Tibet - Dalai Lama, Freedom in Exile

This book was first published in Great Britain in 1990 by Hoddcr and
Stoughton Ltd. It is here reprinted by arrangement with Hodder and

Stoughton Ltd.
FREEDOM IN EXILE. Copyright © 1990 by Tenzin Gyatso, the Four

teenth Dalai Lama o f Tibet. All rights reserved. Printed in the United
States o f America. N o part o f this book may be used or reproduced in
any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case
o f brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For infor
mation address HarpcrCollins Publishers, 10 East 53rd Street, New
York, NY 10022.
Designed by Helene Berinsky
Library o f Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Bstan-’dzin-rgya-mtsho, Dalai Lama XIV, 1935-
Freedom in Exile : the autobiography o f the Dalai Lama,
p. cm.
ISBN 0-06-039116-2
1. Bstan-’dzin-rgya-mtsho, Dalai Lama XIV, 1935- 2. Dalai lamas—
Biography. I. Title.
BQ 7935.B777A3 1990
294.3'923'092—dc20
[B]__________________________________________________ 89-46523
CONTENTS
Illustrations vii
Maps ix
Foreword xiii
1— H O L D E R OF T H E W H I T E L O T U S 1
2 ■— T H E L I O N T H R O N E 16
3 —T N V A S I O N : T H E S T O R M B R E A K S 49
4 — R E F U G E IN T H E S O U T H 58
5— -IN C O M M U N I S T C H I N A 82
6 — MR N E H R U R E G R E T S 103
7— ESCAPE INTO EXILE 123
8 — A D E S P E R A T E YEAR 144
9 — 100,000 RE FUG EE S 161
10 — A W O L F I N M O N K ’ S R O B E S 176
11— F R O M E A S T T O W E S T 194
12 — O F MAGIC AND MYSTERY’ 209
13 — T H E N E W S F R O M T I B E T 221
14— I N I T I A T I V E S F O R P E A C E 238
15 — U N I V E R S A L R E S P O N S I B I L I T Y
AND THE GOOD HEART 254
Index 273
v
MAPS
Tibet and Her Neighbours X

Tibet 4
Major Tibetan Settlements in India 160
(maps drawn by Hanni Bailey)
IX
XI
FOREWORD
D
alai Lama means different things to different people. To
some it means that I am a living Buddha, the earthly mani
festation o f Avalokiteshvara, Bodhisattva o f Compassion.
To others it means that I am a cgod-king’. During the late
1950s it meant that I was a Vice-President o f the Steering Commi
o f the People’s Republic o f China. Then when I escaped into e
I was called a counterrevolutionary and a parasite. But none o f th
are my ideas. To me ‘Dalai Lama’ is a title that signifies the office I
hold. I myself am just a human being, and incidentally a Tibetan, who
chooses to be a Buddhist monk.
It is as a simple monk that I offer this story o f my life, though it
is by no means a book about Buddhism. I have two main reasons for
doing so. Firstly, an increasing number o f people have shown an
interest in learning something about the Dalai Lama. Secondly, there
are a number o f historical events about which I wish to set the record
straight.
Because o f constraints on my time, I have decided to tell my story
directly in English. It has not been easy, for my ability to express
myself in this language is limited. Furthermore, I am aware that some
o f the subtler implications o f what I say may not be precisely what I
intended. But the same would be true in a translation from Tibetan.
XIV FOREWORD
I should also add that I do not have at my disposal the resources for
research that some people have and my memory is as fallible as anyone
else’s. That said, I wish to offer my thanks to the concerned officers
o f the Tibetan Government in Exile and to Mr. Alexander Norman
for their assistance in these areas.
Dharamsala
May 1990
1
HOLDER OF THE
WHITE LOTUS
I
fled Tibet on 31 March 1959. Since then I have lived in exile in
India. During the period 1949-50, the People’s Republic o f
China sent an army to invade my country. For almost a decade
I remained as political as well as spiritual leader o f my people and
tried to re-establish peaceful relations between our two nations. But
the task proved impossible. I came to the unhappy conclusion that
I could serve my people better from outside.
When I look back to the time when Tibet was still a free country,
I realise that those were the best years o f my life. Today I am definitely
happy, but inevitably the existence I now lead is very different from
the one I was brought up to. And although there is clearly no use
indulging in feelings o f nostalgia, still I cannot help feeling sad when
ever I think o f the past. It reminds me o f the terrible suffering o f my
people. The old Tibet was not perfect. Yet, it is true to say that our
way o f life was something quite remarkable. Certainly there was much
that was worth preserving that is now lost for ever.
I have said that the words Dalai Lama mean different things to
different people, that for me they refer only to the office I hold.
Actually, D alai is a Mongolian word meaning 'ocean5and Lam a is a
Tibetan term corresponding to the Indian word guru, which denotes
a teacher. Together, the words D alai and Lam a are sometimes loosely
translated as 'Ocean o f Wisdom5. But this is due to a misunderstand
ing I feel. Originally, D alai was a partial translation o f Sonam Gyatso,
1
2 F R E E D O M IN E X I L E
the Third Dalai Lama’s name: Gyatso means ocean in Tibetan. A

further, unfortunate misunderstanding is due to the Chinese render
ing o f the word lam a as huo-fou, which has the connotation o f a
‘living Buddha’. This is wrong. Tibetan Buddhism recognises no such
thing. It only accepts that certain beings, o f whom the Dalai Lama
is one, can choose the manner o f their rebirth. Such people are called
tulkus (incarnations). O f course, whilst I lived in Tibet, being Dalai
Lama meant a great deal. It meant that I lived a life far removed from
the toil and discomfort o f the vast majority o f my people. Everywhere
I went, I was accompanied by a retinue o f servants. I was surrounded
by government ministers and advisors clad in sumptuous silk robes,
men drawn from the most exalted and aristocratic families in the land.
My daily companions were brilliant scholars and highly realised reli
gious adepts. And every time I left the Potala, the magnificent, 1,000-
chambered winter palace o f the Dalai Lamas, I was escorted by a
procession o f hundreds o f people.
At the head o f the column came a N#a#pa, a man carrying a
symbolic ‘wheel o f life’. He was followed by a party o f tatara, horse
men dressed in colourful, traditional costumes and carrying flags.
Behind them were porters carrying my songbirds in cages and my
personal belongings all wrapped up in yellow silk. Next came a section
o f monks from Namgyal, the Dalai Lama’s own monastery. Each
carried a banner decorated with sacred texts. Behind them followed
musicians mounted on horseback. Then followed two groups o f
monk officials, first a subordinate section who acted as bearers, then
monks o f the Tsedrun# order who were members o f the Government.
Behind these came a posse o f horses from the Dalai Lama’s own
stables, all nicely turned out, caparisoned and led by their grooms.
There followed another troop o f horses which carried the seals o f
state. I myself came next, carried in a yellow palanquin, which was
pulled by twenty men, all officers in the army and dressed in green
cloaks with red hats. Unlike the most senior officials, who wore their
hair up, these had a single, long pigtail running down their backs. The
palanquin itself, which was yellow in colour (to denote monasticism),
was supported by a further eight men wearing long coats o f yellow
silk. Alongside it rode the four members o f the Kasha#, the Dalai
Lama’s inner Cabinet, attended by the Kusun Depon, head o f the
Dalai Lama’s bodyguard, and the Mak-chi, Commander-in-Chief o f
H O L D E R OF T H E W H I T E L O T U S 3
Tibet’s tiny army. Both o f these marched carrying their swords sternly
at the salute. They wore a uniform comprised o f blue trousers and
yellow tunic covered with gold braid. On their heads they wore a
tasselled topi. Surrounding this, the main party, there was an escort
o f sing£fhay the monastic police. These terrifying-looking men were
all at least six feet tall and wore heavy padding, which lent them an
even more impressive appearance. In their hands they carried long
whips, which they did not hesitate to use.
Behind my palanquin came my two Tutors, Senior and Junior (the
former being the Regent o f Tibet before I attained my majority).
Then came my parents and other members o f my family. They were
followed by a large party o f lay officials, both nobles and commoners,
marshalled according to rank.
Invariably almost the entire population o f Lhasa, the capital, came
to try to catch a glimpse o f me whenever I went out. There was an
awed silence and often there were tears as people lowered their heads
or prostrated themselves on the ground when I passed.
It was a life very different from the one I had known as a small boy.
I was born on 6 July 1935 and named Lhamo Thondup. This means,
literally, ‘Wish-Fulfilling Goddess’. Tibetan names o f people, places
and things are often picturesque in translation. For example, Tsang-
po, the name o f one o f Tibet’s most important rivers - and source o f
India’s mighty Brahmaputra - means ‘The Purifier’. The name o f our
village was Taktser: Roaring Tiger. It was a small and poor settlement
which stood on a hill overlooking a broad valley. Its pastures had not
been settled or farmed for long, only grazed by nomads. The reason
for this was the unpredictability o f the weather in that area. During
my early childhood, my family was one o f twenty or so making a
precarious living from the land there.
Taktser is situated in far north-eastern Tibet, in the province o f
Amdo. Geographically, Tibet can be divided into four principal areas.
To the north-west lies the Changtang, an area o f frozen desert which
runs east-west for over eight hundred miles. It is almost devoid o f
vegetation and only a few hardy nomads live amidst its desolation. To
the south o f the Changtang lie the provinces o f U and Tsang. This
area is bordered to the south and south-west by the mighty Hima
layas. To the east o f U-Tsang lies the province o f Kham, which is the
most fertile and hence most populous region in the country. To the
4
5
6 F R E E D O M IN EXI L E
north o f Kham is situated Amdo. On the eastern borders o f both

Kham and Amdo lies Tibet’s national boundary with China. At the
time o f my birth, a Muslim warlord, Ma Pu-feng, had recently suc
ceeded in establishing in Amdo a regional government loyal to the
Chinese Republic.
My parents were small farmers: not peasants exactly, for they were
not tied to any master; but they were by no means nobility. They
leased a small amount o f land and worked it themselves. The main
crops in Tibet are barley and buckwheat and my parents grew both
o f these, together with potatoes. But quite often their year’s work
went to ruin due to heavy hailstorms or to drought. They also kept
a number o f animals, which were a more reliable source o f produce.
I remember that we had five or six dzomos (a cross between a yak and
a cow) for milking and a number o f footloose chickens for laying.
There was a mixed flock o f perhaps eighty sheep and goats, and my
father nearly always had one or two or even three horses, o f which
he was very fond. Finally, my family kept a couple o f yaks.
The yak is one o f Nature’s gifts to mankind. It can survive at any
altitude above 10,000 feet, so it is ideally suited to Tibet. Below that
they tend to die. Both as a beast o f burden and as a source o f milk
(in the case o f the female, which is called a d ri), and meat, the yak
is truly a staple o f high-altitude farming. The barley which my parents
grew is another Tibetan staple. When roasted and ground down into
a fine flour, it becomes tsampa. There is rarely a meal served in Tibet
which does not include tsampa and, even in exile, I continue to have
it every day. It is not eaten as flour, o f course. You must first combine
it with liquid, usually tea, but milk (which I prefer) or yoghurt or even
chanp (Tibetan beer) will do. Then, working it with your fingers
around your bowl, you roll it into small balls. Otherwise it can be used
as a base for porridge. To a Tibetan, it is very tasty though, in my
experience, few foreigners like it. The Chinese in particular do not
care for it at all.
M ost o f what my parents grew on the farm was used solely to feed
us. But my father would occasionally trade grain or a few sheep either
with passing nomads or down at Siling, the nearest town and capital
o f Amdo, which lay three hours away by horse. Currency was not
much in use in these far-flung rural areas and most trade was con
ducted by barter. Thus my father would exchange the season’s surplus
H O L D E R OF T H E WH I T E L O T U S 7
for tea, sugar, cotton cloth, a few ornaments perhaps, and maybe
some iron utensils. Occasionally he would come back with a new
horse, which delighted him. He had a very good feel for them and
had quite a reputation locally as a healer o f horses.
The house I was born in was typical o f our area o f Tibet. It was built
o f stone and mud with a flat roof along three sides o f a square. Its
only unusual feature was the guttering, which was made from
branches o f juniper wood, gouged out to make a channel for rain
water. Directly in front o f it, between the two 'arms’ or wings, there
was a small yard in the middle o f which was a tall flagpole. From this
hung a banner, secured top and bottom, on which were written
innumerable prayers.
The animals were kept behind the house. Inside were six rooms: a
kitchen, where we spent most o f our time when indoors; a prayer-
room with a small altar, where we would all gather to make offerings
at the beginning o f the day; my parents’ room; a spare room for any
guests we might have; a storeroom for our provisions; and finally a
byre for the cattle. There was no bedroom for us children. As a baby,
I slept with my mother; then, later, in the kitchen, by the stove. For
furniture, we had no chairs or beds as such, but there were raised areas
for sleeping in both my parents’ room and the spare room. There were
also a number o f cupboards made o f gaily painted wood. The floors
were likewise wooden and neatly laid with planks.
My father was a man o f medium height with a very quick temper.
I remember pulling at his moustache once and being hit hard for my
trouble. Yet he was a kind man too and he never bore grudges. An
interesting story was told about him at the time o f my birth. He had
been ill for a number o f weeks and was confined to his bed. N o one
knew what was wrong with him and people started to fear for his life.
But on the day I was born, he suddenly began to recover, for no
obvious reason. It cannot have been excitement at becoming a father
since my mother had already given birth to eight children, although
only four had survived. (O f necessity, farming families like ours be
lieved in large families and my mother bore sixteen children in all, o f
whom seven lived.) At the time o f writing, Lobsang Samten, my
immediate elder brother, and Tsering Dolma, my eldest sister, are no
longer living, but my two other older brothers, my younger sister and
my younger brother are still alive and well.
8 F R E E D O M IN E XI L E
My mother was undoubtedly one o f the kindest people I have ever

known. She was truly wonderful and was loved, I am quite certain,
by all who knew her. She was very compassionate. Once, I remember
being told, there was a terrible famine in nearby China. As a result,
many poor Chinese people were driven over the border in search o f
food. One day, a couple appeared at our door, carrying in their arms
a dead child. They begged my mother for food, which she readily gave
them. Then she pointed at their child and asked whether they wanted
help to bury it. When they had caught her meaning, they shook their
heads and made clear that they intended to eat it. My mother was
horrified and at once invited them in and emptied the entire contents
o f the larder before regretfully sending them on their way. Even if it
meant giving away the family’s own food so that we ourselves went
hungry, she never let any beggars go empty-handed.
Tsering Dolma was eighteen years older than me. At the time o f
my birth she helped my mother run the house and acted as my
midwife. When she delivered me, she noticed that one o f my eyes was
not properly open. Without hesitating, she put her thumb on the
reluctant lid and forced it wide - fortunately without ill effect. Tsering
Dolma was also responsible for giving me my first meal, which, by
tradition, was a liquid made from the bark o f a particular bush that
grew locally. This was believed to ensure a healthy child. It certainly
worked in my case. In later years, my sister told me that I was a very
dirty baby. No sooner had she taken me in her arms than I made a
mess!
I did not have much to do with any o f my three elder brothers.
Thupten Jigme Norbu, the eldest, had already been recognised as the
reincarnation o f a high lama, Taktser Rinpoche (Rinpoche is the title
given to spiritual masters and means, literally, 'Precious One’), and
was installed at Kumbum, a famous monastery several hours away by
horse. My next brother, Gyalo Thondup, was eight years older than
me and by the time I was born he was away at school in a neighbour
ing village. Only my immediate elder brother, Lobsang Samten, re
mained behind. He was three years older than me. But he too was sent
to Kumbum to be a monk, so I hardly knew him.
O f course, no one had any idea that I might be anything other than
an ordinary baby. It was almost unthinkable that more than one tulku
could be born into the same family and certainly my parents had no
idea that I would be proclaimed Dalai Lama. My father’s recovery

from illness was auspicious, but it was not taken to be o f great signifi
cance. I myself likewise had no particular intimation o f what lay
ahead. My earliest memories are very ordinary. Some people put great
emphasis on a person’s first recollections, but I do not. Amongst mine
I remember, for example, observing a group o f children fighting and
running to join in with the weaker side. I also remember the first time
I saw a camel. These are quite common in parts o f Mongolia and
occasionally they were brought over the border. It looked huge and
majestic and very frightening. I also recall discovering one day that
I had worms - a common affliction in the East.
One thing that I remember enjoying particularly as a very young
boy was going into the hen coop to collect the eggs with my mother
and then staying behind. I liked to sit in the hens’ nest and make
clucking noises. Another favourite occupation o f mine as an infant
was to pack things in a bag as if I was about to go on a long journey.
T’m going to Lhasa, I’m going to Lhasa,’ I would say. This, coupled
with my insistence that I be allowed always to sit at the head o f the
table, was later said to be an indication that I must have known that
I was destined for greater things. I also had a number o f dreams as
a small child that were open to a similar interpretation, but I cannot
say categorically that I knew o f my future all along. Later on, my
mother told me several stories which could be taken as signs o f high
birth. For example, I never allowed anyone but her to handle my
bowl. Nor did I ever show fear o f strangers.
Before going on to tell about my discovery as Dalai Lama, I must first

say something about Buddhism and its history in Tibet. The founder
o f Buddhism was an historical figure, Siddhartha, who came to be
recognized as the Buddha Shakyamuni. He was born more than 2,500
years ago. His teachings, now known as the Dharm a, or Buddhism,
were introduced to Tibet during the fourth century a .d . They took
several centuries to supplant the native Bon religion and become fully
established, but eventually the country was so thoroughly converted
that Buddhist principles governed all society, at every level. And
whilst Tibetans are by nature quite aggressive people and quite war
like, their increasing interest in religious practice was a major factor
in bringing about the country’s isolation. Before then, Tibet pos
10 --- FREEDOM IN EXILE
sessed a vast empire, which dominated Central Asia with territories

covering large parts o f northern India, Nepal and Bhutan in the
south. It also included much Chinese territory. In 763 A.D., Tibetan
forces actually captured the Chinese capital, where they extracted
promises o f tribute and other concessions. However, as Tibetans’
enthusiasm for Buddhism increased, so Tibet’s relations with her
neighbours became o f a spiritual rather than a political nature. This
was especially true o f China, where a cpriest-patron’ relationship devel
oped. The Manchu Emperors, who were Buddhists, referred to the
Dalai Lama as ‘King o f Expounding Buddhism’.
The fundamental precept o f Buddhism is Interdependence or the
Law o f Cause and Effect. This simply states that everything which an
individual being experiences is derived through action from motiva
tion. Motivation is thus the root o f both action and experience. From
this understanding are derived the Buddhist theories o f consciousness
and rebirth.
The first holds that, because cause gives rise to effect which in turn
becomes the cause o f further effect, consciousness must be continual.
It flows on and on, gathering experiences and impressions from one
moment to the next. At the point o f physical death, it follows that
a being’s consciousness contains an imprint o f all these past experi
ences and impressions, and the actions which preceded them. This is
known as karma, which means "action’. It is thus consciousness, with
its attendant karm a, which then becomes "reborn’ in a new body -
animal, human or divine.
So, to give a simple example, a person who has spent his or her life
mistreating animals could quite easily be reborn in the next life as a
dog belonging to someone who is unkind to animals. Similarly, meri
torious conduct in this life will assist in a favourable rebirth in the
next.
Buddhists further believe that because the basic nature o f conscious
ness is neutral, it is possible to escape from the unending cycle o f
birth, suffering, death and rebirth that life inevitably entails, but only
when all negative karma has been eliminated along with all worldly
attachments. When this point is reached, the consciousness in ques
tion is believed to attain first liberation and then ultimately Buddha-
hood. However, according to Buddhism in the Tibetan tradition, a
being that achieves Buddhahood, although freed from Sam sara, the
H O L D E R OF T H E W H I T E L O T U S '— 11
'wheel o f suffering’, as the phenomenon o f existence is known, will

continue to return to work for the benefit o f all other sentient beings
until such time as each one is similarly liberated.
Now in my own case, I am held to be the reincarnation o f each o f the
previous thirteen Dalai Lamas o f Tibet (the first having been born in
1351 a .d .), who are in turn considered to be manifestations o f Avaloki-
teshvara, or Chenrezig, Bodhisattva o f Compassion, holder o f the
White Lotus. Thus I am believed also to be a manifestation o f Chen
rezig, in fact the seventy-fourth in a lineage that can be traced back to
a Brahmin boy who lived in the time o f Buddha Shakyamuni. I am
often asked whether I truly believe this. The answer is not simple to
give. But as a fifty-six year old, when I consider my experiences during
this present life, and given my Buddhist beliefs, I have no difficulty
accepting that I am spiritually connected both to the thirteen previous
Dalai Lamas, to Chenrezig and to the Buddha himself.
When I was not quite three years old, a search party that had been
sent out by the Government to find the new incarnation o f the Dalai
Lama arrived at Kumbum monastery. It had been led there by a
number o f signs. One o f these concerned the embalmed body o f my
predecessor, Thupten Gyatso, the Thirteenth Dalai Lama, who had
died aged fifty-seven in 1933. During its period o f sitting in state, the
head was discovered to have turned from facing south to north-east.
Shortly after that the Regent, himself a senior lama, had a vision.
Looking into the waters o f the sacred lake, Lhamoi Lhatso, in south
ern Tibet, he clearly saw the Tibetan letters Ah, K a and M a float into
view. These were followed by the image o f a three-storeyed monastery
with a turquoise and gold roof and a path running from it to a hill.
Finally, he saw a small house with strangely shaped guttering. He was
sure that the l e t t e r ^ referred to Amdo, the north-eastern province,
so it was there that the search party was sent.
By the time they reached Kumbum, the members o f the search
party felt that they were on the right track. It seemed likely that if the
letter Ah referred to Amdo, then K a must indicate the monastery at
Kumbum - which was indeed three storeyed and turquoise roofed.
They now only needed to locate a hill and a house with peculiar
guttering. So they began to search the neighbouring villages. When
they saw the gnarled branches o f juniper wood on the roof o f my
12 FREEDOM IN E X I L E
parents’ house, they were certain that the new Dalai Lama would not
be far away. Nevertheless, rather than reveal the purpose o f their visit,
the group asked only to stay the night. The leader o f the party,
Kewtsang Rinpoche, then pretended to be a servant and spent much
o f the evening observing and playing with the youngest child in the
house.
The child recognised him and called out ‘Sera Lama, Sera Lama’.
Sera was Kewtsang Rinpoche’s monastery. Next day they left - only to
return a few days later as a formal deputation. This time they brought
with them a number o f things that had belonged to my predecessor,
together with several similar items that did not. In every case, the
infant correctly identified those belonging to the Thirteenth Dalai
Lama saying, ‘It’s mine. It’s mine.’ This more or less convinced the
search party that they had found the new incarnation. However, there
was another candidate to be seen before a final decision could be
reached. But it was not long before the boy from Taktser was acknowl
edged to be the new Dalai Lama. I was that child.
Needless to say, I do not remember very much o f these events. I
was too small. My only real recollection is o f a man with piercing eyes.
These turned out to belong to a man named Kenrap Tenzin, who
became my Master o f the Robes and later taught me to write.
As soon as the search party had concluded that the child from
Taktser was the true incarnation o f the Dalai Lama, word was sent
back to Lhasa informing the Regent. It would be several weeks before
official confirmation was received. Until then, I was to remain at
home. In the meantime, Ma Pu-feng, the local Governor, began to
make trouble. But eventually I was taken by my parents to Kumbum
monastery, where I was installed in a ceremony that took place at
dawn. I remember this fact particularly as I was surprised to be woken
and dressed before the sun had risen. I also remember being seated
on a throne.
There now began a somewhat unhappy period o f my life. My
parents did not stay long and soon I was alone amongst these new and
unfamiliar surroundings. It is very hard for a small child to be sepa
rated from its parents. However, there were two consolations to life
at the monastery. First, my immediate elder brother Lobsang Samten
was already there. Despite being only three years older than me, he
took good care o f me and we soon became firm friends. The second
consolation was the fact that his teacher was a very kind old monk,
who often held me inside his gown. On one occasion I recall that he
gave me a peach. Yet for the most part I was quite unhappy. I did not
understand what it meant to be Dalai Lama. As far as I knew, I was
just one small boy among many. It was not unusual for children to
enter the monastery at a very young age and I was treated just the same
as all the others.
A more painful memory is o f one o f my uncles, who was a monk
at Kumbum. One evening, whilst he sat reading his prayers, I upset
his book o f scripture. As they still are today, this book was loose-leafed
and the pages went everywhere. My father’s brother picked me up and
slapped me hard. He was extremely angry and I was terrified. For
literally years afterwards I was haunted by his very dark, pock-marked
face and fierce moustache. Thereafter, whenever I caught sight o f
him, I became very frightened.
When it became clear that I would eventually be reunited with my
parents and that together we would journey to Lhasa, I began to look
to the future with more enthusiasm. As any child would be, I was
thrilled at the prospect o f travel. This did not come about for some
eighteen months, however, because Ma Pu-feng refused to let me be
taken to Lhasa without payment o f a large ransom. And having re
ceived it, he demanded more, although he did not get it. It was thus
not until the summer o f 1939 that I left for the capital.
When eventually the great day dawned, a week after my fourth
birthday, I remember a tremendous feeling o f optimism. The party
was large. N ot only did it consist o f my parents and my brother
Lobsang Samten, but the members o f the search party and a number
o f pilgrims came too. There were also several government officials in
attendance, together with a great number o f muleteers and scouts.
These men spent their lives working the caravan routes o f Tibet and
were indispensable to any long journey. They knew exactly where to
cross each river and how much time it took to climb the mountain
passes.
After a few days’ travel, we left the area administered by Ma Pu-feng
and the Tibetan Government formally announced its acceptance o f
my candidature. We now entered some o f the most remote and beauti
ful countryside in the world: gargantuan mountains flanking immense
flat plains which we struggled over like insects. Occasionally, we came
upon the icy rush o f meltwater streams that we splashed noisily across.
And every few days we would come to a tiny settlement huddled
amongst a blaze o f green pasture, or clinging as if by its fingers to a
hillside. Sometimes we could see in the far distance a monastery
perched impossibly on top o f a cliff. But mostly, it was just arid, empty
space with only savage dust-laden winds and angry hailstorms as re
minders o f Nature’s living forces.
The journey to Lhasa took three months. I remember very little
detail apart from a great sense o f wonder at everything I saw: the vast
herds o f drong (wild yaks) ranging across the plains, the smaller
groups o f kyang (wild asses) and occasionally a shimmer o fgowa and
nawa, small deer which were so light and fast they might have been
ghosts. I also loved the huge flocks o f hooting geese we saw from time
to time.
For most o f the journey I travelled with Lobsang Samten in a sort
o f palanquin called a dreljam carried by a pair o f mules. We spent a
great deal o f time squabbling and arguing, as small children do, and
often came to blows. This put our conveyance in danger o f over
balancing. At that point the driver would stop the animals and sum
mon my mother. When she looked inside, she always found the same
thing: Lobsang Samten in tears and me sitting there with a look o f
triumph on my face. For despite his greater age, I was the more
forthright. Although we were really best friends, we were incapable
o f behaving well together. One or other o f us would make a remark
which led to an argument and finally to blows and tears - but the tears
were always his and not mine. Lobsang Samten was so good-natured
that he could not bring himself to use his superior strength against
me.
At last, our party began to draw near to Lhasa. It was by now
autumn. When we were within a few days’ journey, a group o f senior
government officials came out to meet us and escorted our party on
to the Doeguthang plain, two miles outside the gates o f the capital.
There, a huge tented encampment had been erected. In the centre was
a blue and white structure called the Macha Chennio, the "great Pea
cock’. It looked enormous to my eyes and enclosed an intricately
carved wooden throne, which was only ever brought out for the
purpose o f welcoming the infant Dalai Lama back home.
The ceremony that followed, which conferred on me spiritual lead-
H O L D E R OF T H E W H I T E L O T U S 15
ership o f my people, lasted one whole day. But my memory o f it is

