Norbulingka (Summer residence of the Dalai Lamas)
I entered the Potala on my second day in Lhasa. The date was July 6, 2007 and unbeknownst to me – this was also the 14th (current) Dalai Lama’s birthday. Call it coincidence, serendipity, or whatever — but one thing it was not — was planned. I had no idea of the significance of that day when I got up that morning and walked from my hotel to the base of the Potala. But, somehow I figured it out. Not sure how– I don’t remember talking to anyone in my tour group about it, and in fact, they had all gone to see the Potala after the previous day’s visit to Drepung Monastery. I had lost them and gone off on my own to the Nechung and then Norbulingka before finding my way to the Barkhor quarter of Lhasa in the early evening. Before I went inside the Potala’s grounds, I walked the “kora” or circuit around the Potala. There was a path for pilgrims to do this journey and there were long stretches where shiny prayer wheels got spun en route. The walk took longer than I thought, but allowed me to observe this magnificent structure from every vantage point. When I completed the kora and arrived back at the entrance of the Potala, I had to pass through a security check and I noticed PRC soldiers stationed in every room and accessible space of the Potala. I didn’t know whether these were the usual security measures or whether things were on heightened alert because of the meaning of that day. There was no written guide or map of the Potala that was provided to me after I purchased my entrance ticket. Instead, I just followed the marked route which lead through each of the open buildings and temples [not all areas of the Potala are open to visitors] and had to climb wooden ladders that had been laid on top of the old steps in certain areas because the steps were either so steep or were being protected from further erosion. I peered through the windows from inside the middle building of the Potala which opened straight through the heart of Lhasa. There was a large “Tibetan Liberation” monument erected on the square below. Off to the left side, I could see the most sacred and holy temple in Tibetan Buddhism, the Jokhang Temple. It had originally been constructed in 642 AD and had steadily been built up during each century thereafter. Its gilded rooftop glimmered in the sunlight and it sat in staunch opposition to the modern PRC architecture that had sprouted on the main roads and walkways that poured directly into the Potala’s grounds. As I walked through the Potala, there were 3 rooms that were particularly memorable. The first was a room in one of the largest buildings which housed the tomb of the 5th Dalai Lama. A bright gold chalice-like reliquary stood in the center of this room which held the cremated remains of the 5th Dalai Lama. It was this Dalai Lama that had first built the Potala and done so much to establish the jurisdiction of the Dalai Lama as not only the spiritual, but also the governmental leader of Tibet. Part of the tomb also contained a statue of an elephant which had an enormous pearl popping out of a turquoise mound that was placed smack in the center of the elephant’s head. This was the biggest pearl I had ever seen in my life. In another room, which appeared to be a treasury room filled with various gold and copper Buddha statues and other objects was a beautifully detailed 3-dimensional mandala structure. This complex structure sat in dusty silence behind plexiglass in a corner of the treasury room. It was practically unnoticeable unless you craned your neck like I did around one of the pillars in order to see it tucked away in the side of the room. It was not possible to take any photos inside the Potala since this was prohibited and there was a PRC soldier in each room, but I wish I had been able to snap a pic of this unique mandala — it was an absolutely divine creation. The most emotive room was the former living quarters of the Dalai Lama. This room was tightly controlled by PRC soldiers and each of the personal items and furniture of the Dalai Lama were encased behind plexiglass. The Dalai Lama’s small bed, a clock with western numerals, and some antique looking eyeglasses seemed to lay in the exact position where the Dalai Lama had last placed left them before he had slipped into exile in 1959. It was his birthday, so I could not help but think of how the occasion would have been marked in Lhasa if he had still been there. In the room next to the Dalai Lama’s living quarters, hung some of his clothes and robes and other emblematic garb of his position — one of which included his official chair. This chair was decorated and painted with various symbols of the Bon and Tibetan Buddhist traditions and had a red cushion. As I was imagining the days of when the Dalai Lama would sit atop the chair and greet visitors, two Tibetan woman entered the room and they quickly fell to the floor right in front of me and began prostrating themselves in front of the chair. Before I could even process what I was seeing, a PRC soldier burst into the room and yanked each woman upright in one swift motion by their belts. He then ushered them out of the room and I thought I heard the women chuckling as they disappeared. I was gobsmacked.
