Gesar produced his letter of introduction from Dzongsar Rimpoche which they read fervently, and looked us up and down, then back to the letter. The young abbot and tulku, with sudden realiziation that the man they had been expecting for the last few weeks was right before them, suddenly smiled and wished us welcome. As they bent to receieve blessings, the near vicinity burst into pandemonium, as the entire monastic body and every farmer and khampa present rushed forwards to greet us and receieve a blessing. Some stopped themselves and ran back to collect khata, tibetan welcoming scarves, obviously caught in mid-thought and dilemma.

Release-It was absolute chaos- people were running everywhere, old, young, crippled, we hadn't even made it to sit down yet,running towards us, throwing themselves on the ground in prostration, crying, laughing, babbling, praying. It was a total free for all, and suddenly the Khenpo and tulku were like our bodyguards trying to stem the rushing horde. Gesar was just smiling and smiling, so patient, so loving, I felt my tears flowing like rivers from the final release from stress and the combined effect of so much obvious love and devotion. We had done it. We had done it. I had done it- and that moment was way too much for me.

Devotion- Guiding and loving hands came from everywhere: it was as if Gesar was a thousand year old man, fragile as if made of glass, a precious jewel, they searched to help him work his way to the main building. Some even supported me- the first time I had felt the friendly touch of another human in weeks. I was no-one, but to them I was a precious jewel. An old crying man limped towards us doing prostations, shouting that this was his teacher and his teacher had come back for him, and how he had suffered and been beated by the chinese, how he had lost his wife and was all alone, but so happy that his teacher had come back for him. He latched on to Gesar's feet and cried his eyes out, snot and tears going all over G's shoes. Many were crying uncontrollably, the thin tibetan alpine air perhaps goading on long lost emotions. Smiles and tears, prayers and scarves, we were gradually jostled towards the half complete main temple, being reconstructed after its destruction (twice?) by the chinese.

We finally made it inside to seat and safety from the over eager crowd, but I looked back briefly to see riders galloping in every direction up and down the valley, shouting their message. Of course the crowd attempted to follow us inside, but our obviously weary expressions signalled that we needed some peace for a while, that plus the stern voice of the khenpo telling them to leave us for now, posting two monks as guards on the door. We went up a steep steep flight of tibetan steps to the half completed shrine room above the main shrine hall, where monks raced about setting up a place for me and Gesar to rest.
It was about that time that I literally passed out, struck by a blinding migrain headache that rendered me incapacitated. The focus was all on Gesar now anyway- I could relax for the first time in weeks. I can't even start to describe how I felt- all I could think about was closing my eyes and sleep. I had managed to do what my teacher had asked me, my mind went blank.