vague. I remember only a great sense o f homecoming and endless
crowds o f people: I had never thought there could be so many. By
all accounts, I behaved myself well for a few years old, even to one
or two extremely senior monks who came to judge for themselves
whether I really was the reincarnation o f the Thirteenth Dalai Lama.
Then, at the end o f it all, I was taken off with Lobsang Samten to the
Norbulingka (meaning Jewel Park) which lay just to the west o f Lhasa
itself.
Normally, it was used only as the summer palace o f the Dalai Lama.
But the Regent had decided to wait until the end o f the following year
before formally enthroning me at the Potala palace, the seat o f the
Tibetan Government. In the meantime, there was no need for me to
live there. This turned out to be a generous move as the Norbulingka
was much the more pleasant o f the two places. It was surrounded by
gardens and consisted o f several smallish buildings which were light
and airy inside. By contrast the Potala, which I could see towering
magnificently above the city in the distance, was dark, cold and
gloomy inside.
I thus enjoyed a whole year free o f any responsibility, happily
playing with my brother and seeing my parents quite regularly. It was
the last temporal liberty I was ever to know.
2
THE LION THRONE
I
remember very little o f that first winter. But one thing has stuck
firmly in my mind. At the end o f the last month o f the year, it
was traditional for the monks o f Namgyal monastery to perform
chant, a ritual dance which symbolised driving out the negative
forces o f the past year. However, because I had not yet been formally
enthroned, the Government felt it would be inappropriate for me to
go to the Potala to see it. Lobsang Sam ten, on the other hand, was
taken by my mother. I was exceedingly envious o f him. When he came
back late that evening, he teased me with very full descriptions o f the
leapings and swoopings o f extravagantly costumed dancers.
Throughout the following year, that is 1940, I remained at the
Norbulingka. I saw a good deal o f my parents during the spring and
summer months. When I was proclaimed Dalai Lama, they automati
cally acquired the status o f the highest nobility and with it consider
able property. They also had the use o f a house in the palace grounds
during that period each year. Almost every day, I used to steal over,
with an attendant, to spend time with them. This was not really
allowed, but the Regent, who was responsible for me, chose to ignore
these excursions. I particularly enjoyed going over at mealtimes. This
was because, as a young boy destined to be a monk, certain foods such
as eggs and pork were forbidden to me, so it was only at my parents’
house that I ever had the chance to taste them. Once, I remember
being caught in the act o f eating eggs by the Gyop Kenpo, one o f my
16
THE LION TH RON E ' 17
senior officials. He was very shocked, and so was I. cGo away,’ I

shouted at the top o f my voice!
On another occasion, I remember sitting next to my father and
watching him like a little dog as he ate some pork crackling, hoping
that he would give me some - which he did. It was delicious. So,
altogether, my first year in Lhasa was a very happy time. I was still not
yet a monk and my education lay before me. Lobsang Samten, for his
part, enjoyed a year off from the schooling he had begun at Kumbum.
During the winter o f 1940, I was taken to the Potala, where I was
officially installed as spiritual leader o f Tibet. I do not recall anything
particular about the ceremony this entailed, save that it was the first
time I sat on the Lion Throne, a vast, jewel-encrusted and beautifully
carved wooden structure that stood in the Si shiphuntsog (Hall o f All
Good Deeds o f the Spiritual and Temporal World), the principal
stateroom in the east wing o f the Potala.
Soon after, I was taken to the Jokhang temple, in the middle o f the
city, where I was inducted as a novice monk. This involved a cere
mony known as taphue, meaning ‘cutting o f the hair’. From now on,
I was to be shaven-headed and attired in a maroon monk’s robe.
Again, I do not remember much about the ceremony itself except that
at one point, on seeing the flamboyant costumes o f some ritual dan
cers, I completely forgot myself and blurted out excitedly to Lobsang
Samten, ‘Look over there!’
My locks were symbolically shorn by Reting Rinpoche, the Regent,
who in addition to his position as head o f state until I reached my
majority, was also appointed as my Senior Tutor. At first I was cau
tious in my attitude to him, but I came to like him very much. His
most striking feature, I remember was a continually blocked nose. As
a person, he was quite imaginative, with a very relaxed mental disposi
tion, a man who took things easily. He loved picnics and horses, as
a result o f which he became good friends with my father. Sadly
though, during his years as Regent, he had become something o f a
controversial figure and the Government itself was by now quite
corrupt. For example, the buying and selling o f high positions was
commonplace.
At the time o f my induction, there were rumours that he was not
fit to perform the hair-cutting ceremony. It was suggested that he had
broken his vows o f celibacy and was therefore no longer a monk.
18 F R E E D O M IN EXIL E
There was also open criticism o f the way he had punished an official
who had spoken against him in the National Assembly. Nevertheless,
in accordance with ancient custom, I forfeited my name Lhamo
Thondup and assumed his, Jamphel Yeshe, along with several others,
so that my full name now became Jamphel Ngawang Lobsang Yeshe
Tenzin Gyatso.
In addition to Reting Rinpoche as Senior Tutor, I was appointed
a Junior Tutor, Tathag Rinpoche, who was an especially spiritual man
and very warm and kind. After our lessons together, he would often
indulge in casual talks and jokes which I greatly appreciated. Finally,
during my early years, Kewtsang Rinpoche, leader o f the search party,
was given unofficial responsibility as a third tutor. He stood in for the
others whenever either o f them was away.
I was particularly fond o f Kewtsang Rinpoche. Like myself, he was
from Amdo. He was so kind that I could never take him seriously.
During our lessons, instead o f reciting what I was supposed to, I used
to hang round his neck and say, cYou recite!’ Later, he warned Trijang
Rinpoche, who became my Junior Tutor when I was around nineteen
years old, that he should take care not to smile or I would be certain
to take advantage o f him.
These arrangements did not last long, however, for soon after I
began my novitiate, Re ting Rinpoche gave up the Regency, mainly on
account o f his unpopularity. Despite my being only six years old, I
was asked who I thought should replace him. I nominated Tathag
Rinpoche. He then became my Senior Tutor and was replaced as
Junior Tutor by Ling Rinpoche.
While Tathag Rinpoche was a very gentle man, Ling Rinpoche was
very reserved and stern, and to begin with I was really scared o f him.
I became afraid even at the sight o f his servant and quickly learned to
recognise the sound o f his footsteps - at which my heart missed a beat.
But in the end I became friendly towards him and we developed a very
good relationship. He became my closest confidante right up until his
death in 1983.
As well as my tutors, three men were appointed to be my personal
attendants, all o f them monks. They were the Chopon Khenpo, Master
o f the Ritual, the Solpon Khenpo, Master o f the Kitchen and the
Simpon Khenpo, Master o f the Robes. This last was Kenrap Tenzin,
THE LION THR ONE 19
the member o f the search party whose piercing eyes had made such
an impression on me.
When I was very young, I developed a close attachment to the
Master o f the Kitchen. So strong was it that he had to be in my sight
at all times, even if it was only the bottom o f his robe visible through
a doorway or under the curtains which served as doors inside Tibetan
houses. Luckily, he tolerated my behaviour. He was a very kind and
simple man, and almost completely bald. He was not a very good
storyteller, nor an enthusiastic playmate, but this did not matter one
bit.
I have often wondered since about our relationship. I see it now
as being like the bond between a kitten or some small animal and the
person who feeds it. I sometimes think that the act o f bringing food
is one o f the basic roots o f all relationships.
Immediately after my induction as a novice monk, I began to
receive my primary education. This consisted solely o f learning to
read. Lobsang Samten and I were both taught together. I remember
our schoolrooms (one at the Potala and one at the Norbulingka) very
well. On opposite walls hung two whips, a yellow silk one and a
leather one. The former, we were told, was reserved for the Dalai
Lama and the latter was for the Dalai Lama’s brother. These instru
ments o f torture terrified us both. It took only a glance from our
teacher at one or other o f these whips to make me shiver with fear.
Happily, the yellow one was never used, although the leather one
came off the wall once or twice. Poor Lobsang Samten! Unluckily for
him, he was not such a good student as I was. But then again, I have
a suspicion that his beatings might have followed the old Tibetan
proverb: cHit the goat to scare the sheep.’ He was made to suffer on
my behalf.
Although neither Lobsang Samten nor I were allowed to have
friends o f our own age, we were never short o f company. Both at the
Norbulingka and the Potala were an ample staff o f sweepers, or room
attendants (you could not call them footmen). Mostly they were
middle-aged men o f little or no education, some o f whom had come
to the job after serving in the army. Their duty was to keep the rooms
tidy and to see to it that the floors were polished. This last I was very
particular about as I enjoyed skating on them. When Lobsang Samten
was eventually taken away because the two o f us behaved so badly
together, these men were my only companions. But what companions

they were! Despite their age, they played like children.
I was about eight when Lobsang Samten was sent to study at a
private school. Naturally, this saddened me for he was my sole contact
with my family. Now I only saw him during his school holidays at the
time o f the full moon. When he left after each visit, I remember
standing at the window watching, my heart full o f sorrow, as he
disappeared into the distance.
Apart from these monthly reunions, I had only the occasional visits
o f my mother to look forward to. When she came, she was usually
accompanied by my elder sister, Tsering Dolma. I particularly enjoyed
these visits as they would invariably bring presents o f food. My
mother was a wonderful cook and was well known for her excellent
bakery and pastry.
When I reached my early teens, my mother would also bring with
her Tenzin Choegyal, my youngest brother. He is twelve years my
junior and if there was ever a more unruly child than myself, then it
was he. One o f his favourite games was to take ponies on to the roof
o f our parents’ house. I also well remember one occasion when, as a
small boy, he sidled up to me to say that Mother had recently ordered
pork from the slaughterman. This was forbidden for, whilst it was
acceptable to buy meat, it was not acceptable to order it since that
might lead to an animal being killed specially to fulfil your require
ment.
Tibetans have a rather curious attitude towards eating non-vegetar
ian food. Buddhism does not necessarily prohibit the eating o f meat,
but it does say that animals should not be killed for food. In Tibetan
society it was permissible to eat meat - indeed it was essential as, apart
from tsampa, there was often not much else - but not to be involved
in butchery in any way. This was left to others. Some o f it was
undertaken by Muslims, o f whom there was a thriving community,
with its own mosque, settled in Lhasa. Throughout Tibet, there must
have been several thousand Muslims. About half came originally from
Kashmir, the remainder from China.
On one occasion, when my mother did bring me a present o f some
meat (sausages filled with rice and mince - a Taktser speciality), I
remember eating it all at once, because I knew that if I told any o f
my sweepers about it I would have to share it with them. The next
THE LION THR ONE 21
day, I was extremely ill. Following this incident, the Master o f the
Kitchen almost lost his job. Tathag Rinpoche thought he must have
been at fault, so I was compelled to admit the truth o f the matter.
It was a good lesson.
Although it is very beautiful, the Potala was not a nice place to live.
It was built on a rocky outcrop known as the ‘Red Hill’, on the site
o f a smaller building, at the end o f the time o f the Great Fifth Dalai
Lama, who ruled during the seventeenth century by the Christian
calendar. When he died in 1682, it was still far from completion so
Desi Sangye Gyatso, his faithful Prime Minister, concealed the fact o f
his death for fifteen years until it was finished, saying only that His
Holiness had embarked on a long retreat. The Potala itself was not
just a palace. It contained within its walls not only government offices
and numerous storerooms, but also Namgyal (which means "The
Victorious’) monastery with its 175 monks and many chapels, and a
school for young monks destined to become Tsedrung officials.
As a child, I was given the Great Fifth’s own bedroom on the
seventh (top) storey. It was pitifully cold and ill-lit and I doubt
whether it can have been touched since his time. Everything in it was
ancient and decrepit and, behind the drapes that hung across each o f
the four walls lay deposits o f centuries-old dust. At one end o f the
room stood an altar. On it were set small butter lamps (bowls o f
rancid dri butter into which a wick was set and lighted) and little
dishes o f food and water placed in offering to the Buddhas. Every day
these would be plundered by mice. I became very fond o f these little
creatures. They were very beautiful and showed no fear as they helped
themselves to their daily rations. At night, as I lay in bed, I would
hear these companions o f mine running to and fro. Sometimes they
came over to my bed. This was the only substantial piece o f furniture
in my room, other than the altar, and consisted o f a large wooden box
filled with cushions and surrounded by long, red curtains. The mice
would clamber over these too, their urine dripping down as I snug
gled under my blankets below.
My daily routine was much the same at both the Potala and the
Norbulingka, although at the latter the timings were brought forward
an hour because o f the longer days during summer. But this was no
hardship. I have never enjoyed getting up after sunrise. Once I re
member oversleeping and waking up to find Lobsang Samten already

outside, playing. I was furious.
At the Potala, I used to get up at around six o’clock in the morning.
After dressing, I undertook a short period o f prayer and meditation,
which lasted about an hour. Then, just after seven, my breakfast was
brought in. This invariably consisted o f tea and tsampa, with honey
or caramel. I then had my first period o f study with Kenrap Tenzin.
After I had learned to read and until I reached the age o f thirteen,
this was always penmanship. There are two principal written scripts
for the Tibetan language, Uchen and U-me. One is for manuscripts
and the other for official documents and personal communications.
It was only necessary for me to know how to write U-mey but as I
learned quite quickly I taught myself Uchen as well.
I can’t help laughing when I think back on these early morning
lessons. For whilst I sat under the attentive eye o f my Master o f the
Robes, I could hear my Master o f the Ritual next door chanting his
prayers. The 'schoolroom’ was actually just a veranda, with rows o f
potted plants, situated adjacent to my bedroom. It was often quite
cold there, but it was light and offered good opportunities to study
the dungkar, small, black birds with a vivid red beak that used to build
their nests high up in the Potala. Meanwhile, the Master o f the Ritual
sat in my bedroom. Unfortunately, he had a habit o f falling asleep
whilst reciting these morning prayers. When this happened, his voice
trailed off rather like a gramophone player running down when the
electricity has failed as his chanting turned to a mumble and finally
stopped. Then there would be a pause until he woke up, whereupon
he would start up again. Only then he would get into a muddle as he
wouldn’t know where he had left off, so quite often he repeated
himself several times over. It was very comical. But there was a good
side to this. When eventually I came to learn these prayers myself, I
already knew them by heart.
After penmanship came memorisation. This simply consisted o f
learning a Buddhist text for recital later on in the day. I found this
very boring as I learned fast. I should say, though, that I often forgot
just as quickly.
At ten o ’clock came a respite from the morning’s lessons when there
was a meeting for members o f the Government, which I had to attend
even at a very young age. From the beginning, I was groomed for the
THE LION THRON E 23
day when, in addition to my position as spiritual leader o f Tibet, I

would assume temporal leadership as well. At the Potala, the assembly
hall where this took place was next door to my room: the officials
came up from the government offices which were on the second and
third floors o f the building. The meetings themselves were quite
formal occasions - during which people’s duties for the day were read
out to them - and, o f course, protocol regarding myself was strictly
observed. My Lord Chamberlain, the Donyer Chenmo, would come to
my room and lead me to the hall where I was greeted first by the
Regent and then the four members o f the Kashaq, each according to
rank.
After the morning meeting with the Government, I returned to my
rooms for further instruction. I was now joined by my Junior Tutor,
to whom I recited the passage I had learned during the period o f
memorisation that morning. He then read out to me the text for the
next day, explaining it to me in detail as he went along. This session
lasted until around noon. At this point, a bell was rung (as it was every
hour - except once when the ringer forgot, so he rang it thirteen
times!). Also at noon, a conch was blown. Then followed the most
important part o f the young Dalai Lama’s day: play.
I was very fortunate in that I had quite a good collection o f toys.
When I was very young, there was an official at Dromo, a village on
the border with India, who used to send up imported toys to me,
along with boxes o f apples when they were available. Also, I used to
be given gifts by the various foreign officials who came to Lhasa. One
o f my favourites was a Meccano set given to me by the head o f the
British Trade Mission, which had an office in the capital. As I grew
older, I acquired several more sets o f Meccano until by the time I was
about fifteen I had them all, ranging from the easiest to the most
difficult.
When I was seven years old, a deputation o f two American officials
came to Lhasa. They brought with them, in addition to a letter from
President Roosevelt, a pair o f beautiful singing birds and a magnifi
cent gold watch. These were both welcome presents. I was not so
impressed with the gifts brought to me by visiting Chinese officials,
however. Bolts o f silk were o f no interest to a small boy.
Another favourite toy was a clockwork train set. I also had a very
good set o f lead soldiers, which, when I was older, I learned to melt
down and recast as monks. In their original form, I enjoyed using

them in wargames. I used to spend ages setting them out. Then, when
battle was commenced, it took only minutes to devastate the beautiful
formations that I had arranged them in. The same went for another
game which involved making tiny models o f tanks and aeroplanes
from tsampa dough, or pa, as it is properly known.
First o f all, I would hold a competition amongst my grown-up
friends to see who could produce the best models. Each person was
given an equal amount o f dough and allowed, say, half an hour to
build an army. I then judged the results.There was no danger o f losing
this stage o f the game as I am quite dextrous. Often I would disqualify
the others for making such bad models. I would then sell some o f my
models to my opponents for twice as much dough as it took to make
them. In this way I contrived to end up with much the strongest
forces and at the same time I was able to derive satisfaction from
bartering. Then we joined battle. Up until now, I had had everything
my own way, so this was when I generally lost. For my sweepers never
gave quarter in any sort o f competition. I often tried to use my
position as Dalai Lama to my advantage, but it was no use. I played
very forcefully. Quite often I lost my temper and used my fists, but
they still did not give in. Sometimes they even made me cry.
Another favourite pursuit o f mine was military drill, which I
learned from Norbu Thondup, my favourite sweeper and one o f those
who had been in the army. I was always so full o f energy as a boy that
I enjoyed anything that involved physical activity. I loved one particu
lar jumping game - which was officially banned - which involved
running as fast as you could up a board set at an angle o f about 45°
and leaping off at the top. However, my tendency to aggression did
once almost get me into serious trouble. I had found an old, ivory-
topped swagger-stick amongst my predecessor’s belongings. This I
took for my own. One day, I was swinging it violently around my
head when it slipped from my hand and went spinning hard into
Lobsang Sam ten’s face. He dropped to the floor with a crash. For a
second, I was convinced that I had killed him. After a few stunned
moments, he stood up, in floods o f tears and with blood pouring
from a terrible deep gash on his right eyebrow. This subsequently
became infected and took a very long time to heal. Poor Lobsang
THE LION TH RO N E 25
Samten ended up with a prominent mark that scarred him for the rest
o f his life.
Shortly after one o’clock came a light lunch. Now it so happened that,
because o f the Potala’s position, sunlight flooded the room at midday
when my morning’s studies ended. But by two o ’clock it had begun
to fade and the room fell back into shadow. I hated this moment: as
the room sank back into shade, a shadow fell across my heart. My
afternoon studies began soon after lunch. The first hour and a half
consisted o f a period o f general education with my Junior Tutor. It
was all he could do to hold my attention. I was a very reluctant pupil
and disliked all subjects equally.
The curriculum that I studied was the same as that for all monks
pursuing a doctorate in Buddhist studies. It was very unbalanced and
in many ways totally inappropriate for the leader o f a country during
the late twentieth century. Altogether, my curriculum embraced five
major and five minor subjects, the former being: logic; Tibetan art
and culture; Sanskrit; medicine; and Buddhist philosophy. This last
is the most important (and most difficult) and is subdivided into a
further five categories: Pm jnapam m ita, the perfection o f wisdom;
Madhyamika, the philosophy o f the Middle Way; Vinaya, the canon
o f monastic discipline; Abidharma, metaphysics; and Pram ana, logic
and epistemology.
The five minor subjects are poetry; music and drama; astrology;
metre and phrasing; and synonyms. Actually, the doctorate itself is
awarded on the basis only o f Buddhist philosophy, logic and dialec
tics. For this reason, it was not until the mid-1970s that I studied
Sanskrit grammar; and certain subjects, such as medicine, I have never
studied other than in an informal way.
Fundamental to the Tibetan system o f monastic education is dialec
tics, or the art o f debating. Two disputants take turns in asking
questions, which they pose to the accompaniment o f stylised gestures.
As the question is put, the interrogator brings his right hand up over
his head and slaps it down on to his extended left hand and stamps
his left foot on the ground. He then slides his right hand away from
the left, close to the head o f his opponent. The person who is being
asked questions remains passive and concentrates on trying not only
to answer, but also to turn the tables on his opponent, who is all the
26 --- F R E E D O M IN EXI L E
time pacing around him. Wit is an important part o f these debates and
high merit is earned by turning your opponent’s postulates to your
own humorous advantage. This makes dialectics a popular form o f
entertainment even amongst uneducated Tibetans who, though they
might not follow the intellectual acrobatics involved, can still appreci
ate the fun and the spectacle. In the old days, it was not unusual to
see nomads and other country people from far outside Lhasa spend
part o f their day watching learned debates in the courtyard o f a
monastery.
A monk’s ability at this unique form o f disputation is the criterion
by which his intellectual achievements are judged. For this reason, as
Dalai Lama, I had to have not only a good grounding in Buddhist
philosophy and logic but also proficiency at debating. I therefore
began to study these subjects in earnest when I was ten years old and
at twelve I was appointed two tsenshap, experts who coached me in
the art o f dialectics.
After the first o f the afternoon periods o f study, my tutor spent the
next hour explaining how to debate the topic o f the day. Then at four,
tea was served. I f there is anyone who drinks more tea than the
British, it is the Tibetans. According to one Chinese statistic I came
across recently, Tibet imported ten million tons o f tea annually from
China before the invasion. This cannot possibly be true as it implies
that every Tibetan drank almost two tons per year. The figure was
obviously invented to try to prove Tibet’s economic dependence on
China, but it does give an indication o f our fondness for tea.
Having said that, I do not entirely share my countrymen’s liking
for it. In Tibetan society, tea is traditionally drunk salted and with
dri butter in place o f milk. This makes a very good and nourishing
drink providing it is carefully prepared, but the taste depends very
much on the quality o f the butter. The Potala kitchens were regularly
supplied with fresh, creamy butter and the brew they produced was
excellent. But that was the only time I ever really enjoyed Tibetan tea.
Today I generally drink it English style, in the mornings and eve
nings. During the afternoons, I drink plain hot water, a habit I picked
up in China during the 1950s. Though this might sound insipid, it
is in fact extremely healthy. Hot water is considered to be the first
remedy in the Tibetan medical system.
After tea, the two tsenshap monks arrived and I spent the next hour
THK LION THR ONE 27
and a bit debating abstract questions like, for example, what is the
nature o f Mind? At last the day’s tribulations would come to an end
at approximately half-past five. I cannot give accurate times as Tibe
tans do not have the same high regard for clocks as do some people
and things tended to start and finish when convenient. Hurry was
always avoided.
As soon as my tutor had gone, I would rush out on to the roof,
if I was at the Potala, with my telescope. It held a magnificent view
over Lhasa from the Chakpori Medical School nearby to the Holy
City, that part o f the capital which lay round the Jokhang temple, in
the distance. However, I was much more interested in the village o f
Shol, which lay far below at the foot o f the Red Hill. For it was here
that the state prison stood and this was the time when the prisoners
were allowed to walk in the compound. I considered them to be my
friends and kept a close eye on their movements. They knew this and
whenever they caught sight o f me threw themselves down in prostra
tion. I recognised them all and always knew when someone was
released or there was a new arrival. I also used to check the piles o f
firewood and fodder that lay in the courtyard.
After this inspection, there was time for more play inside - for
example, drawing - before my evening meal, which was brought to
me soon after seven. This consisted o f tea (inevitably), broth, some
times with a little meat, and yoghurt or sho, together with a generous
supply o f different varieties o f bread baked by my mother and sent up
to me fresh every week. My favourite was that made in the Amdo style
- small round loaves with a hard crust and light and fluffy inside.
Quite often I managed to eat this meal with one or more o f my
sweepers. They were voracious eaters, all o f them. Their bowls were
big enough to hold a whole kettle’s worth o f tea. Other times, I ate
with some monks from Namgyal monastery. Generally, however, I
shared my meals with just my three monk attendants and sometimes
the Chikyab Kenpo, my Chief o f Staff. In the absence o f the latter, they
were always boisterous occasions, and very happy too. I especially
remember evening meals in winter when we sat by the fire eating our
hot broth by the light o f flickering butter lamps and listening to the
moan o f a snow-laden wind outside.
After eating I would go down the seven flights o f stairs into the
courtyard, where I was supposed to recite scripture and pray as I
28 ---- F R E E D O M IN EXI L E
walked. But when I was young and still carefree, I hardly ever did so.
Instead, I would spend the time either thinking up stories or anticipat
ing the ones that would be told to me before going to bed. Very
often, these were o f a supernatural nature, so it would be a very scared
Dalai Lama who crept into his dark, vermin-infested bedroom at nine
o ’clock. One o f the most frightening tales concerned giant owls which
were supposed to snatch small boys after dark. This was based on an
ancient fresco in the Jokhang temple. It made me very particular
about being inside by nightfall.
My life both at the Potala and the Norbulingka was very routine.
It only varied at the time o f important festivals or when I undertook
a retreat. During the latter, I was accompanied by one o f my Tutors,
though sometimes both, or other senior lamas from Namgyal monas
tery. Usually, I did one each year, during winter. Generally, they
lasted three weeks, during which I had only one short lesson and was
not allowed to play outside, just long periods o f prayer and medita
tion conducted under supervision. As a child, I did not always enjoy
this. I spent a lot o f the time looking out o f one or other o f my
bedroom windows. The one to the north faced Sera monastery, with
mountains in the background. The one to the south faced into the
great hall where the morning meetings with the Government were
held.
This hall was hung with a collection o f priceless, old thangkas,
embroidered silk hangings depicting the life o f Milarepa, one o f
Tibet’s best-loved spiritual masters. I often used to gaze at these
beautiful pictures. I wonder what happened to them.
The evenings during my retreats were even worse than the days, as
it was at this time that young boys o f my own age would drive their
cows back home to the village o f Shol at the base o f the Potala. I well
remember sitting quietly saying m antras during the stillness o f the
fading light and hearing their songs as they returned from the pastures
nearby. On a few occasions, I wished that I could change place with
them. But gradually I came to appreciate the value o f making retreats.
Today I dearly wish I had more time for them.
Basically, I got on well with all o f my tutors as I was quick to learn.
I have quite a good mind, as I discovered with some satisfaction when
I was put with some o f Tibet’s ‘super scholars’. But mostly I just
worked hard enough to keep out o f trouble. However, there came a
THE LION THRON E 29
time when my tutors became worried about my rate o f progress. So