Jokhang Temple – Lhasa
I left the Potala and headed down towards the Jokhang Temple. The Jokhang was the centerpiece of Lhasa’s old quarter, the Barkhor. I weaved my way into the main road leading to the Jokhang which was an extremely well-paved road with broad sidewalks lined with fancy shops selling luxury and brand name goods. This road ended right before a raised stoned square on which the Jokhang Temple stood. Tibetan people at one point or another in their lives make the pilgrimage to the Jokhang, the holiest Buddhist temple in Tibet. The warm, saintly mix of burning juniper and yak butter candle-wax filled the air and led me towards a human current of centrifugal force pulsing around the Jokhang. I was quickly swept up into a clockwise kora composed of Tibetans of all ages dressed in traditional attire, twirling custom-made hand prayer wheels and reciting the om-mani-padme-hum mantra. The kora around the Jokhang featured 4 large yak poles draped and made thick with prayer scarves and flags. I walked alongside these pilgrims — lap after lap — around the Jokhang. I was giddy and smiling the entire time. I was part of something that I can only say felt like going back to the egg. It was a glimpse into a physical manifestation of destiny. When I got back to the front of the Jokhang Temple and was about to go inside I noticed a few pilgrims doing prostrations. Each of these pilgrims had a mat in front of them and was doing such robust, full-body prayers that I could hear the friction of their body rub off the ground. And then I took a closer look at the large block stones that had centuries ago been laid down in front of the Jokhang. Each of these stones were perfectly smooth. They were like glass and I could see my reflection in them. After hundreds and hundreds of years of daily, round the clock prostrations, the stones had been embossed to a glossy finish! That was devotion. I shuddered at the unadulterated power of that devotion. After I toured the inside of the Jokhang and exited, I headed into the tight, crooked streets of the Barkhor area. This old quarter consisted of Tibetan homes and tiny, slot businesses. As I walked around the neighborhood and saw children playing in the streets and adults chatting on street corners, I began to pick up on some things. There appeared to be no street lights — although the rest of Lhasa and the tony streets leading to the Jokhang had electricity poles and street lights. Most of the buildings in the Barkhor were in bad states of repair, had broken windows, and were falling apart. The buildings were crowded together and at times I couldn’t see the sky — but it had nothing to do with the height of the buildings which were not more than 3 stories — there was something about how the buildings were angled overhead. Then, as I was trying to find my way out of the Barkhor, I hit a blackness straight-on. I was confused and stepped back. It was a big menacing wall. I was a bit annoyed, but I thought I could find a way around it, so I began walking alongside thinking it would end and a road or path would lead through it. There was no end or path. This was a WALL. The Barkhor area had been purposely walled in. I saw the wall turn and continue to run into blackness on the far side of the area where I stood. There was no where for Tibetans in the Barkhor to grow or bring in new infrastructure. The next generation would have no choice but to leave this last remnant of traditional Lhasa and live in one of the modern apartments built on the outside by the PRC. I was incredulous. Nothing I had read about Lhasa had mentioned that a wall had been built around the Barkhor quarter. It was like a cement python slowly constricting the life out of the Barkhor. That was the horrible thought that had come to me when I had left the Nechung Monastery on the previous day. This had been further reinforced when I had met a Tibetan man at Palubuk — a cave temple monastery located across from the Potala — who had said there were nearly 300,000 people in Lhasa, 240,000 of whom were Han Chinese. He himself had to sneak out of Tibet into Dharamsala in India in order to learn the Tibetan language because the PRC had banned the instruction of Tibetan in their schools. Once he had learned the language and also had received a general understanding of Tibetan history and Buddhist practice, he had returned to Lhasa in order to help his parents. He told me to be sure to tell people what I saw in Tibet.
Like the centuries old frescoes I had seen get rubbed by the hands of Chinese tourists, the Tibetan tradition and way of life will surely fade away as the aggressive PRC policies of forced assimilation and displacement continue unchecked. But, I pause. I can still remember those perfectly smooth stones in front of the Jokhang. How could the spirit of the Tibetan people ever be broken when such devotion courses through every inch of their being? We need to support their struggle by shining a light on that devotion and the rich artistic nature of their culture and spiritual practice. They will persevere and outlast. We can take some refuge in that.
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