My Spiritual Journey Dalai Lama (e novels to read TXT) 📖

designated the province of Amdo, toward which my late predecessor had turned his head after his death. Ka seemed logically to represent the initial of the monastery of Kumbum, with its three floors and turquoise roof. They still had to identify the little house with the strange gutters.

When the search mission saw, in the valley, the twisting juniper branches that ran beneath the roof of the family farm, it was clear to everyone that the new Dalai Lama was living here. And when, after investigation, they learned that a boy had been born in this house, the members of the group decided to present themselves at our door and ask for hospitality for the night.

The lama who was guiding the delegation passed himself off as a servant and headed for the kitchen. I ran over to him, sat down on his lap, and demanded the rosary he was carrying, asserting that it was my own. This familiarity earned me the reproaches of my mother, but the lama offered to give me the rosary if I was able to say his name. I replied without hesitating: “You are Sera Aga,” which, in local dialect, meant: “You are the lama of Sera.” I also called his companions by their names and spent the rest of the evening playing with him, until it was time for bed. The next morning the group went back to Lhasa, without saying anything to my parents.

I successfully pass the tests of remembering my previous life

THREE WEEKS LATER, a full delegation of lamas and religious dignitaries came to visit us again. This time they brought several personal objects that had belonged to my predecessor, mixed up with others that had no connection to him. It has been shown that young reincarnate children remember objects and people from their past life or are able to recite texts from the Sutras even before they have learned them.

When they showed me two canes, I touched one hesitantly, looked at it a few more seconds, then seized the other one, which had belonged to the Great Thirteenth. Then I lightly tapped the arm of the lama who was staring at me, asserting that this cane belonged to me and reproaching him for having taken it from me.

Likewise I recognized, among several identical black and yellow rosaries, the ones that belonged to my predecessor. Finally, they had me choose between two drums: one was simple and small, which the previous Dalai Lama used to summon the servants; the other was larger and decorated with gold ribbons. I chose the little one, which I began pounding in the customary way for ritual practices.

These tests, which I passed successfully, persuaded the members of the delegation that they had found the reincarnation they had been looking for. It was also a good omen that the Thirteenth Dalai Lama had stayed at the neighboring monastery when he was returning from China. He had been welcomed there by a ceremony, and my father, who was nine at the time, had been present for it. The leader of the search party remembered that the Thirteenth Dalai Lama had forgotten a pair of yellow boots at the monastery, which was interpreted as a sign that he would return. He had also briefly contemplated the house where I was born and remarked that it was a very beautiful site.

My Childhood in Lhasa

I climb up onto the Lion Throne

DURING THE WINTER OF 1940, they brought me to the Potala, where I was officially enthroned as the spiritual leader of Tibet. I have no particular memory of this ceremony, except that, for the first time, I sat on the Lion Throne, a wooden seat, very large, encrusted with jewels and magnificently sculpted, set up in the Sishi Phuntsok, “the Hall of all the meritorious actions in the temporal and spiritual world,” the main assembly hall in the eastern wing of the Potala.

Soon afterward, I was led to the Jokhang Temple, in the middle of the city, and there I was ordained a novice monk; then we proceeded to the hair-cutting ceremony, which I don’t remember much of, except that at a certain moment, when I saw the brocade costumes of the monks performing a ritual dance, I shouted excitedly to my brother, “Look over there!”

My hair was symbolically cut by Reting Rinpoche, the regent, who, along with acting as head of state until I came of age, occupied the position of my chief tutor. In the beginning, I was guarded around him, but then I began to like him very much. He was a man with a great imagination and a very open mind, who always saw the bright side of life. He liked picnics and horses, which made him a great friend of my father’s. Unfortunately, during his years as regent he became a controversial character in a corrupt government in which buying and selling high offices was common practice.

At the time of my ordination there were a lot of rumors to the effect that Reting Rinpoche could not carry out the hair-cutting ritual, since people were saying he had broken his vows of celibacy and was no longer a monk. Still, following the ancient custom, I exchanged my name of Lhamo Thondup for his own, Jamphel Yeshe. Attached to several other names, my full name became Jamphel (“Awakened Wisdom”) Ngawang (“Prince of Speech”) Lobsang (“Perfect Intelligence”) Yeshe (“Exalted Wisdom”) Tenzin (“Holder of the Teachings”) Gyatso (Ocean [of Wisdom]”).

I find

my

teeth

WHEN WE ARRIVED IN LHASA, my family and I were housed in the summer palace of the Dalai Lamas, the Norbulingka, or Jewel Park, whose gardens were overflowing with flowers. It was the eighth month of the year, and in that season the fruit trees were covered with apples, pears, and walnuts, to our great delight. But my mother remembers that I had only one idea in my head: finding a certain box in my rooms.