Kenrap Tenzin organised a mock exam in which I was to compete
with Norbu Thondup, my favourite sweeper. Unknown to me, Ken
rap Tenzin had briefed him fully beforehand, with the result that I
lost the contest. I was devastated, especially as my humiliation was
public.
The trick succeeded and for a time I worked very hard out o f sheer
anger. But in the end my good intentions wore off and I slipped back
into my old ways. It was not until I was given my majority that I
realised how important my education was and thereafter began to take
a proper interest in my studies. Today I regret my early idleness and
always study for at least four hours a day. One thing that I think might
have made a difference to my early schooling is some real competition.
Because I had no class-mates, I never had anyone to measure myself
against.
When I was about nine years old, I discovered amongst my prede
cessor’s belongings two old, hand-cranked movie projectors and sev
eral rolls o f film. At first, nobody could be found who knew how to
operate them. Eventually, an old Chinese monk, who as a boy had
been presented by his parents to the Thirteenth Dalai Lama when he
visited China in 1908 and who now lived permanently at the Nor-
bulingka, was discovered to be a good technician. He was a very kind
man and very sincere, with a strict devotion to his religious calling,
although, like many Chinese, he had a very bad temper.
One o f the films was a newsreel o f King George v s coronation,
which impressed me very much with its rows and rows o f splendidly
uniformed soldiers from all over the world. Another contained in
triguing trick photography which showed female dancers being some
how hatched out o f eggs. But most interesting o f all was a documen
tary about gold mining. From it, I learned what a dangerous
occupation mining is, and under what difficult conditions miners
work. Later, whenever I heard about the exploitation o f the working
class (which I often did during the years to come), I thought o f this
film.
Unfortunately, the old Chinese monk, with whom I had quickly
become very good friends, died not very long after this important
discovery. Luckily, I had by this time worked out how to use the
projectors for myself, and in so doing gained my first experience o f
electricity and the workings o f dynamos. This turned out to be very

useful when I received a gift, apparently from the British Royal Fam
ily, o f a modern electrical projector with its own generator. It was
delivered via the British Trade Mission, and Reginald Fox, the assist
ant Trade Commissioner, came to show me how to use it.
Because o f its altitude, many diseases common to other parts o f the
world are unknown in Tibet. However, there was one which was an
ever-present danger: smallpox. When I was about ten years old, I was
appointed a new, rather plump, doctor who, using imported medi
cine, vaccinated me against the disease. This was a very painful experi
ence which, in addition to leaving me with four prominent scars on
my arm, caused considerable pain and brought on a fever which lasted
for about two weeks. I remember complaining a great deal about ‘that
fat doctor’.
My other personal physician at the time was nicknamed Doctor
Lenin on account o f his goatee beard. He was a small man with a huge
appetite and an excellent sense o f humour. I particularly valued him
for his skill at storytelling. Both o f these men were trained according
to the traditional Tibetan system o f medicine, about which I shall
speak more in a later chapter.
Also when I was ten, the world war which had been raging for the
past five years ended. I knew very little about it save that when it was
over my Government sent a mission bearing gifts and a message o f
congratulations to the British Government in India. The officials were
received by Lord Wavell, the Viceroy. The following year, a delega
tion was again sent to India to represent Tibet at a conference on
Asian Relations.
Shortly afterwards, during the early spring o f 1947, a very sad
incident occurred which epitomises the way in which the selfish pur
suit o f personal interest amongst those in high office can have reper
cussions affecting the fate o f a country.
One day, whilst I was watching a debate, I heard the sounds o f
shots being fired. The noise came from the north, in the direction o f
Sera monastery. I rushed outside, full o f excitement at the prospect
o f doing some real work with my telescope. Yet, at the same time I
was also very troubled as I realised that gunfire also meant killing. It
turned out that Reting Rinpoche, who had announced his political
retirement six years previously, had decided to claim the Regency
THE LION THR ONE 31
back. He was supported in this by certain monks and lay officials who
organised a plot against Tathag Rinpoche. This resulted in Reting
Rinpoche’s arrest and the death o f a considerable number o f his
followers.
Reting Rinpoche was subsequently brought to the Potala, where he
made a request that he be allowed to see me. Unfortunately, this was
refused on my behalf and he died in prison not long afterwards.
Naturally, as a minor, I had very little opportunity to become in
volved in judicial matters, but looking back, I sometimes wonder
whether in this case I might not have been able to do something. Had
I intervened in some way, it is possible that the destruction o f Reting
monastery, one o f the oldest and most beautiful in Tibet, might have
been prevented. All in all the whole affair was very silly. Yet, despite
his mistakes, I still retain a deep personal respect for Reting Rinpoche
as my first tutor and guru. After his death, his names were dropped
from mine - until I restored them many years later on the instructions
o f the oracle.
Not long after these unhappy events, I went with Tathag Rinpoche
to Drepung and Sera monasteries (which lie respectively about five
miles west and three and a half miles north o f Lhasa). Drepung was
at that time the largest monastery in the world, with over seven
thousand monks. Sera was not much smaller, with five thousand. This
visit marked my public debut as a dialectician. I was to debate with
the abbots o f each o f Drepung’s three colleges and o f Sera’s two
colleges. Because o f the recent disturbances, extra security precautions
were taken, which made me feel uncomfortable. In addition, I was
very nervous to be going to these great seats o f learning for the first
time during this lifetime. Yet somehow, they were both very familiar
to me and I became convinced o f some connection from my previous
lives. The debates, which were conducted before audiences o f hun
dreds o f monks, went off well enough, despite my nervousness.
Also, at around this time, I received from Tathag Rinpoche the
special teaching o f the Fifth Dalai Lama, which is considered particu
lar to the Dalai Lama himself. It was received by the Great Fifth (as
he is still known to all Tibetans) in a vision. In the following weeks,
I had a number o f unusual experiences, particularly in the form o f
dreams which, although they did not seem significant then, I now see
as being very important.
* * *
One o f the compensations o f living in the Potala was that it contained
numerous storerooms. These were far more interesting to a small boy
than those rooms which contained silver or gold or priceless religious
artefacts; more interesting even than the vast, jewel-encrusted tombs
o f each o f my predecessors down in the vaults. I much preferred the
armoury with its collection o f old swords, flintlock guns and suits o f
armour. But even this was as nothing compared with the unimagin
able treasures in the rooms containing some o f my predecessor’s
belongings. Amongst these I found an old air rifle, complete with
targets and ammunition, and the telescope, to which I have already
referred, not to mention piles o f illustrated books in English about
the First World War. These fascinated me and provided the blueprints
for the model ships, tanks and aeroplanes that I made. When I was
older, I had parts o f them translated into Tibetan.
I also found two pairs o f European shoes. Even though my feet
were far too small, I took them to wear, stuffing bits o f cloth into the
toes so that they fitted more or less. I was thrilled at the sound they
made with their heavy, steel-capped heels.
One o f the things I most enjoyed as a child was to take objects apart
and then try to reassemble them. I became quite good at it. However,
in the beginning, I was not always successful in my efforts. One o f the
items that I came across amongst my predecessor’s belongings was an
old musical box that had been given to him by the Tsar o f Russia, with
whom he had been on friendly terms. It was not working, so I decided
to try to mend it. I found that the mainspring was overwound and
jammed. As I poked at it with my screwdriver, the mechanism sud
denly freed itself and unwound uncontrollably, flinging out all the
thin shards o f metal that made the music. I shall never forget the
demonic symphony o f noise as the bits went flying round the room.
As I think back on this incident, I realise that I was lucky not to lose
an eye. My face was right up close as I fiddled with the mechanism.
I might have been mistaken in later life for Moshe Dayan!
I was very grateful to Thupten Gyatso, the Thirteenth Dalai Lama,
for having been given so many wonderful gifts. Many o f the sweepers
at the Potala had served him during his lifetime, and from them I
came to know something about his life. I learned that not only was
he a highly accomplished spiritual master, but also a very able and
THE LION TH RON E 33
far-sighted secular leader. I also came to know that he had twice been
forced into exile by foreign invaders - first by the British, who sent
in an army under the command o f Colonel Younghusband in 1903,
and secondly by the Manchus in 1910. In the first case, the British
withdrew o f their own accord, but in the second, the Manchu army
was forcibly ejected during the winter o f 1911-12.
My predecessor also took a great interest in modern technology.
Amongst the things he imported to Tibet were an electrical generat
ing plant, a mint for producing both coins and Tibet’s first paper
currency, and three cars. These were the sensation o f Tibet. At the
time, there was almost no wheeled transport in the country. Even
horse-drawn wagons were virtually unknown. O f course they were
known about, but the unyielding nature o f the Tibetan land mass
meant that pack animals were the only practical form o f conveyance.
Thupten Gyatso was also visionary in other ways. After his second
period o f exile, he arranged for four young Tibetans to be sent to
Britain for education. The experiment was successful, the boys did
well - and were even received by the Royal Family, but sadly there was
no follow-up. Had the practice o f sending children abroad for educa
tion been implemented on a regular basis, as he intended, I am quite
certain that Tibet’s situation today would be very different. The Thir
teenth Dalai Lama’s reform o f the army, which he recognised to be
a vital deterrent, was likewise successful but unsustained after his
death.
Another plan o f his was to strengthen the Lhasa Government’s
authority in Kham. He realised that due to its distance from Lhasa,
Kham in particular had been neglected by the central administration.
He therefore proposed that the sons o f local chieftains be brought to
Lhasa for education and then sent back with government posts. He
also wanted to encourage local recruitment for the army. But, unfor
tunately, due to inertia, neither scheme materialised.
The Thirteenth Dalai Lama’s political insight was also extraordi
nary. In his last written testament he warned that, unless there were
radical changes,
It may happen that here in Tibet, religion and government will be

attacked both from without and within. Unless we guard our own
country, it will now happen that the Dalai and Panchen Lamas, the
Father and the Son, and all the revered holders of the Faith, will
disappear and become nameless. Monks and their monasteries will be
destroyed. The rule of law will be weakened. The lands and property of
government officials will be seized. They themselves will be forced to
serve their enemies or wander the country like beggars. All beings will
be sunk in great hardship and overwhelming fear; the days and nights
will drag on slowly in suffering.
The Panchen Lamas referred to in the text represent, after the Dalai
Lamas, the highest spiritual authority in Tibetan Buddhism. By tradi
tion, their seat is Tashilhunpo monastery in Shigatse, the second
largest city in Tibet.
Personally, the Thirteenth Dalai Lama was a very simple man. He
did away with many old customs. For example, it used to be the case
that whenever the Dalai Lama left his chambers, any servant who
happened to be in the vicinity would immediately leave. He said that
this procedure gave unnecessary trouble to people and made him
reluctant to appear. So he abolished the rule.
As a child, I heard a number o f stories about my predecessor that
illustrate how down-to-earth he was. One o f them, told to me by a
very old man whose son was a monk at Namgyal monastery, con
cerned a time when a new building was being put up in the grounds
o f the Norbulingka. As usual, many members o f the public came to
lay a stone in the foundations to mark their respect and well-wishing.
One day a nomad from faraway (the father o f the person who told me
this story) came to make a contribution. He had with him a very
cantankerous mule, which, as soon as he turned his back to make the
offering, sped off in search o f freedom. Luckily, someone was walking
in the opposite direction. The nomad called out to this person, asking
him to grab the wandering mule. This the stranger did and brought
it over. The nomad was at first delighted and then amazed, for his
rescuer turned out to be none other than the Dalai Lama himself.
But the Thirteenth Dalai Lama was also very strict. He forbade the
smoking o f tobacco both at the Potala and in the grounds o f the
Norbulingka. However, there was one occasion when he was out
walking and came to a place where some stonemasons were working.
They did not see him and were talking amongst themselves. One o f
them complained loudly about the tobacco prohibition, saying that
THE LION TH RO NE 35
it was very good when a person is tired and hungry. He was going
to chew some anyway. The Dalai Lama, on hearing this, turned away
and left without making his presence known.
This does not mean that he was always lenient. If I have anything
critical to say about him, it is that I feel he may have been a bit too
autocratic. He was extremely severe with his high officials and came
down heavily on them for the slightest mistake. He confined his
generosity to simple people.
Thupten Gyatso’s greatest achievements in the spiritual field con
cerned his dedication to raising the standard o f scholarship in the
monasteries (of which there were over six thousand in all Tibet). In
doing so, he gave precedence to the most able monks, even if they
were junior. Also, he personally ordained many thousands o f novices.
Right up until the 1970s, most o f the senior monks had received their
ordinations as bikshus from him.
Up until my early twenties, when I began to remain there perma

nently, I moved each year to the Norbulingka during early spring,
returning to the Potala around six months later with the onset o f
winter. The day that I quit my gloomy room in the Potala was
undoubtedly one o f my favourite during the whole year. It began with
a ceremony that lasted for two hours (which seemed like an eternity
to me). Then came the great procession, which I did not much care
for. I would rather have walked and enjoyed the countryside, where
fresh outpourings o f natural beauty were just beginning to show
themselves in delicate shoots o f green.
The diversions at the Norbulingka were endless. It consisted o f a
beautiful park surrounded by a high wall. Within this there were a
number o f buildings which were lived in by the members o f staff.
There was also an inner wall, known as the Yellow Wall, beyond
which no one but the Dalai Lama, his immediate household and
certain monks were allowed. On the other side o f it lay several more
buildings, including the Dalai Lama’s private residence which was
surrounded by a well-kept garden.
I happily whiled away hours in the park walking though the beauti
ful gardens and watching some o f the many animals and birds that
lived there. Amongst these were, at one time or another, a herd o f
tame musk deer; at least six dogkhyi, enormous Tibetan mastiffs which
acted as guard dogs; a Pekinese sent from Kumbum; a few mountain

goats; a monkey; a handful o f camels brought from Mongolia; two
leopards and a very old and rather sad tiger (these last in pens, o f
course); several parrots; half-a-dozen peacocks; some cranes; a pair o f
golden geese; and about thirty, very unhappy Canada geese whose
wings had been clipped so that they could not fly: I felt very sorry for
them.
One o f the parrots was very friendly with Kenrap Tenzin, my
Master o f the Robes. He used to feed it nuts. As it nibbled from his
fingers, he used to stroke its head, at which the bird appeared to enter
a state o f ecstasy. I very much wanted this kind o f friendliness and
several times tried to get a similar response, but to no avail. So I took
a stick to punish it. O f course, thereafter it fled at the sight o f me.
This was a very good lesson in how to make friends: not by force but
by compassion.
Ling Rinpoche had a similarly good relationship with the monkey.
It was friendly only with him. He used to feed it from his pocket, so
that whenever the monkey saw him coming, it would scamper over
and start delving amongst the folds o f his robes.
I had slightly better luck in making friends with the fish which lived
in a large, well-stocked lake. I used to stand at the edge and call them.
If they responded, I rewarded them with small pieces o f bread and
pa. However, they had a tendency to disobedience and sometimes
would ignore me. If this happened, I got very angry and, rather than
throw them food, I would open up with an artillery barrage o f rocks
and stones. But when they did come over, I was very careful to see
to it that the small ones got their fair share. If necessary, I would use
a stick to prod the larger ones out o f the way.
Once whilst I was playing at the edge o f this lake, I caught sight
o f a lump o f wood floating near the edge. I started to try to sink it
with my fish-prodding stick. The next thing I knew, I was lying on
the grass seeing stars. I had fallen in and started to drown. Luckily,
one o f my sweepers, an ex-soldier from far western Tibet, had been
keeping an eye on me and came to the rescue.
Another attraction o f the Norbulingka was its proximity to a tribu
tary o f the Kyichu river, which lay a few minutes’ walk beyond the
outer wall. As a small boy I used to go out incognito quite often,
accompanied by an attendant, and walk to the water’s edge. At first,
THE LION THRON E 37
this practice was ignored, but eventually Tathag Rinpoche put a stop
to it. Unfortunately, protocol regarding the Dalai Lama was very
strict. I was compelled to remain hidden away like an owl. In fact, the
conservatism o f Tibetan society at that time was such that it was
considered improper for senior government ministers even to be seen
looking down on to the street.
At the Norbulingka, as at the Potala, I spent a great deal o f time
with the sweepers. Even at a very young age, I had a dislike o f protocol
and formality and much preferred the company o f servants to that of,
say, members o f the Government. I particularly enjoyed being with
my parents’ servants, with whom I spent a lot o f time whenever I went
over to my family’s house. Most o f them came from Amdo and I liked
very much to hear stories about my own village and others nearby.
I also enjoyed their company when we went and raided my parents’
food stores. They were also glad o f mine on these occasions, for
obvious reasons: it was an exercise in mutual benefit. The best time
for these forays was in late autumn when there would always be fresh
supplies o f delicious dried meat, which we dipped in chilli sauce. I
liked this so much that, on one occasion, I ate far too much and soon
afterwards I was violently sick. As I bent over, retching in agony,
Kenrap Tenzin caught sight o f me and gave some words o f encourage
ment, something like, "That’s it. Get it all up. It’s good for you.’ I
felt very foolish and did not thank him for his attention.
Although I was Dalai Lama, my parents’ servants treated me just
as they would any other small boy, as in fact did everyone except on
formal occasions. I received no special treatment and no one was
afraid to speak their mind to me. Accordingly, I learned at an early
age that life was not always easy for my people. My sweepers likewise
told me freely about themselves and the injustices they suffered at the
hands o f officials and high lamas. They also kept me in touch with
all the gossip o f the day. This often took the form o f songs and ballads
which people sang as they worked. So, although my childhood was
quite lonely at times, and although at the age o f about twelve Tathag
Rinpoche forbade me from going any more to my parents’ house, my
early life was not in the least like Prince Siddhartha’s or that o f Pu Yi,
the last Emperor o f China. Besides, as I grew up I came into contact
with a number o f interesting people.
There were about ten Europeans living in Lhasa throughout my
38 F RE E DO M IN EXILE
childhood. I did not see much o f them and it was not until Lobsang
Samten brought Heinrich Harrer to me that I had the chance to get
to know an inji, as Westerners are known in Tibetan.
Amongst those settled in the capital when I was growing up were
Sir Basil Gould, head o f the British Trade Mission, and his successor,
Hugh Richardson, who has since written some books about Tibet and
with whom I have had several useful discussions since coming into
exile. And in addition to Reginald Fox, there was also a British
medical officer, whose name I cannot recall. However, I shall never
forget one occasion when this man was summoned to the Nor-
bulingka to treat one o f the peacocks which had a cyst under its eye.
I watched him very carefully and listened in amazement as he spoke
to it in reassuring tones using both Lhasa dialect and honorific Tibe
tan (which are virtually two distinct languages). It struck me as some
thing very extraordinary when this strange man addressed the bird as
‘Honourable peacock’!
Heinrich Harrer turned out to be a delightful person with blond
hair such as I had never seen before. I nicknamed him Gopse, meaning
‘yellow head.5As an Austrian, he had been interned during the Second
World War, a prisoner o f the British in India. But somehow he had
managed to escape with a fellow prisoner named Peter Aufschnaiter.
Together they had made their way to Lhasa. This was a great achieve
ment, as Tibet was officially out o f bounds to all foreigners, except
the few who had special dispensation. It took them about five years
living as nomads before they finally reached the capital. When they
arrived, people were so impressed by their bravery and persistence that
the Government permitted them to stay. Naturally, I was one o f the
first to hear o f their arrival and I became quite curious to see what
they were like, especially Harrer, as he quickly developed a reputation
as an interesting and sociable person.
He spoke excellent colloquial Tibetan and had a wonderful sense
o f humour, although he was also full o f respect and courtesy. As I
began to get to know him better, he dropped the formality and
became very forthright, except when my officials were present. I
greatly valued this quality. We first met in 1948, I think, and for the
next year and a half before he left Tibet I saw him regularly, usually
once a week. From him I was able to learn something about the
outside world and especially about Europe and the recent war. He also
THE LION TH RON E '—' 39
helped me with my English, which I had recently begun to study with

one o f my officials. I already knew the alphabet, which I had had
translated into Tibetan phonetics, and was eager to learn more. Har-
rer assisted me in a number o f practical ways as well.
For example, he helped me with the generator that was presented
to me along with the electrical projector. It had turned out to be very
old and sick. I have often wondered whether the British officials did
not keep the generator intended for my use and pass on their own old
one to me!
Another great enthusiasm o f mine at this time was for the three cars
that the Thirteenth Dalai Lama had imported into Tibet. Although
there were no proper roads, he had used them occasionally for trans
port in and around Lhasa up until the time o f his death. Thereafter
they were not used and fell into disrepair. They now stood in a
building at the Norbulingka. One o f them was an American Dodge;
the two others were both Baby Austins. All were o f late 1920s’ vin
tage. There was also a Willys jeep, which was acquired by the Tibetan
Trade Mission that travelled to America in 1948, but which was rarely
used.
As with the movie projectors, it took some time before I could trace
anyone who knew anything about cars. But I was determined that
they should be put back into service. Eventually a driver, Tashi Tser-
ing, was found, another man with a very short temper, who came
originally from Kalimpong, just south o f the border with India. Be
tween us we worked on the cars and finally, by plundering one o f the
Austins for parts, we got the other one going. Both the Dodge and
the jeep were in better condition and they ran after only minor
tinkering.
O f course, once we had the cars working, I was not allowed to go
anywhere near them. But this became too much for me and one day,
when I knew that my driver was away, I decided to take one o f them
out for a drive. Both the Dodge and the jeep required keys to start
and these were in the possession o f my driver. However, the Baby
Austin had magneto ignition and could be started by turning a crank
handle.
Very gingerly, I reversed it out o f its shed and proceeded to take
a turn around the garden. Unfortunately, the Norbulingka park is full
o f trees and it was not very long before I collided with one o f them.
40 —' F RE E DO M IN EXILE
To my horror I saw that the glass o f one o f the headlamps was

smashed. Unless I could repair it before the following day, my joyride
would be discovered by my driver and I would be in trouble.
I managed to get the car back without further damage and at once
began trying to repair the broken glass. To my further dismay I found
that it was not ordinary glass, but tinted. So although I managed to
find a piece that I was able to fashion well enough to fit, I was then
faced with the problem o f getting it to match the original. This I
eventually succeeded in doing by smearing it with sugar syrup. In the
end I was well pleased with my handiwork. But even so, I felt ex
tremely guilty when I next saw my driver. I felt sure that he must
know, or at least that he would find out, what had happened. But he
never said a word. I shall never forget Tashi Tsering. He is still alive
and now living in India, and although I rarely see him, I continue to
regard him as a good friend.
The Tibetan calendar is rather complicated. It is based on a lunar

month. Also, rather than centuries o f hundreds o f years, we follow
a sixty-year cycle, each one o f which is assigned to one o f the five
elements, whose order is earth, air, fire, water and iron; and one o f
twelve animals: the mouse, the ox, the tiger, the hare, the dragon,
the serpent, the horse, the sheep, the monkey, the bird, the dog, and
the pig, again in order. Each o f the elements comes twice, first in its
male and then in its female aspect. They thus end with the tenth year.
Then the first element is joined to the eleventh and twelfth animals,
the second to the thirteenth and fourteenth animals, and so on. So
for example, according to the Tibetan calendar, the year 2,000 A.D.
will be the Iron Dragon year.
Throughout the centuries preceding Tibet’s invasion by China, the
seasons were marked by numerous festival days. Generally these had
a religious significance, but they were celebrated by monks and lay
men alike. For the latter, the time was passed in eating, drinking,
singing, dancing and playing games, combined intermittently with
prayer.
One o f the most important o f these events was the New Year
celebration, or Losar, which comes in either February or March o f the
Western calendar. For me, its particular significance was my annual,
public meeting with Nechung, the state oracle. I shall discuss this in
THE LION THRON E 41
a later chapter, but essentially this gave me and the Government the
opportunity to consult, via a medium, or kuteny with Dorje Drakden,
the protector divinity o f Tibet, about the coming year.
There was one festival that I had very mixed feelings about. This
was Monlam, the Great Prayer Festival, which followed directly after
Losar - the reason being that as Dalai Lama, I had, even at a very
young age, to participate in its most important ceremony. The other
bad thing about Monlam was the fact that I invariably had to endure
a severe bout o f flu, just as I do today whenever I go to Bodh Gaya
in India, due to the dust. This was because I took up residence in
rooms at the Jokhang temple, which were even more derelict than my
room at the Potala.
The ceremony, or puja, that I feared so much took place in the
afternoon, at the end o f the first o f two weeks devoted to Monlam.
It followed a long discourse on the life o f the Buddha Shakyamuni
given by the Regent. The puja itself lasted for over four hours, after
which I had to recite from memory a long and difficult passage o f
scripture. I was so nervous that I took in not a word o f what came
before. My Senior Tutor, the Regent, my Junior Tutor and the
Masters o f the Ritual, Robes and Kitchen were all equally anxious.
Their main worry was that because I sat high up on a throne through
out the ceremony, no one could easily prompt me if I got stuck.
But remembering my lines was only half the problem. Because the
proceedings went on for so long, I had an additional dread: I feared
that my bladder might not hold out. In the end everything went well,
even the first time when I was so young. But I remember being
apoplectic with fear. It dulled my senses to the point where I no
longer noticed what was going on around me. I ceased to be aware
even o f the pigeons which flew around the inside o f the building,
stealing from the offering plates. I only noticed them again when I
was halfway through my oration.
When it was over I was ecstatically happy. Not only was the whole
dreadful business over for another twelve months, but there now
followed one o f the best moments in the Dalai Lama’s year. After the
ceremony I was allowed outside to walk round the streets so that I
could see the thorma, the huge, gaily coloured butter sculptures
traditionally offered to the Buddhas on this day. There were also
puppet shows and music played by military bands and an atmosphere

o f tremendous happiness amongst the people.
The Jokhang temple is the holiest shrine in all Tibet. It was built
during the reign o f King Songtsen Gampo in the seventh century a .d .
to house a statue brought by one o f his wives, Bhrikuti Devi, daughter
o f the Nepalese King Anshuriaruam. (Songtsen Gampo had four
other wives, three o f them Tibetan and one Chinese, Princess Weng-
chen Kongjo, daughter o f the second Emperor o f the Tang dynasty.)
Over the centuries the temple was expanded and embellished consid
erably. One outstanding feature o f the Jokhang is the stone monu
ment which still stands at its entrance bearing witness to the historical
power o f Tibet. Its inscription, engraved in both Tibetan and Chi
nese, records the perpetual treaty concluded by Tibet and China in
821-2 A.D.:
The Great King of Tibet, the Miraculous Divine Lord, and the Great
King of China, the Chinese Ruler Hwang-ti, being in the relationship
of nephew and uncle, have conferred together for the alliance of their
kingdoms. They have made and ratified a great agreement. Gods and
men all know it and bear witness so that it may never be changed; and
an account of the agreement has been engraved on this stone pillar to
inform future ages and generations.
The Miraculous Divine Lord Trisong Dretsen and the Chinese Em
peror Wen-Wu the filial and virtuous, nephew and uncle, seeking in
their far-reaching wisdom to prevent all causes of harm to the welfare
of their countries now or in the future, have extended their benevolence
impartially over all. With the single desire of acting for the peace and
benefit of all their subjects they have agreed on the high purpose of
ensuring lasting good; and they have made this great treaty in order to
fulfil their decision to restore the former ancient friendship and mutual
regard and the old relationship of friendly neighbourliness.
Tibet and China shall abide by the frontiers of which they are now
in occupation. All to the east is the country of Great China; and all to
the west is, without question, the country of Great Tibet. Henceforth
on neither side shall there be waging of war nor seizing of territory. If
any person incurs suspicion he shall be arrested; his business shall be
inquired into and he shall be escorted back.
Now that the two kingdoms have been allied by this great treaty it
THE LION THR ONE 43
is necessary that messengers should once again be sent by the old route
to maintain communications and carry the exchange of friendly mes
sages regarding the harmonious relations between the nephew and
uncle. According to the old custom, horses shall be changed at the foot
of the Chiang Chun pass, the frontier between Tibet and China. At the
Sui-yung barrier the Chinese shall meet Tibetan envoys and provide
them with all facilities from there onwards. At Ch’ing-shui the Tibetans
shall meet Chinese envoys and provide all facilities. On both sides they
shall be treated with customary honour and respect in conformity with
the friendly relations between nephew and uncle.
Between the two countries no smoke nor dust shall be seen. There
shall be no sudden alarms and the very word ‘enemy’ shall not be
spoken. Even the frontier guards shall have no anxiety nor fear and shall
enjoy land and bed at their ease. All shall live in peace and share the
blessing of happiness for ten thousand years. The fame of this shall
extend to all places reached by the sun and the moon.
This solemn agreement has established a great epoch when Tibetans
shall be happy in the land of Tibet, and Chinese in the land of China.
So that it may never be changed, the Three Precious Jewels of Religion,
the Assembly of Saints, the Sun and Moon, Planets and Stars have been
invoked as witnesses. An oath has been taken with solemn words and
with the sacrifice of animals; and the agreement has been ratified.
If the parties do not act in accordance with this agreement or if they
violate it, whichever it be, Tibet or China, nothing that the other party
may do by way of retaliation shall be considered a breach of the treaty
on their part.
The Kings and Ministers of Tibet and China have taken the pre
scribed oath to this effect and the agreement has been written in detail.
The two Kings have affixed their seals. The Ministers specially empow
ered to execute the agreement have inscribed their signatures and copies
have been deposited in the royal records of each party.
My room in the Jokhang was on the second storey, that is to say

on the flat roof o f the temple. From here, I was able to look down
not only into the main part o f the building itself but also into the
market-place below. The window looking south gave me a view o f the
principal chamber, in which I could see monks chanting throughout
the day. These monks were always very well behaved and diligent in
their offices.
The view from the east window was very different, however. This
one enabled me to look down into a courtyard where novice monks,
like myself, gathered. I used to watch amazed as they played truant
and sometimes even fought each other. When I was very young, I
used to creep downstairs so that I could get a better view o f them.
I couldn’t believe what I saw and heard. For a start, they did not chant
their prayers as they were supposed to. They sang them - at least if
they bothered to open their mouths at all. Quite a lot o f them never
seemed to do so and instead spent their whole time playing. Every so
often a scuffle would break out. Then they would take out their
wooden bowls and crack each other over the head. This scene pro
voked a curious reaction in me. On the one hand, I told myself that
these monks were extremely stupid. But on the other hand, I could
not help envying them. They seemed not to have a care in the world.
But when their fights became violent, I grew frightened and went
away.
To the west, I could see out on to the market-place. This was easily
my favourite view, but I had to spy out rather than look directly in
case anyone saw me. If they did, everyone would come running over
to prostrate themselves. I could only peer through the curtains, feel
ing like a criminal. I remember that the first or second time I stayed
at the Jokhang, aged seven or eight, I disgraced myself rather badly.
The sight o f all those people down there was too much for me. I
boldly poked my head through the curtain. But, as if this were not
bad enough, I remember blowing bubbles o f spit which fell on to
several people’s heads as they threw themselves down to the ground
far below! Afterwards, I am glad to say that the young Dalai Lama
learned some self-discipline.
I loved peeping down on to the market stalls and remember once
seeing a small wooden model o f a gun. I sent someone to go out and
buy it for me. I paid for it out o f some o f the offering money put out
by pilgrims, which occasionally I used to help myself to, for I was not
officially allowed to handle money. In fact, even to this day, I do not
have direct dealings with it. All my income and expenditure is handled
by my Private Office.
One o f the other joys o f staying at the Jokhang was the chance to
make new friends amongst the sweepers there. As usual, all my spare
time was spent in their company and I think that they were as sorry
THE LION THRONE 45
when I left as I was. However, I remember one year when the people
with whom I had made such firm friends during the previous festival
turned out not to be there any longer. I wondered why, as I was very
much looking forward to seeing them all again. I demanded to know
what had happened from the single one that remained. He told me
that the other ten had all been sacked for theft. After I had gone last
time, they let themselves into my apartment by climbing down
through the ceiling skylight and made off with various items - gold
butter lamps and the like. So much for the company I kept!
The last day o f the Monlam festival was given over to outdoor
activities. Firstly, a large statue o f Maitreya, the Buddha to come,
would lead a procession round the perimeter o f the old city. This
route was known as the Linjjkhor. I have heard that it no longer exists
thanks to Chinese development o f the capital, but the Barkhor or
inner perimeter which runs around the immediate outside o f the
Jokhang, does still stand. In former times, devout pilgrims would
prostrate themselves bodily along the entire length o f the Lingkhor as
a devotional duty.
Soon after the statue had completed its circuit, there would be a
general commotion as people turned their attention to sporting activi
ties. These were great fun and involved both horse races and running
races for members o f the public. The former were rather unusual in
that the animals were riderless. They were released beyond Drepung
monastery and guided towards the centre o f Lhasa by their grooms
and spectators. Just before the horses arrived, the would-be athletes
competing in the running race would also set off over a shorter
distance, also towards the city centre. This tended to result in enjoy
able confusion as both arrived simultaneously. However, one year
there was an unfortunate incident when some o f the human competi
tors grabbed hold o f the tails o f passing horses and took a tow.
Immediately after the races were over, the Lord Chamberlain accused
those whom he thought were involved. Most o f them were members
o f my household. I was very sorry when I heard they were likely to
be punished. In the end, I was able, for once, to intervene on their
behalf.
Certain aspects o f the Monlam festival affected the entire popula
tion o f Lhasa intimately. For, in accordance with ancient tradition,
the civil administration o f the city was given up to the abbot o f
Drcpung monastery. He then appointed, from amongst his monks,

a staff and policemen to maintain law and order. This was imposed
strictly and any misdemeanours were punished with quite heavy fines.
One o f the things that was always insisted upon by the abbot was
cleanliness. As a result, this was the time o f year when every building
was freshly whitewashed and the streets thoroughly cleaned.
One thing about the New Year that was important to me as a child
was the tradition o f baking khabse or losar cookies. Every year, at the
time o f the festivities, my Master o f the Kitchen would make batches
o f delicious pastry, fashioned into extravagant shapes and deep fried.
One year, I decided to try my hand at some baking myself. Everything
went well and I was quite impressed by my handiwork, so I told the
Master o f the Kitchen that I would come back to do some more next
day.
This I did, but unfortunately the oil that was put out for my use
on the second occasion was fresh and had not been properly boiled.
As a result, when I dropped my mix into the pan, it erupted like a
volcano. My right arm was covered in boiling oil, which caused
immediate blistering. My chief memory o f the event, however, is o f
one o f the cooks, an elderly man who took a lot o f snuff and was not
easily excited, running over with something that looked like whipped
cream which he started to apply to my arm. Normally he was a very
jovial person, but on this occasion he was extremely flustered. I
remember thinking how comical he looked with grains o f snuff and
bits o f snot coming out o f his nose, and a very serious expression on
his heavily pock-marked face.
O f all the festivals, the one that I most enjoyed was the week-long
opera festival, which began on the first day o f the seventh month each
year. This involved performances by various troupes o f dancers, sing
ers and actors from all over Tibet. They gave their performances on
a paved area situated on the far side of, but adjacent to, the Yellow
Wall. I myself watched the proceedings from a makeshift enclosure
erected on the top o f one o f the buildings that abutted the wall on
the inside. Amongst the other spectators were all the members o f
Government, and their wives - who used the occasion as an excuse
to compete with one another in terms o f jewellery and dress. How
ever, this rivalry was not confined to the ladies. For this was also the
THE LION THRON E 47
favourite time o f the sweepers at the Norbulingka. In the days preced

ing the festivities, they spent much time and energy borrowing and
hiring clothes and ornaments, preferably coral, in which to parade.
Their moment came when they carried forward vessels containing the
flowers that were to be judged in a horticultural competition which
was held during the festival.
I will never forget one o f my sweepers, who always appeared wear
ing a special hat, o f which he was immensely proud. It had a long,
red silk tassel that he arranged artfully round his neck and over his
shoulder.
Members o f the public also came to watch the theatricals, although
they did not have special seating arrangements unlike the government
officials and aristocracy. As well as coming to see the performances,
they came to marvel at the high officials in their ceremonial finery.
They also used to take the opportunity to circumambulate, prayer-
wheel in hand, the perimeter o f the Yellow Wall. (A prayer-wheel
consists o f a cylinder, containing prayers, which is rotated whilst a
person recites m antras.)
Many people other than Lhasans came too: tall, swashbuckling
Khampas from the east, their long hair extravagantly braided with red
tassels; Nepalese and Sikkimese traders from the south; and, o f
course, the small, gaunt figures o f the nomad farmers. People dedi
cated themselves to having fun - something that Tibetans are natu
rally good at. We are for the most part quite simple people, who like
nothing better than a good show and a good party. Even a few
members o f the monastic community joined in, though illegally and
therefore in disguise.
It was such a happy time! People sat and talked during the perform
ances, so familiar were they with the songs and dances that they knew
every incident by heart. Almost everyone brought a picnic and tea and
chang and they would come and go as they pleased. Young women
suckled babies at their breasts. Children ran to and fro - shrieking and
laughing - stopping only for seconds to stare wide-eyed as a new
performer, clad in wild and colourful costume, made his entrance. At
this too, the expressions o f the old men who sat alone and stony-faced
would brighten and for a moment the old women would cease their
chatter. Then everything would carry on as before. And all the while,
48 '— F R EE DO M IN EXILE
the sun bore steadily down through thin, exhilarating mountain air.
The only time you could be sure o f everyone’s complete attention
was when satires were performed. Then the actors appeared dressed
as monks and nuns, high officials and even as the state oracles to
lampoon public figures.
3
INVASION:
THE STORM BREAKS
O
ther important festivals during the year included the festi
val o f M ahakala held on the eighth day o f the third month.
This was when summer officially began and on that day all
members o f the Government changed into summer dress.
This was also the day when I shifted from the Potala to the Nor-
bulingka. On the fifteenth day o f the fifth month was Zam ling Chi-
sang, Universal Prayer Day, which marked the beginning o f a week-
long holiday period when most o f the population o f Lhasa who were
not either monks, nuns or members o f the Government decamped in
tents to the plains outside Lhasa for a series o f picnics and other social
amusements. Actually, I am fairly certain that some people who were
not supposed to attend this did so, but in disguise. Then on the
twenty-fifth day o f the tenth month, which marked the death o f
Tsonkapa, the great reformer o f Buddhism in Tibet and founder o f
the Gelugpa tradition, there was a special festival. It involved torch
light processions and the lighting o f innumerable butter lamps
throughout the land. This event also marked the day when winter
formally began, officials changed into winter dress and I moved reluc
tantly back to the Potala. I longed to be old enough to follow the
example o f my predecessor who, having participated in this proces
sion, used to return to the Norbulingka, which he much preferred.
There were also a number o f purely secular events held at different
times during the year, for example the horse fair, which was held
49
during the first month. There was likewise a particular time o f year,
autumn, when nomads brought yaks to be sold to the slaughtermen.
This was a very sad time for me. I could not bear to think o f all those
poor creatures going to their deaths. I f ever I saw animals being taken
behind the Norbulingka on their way to market, I always tried to buy
them by sending someone out to act on my behalf. That way I was
able to save their lives. Over the years I should imagine I must have
rescued at least ten thousand animals, and probably many more.
When I consider this, I realise that this extremely naughty child did
do some good after all.
On the day before the opera festival o f summer 1950, I was just
coming out o f the bathroom at the Norbulingka when I felt the earth
beneath my feet begin to move. The tremors continued for several
seconds. It was late evening and, as usual, I had been chatting to one
o f my attendants whilst I washed before going to bed. The facilities
were then situated in a small outbuilding a few yards from my quarters
so I was outside when this happened. At first, I thought we must have
had another earthquake as Tibet is quite prone to seismological activ
ity.
Sure enough, when I went back inside, I noticed that several pic
tures hanging on the wall were out o f alignment. It reminded me o f
the time I was in my rooms on the seventh storey o f the Potala during
a quake. Then I had been extremely scared. But, on this occasion,
there was no real danger as the Norbulingka consists o f only one- and
two-storey buildings. However, just then, there was a terrific crash in
the distance. I rushed outside once more, followed by several sweep
ers.
As we looked up into the sky, there was another crash and another
and another and another. It was like an artillery barrage - which is
what we now assumed to be the cause o f both the tremors and the
noise: a test o f some sort being carried out by the Tibetan army. In
all, there were thirty to forty explosions, each appearing to emanate
from the north-east.
Next day we learned that, far from being a military test, it was
indeed some sort o f natural phenomenon. Some people even reported
seeing a strange red glow in the skies in the direction from which the
noise came. It gradually emerged that people had experienced it not
only in the vicinity o f Lhasa but throughout the length and breadth
INVASION: THE STORM BREAKS 51
o f Tibet: certainly in Chamdo, nearly 400 miles to the east, and in

Sakya, 300 miles away to the south-west. I have even heard that it was
observed in Calcutta. As the scale o f this strange event began to sink
in, people naturally began to say that this was more than a simple
earthquake. It was an omen from the gods, a portent o f terrible things
to come.
Now from very early on, I have always had a great interest in
science. So naturally, I wanted to find a scientific basis for this extraor
dinary event. When I saw Heinrich Harrer a few days later, I asked
him what he thought was the explanation, not only for the earth
tremors, but more importantly for the strange celestial phenomena.
He told me he was certain that the two were related. It must be a
cracking o f the earth’s crust caused by the upward movement o f whole
mountains.
To me, this sounded plausible, but unlikely. Why would a cracking
o f the earth’s crust manifest itself as a glow in the night sky accompa
nied by thunderclaps and, furthermore, how could it be that it was
witnessed over such immense distances? I did not think that Harrer’s
theories told the whole story. Even to this day I do not. Perhaps there
is a scientific explanation, but my own feeling is that what happened
is presently beyond science, something truly mysterious. In this case,
I find it much easier to accept that what I witnessed was metaphysical.
At any rate, warning from on high or mere rumblings from below,
the situation in Tibet deteriorated rapidly thereafter.
As I have said, this event occurred just before the opera festival.
Two days later, the omen, if that is what it was, began to fulfil itself.
Towards evening, during one o f the performances, I caught sight o f
a messenger running in my direction. On reaching my enclosure, he
was immediately shown in to Tathag Rinpoche, the Regent, who
occupied the other half. I realised at once that something was wrong.
Under normal circumstances government matters would have had to
wait until the following week. Naturally, I was almost beside myself
with curiosity. What could this mean? Something dreadful must have
happened. Yet being still so young and having no political power, I
would have to wait until Tathag Rinpoche saw fit to tell me what was
going on. However, I had already discovered that it was possible, by
standing on a chest, to peep through a window set high up in the wall
separating his room from mine. As the messenger went in, I hoisted
52 --- F R E E D O M IN EXI L E
myself up, and, holding my breath, began to spy on the Regent. I

could see his face quite clearly as he read the letter. It became very
grave. After a few minutes, he went out and I heard him give orders
for the Kashag to be summoned.
I discovered in due course that the Regent’s letter was in fact a
telegram from the Governor o f Kham, based in Chamdo, reporting
a raid on a Tibetan post by Chinese soldiers, causing the death o f the
responsible officer. This was grave news indeed. Already the previous
autumn there had been cross-border incursions by Chinese Commu
nists, who stated their intention o f liberating Tibet from the hands
o f imperialist aggressors - whatever that might mean. This was despite
the fact that all Chinese officials living in Lhasa had been expelled in
1949.
It now looked as if the Chinese were making good their threat. If
that were so, I was well aware that Tibet was in grave danger for our
army mustered no more than 8,500 officers and men. It would be no
match for the recently victorious People’s Liberation Army (PLA).
I remember little else o f that year’s opera festival, save for the
desolation I felt in my heart. Not even the magical dances performed
to the slow beat o f drums could hold my attention, the players in their
elaborate costumes (some dressed to look like skeletons, representing
Death) solemnly and rhythmically following an ancient choreogra-
phy.
Two months later, in October, our worst fears were fulfilled. News
reached Lhasa that an army o f 80,000 soldiers o f the PLA had crossed
the Drichu river east o f Chamdo. Reports on Chinese Radio an
nounced that, on the anniversary o f the Communists coming to
power in China, the "peaceful liberation’ o f Tibet had begun.
So the axe had fallen. And soon, Lhasa must fall. We could not
possibly resist such an onslaught. In addition to its shortage o f man
power, the Tibetan army suffered from having few modern weapons
and almost no training. Throughout the Regency, it had been ne
glected. For Tibetans, despite their history, basically love peace and
to be in the army was considered the lowest form o f life: soldiers were
held to be like butchers. And although some extra regiments were
hurriedly sent from elsewhere in Tibet, and a new one was raised, the
quality o f troops sent to face the Chinese was not high.
It is useless to speculate on what might have been the result had
things been otherwise. It is necessary only to say that the Chinese lost
large numbers o f men in their conquest o f Tibet: in some areas, they
did meet with fierce resistance and, in addition to direct casualties o f
war, they suffered greatly from difficulties o f supply on the one hand
and the harsh climate on the other. Many died from starvation; others
must certainly have succumbed to altitude sickness, which has always
plagued, and sometimes actually killed, foreigners in Tibet. But as to
the fighting, no matter how large or how well prepared the Tibetan
army had been, in the end its efforts would have been futile. For even
then, the Chinese population was more than a hundred times larger
than ours.
This threat to the freedom o f Tibet did not go unnoticed in the
world. The Indian Government, supported by the British Govern
ment, protested to the People’s Republic o f China and stated that the
invasion was not in the interests o f peace. On 7 November 1950, the
Kashag and the Government appealed to the United Nations Organi
sation to intercede on our behalf. But sadly, Tibet, following her
policy o f peaceful isolation, had never sought to become a member
and nothing came o f this - nor from two further telegrams sent before
the year was out.
As winter drew on and the news got worse, there began to be talk
o f giving the Dalai Lama his majority. People started to advocate my
being given full temporal power - two years early. My sweepers re
ported to me that posters had been put up around Lhasa vilifying the
Government and calling for my immediate enthronement, and there
were songs to the same effect.
There were two schools o f thought: one consisted o f people who
looked to me for leadership in this crisis; the other, o f people who
felt that I was still too young for such responsibility. I agreed with
the latter group, but, unfortunately, I was not consulted. Instead, the
Government decided that the matter should be put to the oracle. It
was a very tense occasion, at the end o f which the kuten, tottering
under the weight o f his huge, ceremonial head-dress, came over to
where I sat and laid a kata, a white silk offering scarf, on my lap with
the words cThu-la bap\ cHis time has come.5
Dorje Drakden had spoken. Tathag Rinpoche at once prepared to
retire as Regent, though he was to remain as my Senior Tutor. It
remained only for the state astrologers to select the day for my en
54 '— F R E E D O M IN EXI L E
thronement. They chose 17 November 1950 as the most auspicious

date before the end o f the year. I was rather saddened by these
developments. A month ago I had been a carefree young man eagerly
looking forward to the annual opera festival. Now I was faced with
the immediate prospect o f leading my country as it prepared for war.
But in retrospect, I realise that I should not have been surprised. For
several years now, the oracle had shown undisguised contempt for the
Government whilst treating me with great politeness.
At the beginning o f November, about a fortnight before the day
o f my investiture, my eldest brother arrived in Lhasa. I hardly knew
him. As Taktser Rinpoche, he was by now abbot o f Kumbum monas
tery where I had spent those first lonely eighteen months after my
discovery. As soon as I set eyes on him, I knew that he had suffered
greatly. He was in a terrible state, extremely tense and anxious. He
stammered as he told me his story. Because Amdo, the province where
we were both born, and in which Kumbum is situated, lies so close
to China, it had quickly fallen under control o f the Communists.
Straight away, he had been put under duress. Restrictions were put
on the activities o f the monks and he himself was kept virtual prisoner
in his monastery. At the same time, the Chinese endeavoured to
indoctrinate him in the new Communist way o f thinking and to try
to subvert him. They had a plan whereby they would set him free to
go to Lhasa if he would undertake to persuade me to accept Chinese
rule. If I resisted, he was to kill me. They would then reward him.
That was a strange proposal. First o f all, the idea o f killing any living
creature is anathema to Buddhists. So the suggestion that he might
actually assassinate the Dalai Lama for personal gain showed how little
understanding the Chinese had o f the Tibetan character.
After a year during which my brother saw his community turned
upside down by the Chinese, he gradually came to the conclusion that
he must escape to Lhasa to warn me and the Government o f what lay
in store for Tibet if the Chinese conquered us. The only way he could
do this was by pretending to go along with them. So finally he agreed
to do their bidding.
I gasped as he told me this. Up until now, I had almost no knowl
edge o f the Chinese. And o f Communists I was almost entirely igno
rant, although I was aware that they had been causing terrible hard
ship for the people o f Mongolia. Aside from that, I knew only what
I had gleaned from the pages o f the odd copy o f Life magazine that
came into my hands. But my brother now made it clear that they were
not only non-religious but were actually opposed to the practice o f
religion.
I became very scared as Taktser Rinpoche told me that he was
convinced that the only hope for us was to secure foreign support and
to resist the Chinese by force o f arms.
The Buddha forbade killing, but he indicated that under certain
circumstances it could be justified. And to my brother’s mind, the
present circumstances justified it. He would therefore renounce his
monastic vows, disrobe and go abroad as an emissary for Tibet. He
would try to make contact with the Americans. It was certain, he felt,
that they would support the idea o f a free Tibet.
I was shocked to hear this, but before I could protest he urged me
to leave Lhasa. Although a number o f other people had said the same
thing, not many held this view. But my brother begged me to take
his advice, no matter what the majority might say. The danger was
great, he said, and I must on no account fall into Chinese hands.
After our meeting, my brother had discussions with various mem
bers o f the Government before leaving the capital. I saw him once or
twice more, but could do nothing to persuade him to change his
mind. His terrible experiences over the past year had convinced him
that there was no other way. I did not brood on the matter, however,
as I had preoccupations o f my own. My enthronement ceremony was
only a few days away.
To mark the occasion, I decided to grant a general amnesty. On
the day o f my accession, all prisoners were to be set free. This meant
that the prison at Shol would now be empty. I was pleased to have
this opportunity, although there were times that I regretted it. I no
longer had the pleasure o f our tenuous friendship. When I trained my
telescope on the compound, it was empty save for a few dogs scaveng
ing for scraps. It was as if something was missing from my life.
On the morning o f the 17th, I rose an hour or two earlier than
usual, while it was still dark. As I dressed, my Master o f the Robes
handed me a piece o f green cloth to tie round my waist. This was on
the instructions o f the astrologers, who deemed green to be an auspi
cious colour. I decided against breakfast as I knew that the ceremony
would be a long one and I did not want to be distracted by any calls
o f nature. However, the astrologers had also stipulated that I must

eat an apple before the proceedings began. I had difficulty forcing it
down, I remember. That done, I went to the chapel where the en
thronement was to take place at dawn.
It was to be a splendid occasion with the entire Government pres
ent, along with the various foreign officials resident in Lhasa all attired
in their most formal and colourful regalia. Unfortunately, it was very
dark so I was unable to see much detail. During the ceremony, I was
handed the Golden Wheel symbolising my assumption o f temporal
power. However, there is not much more that I remember - save an
insistent and growing need to relieve my bladder. I blamed the as
trologers. Their idea o f giving me an apple to eat was clearly at the
root o f the problem. I had never had much faith in them and this
reinforced my bad opinion.
I have always felt that since the most important days o f a person’s
life, those o f their birth and death, cannot be set in consultation with
astrologers, it is not worth bothering with any o f the others. How
ever, that is only my personal opinion. It does not mean that I think
that the practice o f astrology by Tibetans should be discontinued. It
is very important from the point o f view o f our culture.
Anyway, my situation on this occasion went from bad to worse. I
ended up by passing a message down to the Lord Chamberlain beg
ging him to speed things up. But our ceremonies are long and compli
cated and I began to fear it would never end.
When eventually the proceedings drew to a close, I found myself
undisputed leader o f six million people facing the threat o f a full-scale
war. And I was still only fifteen years old. It was an impossible
situation to be in, but I saw it as my duty to avoid this disaster if at
all possible. My first task was to appoint two new Prime Ministers.
The reason for having to appoint two was that in our system o f
government, every post from Prime Minister down was duplicated,
each being filled by both a layman and a monk. This derived from the
time o f the Great Fifth Dalai Lama, who was the first to assume
temporal power in addition to his position as spiritual head o f state.
Unfortunately, although the arrangement had worked well enough in
the past, it was hopelessly inadequate for the twentieth century. Be
sides, after almost twenty years o f Regency the Government had
become quite corrupt, as I have already said.
Needless to say, few reforms were ever introduced. N ot even the

Dalai Lama could do this, for whatever he suggested had first to be
referred to the Prime Ministers, then to the Kasha#, then to each
subordinate member o f the Executive and finally to the National
Assembly. If anyone objected to his proposals, it was extremely dif
ficult for the matter to go any further.
The same happened when reforms were proposed by the National
Assembly, except in reverse. In the event that a piece o f legislation was
finally presented to the Dalai Lama, he might then wish to make
amendments, in which case these were written on to strips o f parch
ment and stuck on to the original document, which was then sent
back down the line for approval. But what made it even more difficult
to instigate reforms was the religious community’s fear o f foreign
influence, which they were convinced would damage Buddhism in
Tibet.
With these factors in mind, I chose a man called Lobsang Tashi as
the monk Prime Minister and an experienced lay administrator, Luk-
hangwa, as his opposite number.
That done, I decided in consultation with them and the Kasha# to
send delegations abroad to America, Great Britain and Nepal in the
hope o f persuading these countries to intervene on our behalf. An
other was to go to China in the hope o f negotiating a withdrawal.
These missions left towards the end o f the year. Shortly afterwards,
with the Chinese consolidating their forces in the east, we decided
that I should move to southern Tibet with the most senior members
o f Government. That way, if the situation deteriorated, I could easily
seek exile across the border with India. Meanwhile, Lobsang Tashi
and Lukhangwa were to remain in Lhasa in an acting capacity: I would
take the seals o f state with me.
4
REFUGE IN THE SOUTH
here was much to organise and it was several weeks before we
T
left. Moreover, all preparations had to be made secretly. My
Prime Ministers feared that if word leaked out that the Dalai
Lama was preparing to leave, there would be widespread
panic. However, I am sure that many people must have realised wha
was happening as several large baggage trains were sent on ahead -
some o f which, unknown even to me, carried fifty or sixty strong
boxes o f treasure, mostly gold biscuits and bars o f silver from the
vaults at the Potala. This was the idea o f Kenrap Tenzin, my former
Master o f the Robes who had recently been promoted to Chikyab
Kenpo. I was furious when I found out. Not that I minded about the
treasure, but my youthful pride was wounded. I felt that by not telling
me, Kenrap Tenzin was still treating me as a child.
I awaited the day o f departure with a mixture o f anxiety and antici
pation. On the one hand, I was very unhappy at the prospect o f
abandoning my people. I felt a heavy responsibility towards them. On
the other hand, I eagerly looked forward to travelling. To add to the
excitement, the Lord Chamberlain decided that I should disguise
myself and dress in layman’s clothes. He was worried that people
might actually try to prevent me from leaving when they found out
what was happening. So he advised me to remain incognito. This
delighted me. Not only would I now be able to see something o f my
country, but I would be able to do so as an ordinary observer, not
as Dalai Lama.
58
R E F U G E IN T H E S O U T H 59
We left Lhasa at dead o f night. It was cold but very light, I remem
ber. The stars in Tibet shine with a brightness I have not seen any
where else in the world. It was also very still and my heart missed a
beat every time one o f the ponies stumbled as we made our way
stealthily from the courtyard at the foot o f the Potala, past the Nor-
bulingka and Drepung monastery. Yet I was not really afraid.
Our final destination was Dromo (pronounced Tromo), which lay
200 miles away, just inside the border with Sikkim. The journey
would take at least ten days, barring mishap. It was not long, how
ever, before we ran into trouble. A few days after leaving Lhasa, we
arrived at a remote village called Jang, where the monks o f Ganden,
Drepung and Sera were gathered for their winter debating camp.
They realised as soon as they saw the size o f our column that this was
no ordinary move. Altogether we numbered at least two hundred
people - o f whom fifty were high officials - and a similar number o f
pack animals, and the monks guessed that I must be somewhere there.
Luckily, I was right at the front and my disguise proved effective.
No one stopped me. But as I rode past, I could see that the monks
were in a highly emotional state. Many had tears in their eyes. A few
moments later, they stopped Ling Rinpoche who followed me. I
glanced round and realised they were begging him to turn back with
me. It was an extremely tense moment. Feelings were running high.
The monks had such faith in me as their Precious Protector that they
could not bear the thought o f my leaving them. Ling Rinpoche
explained that I did not intend to be away for long, and reluctantly
the monks agreed to let us continue. Then, throwing themselves
down on the track, they pleaded that I should return as soon as
possible.
After this unfortunate incident we had no further trouble and I was
able to make the most o f the situation by going on ahead, still in
disguise, and using every occasion I could to stop and talk with
people. I realised that I now had a valuable opportunity to find out
what life was really like for my fellow countrymen and women and
managed to have a number o f conversations during which I kept my
identity secret. From these, I learned something about the petty
injustices o f life suffered by my people and resolved as soon as I could
to set about making changes to help them.
We reached Gyantse (Tibet’s fourth largest city), after almost a
week o f travel. Here it was impossible to maintain secrecy and hun
dreds turned out to greet me. A small posse o f shabby but enthusiastic
Indian cavalry, which provided the escort for the Indian Trade Mis
sion, also presented arms. But there was not time for formalities and
we hurried on, arriving at Dromo in January 1951 after a journey o f
almost a fortnight.
We were all exhausted. But personally I felt a tremendous sense o f
excitement. The place itself was nothing special, consisting in fact o f
several villages quite close together, but its location was spectacular.
It lay just at the point where the Amo-chu valley divides into two, at
around 9,000 feet above sea level.
A river ran along the bottom o f the valley, close enough to the
village that its roar could be heard day and night. Not far from the
water, the hills rose steeply. At some places, the river was bordered
by vertical cliffs soaring straight up into the crystal blue sky. And in
the near distance stood the mighty peaks which give Tibet both
majesty and menace. Here and there were clumps o f pine and thickets
o f rhododendron, peppering acres o f green pasture. The climate, as
I was to discover, was rather damp. Because it is situated so close to
the Indian plains, Dromo is subject to monsoon rains. But even then
the sun shines frequently, shouldering its way through massive cloud
banks and washing the valleys in a sparkling, mystic light. I longed
to explore the area and climb some o f the more accessible mountains
when they were carpeted with wild spring flowers, but for the time
being there were several more months o f winter.
On arrival in Dromo, I stayed first at the house o f a local official - the
one who had sent me toys and apples - before moving to Dungkhar, a
small monastery situated on a hill with a view o f the entire Dromo
valley. It was not long before we were settled in and I was back into my
usual routine o f prayers, meditation, retreats and study. But although I
could have wished for a bit more free time and although I missed some
o f my usual diversions in Lhasa, I felt that something within me had
changed. This was perhaps in response to the sense o f freedom I caught
from being able to do away with much o f the rigid protocol and
formality that was so much a part o f my life in Lhasa. And whilst I
missed the company o f my friends the sweepers, the void was filled by
the extra responsibility I felt. One thing that the journey down had
convinced me o f was the need to study hard and learn as much as I
could. I owed it to the faith o f my people to be the best person I could

be.
One significant event that took place soon after reaching Dromo
was the arrival o f a Sri Lankan monk, who had with him an important
relic which I received at a very moving ceremony.
With Lukhangwa and Lobsang Tashi left behind in Lhasa, my main
advisors were the Kashag, the Lord Chamberlain, Ling Rinpoche
(now my Senior Tutor) and Trijang Rinpoche, the senior tsenshap
who had recently appointed my Junior Tutor. My eldest brother,
Taktser Rinpoche, was also there. He had arrived a few weeks previ
ously on his way to India.
Our first piece o f bad news was that only one o f the delegations sent
abroad before I left Lhasa had reached its final destination: the one
to China. Each o f the others had been turned away. This was very
devastating. Tibet had always maintained the friendliest relations with
Nepal and India. After all, they are our closest neighbours. As for
Britain, thanks to Colonel Younghusband’s expedition, there had
been a British Trade Mission in Tibet for almost half a century. Even
with Indian independence in 1947, the Mission at first continued to
be run by the same Englishman, Hugh Richardson. So it was almost
impossible to believe that the British Government was now agreeing
that China had some claim to authority over Tibet. They seemed to
have forgotten that in the past, for example, when Younghusband
concluded his treaty with the Tibetan Government, they had found
it necessary to deal with Tibet as a fully sovereign state. Nor was this
their position in 1914, when they convened a conference (the Simla
Convention) to which Tibet and China were both invited indepen
dently. Besides, the English and Tibetan peoples had always had good
relations. My countrymen and women found them to have a sense o f
decency, justice and humour which they respected very much.
As for America, in 1948 Washington had welcomed our trade
delegation, which even had a meeting with the Vice-President. So
they too had obviously changed their minds. I remember feeling great
sorrow when I realised what this really meant: Tibet must expect to
face the entire might o f Communist China alone.
The next development, after the return o f all but the one delegation
within only a few weeks, was the arrival o f a long report from Ngabo
Ngawang Jigme, Governor o f Chamdo. Most o f the Chamdo region
62 FREEDOM IX EXILE
was by now in Chinese hands and the report had been taken to Lhasa
by one o f the area’s leading merchants. He saw it safely into the hands
o f Lobsang Tashi and Lukhangwa, who in turn sent it on to me. It
set out in painful and gloomy detail the nature o f the Chinese threat
and made clear that, unless some sort o f settlement could be reached,
troops o f the PLA would soon march on Lhasa. There would inevita
bly be great loss o f life if this happened and I wanted, at all cost, to
avoid this.
Ngabo suggested that we had no alternative but to negotiate. If it
was agreeable to the Tibetan Government, and if we would send some
assistants, he proposed to go in person to try to open a dialogue with
the Chinese in Peking. I contacted Lobsang Tashi and Lukhangwa in
Lhasa to find out their opinion. They replied that they felt such
negotiations should take place in Lhasa, but since the situation was
desperate, they would have to agree to Peking as the venue.
Because he had shown no hesitation in offering himself for the task,
I concluded that Ngabo, whom I knew to be a very decisive adminis
trator, should go to the Chinese capital. Accordingly, I sent two
officials from Dromo and two from Lhasa to accompany him. I hoped
that he could make it clear to the Chinese leadership that Tibet did
not require ‘liberation’, just continued peaceful relations with our
great neighbour.
Meanwhile, spring came, and with it the outpourings o f Nature.
The hills were soon splashed with wild flowers; the grass took on an
altogether new and richer shade o f green; and the air became scented
with fresh and surprising smells - o f jasmine, honeysuckle and laven
der. From my rooms in the monastery, I could look down towards
the river where farmers came to graze their sheep, yaks and dzomos.
And I could watch, enviously, the groups o f picnickers that came
almost daily to build a little fire and cook down by the water’s edge.
I was so enchanted with all that I saw that I felt brave enough to ask
Ling Rinpoche for some time off. He must have felt the same way as,
to my surprise, he granted me a holiday. I could not remember being
happier as I spent several days roaming around the area. On one o f
my excursions I visited a Bon monastery. My only sadness was that
I knew that troubled times lay ahead. It could not be long now before
we heard from Ngabo in Peking. I half expected bad news, but
nothing could have prepared me for the shock when it came.

At the monastery I had an old Bush radio receiver which ran off
a six-volt battery. Every evening, I would listen to the Tibetan lan
guage broadcasts o f Radio Peking. Sometimes I did so with one or
other official, but often I listened alone. The majority o f the broad
casts were taken up with propaganda about the ‘Glorious Mother
land’, but I must say that I was very impressed with much o f what I
heard. There was constant talk o f industrial progress and o f the equal
ity o f all China’s citizens. This seemed like the perfect combination
o f material and spiritual progress. However, one evening, as I sat
alone, there was a very different sort o f programme. A harsh, crackling
voice announced that a Seventeen-Point ‘Agreement’ for the Peaceful
Liberation o f Tibet had that day been signed by representatives o f the
Government o f the People’s Republic o f China and what they called
the ‘Local Government’ o f Tibet.
I could not believe my ears. I wanted to rush out and call everybody
in, but I sat transfixed. The speaker described how ‘over the last
hundred years or more’ aggressive imperialist forces had penetrated
into Tibet and ‘carried out all kinds o f deceptions and provocations’.
It added that ‘under such conditions, the Tibetan nationality and
people were plunged into the depths o f enslavement and suffering’.
I felt physically ill as I listened to this unbelievable mixture o f lies and
fanciful cliches.
But there was worse to come. Clause One o f the ‘Agreement’ stated
that ‘The Tibetan people shall unite and drive out imperialist aggres
sive forces from Tibet. The Tibetan people shall return to the big
family o f the Motherland - the People’s Republic o f China.’ What
could it mean? The last foreign army to have been stationed on
Tibetan soil was the Manchu army in 1912. As far as I was aware (and
now know), there was no more than a handful o f Europeans in Tibet
at that time. And the idea o f Tibet ‘returning to the Motherland’ was
shameless invention. Tibet had never been part o f China. In fact, as
I have mentioned already, Tibet has ancient claims to large parts o f
China. On top o f which, our respective peoples are ethnically and
racially distinct. We do not speak the same language, nor is our script
anything like the Chinese script. As the International Commission o f
Jurists stated subsequently in their report:
64 '—' F R E E D O M IN EXI L E
Tibet’s position on the expulsion of the Chinese in 1912 can fairly be

described as one of de facto independence . . . it is therefore submitted
that the events of 1911-12 mark the re-emergence of Tibet as a fully
sovereign state, independent in fact and in law of Chinese control.
What was most alarming, however, was that Ngabo had not been
empowered to sign anything on my behalf, only to negotiate. I had
kept the seals o f state with me at Dromo to ensure that he could not.
So he must have been coerced. But it was several more months before
I heard the whole story. In the meantime, all we had to go on was
the radio broadcast (repeated several times), together with a number
o f self-congratulatory sermons about the joys o f Communism, the
glory o f Chairman Mao, the wonders o f the People’s Republic o f
China and all the good things that the Tibetan people could look
forward to now that our destinies were united. It was quite silly.
T he details o f the Seventeen-Point "Agreement’ were chilling all the
same. Clause Two announced that the "Local Government’ o f Tibet
would "actively assist the People’s Liberation Army to enter Tibet and
consolidate the national defence’. This meant, so far as I could judge,
that our forces were expected to surrender at once. Clause Eight
continued the theme by saying that the Tibetan army was to be
absorbed into the Chinese army - as if such a thing were possible.
Then in Clause Fourteen we learned that, from now on, Tibet was
to be deprived o f all authority over the conduct o f her external affairs.
Interspersed with these more telling clauses were others assuring
Tibet o f religious freedom and protecting my position and the present
political system. But for all these platitudes one thing was clear: from
now on, the Land o f Snows answered to the People’s Republic o f
China.
As the unhappy reality o f our position began to sink in, several
people, notably Taktser Rinpoche in a long letter from Calcutta,
urged me to leave for India at once. They argued that the only hope
for Tibet lay in finding allies to help us fight the Chinese. When I
reminded them that our missions to India, Nepal, Great Britain and
the United States had already been turned back, they countered that
once these countries realised the gravity o f the situation, they would
be sure to offer their support. They pointed out that the United States
was implacably opposed to Communist expansionism and was already
fighting a war in Korea for that very reason. I could see the logic o f
their arguments, but somehow felt the fact that America was already
engaged in fighting on one front lessened the likelihood o f her want
ing to open up a second.
A few days later, a long telegram arrived from the delegation in
Peking. It did not say very much beyond repeating what we had
already heard on the radio. Obviously Ngabo was being prevented
from telling the truth. Recently, some members o f the delegation
have related in their memoirs the full story o f how they were forced
to sign the 'Agreement5under duress and use counterfeit seals o f the
Tibetan state. But from Ngabo5s telegram I could only guess at what
had happened. However, he did say that the new Governor-General
o f Tibet, General Chiang Chin-wu, was en route to Dromo via India.
We should expect him shortly.
There was nothing to do but wait. In the meantime, I received the
abbots o f the three great university monasteries, Ganden, Drepung
and Sera, who had recently arrived. Having been told about the
Seventeen-Point 'Agreement5, they urged me to return to Lhasa as
soon as possible. The Tibetan people were most anxious that I should
return, they said. They were supported in this by both Lukhangwa
and Lobsang Tashi, who had sent messages with them, and the major
ity o f government officials.
A few days later, I heard once more from Taktser Rinpoche, who
had apparently succeeded in making contact with the American Con
sulate in Calcutta and been granted permission to visit the United
States. Again he urged me to come to India, saying that the Ameri
cans were very anxious to make contact with Tibet. He suggested that
if I were to go into exile, some arrangement for assistance could be
negotiated between our two Governments. My brother concluded his
letter by saying that it was imperative that I should arrive in India as
soon as possible, adding that the Chinese delegation was already in
Calcutta, en route to Dromo. The implication here was that if I did
not make a move immediately, it would be too late.
At about this time, I also received a letter in similar vein from
Heinrich Harrer, who had left Lhasa just before me and was now in
Kalimpong. He firmly stated his view that I should seek exile in India
- and was supported in this by a few o f my officials. However, Ling
Rinpoche was equally adamant that I should not.
So now I was faced with a dilemma. If my brother’s letter was

anything to go by, it seemed that there might, after all, be some hope
o f winning foreign support. But what would this mean for my people?
Should I really leave before even meeting with the Chinese? And if
I did, would our new-found allies see us through thick and thin? As
I pondered these thoughts, I continuously came up against two par
ticular considerations. Firstly, it was obvious to me that the most
likely result o f a pact with America or anyone else was war. And war
meant bloodshed. Secondly, I reasoned that although America was a
very powerful country, it was thousands o f miles away. China, on the
other hand, was our neighbour and, whilst materially less powerful
than the United States, easily had numerical superiority. It might
therefore take many years to resolve the dispute by armed struggle.
Furthermore, America was a democracy and I could not believe
that her people would put up with unlimited casualities. It was easy
to imagine a time when we Tibetans would be on our own once more.
The result would then be the same, China would have her way and,
in the interim, there would have been the loss o f countless lives,
Tibetan, Chinese and American, all to no purpose whatever. I there
fore concluded that the best course o f action was to stay put and await
the arrival o f the Chinese General. He must be human after all.
On 16 July 1951, the Chinese delegation duly reached Dromo. A
messenger came running to the monastery to announce its imminent
arrival. At this news, I felt both great excitement and great apprehen
sion. What would they look like, these people? I was half convinced
that they would all have horns on their heads. I went out on to the
balcony and looked out eagerly down the valley towards the town,
scanning the buildings with my telescope. It was a fine day, I remem
ber, although it was the middle o f the rainy season and water vapour
rose in swirls from the ground as it warmed under the summer sun.
Suddenly I spied movement. A group o f my officials was heading in
the direction o f the monastery. With them, I could make out three
men in drab grey suits. They looked very insignificant next to the
Tibetans, who wore the traditional red and gold silk robes o f high
office.
Our meeting together was coldly civil. General Chiang Chin-wu
began by asking me whether I had heard o f the Seventeen-Point
‘Agreement’. With the greatest reserve, I replied that I had. He then
R E F U G E IN T H E S O U T H ----- 67
handed over a copy o f it, together with two other documents. As he

did so, I noticed that he was wearing a gold Rolex watch. O f these
two supplementary documents, one dealt with the Tibetan army. The
other explained what would happen if I elected to go into exile. It
suggested that I would quickly realise that the Chinese had come in
genuine friendship. I would then certainly want to return to my
country. That being so, I would be welcomed back with open arms.
Therefore, there was no point in leaving.
Next, General Chiang asked me when I intended to return to
Lhasa. ‘Soon,’ I replied, not very helpfully, and continued to act as
aloof as possible. It was obvious by his question that he wanted to
travel back to Lhasa with me so that we could enter the city together,
symbolically. In the end, my officials managed to avoid this and he
set off a day or two after me.
My first impression, then, was rather as I had suspected. Regardless
o f all the suspicion and anxiety I felt beforehand, during our meeting
it became clear that this man, although supposedly my enemy, was in
fact just another human being, an ordinary person like myself. This
realisation had a lasting impact on me. It was another important
lesson.
Having now met General Chiang, I was a bit happier about the
prospect o f returning to Lhasa. Preparations were put in hand for my
return, along with all o f my officials, and we set off towards the end
o f the month. This time, no attempt was made at secrecy and I
travelled in much more elaborate style than on the way down. At
practically every major village en route, I stopped to give audiences
and short teachings to the local population. This afforded me the
chance personally to tell people about what was happening in Tibet,
how we had been invaded by a foreign army but how the Chinese were
proclaiming friendship. At the same time, I gave a short discourse on
a religious text which I generally selected for its relevance to whatever
else I had to say. I continue to use this formula right up to the present
day. I find it a good way o f showing that religion has a lot to tell us,
no matter what situation we find ourselves in. However, I am better
at it now than I was then. In those days I lacked confidence, although
it improved every time I spoke in public. Also, I found, as every
teacher does, that there is nothing like teaching to help one learn.
I was glad that there was so much to do on this journey. Otherwise
I might have had time to feel sad. All o f my family were abroad, except
my father, who had died when I was twelve, and Lobsang Samten,
who accompanied me now, and my only travelling companion out
side the household was Tathag Rinpoche. He had come to visit me
at Dromo to pass on certain important spiritual teachings and was
now on his way back to his own monastery, which lay just outside
Lhasa. He had aged considerably since I had last seen him during the
previous winter, and now looked all o f his seventy odd years. I was
very happy to be in his company once more as not only was he an
extremely kind man, but he was also a highly accomplished spiritual
master. He was undoubtedly my most important guru. He initiated
me into a great number o f lineages and secret teachings, which had
in turn been handed on to him by the most brilliant teachers o f his
day.
From Dromo we proceeded slowly to Gyantse, where the Indian
cavalry turned out as before to present arms. But instead o f hurrying
through, I was able to remain for a few days. Then we set out for
Samding monastery, home o f Dorje Phagmo, one o f the most impor
tant Bodhisattvas. It was also one o f the most beautiful monasteries
in all Tibet. The countryside on the way there was spectacular: cobalt
blue lakes fringed with strips o f lush green pasture on which thou
sands o f sheep grazed. The views were more wonderful than anything
I had ever seen, thanks to the crisp, clear summer light. Occasionally
I caught sight o f herds o f deer and gazelle, which were in those days
common throughout Tibet. I loved to see them stand nervously
watching us approach, then spring away on their long sinuous legs.
For once I enjoyed being on horseback, though normally I am
rather afraid o f horses. I don’t know why this should be as I can deal
with almost any other creature, save caterpillars. I can pick up spiders
and scorpions without hesitation, and I do not mind snakes very
much, but I am not fond o f horses and caterpillars leave me cold.
Nevertheless, on this occasion, I thoroughly enjoyed riding across the
open plains and was continually urging my mount on. It was actually
a mule, called Grey Wheels, which had once belonged to Reting
Rinpoche. It had excellent speed and stamina and I became quite
good friends with it. The head groom did not approve o f my choice,
however. He considered it to be too small and undignified for the
Dalai Lama to ride.
Samding monastery lay not far from the small town o f Nangartse,
which in turn is situated close to Yamdrok Lake, one o f the most
glorious stretches o f water I have ever seen. Because there is no
constant flow o f water into and out o f it, Yamdrok has a miraculous
turquoise colour which quite startles the senses. Sadly, I heard re
cently that the Chinese are planning to drain its water for a hydro
electric project, though what the long-term effect o f this might be I
hardly dare think.
In those days, Samding was a thriving community. Interestingly,
the head o f its monastery was by tradition a woman. This is not so
surprising as it may sound as in Tibet there was no special discrimina
tion against women. For example, there was an important female
spiritual teacher at a hermitage located close to Lhasa, who, during
my childhood, was famous throughout Tibet. And although she was
not a tulku, she is still revered to this day. There were also quite a lot
o f nunneries, but this was the only monastery to be headed by a nun.
What is perhaps curious is that Dorje Phagmo is named after Vaj-
ravarahi, a female deity known as the Adamantine Sow. Legend has
it that Vajravarahi’s manifestation had the body o f a woman and the
face o f a pig. A story is told o f how in the eighteenth century, when
some Mongolian raiders came to Nangartse, their chief sent word
demanding that the abbess come before him. He received a courte
ously negative reply. This angered him and he set off at once for the
monastery. With his warriors, he forced his way inside and found the
congregation hall full o f monks; on the throne, at their head, was a
big, wild pig.
At the time o f my visit, the head o f Samding monastery was a young
girl o f about my own age. When I arrived, she came to pay her
respects to me. I remember her as a very shy, young girl with long
plaits in her hair. Subsequently she escaped to India, but then, for
reasons unclear to me, she returned to Lhasa, where for many years
she was exploited by our new masters. Tragically, the monastery and
all its subsidiary buildings were destroyed like thousands o f others
since the late 1950s, and its ancient tradition has vanished.
I remained for two or three days at Samding before setting out on
the final leg o f the journey to Lhasa. Before returning to the Nor-
bulingka, I accompanied Tathag Rinpoche to his monastery, which
lay a few hours outside the city gates. Very kindly, he vacated his
70 F RE E DO M IN EXILE
rooms for me and moved out on to the grassy area behind the main
building where debates were usually held. We met formally a number
o f times over the next few days. When we parted, I was quite sorry
to be leaving him. I felt the deepest appreciation and respect for him.
It saddened me very much that his reputation had been rather spoiled
during his period o f office as Regent. Even now I wonder whether it
would not have been better if he had remained a lama and not been
involved with politics. After all, he had no knowledge o f government
and no experience o f administration. It was unreasonable to have
expected him to do well at something for which he had received no
training whatever. But that was Tibet. Because he was so well re
spected for his spiritual learning, it seemed only natural that he should
be appointed to the second highest office in the land.
This was the last time that I saw Tathag Rinpoche alive. At our final
meeting, he asked me not to feel bad about the prohibitions he had
forced on me as a child. I felt very moved that such an old and
venerable teacher should want to say this to me. O f course I under
stood.
I arrived back in Lhasa in the middle o f August, after a nine-month
absence. There was a big reception in my honour. It looked as if the
entire population had turned out to see me and demonstrate its
happiness at my return. I was deeply moved and, at the same time,
extremely glad to be home. Only I knew full well that there had been
many changes since the previous winter, that nothing was quite the
same. It seemed that my people had similar feelings as, although they
were full o f joy, there was a note o f hysteria in their enthusiasm. In
the time that I had been away, reports had begun to reach the capital
telling o f atrocities against Tibetans in Amdo and Kham. Naturally,
people were very much afraid o f the future, though I knew that some
felt everything would be all right now that I was home.
On a personal level, I discovered to my great sadness that my
favourite sweeper, Norbu Thondup, had died earlier in the year - the
one who had been by far my most enthusiastic playmate. Throughout
my childhood, this man had been a devoted friend and a constant
source o f fun. When I was small, he frightened me by pulling hideous
faces; when I grew older, he joined me in my roughest games. We
often came to blows during my mock battles and I remember being
quite vicious towards him at times, even to the point o f drawing blood
with the swords o f my lead soldiers when he caught me up in his arms

during our playful skirmishes. But he always gave as good as he got
and never for a moment lost his great sense o f humour. Now, o f
course, there was nothing I could do for him, although I was able to
be o f some service to his children, a son and a daughter. As a Bud
dhist, I knew that there was not much use in grieving. Yet at the same
time I realised that in a way Norbu Thondup’s death symbolised the
end o f my childhood. There could be no going back. In a few days’
time, I was due to meet the Chinese delegation again. I must do for
my people whatever I could, no matter how little, ever mindful that
the peaceful pursuit o f religion is one o f the most important things
in life. And I was still just sixteen years old.
I received General Chiang Chin-wu at the headquarters o f my
bodyguard, in accordance with tradition. This put him in a ferocious
temper and he demanded to know why I was meeting him here and
not in a more informal place. He was not a foreigner, he insisted, and
did not wish to be treated as one. The fact that he could not speak
Tibetan was apparently lost on him. At first I was taken aback at the
sight o f his bulging eyes and vermilion cheeks as he spluttered and
stammered, banging the table with his fist. I subsequently discovered
that the General was frequently given to outbursts o f temper like this.
Meanwhile, I reminded myself that he was probably a good person
underneath - which, in fact, he turned out to be, and quite straight
forward too.
As for his expressions o f anger, I soon discovered these outbursts
to be quite usual amongst the Chinese. I think it is because o f this
that they are treated so reverentially by some people, particularly by
Europeans and Americans who tend to control their emotions more
thoroughly. Fortunately, my religious training helped me to keep a
perspective on his behaviour: I could see that in some ways it is quite
good to express anger like this. Although not always appropriate, it
is usually better than pretending to be gentle and hiding resentment.
Fortunately, I did not have to deal with Chiang on a very frequent
basis. I met with him perhaps once a month during the first year or
two o f the Chinese occupation. It was Lukhangwa, Lobsang Tashi
and the members o f the Kashag who saw him most and they quickly
learned to dislike his behaviour. They told me that he was arrogant,
high-handed and without any sympathy for our different approach to
life. Whenever we did meet, I saw for myself how he and his country
men offended Tibetans at every turn.
I now see the first five or six weeks after my return to Lhasa from
Dromo as a honeymoon period. It ended abruptly on 26 October
1951, when 3,000 troops o f the Chinese 18th Route Army entered
Lhasa. These were men who belonged to the division that had over
come our forces in Chamdo the previous year. With them came
Generals Tan Kuan-sen and Chiang Kuo-hua, who, when they came
for an audience, were accompanied by a Tibetan in national costume
and fur hat. As they entered the room, this man made three formal
prostrations. I thought this rather strange as he was evidently a mem
ber o f the Chinese delegation. It turned out that he was the inter
preter, and a loyal supporter o f the Communists. When I later asked
why he was not wearing the same Mao suits as his companions, he
replied good-naturedly that I must not make the mistake o f thinking
that the Revolution was a revolution in dress; it was a revolution o f
ideas.
Also at around this time, my brother Gyalo Thondup arrived back
in Lhasa. He did not stay long, but whilst in the city he met with the
Chinese leadership several times. He then announced his intention to
travel south, where my family had an estate given to them by the
Government at the time o f my enthronement. This visit to oversee
the property was only a ruse, however, and I learned soon afterwards
that he had disappeared. It turned out that he had slipped over the
border into Assam, then known as NEFA, the North-Eastern Fron
tier Area. He intended to do what he could in the way o f organising
foreign support, but had not told me o f his plans because he feared,
on account o f my age, that I might let his secret out in an unguarded
moment.
Within a short time, a further large detachment o f the PLA reached
Lhasa. I well remember their arrival. Because o f the altitude, sound
carries over great distances in Tibet and, as a result, I heard the slow,
insistent thud o f martial drums in my room at the Potala long before
I saw any soldiers. I rushed out on to the roof with my telescope,
where I watched them approach in a long, snaking column enveloped
in clouds o f dust. When they reached the city walls, there was a
flourish o f red banners and posters depicting Chairman Mao and his
deputy, Chu Te. Then came a fanfare o f trumpets and tubas. It was
R E F U G E IN T H E S O U T H --- 73
all most impressive. So were the troops, who looked positively de
monic.
Later, after I had got over a feeling o f great uneasiness at the sight
o f all their red flags (this is, after all, Nature’s colour for danger), I
noticed that the soldiers were actually in a very poor state: their
uniforms were ragged and they all looked undernourished. It was this,
together with the grime on their faces from the eternal dust o f the
Tibetan plains, that gave them their frightening appearance.
Throughout the winter o f 1951-2, I continued with my studies
much as usual, though more diligently. It was during this period that
I began Lam Rim meditations. These relate to a text which expounds
a stage-by-stage path to Enlightenment through mental training.
Since around the age o f eight, I had begun, in tandem with my
monastic education, to receive Tantric teachings such as these. In
addition to scriptures, they consisted o f secret, oral transmissions
handed down by initiates. As the months went by, I began to notice
some progress in myself as I laid down the foundations o f my own,
very slight, spiritual development.
Whilst I was making my annual retreat at this time, I heard that
Tathag Rinpoche had passed away. I very much wanted to attend his
cremation, but could not, so I offered special prayers for him.
My other preoccupation that winter was to do all I could to encour
age my Prime Ministers and Kashag. I reminded them o f the Buddhist
doctrine oflmpermanence and pointed out that the present situation
could not last for ever, even if it did last for our lifetimes. But pri
vately, I followed events with increasing anxiety. The only happy
occasion to look forward to was a visit by the Panchen Lama, who was
due to reach Lhasa shortly.
Meanwhile, following the arrival o f the last consignment o f 20,000
troops, a serious food shortage was developing. The population o f
Lhasa had almost doubled in a matter o f weeks, and it could not be
long before our meagre resources gave out. At first the Chinese kept
more or less to the provisions o f the Seventeen-Point "Agreement5,
which stated that the PLA should "be fair in all buying and selling and
shall not arbitrarily take a needle or thread from the people’. They
paid for the grain the Government gave them and reimbursed the
owners o f houses that were requisitioned to quarter their officers.
However, this system o f remuneration soon broke down. Money
ceased to change hands and the Chinese began to demand food and
lodging as o f right. Very quickly, a crisis developed. Inflation took off.
This was something that had never been experienced before and my
people did not understand how the price o f grain could double over
night. They were outraged and their previously passive hatred o f the
invaders tuned abruptly to active derision. In the traditional way to
drive out evil, they began to clap and spit whenever they saw groups
o f Chinese soldiers. Children began to throw rocks and stones, and
even monks would wind the loose folds o f their gowns into a bunch
and use it for whipping any soldiers that came near.
At the same time, scurrilous songs were sung about General Chiang
Chin-wu that made fun o f his gold watch. And when it was discovered
that many o f his officers wore costly fur linings under their outwardly
similar uniforms, Tibetans5 contempt knew no bounds. This in
furiated the Chinese authorities, mostly I suspect because although
they knew they were being laughed at, they could not understand
what was being said. This hurt their pride. It was tantamount to
losing face, the worst thing that can happen to a Chinese. The even
tual result was an extremely amusing incident with General Chiang.
One day he came to see me and demanded that I issue a proclamation
banning any criticism o f the Chinese, whether in songs or on posters,
since these were 'reactionary5 activities.
However, despite new laws prohibiting opposition to China, no
tices began to appear in the streets denouncing the presence o f the
Chinese forces. A popular resistance movement was formed. Finally,
a six-point memorandum was drawn up and sent directly to General
Chiang listing the people’s grievances and demanding the removal o f
the garrison. This infuriated him. He suggested that the document
was the work of'imperialists5and accused the two Prime Ministers o f
leading a conspiracy. Tension mounted. Thinking that they could
bypass Lobsang Tashi and Lukhangwa, the Chinese began to ap
proach me directly. At first I refused to receive them without the two
men being present. But when on one occasion Lobsang Tashi said
something that particularly inflamed him, Chiang actually moved as
if to strike my Prime Minister. Without thinking, I ran between the
two men, yelling at them to stop at once. I was terrified. I had never
seen adults behave like that. Thereafter, I consented to see the two
factions separately.
The situation between the Chinese leaders and my two Prime Min
isters continued to deteriorate as more and more officials and bureau
crats began to arrive from China. These men, far from allowing the
Tibetan Government to look after its own affairs, as was stipulated in
the Seventeen-Point "Agreement’, interfered incessantly. General
Chiang called endless series o f meetings between them and the Ka-
shag, mainly with a view to discussing the permanent accommodation
o f these officials, his soldiers and their many thousand camels and
other pack animals. Lobsang Tashi and Lukhangwa found it impossi
ble to make him understand that not only were these demands unrea
sonable, but they were also not feasible.
When the General asked for a second disbursement o f 2,000 tons
o f barley, they had to explain to him that no such quantity o f food
existed. Already the Tibetan population o f the city lived in fear o f
scarcity and what little grain remained in the government warehouses
could only feed the army for another two months at most. They told
him that there could be no possible reason for wanting to maintain
such large forces in Lhasa. If their purpose was to defend the nation,
they should be sent to the borders. Only the officials need remain in
the capital, with perhaps a regiment or so for an escort. The General
took this quietly and answered politely, so they told me, but he did
nothing.
After their suggestion that these troops be sent elsewhere, the two
Prime Ministers became increasingly unpopular with General Chiang.
To begin with he reserved his anger for Lobsang Tashi, the elder o f
the two, who knew some Chinese. This irritated the General and he
was quick to accuse the monk o f every imaginable crime, whilst simul
taneously praising Lukhangwa, whom he saw as a potential ally.
It turned out, however, Lukhangwa was the man with the greater
depth o f character, despite his youth, and he never once tried to hide
his true feelings from the General. Even on a personal level, he
displayed the utmost contempt for the man. On one occasion, I
remember being told, Chiang asked him casually how much tea he
drank. "It depends on the quality o f the tea,’ Lukhangwa replied. I
laughed when I heard this, but realised that the situation between the
two men must be very bad.
The climax o f the drama occurred only a short while later when
Chiang convened a meeting with the two Prime Ministers, the Kashag
and all o f his own officials. When it began, he announced that they
were gathered to discuss the absorption o f the Tibetan army into the
PLA. This was too much for Lukhangwa. He said straight away that
the idea was unacceptable. N o matter that it was one o f the provisions
o f the Seventeen-Point "Agreement5. Its terms had already been bro
ken so many times by the Chinese that it was a meaningless document.
It was unthinkable, he said, that the Tibetan army would switch
allegiance to the PLA.
Chiang listened quietly. "In that case,5 he said, "we shall begin by
doing nothing more than replacing the Tibetan flag with the Chinese
flag.5 "It will only be pulled down and burned if you d o,5 replied
Lukhangwa. "And that will be embarrassing for you.5He went on to
say that it was absurd for the Chinese, who had violated the integrity
o f Tibet, to expect to have friendly relations with Tibetans. "You have
already cracked a man’s skull,5 he said, "and that crack has not yet
healed. It is too soon to expect him to be your friend.5At this Chiang
stormed out o f the meeting. There would be another in three days5
time.
Naturally I was not present at any o f these conferences, but I was
kept fully informed o f everything that took place. It began to look as
if I would be more directly involved very soon if the situation did not
improve.
The meeting was convened three days later as planned. This time
another general, Fan Ming, presided. He began by saying that he was
sure that Lukhangwa wished to make an apology for what he had said
last time. Lukhangwa corrected him at once. He had no intention o f
apologising. He stood by all that he had said, adding that he consid
ered it his absolute duty to keep the Chinese fully informed o f the
Tibetan point o f view. People were very disturbed at the presence o f
so many Chinese soldiers. Furthermore, they were concerned that
Chamdo had not been returned to the administration o f the central
Government and there were no signs that the PLA elsewhere in Tibet
was about to return to China. As far as the proposals concerning the
Tibetan army were concerned, there would certainly be trouble if they
were accepted.
Fan Ming was outraged. He accused Lukhangwa o f being in league
with foreign imperialists and said that he would demand that the Dalai
Lama have him removed from office. Lukhangwa replied that if the
R E F U G E IN T H E S O U T H ---- 77
Dalai Lama requested it o f him, he would gladly give up not only his
office, but also his life. With that, the meeting ended in confusion.
Soon afterwards, I received a written report from the Chinese
stating that it was clear that Lukhangwa was an imperialist reactionary
who did not want to improve relations between China and Tibet and
asking that he be removed from office. I also received a verbal sugges
tion from the Kashapj saying that it would probably be for the best
if I asked both Prime Ministers to resign. This saddened me greatly.
They had both shown such loyalty and conviction, such honesty and
sincerity, such love for the people they served.
When they came to see me to offer their resignations a day or so
later, they had tears in their eyes. There were tears in mine too. But
I realised that if I did not accept the situation, their lives would be
in danger. So, with a heavy heart, I accepted their resignations,
conscious only o f my concern, if possible, to improve relations with
the Chinese, with whom I must now deal directly. For the first time,
I understood the true meaning o f the word 'bully’.
It was about this time that the Panchen Lama reached Lhasa.
Unfortunately for him, he had been raised under the eye o f the
Chinese and was only now on his way to Tashilhunpo monastery to
take up his rightful position there. When he arrived, from Amdo
Province, he did so with yet another large detachment o f Chinese
troops (his 'bodyguard5), along with his family and tutors.
Shortly after his arrival I received the young Panchen Lama at an
official meeting followed by a private lunch at the Potala. I remember
that he had with him a very pushy Chinese security officer, who tried
to barge in on us when we were alone together. My own (ceremonial)
bodyguards moved at once to stop this man, with the result that I
almost had an ugly incident on my hands: the man was armed.
In the end, I did manage to have some time alone with the Panchen
Lama and my impression was o f a very honest and faithful young man.
Being three years younger than me, and not yet in a position o f
authority, he retained an air o f innocence and struck me as a very
happy and pleasant person. I felt quite close to him. It was just as well
that neither o f us knew what a tragic life he would lead.
N ot long after the Panchen Lama’s visit, I was invited back to
Tathag monastery, where I consecrated, very elaborately and thor
oughly, in a ceremony lasting fifteen hours, the stupa (memorial)
78 '— ' F R E E D O M IN E X I L E
dedicated to my guru. I felt quite sad as I prostrated full length in

front o f it. Afterwards, I went on an excursion into the mountains and
surrounding area, relieved to be free from the pressures o f our un
happy situation. One interesting aspect o f this visit was being shown
a piece o f Tathag Rinpoche’s skull that had survived the flames o f his
cremation. On it could clearly be seen an imprint o f the Tibetan
character that corresponded to his protector divinity. Actually, this
mysterious phenomenon is quite common amongst high lamas. The
bones melt in such a way as to reveal characters, or sometimes images.
In other cases, such as that o f my predecessor, those imprints can
actually be observed on the body itself.
After the forced resignations o f Lukhangwa and Lobsang Tashi in
early spring, 1952, there followed a period o f uneasy truce with the
Chinese authorities. I used this as an opportunity to establish the
Reform Committee that I had had in mind since the journey to
Dromo more than a year before. One o f my main ambitions was to
establish an independent judiciary.
As I have mentioned in the case o f Reting Rinpoche, I was impo
tent as a minor to help people when they fell foul o f the Government,
though I should often have liked to. For example, I remember with
sadness the case o f a man who worked in the administration, discov
ered to have been hoarding gold-dust which was intended for use in
making thangkas. I watched him through my telescope having his
hands bound and then being set on a mule facing backwards and
banished from the city. This was the traditional punishment for such
crimes.
Sometimes I feel that I could have intervened more often. There
was another similar incident that I witnessed at the Potala. From very
early on I had identified several places where it was possible, by
peeping through windows or skylights, to observe what was going on
in rooms that I would not otherwise have seen inside. On one occa
sion, I saw by this means a hearing o f the Regent’s Secretariat which
had met to consider the grievance o f a certain tenant against his
landlord. I clearly remember how miserable this poor man looked. He
was quite elderly, short and bent, with grey hair and a thin mous
tache. Unluckily for him, his master’s family was friendly with the
Regent’s (at the time still Reting Rinpoche) and his case was dis
missed. My heart went out to him, but there was nothing I could do.
R E FU GE IN T H E S O UT H 79
So now, as I heard o f similar cases o f injustice, I became ever more

convinced o f the need for judicial reform.
I also wanted to do something about education. At the time, there
was still no system o f universal education. There were only a few
schools in Lhasa and a tiny handful in rural areas, but for the most
part the monasteries were the only centres o f learning, and the educa
tion they provided was open only to the monastic community. Ac
cordingly, I instructed the Kashapj to put forward proposals for the
development o f a good educational programme.
Another area which I felt was in urgent need o f reform was commu
nications. In those days, there was not a single road in all Tibet and
almost the only wheeled vehicles were the Thirteenth Dalai Lama’s
three cars. It was easy to see that many people would benefit enor
mously from a system o f roads and transportation. But, like educa
tion, this was a long-term consideration and I realised that it would
be many years before there could be progress here.
However, there were things that could be done which would bring
immediate positive results. One was the abolition o f inheritable debt.
This, I had gathered both from my sweepers and from my talks en
route to Dromo, was the scourge o f the peasant and rural community
in Tibet. It meant that debt owing to a landlord by his tenants,
perhaps acquired as a result o f successive bad harvests, could be trans
ferred from one generation to the next. As a result, many families were
not able to make a decent living for themselves, let alone hope one
day to be free. Almost as pernicious was the system whereby small
landowners could borrow from the Government in times o f need.
Here too the debt was inheritable. So I decided firstly to abolish the
principle o f hereditary debt and secondly to write off all government
loans that could not be repaid.
Knowing that these reforms might not be very popular with the
nobility and people with vested interests, I persuaded the Lord Cham
berlain to issue these decrees publicly, not in the usual way by putting
up posters in public places. Instead, I had them distributed on paper
that was printed on wooden blocks similar to those used for printing
scripture. That way, there was a better chance the information would
be widely disseminated. Anyone who might otherwise have tried to
interfere would with any luck not have their suspicions raised until it
was too late.
The terms o f the Seventeen-Point ‘Agreement5 made it clear that

‘the Local Government o f Tibet shall carry out reforms o f its own
accord5 and that these would not be subject to ‘compulsion on the
part o f the authorities [i.e. the Chinese]5. However, although these
early attempts at land reform brought immediate benefit to many
thousands o f my people, it soon became clear that our ‘liberators5had
an altogether different approach to the organisation o f agriculture.
Already, collectivisation had begun in Amdo. Eventually, it was intro
duced throughout Tibet and was directly responsible for widespread
famine and the deaths o f hundreds o f thousands o f Tibetans from
starvation. And although the authorities relented following the Cul
tural Revolution, the effects o f collectivised farming are felt to this
day. Many visitors to Tibet have commented on how small and under
developed the people in rural areas look, due to malnutrition. But all
this lay in the future. In the meantime, I urged the Government to
do all it could to rout out old and unproductive practices. I was
determined to do all I could to propel Tibet into the twentieth
century.
During the summer o f 1953, so far as I can remember, I received the

Kalachakm initiation from Ling Rinpoche. This is one o f the most
important initiations in the Tantric tradition, with special significance
for world peace. And, unlike other Tantric rites, it is given before
large public audiences. It is also very elaborate and takes a week to ten
days to prepare, as well as three days actually to perform. One o f its
features is the construction, using individual grains o f coloured sand,
o f a large m andala, a representation in two dimensions o f a three-
dimensional symbol. The first time I ever saw one o f these mandalas,
I almost lost my balance from just looking at it, so extraordinarily
beautiful did it appear.
The initiation itself followed a month-long retreat. I recall it as a
very moving experience that affected both Ling Rinpoche and myself.
I felt extremely privileged to be participating in a tradition performed
over countless generations by successions o f highly realised spiritual
masters. Whilst chanting the last verse o f the dedication prayer, I was
so moved that I choked with emotion, a fact that subsequently I came
to regard as having been auspicious, though I thought nothing o f it
at the time. I now see it as being premonitory o f my being able to
R E F U G E IN T H E S O U T H ---- 81
give many more Kalachakra initiations than any o f my predecessors,

and in all parts o f the world. This, despite my being by no means the
most qualified to do so.
The following year, during Monlam, I received full ordination as
a Buddhist bikshu in front o f the statue o f Chenrezig in the Jokhang
temple. Again this was a very moving occasion, with Ling Rinpoche
officiating. Then, that summer, at the request o f a group o f lay
women, I performed the Kalachakm initiation ceremony for the first
time during this lifetime.
I was very glad o f this period o f fragile rapprochement with the

Chinese authorities. I used it to concentrate on my religious duties
and began to give regular teachings, to both small and large groups.
As a result, I began to build up a personal relationship with my
people. And although at first I was somewhat anxious to be addressing
public audiences, my self-confidence rapidly increased. I was aware,
however, that outside Lhasa the Chinese were making life very hard
for my people. At the same time, I could see for myself why my two
Prime Ministers had been so scornful o f the Chinese. For example,
whenever General Chiang Chin-wu came to see me, he posted body
guards outside the room - even though he must have known that
sanctity o f life is one o f the cardinal rules o f Buddhism.
Still, I took note o f the Buddha’s teaching that in one sense a
supposed enemy is more valuable than a friend, for an enemy teaches
you things, such as forbearance, that a friend generally does not. To
this I added my firm belief that no matter how bad things become,
they will eventually get better. In the end, the innate desire o f all
people for truth, justice and human understanding must triumph over
ignorance and despair. So if the Chinese oppressed us, it could only
strengthen us.
5
IN COMMUNIST CHINA
bout a year after the departure from office o f Lobsang
A Tashi and Lukhangwa, the Chinese suggested that the

Government send some officials to China, to see for them
selves how marvellous life was in the Glorious Motherland.
A party was duly assembled and taken on a tour o f the Peo
Republic. When they came back after many months, they submitted
a report which was full o f praise and admiration and lies. I realised at
once that this document had been written under supervision, as by
now I was used to the fact that it was often impossible to speak the
truth in front o f our new masters. I too had had to learn a similar form
o f communication: how to put on false appearances when dealing
with the Chinese under difficult circumstances.
N ot long after, in early 1954, I myself was invited to go to China.
This seemed like an excellent idea. N ot only would it enable me to
meet with Chairman Mao in person, but also it would give me the
opportunity to see something o f the outside world. But few other
Tibetans were happy with the idea. They were afraid that I might be
kept in Peking and not allowed to return - some even felt that my life
could be in danger and many did their best to dissuade me from
going. I had no fear for myself, however, and I made up my mind to
go no matter what anyone told me. Had I not been so decisive, I
doubt whether the proposal would have come to anything.
In the end I set out, together with a retinue which included my
82
IN C O M M U N I S T C H I N A ---- 83
family, my two tutors, my two tsenshap (a new one having been

appointed after Trijang Rinpoche became Junior Tutor), the Kashag
and a great many other officials. In all we numbered about five hun
dred. When we departed one morning during high summer, a formal
farewell was held on the bank o f the Kyichu river, with musical bands
and a parade o f officials. Tens o f thousands o f people attended, many
carrying religious banners and burning incense to wish me a safe
journey and a happy return.
In those days, there was still no bridge over the Kyichu and we
crossed in animal-skin coracles, to the accompaniment o f chanting by
Namgyal monks positioned on the other side. As I climbed aboard
my own special vessel, which consisted o f two o f these coracles
strapped together, and turned to wave goodbye to my people, I could
see that they were in a highly emotional state. Many were crying and
it looked as some were on the point o f throwing themselves into the
water, convinced that they were seeing me for the last time. I myself
felt a mixture o f sadness and excitement, just as I had on leaving for
Dromo four years previously. It was heartbreaking to see my people
so distraught. At the same time, the prospect o f the adventure that
lay ahead was very thrilling to a young man o f nineteen.
The distance from Lhasa to Peking is approaching two thousand
miles. In 1954, there were still no roads connecting the two coun
tries, although the Chinese had begun work on one called the Qing-
hai highway, using Tibetan forced labour. The first part was com
plete, which enabled me to travel a short way in the Thirteenth Dalai
Lama’s Dodge car. It too had been transported across the river. My
first stop was at Ganden monastery, about thirty-five miles from
Lhasa, where I took the opportunity to remain for a few days. This
was another moving experience for me. Ganden is the third o f Tibet’s
great university monasteries. When I left to continue my journey to
China, I noticed something very strange. A statue o f one o f the
protector divinities o f Tibet, which is represented as having a buffalo’s
head, had clearly moved. When I had first seen it, it was looking down
with a rather subdued look on its face. Now, it was facing East, with
a very ferocious expression. (Similarly, I heard that at the time o f my
escape into exile, the walls o f one chapel at Ganden ran with blood.)
I resumed my journey by car. But it was not long before I had to
exchange this stately form o f transport for a mule: the road had been
washed away as soon as we reached the Kongpo region, and many

bridges were down. The going quickly became very dangerous. There
was constant flooding from mountain streams carrying melted snow
and there were frequent landslides. Rocks and boulders often came
thundering down amongst us. Being late summer, there was some
heavy rainfall and there were long stretches when the mud came
halfway to a person’s knees. I felt very sorry for the older people, who
sometimes struggled to keep up.
Altogether conditions were very bad. Our Tibetan guides tried very
hard to persuade the Chinese who escorted us to alter course so that
we followed the traditional high-altitude routes rather than the pro
jected course o f the road, which they thought was unsuitable. But the
Chinese insisted, saying that if we went that way there would be no
facilities. So we went on. It is something o f a miracle that more than
three people were not killed. Those that died were innocent, young
Chinese soldiers from among those made to stand joined together
along the side o f the track to shield us from avalanches. I felt so sorry
for these people. They had no choice. Several mules also fell over a
precipice, bursting their guts.
Then one evening, General Chiang Chin-wu, who was also present,
came to my tent and explained that the going tomorrow would be
even worse. We would have to dismount and walk. Therefore, in his
capacity as representative o f the Central People’s Government, he
would personally link arms and escort me along the way. As he said
this, it occurred to me that the General was under the impression that
not only could he exert his power over my two Prime Ministers, but
he could also bully Nature.
I duly spent the next day entwined with Chiang. He was much
older than me and very unfit, so it was quite a tiresome arrangement.
Moreover, I was concerned that the rocks which continually crashed
on to the road from above might not be able to discriminate between
us in the event that the General’s time had come!
Throughout the journey, each time we stopped, we did so at mili
tary outposts manned by the PLA and bedecked with red flags. Chi
nese soldiers would then come over and offer us tea. On one occasion,
I was so thirsty that I accepted some without bothering to find my
own drinking vessel. After I had quenched my thirst, I noticed that
the mug I was drinking from was disgustingly dirty with scraps o f food
IN C O M M U N I S T C H I N A 85
and dried saliva on the sides. This rather revolted me. I remembered
how particular I had been as a small child, though now, whenever I
think o f the incident, I cannot help laughing.
After about two weeks we reached a small town called Demo, where
we camped by a stream for the night. The weather was perfect and
I remember being enchanted at the sight o f the river-banks, which
were adrift with yellow buttercups and mauve-pink primulas. Ten days
later we reached the Poyul region. From now on the road was motor-
able and the party travelled by jeep and truck. This was a great relief
as I had begun to be very sore from riding, though I was not the only
one. I shall never forget the sight o f one o f my officials. His backside
was so painful that he rode sitting diagonally across his saddle. In this
way, he contrived to rest first one cheek and then the other.
At this distance from Lhasa, the Chinese were in much more effec
tive control o f the country. Already they had built many barracks for
their soldiers and houses for their officials. And in every town and
village there were loudspeakers which played Chinese martial music
and exhortations to the people to work and work harder Tor the glory
o f the Motherland’.
Soon, we reached Chamdo, the capital o f Kham, where a large
reception awaited me. Here, because the Chinese administered the
place directly, the proceedings had a very curious flavour. Military
bands played hymns o f praise to Chairman Mao and to the Revolution
and Tibetans stood waving red flags.
From Chamdo, I was taken by jeep to Chengdu, the first town in
China proper. On the way, we crossed the hill at a place called Dhar
Tse-dho, which marks the historic border between Tibet and China.
As we descended to the plains on the other side, I remarked to myself
how different the countryside was. Might the Chinese people prove
to be as different from my own people as their countryside was from
ours?
I did not see much o f Chengdu as I caught a fever on arrival and
was confined to my bed for several days. As soon as I was sufficiently
recovered, I and the most senior members o f my entourage were taken
to Shingang, where I was joined by the Panchen Lama, who had set
off from Shigatse some months before. We were then flown to Xian.
The craft in which we flew was very old and even I could tell that
it had seen better days. Inside, the seats were very uncomfortable steel
frames without any sort o f upholstery. But I was so excited at the

prospect o f getting airborne that I was able to overlook the obvious
defects and felt no fear at all, although since then I have developed
a much more cautious attitude to flying. Nowadays I don’t like it
much and am a rather poor seat companion. I much prefer saying
prayers to holding conversations.
In Xian, we changed forms o f transport again and completed the
last leg o f the journey by train. This was another wonderful experi
ence. The carriages reserved for the Panchen Lama and myself were
equipped with every facility imaginable, from beds and bathrooms to
an elaborate dining-car. The only thing that marred the journey for
me was a growing sense o f apprehension the closer we drew to the
Chinese capital. When at last we arrived at Peking railway station, I
felt extremely nervous, though this abated a little when I saw huge
crowds o f young people gathered to welcome us. But it did not take
long for me to realise that their smiles and cheers were entirely false,
and that they were acting under orders, whereupon my anxiety re
turned.
As we stepped off the train, we were greeted by Chou En-lai, the
Prime Minister, and Chu Te, Vice-Chairman o f the People’s Repub
lic, both o f whom seemed quite friendly. With them was the same
middle-aged Tibetan I had seen with General Tan Kuan-sen at Lhasa.
After courtesies had been exchanged, this man, whose name was
Phuntsog Wangyal, accompanied me to my quarters, which was a
bungalow with a beautiful garden that had previously belonged to the
Japanese diplomatic mission, where he explained the agenda for the
next few days.
In due course I became firm friends with Phuntsog Wangyal. He
had been converted to the Communist cause many years back. Before
coming to China, he had acted as an agent for the Communists whilst
teaching at a school run by the Chinese Mission in Lhasa. When the
Mission was closed down following the expulsion o f its members in
1949, he and his wife, who happened to be a Tibetan Muslim, left
too. He himself was from Kham. As a child he had attended a Chris
tian Missionary School at Bathang, his home town, where he learned
some English. By the time o f our acquaintance he had acquired an
excellent command o f Chinese too and made a brilliant interpreter
between Chairman Mao and myself.
IN C O M M U N I S T C H I N A '— ' 87
Phuntsog Wangyal turned out to be a very able man, calm and wise;
a good thinker too. He was also very sincere and honest, and I
enjoyed his company a great deal. Evidently, he felt very happy in his
assignment as my official interpreter, not least because o f the access
it gave him to Chairman Mao, whom he idolized. However, his
feelings towards me were equally strong. Once, when we were talking
about Tibet, he said he was full o f optimism for the future as he
considered that I was very open-minded. He told me how many years
ago he had been to a public audience at the Norbulingka and seen a
small boy on a throne. ‘And now you are a small boy no longer, here
with me in Peking.’ This thought moved him very much and he wept
openly. After several minutes he continued, now speaking as a true
Communist. He told me that the Dalai Lama should not rely on
astrology as a tool with which to govern the country. He also said that
religion was not a reliable thing to base one’s life on. Because o f his
obvious sincerity, I listened carefully. On the subject o f what he called
superstitious practices, I explained the Buddha’s own emphasis on the
need for thorough investigation before accepting something as true
or false. I also told him that I was convinced that religion is essential,
especially for those engaged in politics. At the end o f our conversation
I felt that we had a high regard for one another. Such differences as
we had were personal matters, so there was no basis for conflict. In
the final analysis, we were both Tibetans thinking deeply about the
future o f our country.
A day or two after our arrival, I was told that all members o f the
Tibetan delegation were invited to a banquet. That afternoon we were
taken through a dress rehearsal o f the evening’s activities. It turned
out that our hosts were very particular about protocol (which I later
discovered to be a general characteristic o f officials o f the People’s
Republic) and our liaison officers worked themselves up into a frantic
pitch o f anxiety. They were terrified that we would bungle the affair
and make them look foolish, so they gave us all strict and detailed
instructions about what to do, even down to the number o f paces to
take and after how many to turn left or right. It was like a military
parade. There was a precise order in which everyone was to appear.
I was to go in first, followed by the Panchen Lama, then my two
Tutors, the Kalons (the four members o f the K ashag), each in order
o f seniority, and then everyone else, according to rank. All o f us were
to bear gifts and again these had to match the status o f the person
carrying them. The whole procedure seemed very complicated, even
to us Tibetans whose aristocracy is also known for its love o f etiquette.
But the trepidation o f our hosts was infectious and soon we were all
in a dither, save for Ling Rinpoche, who disliked all formality. He
would have nothing to do with it.
Next day, so far as I can remember, I had my inaugural encounter
with Chairman Mao. This was at a public meeting, with a format
similar to the banquet, all o f us filing in according to rank. As we
entered the hall, the first thing I noticed was an array o f spotlights
that had been erected for a whole army o f official photographers.
Beneath these stood Mao himself, looking very calm and relaxed. He
did not have the aura o f a particularly intelligent man. However, as
we shook hands I felt as if I was in the presence o f a strong magnetic
force. He came across as being very friendly and spontaneous, despite
the formality o f the occasion. It began to look as if the apprehension
I had felt was unfounded.
In all, I had at least a dozen meetings with Mao, most o f which
were at large gatherings, but a few o f which were held in private with
no one but Phuntsog Wangyal in attendance. Whatever the occasion,
whether it was a banquet or a conference, he always made me sit next
to him and on one occasion he even served me my food. This worried
me somewhat as I had heard a rumour that he was suffering from
tuberculosis.
I found him a most impressive man. Physically he was extraordi
nary. His complexion was very dark, but at the same time his skin
seemed shiny. It was as if he used some kind o f ointment; his hands,
which were very beautiful with perfect fingers and an exquisitely
formed thumb, had the same curious sheen as well.
I also noticed that Mao did seem to have some difficulty with
breathing and he panted a great deal. This may have had an effect on
his speech, which was always very slow and precise. He was given to
using short sentences, perhaps for the same reason. His movements
and mannerisms were similarly slow. If he moved his head from left
to right it would take several seconds, which gave him an air o f dignity
and assurance.
In contrast to the distinction o f his manner were his clothes, which
looked completely worn out. His shirts were always threadbare at the
IN C O M M U N I S T C HI N A 89
cuff and the jackets he wore were shabby. These were identical to
those worn by everyone else, save for the colour, which was a slightly
different shade o f drab. The only part o f his attire that looked well
kept were his shoes, which were always well polished. But he did not
need luxurious clothes. In spite o f looking down-at-heel, he had a very
emphatic air o f authority and sincerity. His mere presence com
manded respect. I felt, too, that he was completely genuine as well
as very decisive.
During the first few weeks o f our stay in China, the main topic o f
conversation amongst all o f us Tibetans was naturally how we could
best reconcile our needs with China’s desires. I myself acted as media
tor between the Kashag and the Communist leadership. There were
several preliminary meetings, which went very well. The discussions
were given further impetus when I had my first private meeting with
Mao. During the course o f it, he told me that he had come to the
conclusion that it was too early to implement all o f the clauses o f the
Seventeen-Point ‘Agreement’. One o f them in particular he felt could
safely be ignored for the time being. This was the one that concerned
the establishment o f a Military Affairs Commission in Tibet whereby
the country would be governed effectively by the PLA. ‘It would be
better to establish a Preparatory Committee for the “Autonomous
Region” o f Tibet,’ he said. This organisation would see to it that the
pace o f reform was dictated by the wishes o f the Tibetan people
themselves. He was most insistent that the terms o f the ‘Agreement’
were put into effect as slowly as we ourselves judged necessary. When
I reported this news back to the Kashag, they were highly relieved.
It really began to look as if we might be able to achieve a workable
compromise now that we were dealing directly with the highest in the
land.
At a later private meeting with Mao, he told me how glad he was
that I had come to Peking. He went on to say that the whole purpose
o f China’s presence in Tibet was to help us. ‘Tibet is a great country,’
he said. ‘You have a marvellous history. Long ago you even conquered
a lot o f China. But now you have fallen behind and we want to help
you. In twenty years’ time you could be ahead o f us and then it will
be your turn to help China.’ I could hardly believe my ears, but he
seemed to be speaking out o f conviction and not just for effect.
I began to get very enthusiastic about the possibilities o f association
with the People’s Republic o f China. The more I looked at Marxism,

the more I liked it. Here was a system based on equality and justice
for everyone, which claimed to be a panacea for all the world’s ills.
From a theoretical standpoint, its only drawback as far as I could see
was its insistence on a purely materialistic view o f human existence.
This I could not agree with. I was also concerned at the methods used
by the Chinese in pursuit o f their ideals. I received a strong impression
o f rigidity. But I expressed a wish to become a Party member all the
same. I felt sure, as I still do, that it would be possible to work out
a synthesis o f Buddhist and pure Marxist doctrines that really would
prove to be an effective way o f conducting politics.
At the same time I started to learn Chinese and also at the sugges
tion o f my new Chinese security officer - a delightful man and a
veteran o f the Korean War - began to do some physical exercises. He
used to come and supervise me every morning. However, he was not
at all used to getting up early and could not understand why I rose
before five o ’clock to pray. Often he would appear tousle-haired and
unwashed. As for the regime, it did seem to have some effect. My
chest, which up until then had been rather boney and narrow, began
to flatten out considerably.
In all, I spent around ten weeks in Peking after our arrival. Much
o f the time was taken up by attending political meetings and confer
ences, not to mention innumerable banquets. The food at these
enormous meals I found to be quite good on the whole, although I
still shudder at the thought o f the hundred-year-old eggs which are
considered to be such a delicacy. Their smell was overpowering. It
lingered too, so that when you had done with eating them you could
not tell whether you were still tasting them in your mouth or whether
it was simply the smell: they completely overwhelmed your senses.
Some European cheeses have a similar effect, I have noticed. These
banquets were considered to be very important by our hosts, who
seemed to be o f the opinion that genuine friendships could develop
just by people sitting together at the dining-table. This is quite wrong,
o f course.
When the First Assembly o f the Communist Party took place at
around this time, I was made a Vice-President o f the Steering Com
mittee o f the People’s Republic o f China. This was a nominal appoint
ment that carried some prestige, if not actually any political power.
(The Steering Committee discussed policy before it was put up to the

Politburo, where the real power lay.)
The political meetings and conferences o f the Steering Committee
were a much more useful experience than the banquets, although they
tended to go on for ever. Sometimes the speaker would talk for five,
six or even seven hours at a stretch, which was extremely boring. I
spent the time sipping hot water and yearning for the end. However,
the meetings that were attended by Mao were a different matter. He
was spellbinding. Best o f all, when he had done with speaking, he
would canvass his audience for their opinions. He was always trying
to sound out people’s deepest feelings on any given matter and was
open to anything that might be said. He even went so far as to criticise
himself on a number o f occasions and once, when he was not getting
the results he wanted, he produced a letter that had been sent to him
from his own village complaining about the behaviour o f the local
Party authorities. This was altogether impressive, but as time went on
I began to realise how artificial the majority o f these meetings were.
People were afraid to speak their minds, especially the non-Party
members, who were always desperate to please the Party members and
be polite to them.
Gradually, it began to dawn on me that political life in China was
full o f contradictions, although I could not exactly decide on what
was the cause o f this. Every time I saw Mao, he inspired me again.
I remember one occasion when he presented himself without warning
at my residence. He wanted to speak to me privately on some matter,
I forget what exactly, but during the course o f our conversation he
surprised me very much by speaking favourably o f the Lord Buddha.
He praised him for being ‘anti-caste, anti-corruption and anti
exploitation’. He also mentioned the goddess Tara, a well-known
female Buddha. Suddenly he seemed quite pro-religion.
On another occasion I sat facing the Great Helmsman, as he was
known, at a long table, at either end o f which were two generals. He
pointed both men out to me, saying that he was posting them to
Tibet. Then he looked at me hard and said, T am sending these men
to serve you. If they don’t listen to what you tell them, you are to
let me know and I shall recall them.’ Yet at the same time as receiving
these favourable impressions, I could see for myself the paranoia with
which the great majority o f Party officials went about their daily tasks.
They were in constant fear o f their jobs, if not their lives.

As well as spending time with Mao, I saw quite a lot o f Chou En-lai
and Liu Shao-ch’i as well. The latter was a man o f few words and little
laughter. In short, he was very tough. On one occasion I was present
at a meeting between Liu and U Nu, the Prime Minister o f Burma.
Before it began, each person present was briefed on the subject they
were to take care of. Mine was religion: if the Burmese leader wanted
to talk about religion, I was to answer. This seemed unlikely and was,
in fact, very far from what U Nu had in mind. Instead, he wanted to
ask Liu about China’s support for Communist insurgents in his coun
try. But when he spoke, adding that the guerrillas were creating
trouble for his Government, Liu simply looked away. He refused to
be drawn and U N u’s question went unanswered. I was shocked, but
consoled myself with the thought that at least Liu did not lie or
attempt deceit. Chou En-lai would undoubtedly have said something
clever at this point.
Chou was a very different sort o f person and, where Liu was steady
and rather grave, he was full o f smiles and charm and swift intelli
gence. In fact he was over-polite, which is invariably a sign o f someone
not to be trusted. He was also very sharp-eyed. I remember that at one
particular banquet I attended, he was escorting some foreign dignitary
to the table when suddenly his guest tripped on a small stair. Chou
had a dysfunctional arm but, as the man stumbled, his good one was
already out, waiting to catch him. He did not even stop chatting.
His tongue was sharp too. After U N u’s visit to Peking, Chou
addressed a meeting o f over a thousand officials, during which he
openly made derogatory remarks about the Burmese Prime Minister.
I found this very strange as publicly he had always been exceedingly
polite and courteous to the man.
Whilst in Peking I was asked to give teachings to some Chinese
Buddhists. My translator on this occasion was a Chinese monk who,
I was told, had studied in Tibet and received teachings from a Tibetan
lama. (In former times, many Chinese monks had been to study in
Tibet, particularly in the field o f dialectics.) I was highly impressed
by him: he struck me as being a very devoted and sincere practitioner
o f his faith.
Some o f the Communists I met were also extremely nice people,
totally selfless in their service to others and, personally, very helpful
IN C O M M U N I S T C H I N A ' 93
to me. I learned a great deal from them. One such was a high official
at the Office o f Minorities, called Liu Ka-ping, who was appointed to
give me lessons on Marxism and the Chinese Revolution. He was, in
fact, a Muslim and I used to tease him by asking him whether he ever
ate pork. He also had one finger missing, I remember, and was a
delightful person. We became very good friends. His wife, who was
so much younger than him that she could have been his daughter,
became equally good friends with my mother and elder sister. When
I came to leave China, he cried like a child.
I remained in Peking until after the October celebrations. That year
marked the fifth anniversary o f the founding o f the People’s Republic
and a number o f foreign dignitaries were expected in the capital at that
time. Amongst these were Khrushchev and Bulganin, both o f whom
I was introduced to. Neither man made much o f an impression on
me, certainly nothing compared with Pandit Nehru, who also visited
Peking whilst I was there. He was guest o f honour at a banquet
presided over by Chou En-lai and, as usual, all the other guests filed
past him to be introduced. From a distance he seemed very affable and
had no trouble finding a few words for everyone as they came to him.
However, when it was my turn and I stood shaking him by the hand,
he seemed to get stuck. His eyes remained fixed in front o f him and
he was completely speechless. I felt rather embarrassed at this and
broke the ice by saying how pleased I was to meet him and that I had
heard a great deal about him, despite Tibet being such a remote
country. At last he spoke, but only in the most perfunctory manner.
I was very disappointed as I had particularly wanted to be able to
speak with him and ask him about his country’s attitude to Tibet. It
was altogether a very odd meeting.
Later on I did get to talk to the Indian Ambassador, at his request,

but this was almost as much o f a failure as my meeting with Nehru.
Although I had with me an official who spoke excellent English, the
Chinese insisted that I take along with me one o f their interpreters
instead. This meant that what the Indian Ambassador said in English
had to be laboriously translated into Chinese and then into Tibetan.
It was a very uncomfortable session. There were certain things that
I had wanted to discuss that no longer could be brought up on
account o f the Chinese presence. Much the best part o f the afternoon
came when a servant started to pour tea for us all and knocked over
a large bowl o f exotic fruits that must have been procured at great
expense. At the sight o f all these apricots, peaches and plums rolling
about on the floor, my very grave Chinese interpreter and his assistant
(no official ever went alone) got down on their hands and knees and
started crawling about on the carpet to pick them up. It was all I could
do to stop myself laughing.
I had a much better time with the Russian Ambassador, whom I
sat next to at a banquet. In those days, Russia and China were firm
friends so there was no danger o f interference here. The Ambassador
was very amicable and showed some interest in finding out my impres
sions o f Socialism. When I replied that I saw great possibilities in it,
he said that I ought to come and visit the Soviet Union. This sounded
an excellent idea and I immediately developed a strong desire to
undertake a trip to his country - preferably as an ordinary member o f
a delegation. That way, wherever this imaginary delegation went I
would go too, but, not having any responsibilities, I could spend the
whole time minding my own business and just looking around. Sadly
the idea came to nothing. It was over twenty years before I was able
to realise my ambition o f visiting the USSR. And, needless to say, the
circumstances were very different from those I had fondly imagined.
On the whole the Chinese authorities were very reluctant to let me
meet with foreigners. I suppose that I must have been something o f
an embarrassment to them. At the time o f Tibet’s invasion there had
been widespread condemnation o f the Communists from many coun
tries around the world. This was a source o f irritation to them and
they were busy doing all they could to improve their image and show
how their occupation o f Tibet was justifiable both historically and in
terms o f a great nation helping a weaker one. But I could not help
noticing how completely differently our hosts behaved when foreign
visitors were present. Whereas habitually they were arrogant in their
attitude towards foreigners, in their presence, they were very meek
and subdued.
Quite a few visitors to Peking expressed an interest to meet me,
however, including a Hungarian dance troupe, whose members all
wanted my autograph - which I gave them. Also, several thousand
Mongolians came to the Chinese capital hoping to see me and the
Panchen Lama. This did not please the Chinese authorities, perhaps
because the notion o f Tibetans and Mongolians together was an

uncomfortable reminder o f how different things had been in the past.
Not only had Tibetan forces extracted tribute from the Chinese in the
eighth century, but Mongolia had actually ruled China from 1279
until 1368 A.D., following the successful invasion o f Kublai Khan, the
Mongolian warlord.
At this time, there was an interesting historical incident. Kublai
Khan became a Buddhist and had a Tibetan guru. This lama per
suaded the Mongolian leader to stop his practice o f controlling the
Chinese population increase by drowning thousands o f them in the
sea. In so doing, the Tibetan saved many Chinese lives.
During the winter o f 1954 I went on an extensive tour o f China,

together with my complete entourage, including both my mother and
Tenzin Choegyal, my youngest brother, to see the marvels o f indus
trial and material progress. I enjoyed this a great deal, but many o f
my Tibetan officials were completely uninterested in what was on offer
and would heave a sigh o f relief whenever it was announced that there
was to be no 'sightseeing5 on that particular day. My mother, espe
cially, did not enjoy her time in China. Her unhappiness increased
when, during an excursion, she contracted a fever which developed
into quite a serious case o f flu. Luckily my personal physician, the 'fat
doctor5o f my childhood, was with us. He was a very learned man and
a great friend o f my mother’s. He duly prescribed some medicine for
her which she took at once. Unfortunately, she misunderstood his
directions and took in one go what should have been two separate
daily draughts. This produced a strong reaction, which, on top o f her
fever, made her very ill indeed. For several days she was extremely
weak and I became concerned for her. But after a week she began to
recover and, in fact, went on to live for more than twenty-five years.
Ling Rinpoche also fell severely ill, but he did not make such a good
recovery and it was not until after coming into exile that he fully
regained his strength.
Tenzin Choegyal, who is twelve years my junior, was a constant
source o f delight and terror to everyone, including the Chinese, who
were very fond o f him. Being extremely intelligent, he picked up
fluent Mandarin in a matter o f months, which was both an advantage
and a disadvantage. He loved to see the grown-ups embarrassed. If
ever my mother or anyone made a disparaging remark about one o f

our hosts, my little brother would pass it on without hesitation. We
all had to be very careful o f what we said in front o f him. Even then,
he could always sense when someone was being vague or evasive. But
he was so delightful that Trijang Rinpoche, my Junior Tutor, was the
only person who succeeded in being reserved towards him, mainly I
think because Tenzin Choegyal used to jump all over the furniture
and he was worried about having to explain to the Chinese how it
came to be broken. Ling Rinpoche was, on the other hand, an enthu
siastic playmate for him. Personally I did not see a great deal o f my
brother, although recently he reminded me o f an occasion when I
found that he had fished all the carp out o f an ornamental pond and
laid them out neatly on the grass beside it. He tells me that I boxed
his ears hard.
Although my interest in China’s material development was not
shared by many o f my officials, I was much impressed with what the
Communists had managed to achieve in the field o f heavy industry.
I was eager for my own country to make similar progress. I was
particularly taken with a hydro-electric power station that we were
taken to see in Manchuria. It did not take much imagination to see
that there were endless possibilities for this type o f power generation
in Tibet. But what made this particular trip so memorable was the
expression on the face o f the official who was showing me over the
project when I asked him some pertinent questions about electrical
power. Thanks to my work on that old diesel generator in Lhasa, I
had quite a good grasp o f the basic principles involved. I suppose it
must have seemed very incongruous for a young foreigner in monk’s
robes to be asking about kilowatt hours and turbine size.
The highlight o f this excursion came when I was taken on board
an old warship, also in Manchuria. I was fascinated. No matter that
it was so ancient and that I could not make head or tail o f any o f the
instruments or dials. Just to be on board this giant, grey, metal
structure with its peculiar smell o f oil and sea water was enough for
me.
On the negative side, I came to realise that the Chinese authorities
had no intention o f allowing me contact with ordinary Chinese peo
ple. Every time I wanted to break away from the programme or even
just get out to see places for myself, I was prevented from doing so
by the officials sent to look after me, always on the pretext o f "security,
security’: my safety was their perpetual excuse. Yet it was not only I
who was kept isolated from the common people; so were all the
Chinese from Peking. They too were forbidden to do anything inde
pendently.
However, Serkon Rinpoche, one o f my tsenshap, always managed
to get out and about. He never listened to anything the Chinese said
to him and simply did what he thought was proper. And, perhaps
because he was lame and quite inconspicuous, no one thought to try
to stop him. He was thus the only one who managed to get an
intimate picture o f what life was like in the brave new People’s Repub
lic. I learned a good deal from him. He painted a very sombre picture
o f great poverty and fear amongst the population.
I did, however, have one very interesting conversation with a hotel
porter whilst visiting an industrial zone. He told me that he had seen
photographs o f my departure from Lhasa and was pleased to know
that my people had been so happy about my visit to China. When I
told him that this was far from being the case, he was surprised. "But
it said so in the newspaper,’ he said, to which I replied that the
situation must have been misrepresented as the truth was that the
majority o f my people had been utterly distraught. At this, my friend
expressed shock and amazement. I, for my part, realised for the first
time to what extent things were distorted in the Communist press:
it seemed as if telling lies was in the blood o f the authorities.
Whilst on this journey around China, I went over the border into
Mongolia, where I travelled with Serkon Rinpoche to his birthplace.
It was a very moving experience, which made me realise how closely
related is that country to my own.
We arrived back in Peking in late January 1955, just in time to
celebrate Losar, the Tibetan New Year. As a mark o f its importance
I decided to host a banquet, to which I would invite Chairman Mao
and the other members o f the "Big Four’, that is, Chou En-lai, Chu
Te and Lu Rau-chi. They all accepted. During the course o f the
evening Mao was very friendly. At one point he leaned over and asked
me what I was doing as I threw a pinch o f tsampa up into the air. I
explained that this was a symbolic offering, whereupon he took some
between his own fingers and did the same. Then he took another lot
and, with a mischievous look on his face, threw it on to the floor.
This slightly sarcastic gesture was the only thing that spoiled an
otherwise memorable evening, which seemed to hold out a promise
o f genuine fraternity between our two countries. Certainly, that was
how the Chinese portrayed the event. To this end they had organised
the usual battery o f photographers, who were to record the scene for
posterity. Some o f the photographs were published in the newspaper
a day or two later with glowing reports, emphasizing speeches that
were made. These pictures must also have been syndicated to Tibet
because, when I was back in Lhasa, I saw one o f them was reproduced
in Chinese-run local newspaper. It depicted Chairman Mao and my
self sitting together with my head turned towards him and my hands
making some inexplicable gesture. The Tibetan picture editor o f the
newspaper had made up his own mind about what was going on and
ran a caption to the effect that this was a photograph o f His Holiness
the Dalai Lama explaining to the Great Helmsman how to make
Khabse (Losar cookies)!
The day before I was due to leave China to return to Tibet, that
is during the spring o f 1 9 5 5 ,1 was attending a meeting o f the Steering
Committee. Liu Shao-ch’i, who was presiding over it, was halfway
through an oration when suddenly my security officer burst in and
came running over to me. ‘Chairman Mao wants to see you at once.
He is waiting for you,’ he said. I did not know what to say. I couldn’t
just get up and leave the meeting, and Liu showed no sign o f drawing
breath. Tn that case,’ I replied, ‘you will have to go and have me
excused.’ This he did straight away.
We went directly to M ao’s office, where he was indeed waiting for
me. It was to be our last meeting. He announced that he wanted to
give me some advice about government before I went back to Tibet,
and proceeded to explain how to organise meetings, how to draw out
people’s opinions and then how to decide on the key issues. It was
all excellent information and I sat busily taking notes, as I always did
whenever we met. He went on to tell me that communications were
a vital ingredient in any form o f material progress and stressed the
importance o f seeing to it that as many young Tibetans as possible
were trained up in this field. He added that whenever he passed
anything on to me, he wanted to be able to do so through a Tibetan.
Finally, he drew closer to me and said, T our attitude is good, you
know. Religion is poison. Firstly it reduces the population, because
monks and nuns must stay celibate, and secondly it neglects material
progress.5 At this I felt a violent burning sensation all over my face
and I was suddenly very afraid. "So,51 th ough t,cyou are the destroyer
o f the Dhartrn after all.’
It was by now late in the evening. As Mao spoke those fateful words
I leaned forward as if to write something, half hiding my face. I hoped
that he would not sense the horror I felt: it might have broken his
trust in me. Luckily, Phuntsog Wangyal was not, for some reason,
interpreting between us on this occasion. Had he done so, I am sure
that he would have discovered my thoughts - especially as we invari
ably discussed everything together afterwards. Even I could not have
concealed my feelings for much longer. Fortunately, Mao ended the
interview after only a few more minutes. I felt a tremendous sense o f
relief when he stood up to shake my hand. Amazingly, his eyes were
foil o f life and he was completely alert, despite the late hour. We went
outside together, into the night-time quiet. My car was waiting. He
opened and closed the door for me. As the vehicle began to move I
turned to wave. My last sight o f Mao was o f him standing out in the
cold with neither hat nor coat, waving.
Fear and amazement gave way to confusion. How could he have
misjudged me so? How could he have thought that I was not religious
to the core o f my being? What had caused him to think otherwise?
Every move I made was recorded, that I knew: how many hours sleep
I took, how many bowls o f rice I ate, what I said at every meeting.
No doubt a weekly report on my behaviour was sent for analysis and
then submitted to Mao. That being so, he surely could not have failed
to notice that every day I spent at least four hours in prayer and
meditation and that furthermore, all the time I was in China, I was
receiving religious instruction from my tutors. He must have known
too that I was working hard towards my final monastic examinations,
which now could not be very many years away, six or seven at the
most. I was perplexed.
The only possible explanation was that he had misinterpreted my
great interest in scientific matters and material progress. It was true
that I wanted to modernise Tibet in line with the People’s Republic
and true also that my cast o f mind is basically scientific. So it could
only be that, in his ignorance o f Buddhist philosophy, Mao had
ignored the Buddha’s instruction that anyone who practises the
Dharm a should test for themselves its validity. For this reason I have
always been open to the discoveries and truths o f modern science.
Perhaps this was what tricked Mao into thinking that my religious
practices were nothing more to me than a prop or convention. What
ever his reasoning, I now knew that he had misjudged me completely.
Next day, I left Peking for the return journey to Tibet. Progress was
faster than it had been the previous year now that the Qinghai high
way had been completed. On the way, I took the opportunity to stop
for two or three days at a time in different places so that I could meet
with as many o f my countrymen as possible and tell them something
o f my experiences in China and what hope I had for the future. In
spite o f having had to revise my opinion o f Mao, I still felt that he
was a great leader and above all a sincere person. He was not deceitful.
Therefore, I was convinced that so long as his officials in Tibet carried
out his instructions, and provided he kept a firm control o f them,
there was good reason to be optimistic. Besides, as far as I was con
cerned, a positive approach was the only sensible one to take. There
was no point in being negative: that only makes a bad situation worse.
Not that my optimism was shared by many o f my entourage. Few o f
them had gained a good impression o f China and they were afraid that
the rigid methods o f the Communists would lead to oppression in
Tibet. They were further disturbed by a story then circulating about
a high official in the Chinese Government, called Gan Kung. It was
whispered that he had been critical o f Liu Shao-ch’i and for this had
been murdered in a most horrible way.
It was not long before I began to have fresh doubts o f my own.
When I visited Tashikiel in far eastern Tibet, there was a huge turn
out o f people. Many thousands had travelled to be able to see me and
pay their respects. I was deeply moved by their great devotion. How
ever, I was devastated to hear, some time later, that the Chinese
authorities had misled people into believing that I would arrive a week
later than I actually did. They lied about the date in order to prevent
people from seeing me. As a result, thousands more turned up after
I left.
A further cause for unhappiness was the paranoia o f the Chinese
concerning my personal safety. When I visited my home village,
they insisted that I should not accept food from anyone but my
own cooks. This meant that I could not receive any o f the offerings
brought to me by my people, even though some o f them were from

my own family who still lived in Taktser. As if any one o f these
simple, devout, humble people would ever take it into their heads to
try to poison the Dalai Lama. My mother was deeply upset. She did
not know what to tell them. And when I spoke to Tibetans there,
asking about their living conditions, they replied that, Thanks to
Chairman Mao, to Communism and the People’s Republic o f
China, we are very happy’ - but with tears in their eyes.
Throughout my journey back to Lhasa, I received as many people
as possible. Unlike China, this was not difficult. Thousands came,
bringing their sick and old, just to catch a glimpse o f me. A lot o f
Chinese attended these gatherings as well, which gave me the oppor
tunity to express the need for them to understand the Tibetan mental
ity. In doing so, I took the trouble to find out which were Party
members and which were not. Experience had taught me that the
former were, on the whole, more straightforward.
The attitude o f the Chinese authorities in Tibet towards me was
very interesting. On one occasion, an official said, T h e Chinese peo
ple do not love Chairman Mao so much as Tibetans love the Dalai
Lama.’ On another, a guard, who was throwing his weight around in
a very brutal manner, came over to my jeep and demanded to know
where the Dalai Lama was. At the reply o f cHere’, he took off his hat
and asked for a blessing. And when I had left Chengdu, many o f the
Chinese officials who accompanied me throughout my visit wept to
see me go. I had similarly warm feelings towards them: despite our
differences o f opinion, we had developed a strong, personal relation
ship.
Seeing the country people o f Tibet after so many months allowed
me to look afresh at the differences between them and their Chinese
counterparts. For a start, you could tell just by comparing their faces
that the Tibetans were much happier. This was due to a number o f
cultural factors I feel. Firstly, the relationship between landlord and
serf was much milder in Tibet than in China and conditions for the
poor were much less harsh. Secondly, in Tibet there was never any
thing like the barbarisms o f foot-binding or castration, which until
recently had been widespread throughout China. However, I think
that these points were lost on the Chinese, who looked on our feudal
system as a replica o f their own.
Shortly before reaching Lhasa, I met up with Chou En-lai, who had
flown to a place in Kham that had just suffered an earthquake. It was
a curious encounter in which he said some positive things about
religion. I still wonder why, as this was very much out o f character.
Perhaps he was speaking on Mao’s instructions, trying to repair the
damage done at our final meeting.
MR NEHRU REGRETS
% % / / hen I arrived back in Lhasa in June 1955, I was greeted

% V / as usual by many thousands o f people. My long absence
/ had caused much sorrow amongst Tibetans and it was
T T a relief that they now had the Dalai Lama back in their
midst. It was a relief for me as well. Evidently, the Chinese were
behaving with more restraint here than in eastern Tibet. On the
return journey from China I had received, in addition to many ordi
nary people, numerous deputations from local chieftains begging that
I ask our new masters to change their policies in those rural areas.
They saw that the Chinese directly threatened the Tibetan way o f life
and were very afraid.
In the city itself, I found things were relatively normal, except that
there were now many cars and trucks bringing noise and pollution to
the city for the first time in history. The food shortages had eased and
active displays o f anger had given way to resentment mixed with
passive resistance. Now that I was back, there was even a resurgence
o f optimism. For my part, I felt that my status amongst the local
Chinese authorities must be enhanced by M ao’s public show o f con
fidence in me and I remained cautiously optimistic for the future.
Yet I was conscious that outside Tibet the world had turned its back
on us. Worse, India, our nearest neighbour and spiritual mentor, had
tacitly accepted Peking’s claims to Tibet. In April 1954, Nehru had
signed a new Sino-Indian treaty which included a memorandum
103
known as Panch Sheel, whereby it was agreed that India and China
would under no circumstances interfere with one another’s ‘internal’
affairs. According to this treaty, Tibet was part o f China.
The summer o f 1955 was undoubtedly the best we were to experi
ence during the decade o f uneasy coexistence between the Chinese
authorities and my own Tibetan administration. But summer in Tibet
is a short season and it was not many weeks before disturbing news
began to reach my ears about the activities o f the Chinese authorities
in Kham and Amdo. Far from leaving the people be, they had begun
to press ahead unilaterally with all kinds o f ‘reform’. New taxes were
imposed on houses, land and cattle, and, to add insult to injury, the
contents o f monasteries were also assessed for tax. Large estates were
confiscated and the land redistributed by the local Chinese cadres in
accordance with their own political ideology. Landowners were pub
licly arraigned and punished for ‘crimes against the people’; to my
horror, some were even put to death. Simultaneously, the Chinese
authorities began to round up the many thousands o f nomad farmers
who roamed these fertile regions. To our new masters, nomadism was
repugnant as it smacked o f barbarism. (In fact, mantze, a common
Chinese word for ‘Tibetan’, literally means ‘barbarian’.)
Also disturbing was the news that the work o f the monasteries was
being grossly interfered with and the local population had begun to
be indoctrinated against religion. Monks and nuns were subject to
severe harassment and publicly humiliated. For example, they were
forced to join in extermination programmes o f insects, rats, birds and
all types o f vermin, even though the Chinese authorities knew that
taking any form o f life is contrary to Buddhist teaching. If they
refused, they were beaten. Meanwhile, the Chinese in Lhasa carried
on as if nothing was amiss. By not interfering with religion here in
the capital, they were clearly hoping that I would be lulled into a false
sense o f security whilst they did as they pleased elsewhere.
Toward the end o f 1955, preparations were put in hand for the
inauguration o f the Preparatory Committee for the Autonomous
Region o f Tibet (PCART), Mao’s alternative to rule by military com
mission. But as autumn progressed to winter, the news from the east
became worse. The Khampas, who were not used to outside interfer
ence, did not take kindly to Chinese methods: o f all their possessions,
the one they valued above all others was their personal weapon. So
MR N E H R U R E G R E T S 105
when the local cadres began to confiscate these, the Khampas reacted
with violence. Throughout the winter months the situation deteri
orated rapidly. As it did so, refugees from Chinese oppression began
to arrive in Lhasa, bringing with them horrifying stories o f brutality
and degradation. The Chinese dealt viciously with Khampa resistance:
not only were public beatings and executions carried out but often
these were done by the victim’s own child. Public self-criticism was
also introduced. This is a method especially favoured by the Chinese
Communists. The 'offender’ is trussed up with a rope in such a way
that the shoulders are dislocated. Then, when the person is utterly
helpless and crying out in pain, members o f the public - including
women and children - are called forward to inflict further injury.
Apparently, the Chinese felt that this was all it took to make people
change their minds, and that it aided in the process o f political re
education.
At the beginning o f 1956, during Losar, I had a very interesting
encounter with the Nechung oracle, who announced that the 'light
o f the Wish-Fulfilling Jewel [one o f the names by which the Dalai
Lama is known to Tibetans] will shine in the West’. I took this to
indicate that I would travel that year to India, though I now see that
the prophecy had a deeper implication.
A more pressing concern were the many refugees from Kham and
Amdo who had recently arrived in Lhasa. The city was simmering. For
the first time, there was an overtly political flavour to the New Year
festivities. Posters denouncing the Chinese went up all over the capi
tal and leaflets were distributed. The people held public meetings and
elected popular leaders. Never before had Tibet witnessed such a
thing. Naturally, the Chinese were furious. They quickly arrested
three men who, they said, were responsible for inciting anti
democratic crimes. But this did nothing to curtail popular reaction
to their rule.
During the Monlam festival, leading Amdowa and Khampa busi
nessmen began to collect money for a ceremony o f Se-tri Chenmo to
be performed later in the year. This involves an offering to the protec
tor divinities o f Tibet, beseeching them to grant the Dalai Lama long
life and prosperity. So successful was their fund-raising that the occa
sion was marked by the donation to me o f an immense, jewel-studded,
golden throne. However, as I later discovered, this activity had an
106 F RE E D O M IN EXILE
other aspect. It also marked the formation o f an alliance called Chushi

Gangdruk, meaning T ou r rivers, six ranges5, the traditional collective
name for the two provinces o f Kham and Amdo. This organisation
subsequently co-ordinated a widespread guerrilla resistance move
ment.
After Monlaniy preparations for the forthcoming inauguration o f
PCART, o f which I was to be chairman, continued apace. Within a
few short months the Chinese, using Tibetan labour, built three large
public buildings: a guest-house for visiting Chinese officials, a bathing
house and a municipal hall. This last was a modern, two-storeyed
building with a corrugated iron roof, capable o f seating about twelve
hundred people in front o f a raised platform and a further three
hundred in a gallery above. It stood directly in front o f the Potala.
In April 1956, Marshal Chen Yi, deputy Prime Minister and For
eign Minister o f the People’s Republic o f China, arrived with his wife
and a large delegation from Peking to represent Chairman Mao. I
remembered Chen Yi from my visit to China. Personally he was a very
nice man, although his reputation as a speaker was formidable. He
once made a speech lasting a full seven hours. The Marshal appeared
in Lhasa wearing a tie, o f which he was very proud, though he did
not seem to know how to wear it. And the shirt he wore could barely
contain his paunch. None o f this bothered him, however: he was
jovial, fond o f luxury and not lacking in self-confidence. His arrival
in Lhasa signalled the start o f an impressive show. The Chinese had
laid on extravagant entertainments for him and there were many
banquets and speeches held in his honour. When PCART was for
mally inaugurated at a meeting in the new municipal hall, the place
was decorated with many flags and banners depicting Chairman Mao
and his chief colleagues. A Chinese military band played and Commu
nist songs were sung. It was all very festive. Chen Yi then made a
(comparatively short) speech in which he announced that ‘necessary
reforms’ would be introduced ‘to rid Tibet o f its backward situation’,
explaining that this was necessary to bring the Tibetans up to the level
o f the ‘advanced’ Chinese nationality. There followed a succession o f
adulatory speeches made by Chinese and Tibetans alike, all praising
Socialism and the Party and welcoming the presence o f the Chinese
in Tibet. I even had to make one myself, pointedly adding that I was
sure that the Chinese would honour all their undertakings to intro
duce reform at the pace the people wanted and to permit freedom o f
worship.
The constitution o f PCART provided for the creation o f various
new government departments to administer, for example, finance,
education, agriculture, communications, medicine, religion and secu
rity. These were to be run mostly by Tibetans. Also the administration
o f Chamdo was to return to Lhasa. Together they comprised the
so-called Tibet Autonomous Region. However, the rest o f Kham and
all o f Amdo were to remain under the direct control o f Peking. The
Committee itself was to be comprised o f fifty-one regional delegates.
Only five were Chinese. At the same time, the Kashag and the Na
tional Assembly were to remain, although it was clear that the Chi
nese intended to marginalise and eventually to do away with all traces
o f traditional government.
Whilst on paper PCART promised to mark an important advance
towards autonomy, the reality was very different. When Chen Yi
announced the appointments, it turned out that o f these fifty-one
delegates (none o f whom was elected), all but a handful owed their
positions to the Chinese: they were allowed to keep their power and
property so long as they did not voice any opposition. In other words,
it was all a sham.
Nevertheless, there were a few surprises. One o f these was Lobsang
Samten’s appointment as a member o f the newly created security
department. Being such a kind and gentle person, there can have been
no one less suited to the job than he. I shall never forget the look on
his face when he returned from a meeting with his Chinese opposite
number. All had gone well until the man turned to Lobsang Samten
(who spoke some Chinese) and asked him what was the Tibetan word
for 'Kill him’. Up to that moment my brother had thought this new
official to be quite pleasant and straightforward, but this question left
him dumbfounded. The idea o f killing even an insect was so far from
his mind that he was lost for words. When he arrived at the Nor-
bulingka that same evening, his face was full o f bewilderment. 'What
am I to do?’ he asked. This story is another illustration o f the differ
ences between Chinese and Tibetan attitudes. To one, the killing o f
human beings was a fact o f life; to the other, it was unthinkable.
Shortly after the inauguration o f PCART, I heard that the Chinese
authorities in Kham made an attempt to win over all the local leaders.
108 — ' F R E E D O M IN EXI L E
This they did by calling them all together and asking them to vote on
the introduction o f the "democratic reforms’, meaning, specifically,
the establishment o f several thousand agricultural co-operatives which
were to comprise more than 100,000 households in the area that
included Gar-chu and Karze. O f the 350 people they assembled, about
two hundred agreed to go along with the reforms when I and my
Cabinet consented to them. Forty said that they were prepared to
accept them straight away, and the remainder said that they never
wanted these so-called reforms. After that, they were allowed home.
A month later, the dissenters were summoned once more, this time
to a fort called Jomdha Dzong, which lay to the north-east o f
Chamdo. As soon as they were inside, the building was surrounded
by 5,000 PLA troops and the captives were told that they would not
be released until they agreed to accept the reforms and promise that
they would help carry them out. After two weeks o f imprisonment,
the Khampas gave in. There seemed to be no alternative. However,
that night the guard on the fort was reduced. Seeing their opportu
nity, every one o f them escaped and took to the hills. At a stroke, the
Chinese had created a nucleus o f outlaws, which in the years to come
caused them many difficulties.
The incident at Jomdha Dzong occurred at around the same time
as I was given a copy o f a newspaper, published by the Chinese
authorities at Karze in Kham. In disbelief, I saw that it contained a
photograph o f a row o f severed heads. The caption said something
to the effect that they had belonged to "reactionary criminals’. This
was the first concrete evidence o f Chinese atrocity that I had seen.
Thereafter, I knew that every terrible thing I heard about our new
masters’ behaviour was true. The Chinese authorities, for their part,
realising the bad effect that this newspaper was having on the people,
tried to call it back - even offering to buy copies.
With this new information, coupled with the realisation that
PC ART was nothing but tzuma (eye-wash), I began to wonder
whether there could be any hope for the future. My predecessor’s
prophecy was beginning to be proved entirely accurate. I was sick at
heart. Outwardly, however, my life continued much as usual. I
prayed, meditated and studied hard under my tutors. I also continued
as usual to take part in all the religious festivals and ceremonies and
to give and receive teachings from time to time. Occasionally, I used
MR N E H R U R E G R E T S —' 109
my authority to travel and left Lhasa to visit various monasteries. One

such excursion was to Reting monastery, seat o f the former Regent,
which lay a few days’ journey to the north o f Lhasa. Shortly before
leaving, I received a letter sent from an important Tibetan already
living in exile. The situation in Lhasa had become so grave that even
I began to feel suspicious and rather than open it, I kept it on my
person, at night placing it carefully under my pillow until after I left
for Reting.
It was such a relief to get out o f the city and away from the madness
o f trying simultaneously to work with the Chinese authorities and to
limit the damage they caused. As ever, I travelled as unostentatiously
as possible and tried to remain incognito. In this way I was able to
meet with the local people and hear what they had to say. On one
particular occasion, not far from Reting, I fell into conversation with
a herdsman. 'Who are you?’ he asked. He was a tall, sturdy man with
long, shaggy hair like a yak’s. 'A servant o f the Dalai Lama,’ I replied.
We talked about his life out here in the countryside and about his
hopes and fears for the future. He knew little about the Chinese and
had never been to Lhasa. He was too busy coaxing a living for his
family from the earth, with its thin, bitter soil, to worry about what
was going on in the cities and beyond.
Yet for all his simplicity, I was delighted to find that he had a deep
religious conviction and that the Buddha Dharm a was thriving even
in this remote region. He lived the life o f peasants everywhere, in tune
with Nature and the environment, but with little interest in the world
that lay beyond his immediate horizon. I questioned him about his
experiences with local government officials. He told me that they
were mostly fair, though a few were officious. I greatly enjoyed our
talk, which gave me many useful insights. Above all I learned that,
despite this man’s total lack o f education, he was content and that,
although he had not the slightest material comfort, he was secure in
the knowledge that life for him was just as it had been for countless
generations o f his forebears and doubtless would continue the same
for his children and their children. At the same time, I realised that
this world view was no longer appropriate, that Tibet could no longer
exist in elected peaceful isolation, no matter what the outcome with
the Communist Chinese. When we finally parted company, we did so
as the best o f friends.
But the story continues. It so happened that the following day I

was called upon to address the people o f the next village that lay along
our route and give them my blessing. A makeshift throne was put out
for me and several hundred people gathered. All went well at first but
then, looking around, I saw my friend o f the day before standing
amongst the audience with a look o f abject bewilderment on his face.
He could not believe his eyes. I smiled at him, but he stared blankly
back. I felt quite sorry to have duped him.
When I actually arrived at Reting monastery, and came to pay my
respects before its most important statue, I remember that, for no
particular reason, I became very emotional. I felt a powerful sense o f
having in some way been long connected with the place. Since then,
I have often thought o f building a hermitage at Reting and spending
the rest o f my life there.
During the summer o f 1956, an incident occurred which brought me

more unhappiness than at almost any time before or since. The
Khampa/Amdowa freedom-fighters’ alliance began to have consider
able success. By M ay/June, numerous sections o f the Chinese military
road had been destroyed along with a great many bridges. As a result,
the PLA drafted in 40,000 troop reinforcements. This was exactly
what I had feared. No matter how successful the resistance was, the
Chinese would overcome it in the end by sheer force o f numbers and
superior fire-power. But I could not have predicted the aerial bomb
ing o f the monastery at Lithang in Kham. When I heard o f it, I cried.
I could not believe that human beings were capable o f such cruelty
to each other.
This bombardment was followed by the merciless torture and exe
cution o f women and children whose fathers and husbands had joined
the resistance movement and, incredibly, by the disgusting abuse o f
monks and nuns. After arrest, these simple, religious people were
forced - in public - to break their vows o f celibacy with one another
and even to kill people. I did not know what to do, but do something
I must. I immediately demanded a meeting with General Chiang
Kuo-hua, whom I informed that I was intending to write personally
to Chairman Mao. cHow are Tibetans supposed to trust the Chinese
if this is how you behave?’ I demanded. I told him point-blank that
it was wrong for them to have done such a thing. But this only started
an argument. My criticisms were an insult to the Motherland, which

wanted only to protect and assist my people. If some o f my country
men did not want reforms - reforms which would benefit the masses
because they would prevent their exploitation - then they could
expect to be punished. His reasoning was lunatic. I told him that this
could in no way justify the torture o f innocent people, still less bomb
ing them from the air.
It was a useless exercise, o f course. The General stood his ground.
My only hope was that Chairman Mao would see that his subordi
nates were disobeying his instructions.
I dispatched a letter straight away. There was no reply. So I sent
another, again via the official channel. At the same time, I persuaded
Phuntsog Wangyal to deliver a third letter personally to Mao. But this
also went unacknowledged. As the weeks went by and I had still heard
nothing from Peking, I began for the first time really to doubt the
intentions o f the Chinese leadership. This shook me. After my visit
to China, and despite the many negative impressions I had received,
my attitude towards the Communists was still basically positive. Now,
however, I began to see that Chairman Mao’s words were like a
rainbow - beautiful, but without substance.
Phuntsog Wangyal had arrived in Lhasa at the time o f the inaugura
tion o f PCART. I was very glad to see him again. He was as commit
ted as ever to Communism. After the April festivities, he accompanied
some important Chinese officials on a tour o f the outlying districts.
On his return, he told me an amusing story. One o f the Chinese high
officials had asked a peasant living in some remote farming commu
nity what he thought o f the new regime. The man replied that he was
quite happy. ‘Except for one thing. This new tax.’ ‘What new tax?’ the
official asked. ‘The clapping tax. Every time a Chinese comes to visit,
we all have to turn out and clap.’
I always felt that so long as Phuntsog Wangyal retained the confi
dence o f Chairman Mao, there was hope for Tibet. After he had left
for Peking once more, I therefore submitted a request to General
Chiang Chin-wu that he be posted to Tibet as Party Secretary. At first
the idea was accepted in principle, but there was a long gap before I
heard anything more.
At the end o f 1957, a Chinese official informed me that Phuntsog
Wangyal would no longer be coming to Tibet because he was a
112 —-' F R E E D O M IN E X I L E
dangerous man. I was amazed to hear this, as I knew that Chairman

Mao thought highly o f him. The official explained that there were
several reasons, the first and foremost being that when he had lived
in Kham, before coming to Lhasa, Phuntsog Wangyal had organised
a separate Tibetan Communist Party which was not open to member
ship by Chinese nationals. For this crime he had been demoted and
prevented from returning to Tibet. I was sorry to hear this - and even
more sad when I heard, the following year, that my old friend had
been stripped o f office and detained. Eventually, he went to jail,
where he remained, officially designated a ‘non-person’, until the late
1970s. All this despite his being a sincere and dedicated Communist,
as anyone could see. It made me realise that the Chinese leadership
was not truly Marxist, dedicated to a better world for all, but really
highly nationalistic. Actually, these people were nothing but Chinese
chauvinists posing as Communists: a collection o f narrow-minded
fanatics.
Phuntsog Wangyal is still alive, though very old now. I would very
much like to see him once more before he dies. I continue to have
a high regard for him as an old, experienced Tibetan Communist. The
present authorities in China are aware o f this and I still have hopes
that we might meet again.
One very welcome guest to Lhasa during the spring o f 1956 was
the Maharaj Kumar o f Sikkim, Crown Prince o f the tiny state which
lay along part o f our border with India not far beyond Dromo. He
was a delightful man: tall, quiet, gentle and calm, with large ears.
With him he brought wonderful news contained in the form o f a
letter from the Indian Maha Bodhi society, o f which he was President.
This organisation, which represents Buddhists throughout the sub
continent, was inviting me to attend the Buddha Jyanti celebrations
to mark the 2,500th birth anniversary o f the Lord Buddha.
I was ecstatic. For us Tibetans, India is Aryabhumi, the Land o f the
Holy. All my life I had longed to make a pilgrimage there: it was the
place that I most wanted to visit. Furthermore, an expedition to India
might provide me with the opportunity to speak with Pandit Nehru
and other heirs o f Mahatma Gandhi. I desperately wanted to be able
to make contact with the Indian Government, if only to see the way
that a democracy worked. O f course, there was a chance that the
Chinese would not let me go, but I had to try. So I took the letter
to General Fan Ming.
Unfortunately, Fan Ming was by far the most disagreeable o f the
local Chinese authorities. He received me politely enough. But when
I explained the reason for my call he grew evasive. He did not think
it sounded like a good idea. There were many reactionaries in India.
It was a dangerous place. Besides, the Preparatory Committee was
very busy and he doubted whether I could be spared. 'Anyway,1 he
said, 'it’s only an invitation from a religious society. It’s not as if it
was from the Indian Government itself. So don’t worry, you don’t
have to accept.’ I was devastated. It was obvious that the Chinese
authorities intended even to prevent me from carrying out my reli
gious duties.
A period o f several months went by during which nothing more
was heard about Buddha Jyanti. Then, sometime about the middle o f
October, Fan Ming contacted me to ask who I wanted to nominate
as leader o f the delegation: the Indians needed to know. I replied that
I would send Trijang Rinpoche, adding that the delegation was ready
to go as soon as he gave final clearance. Another two weeks went by
and I gradually began to put the whole thing out o f my mind when
suddenly Chiang Chin-wu, who had just arrived back from Peking,
came to tell me that the Chinese Government had decided that it
would be all right for me to go after all. I could hardly believe my ears.
'But be careful,’ he warned me. 'There are many reactionary elements
and spies in India. If you try to do anything with them, I want you
to realise that what happened in Hungary and Poland will happen in
Tibet.’ (He was referring to the brutal Russian response to rebellion
in those countries.) When he had finished speaking, I realised that I
should conceal my great joy and instead do my best to appear to be
very anxious. I indicated that I was genuinely surprised and concerned
at his information about imperialists and reactionaries. This reassured
Chiang and he adopted a more conciliatory tone. 'D on’t worry too
much,’ he said. 'If you have any difficulties, our Ambassador will
always be there to help you.’ With that our meeting ended. The
General stood up and, with his customary formality, took leave o f me.
As soon as he was gone, I rushed off, smiling as if my mouth would
reach my ears, to tell my personal attendants the news.
In the few days that remained before our departure, I heard an
114 —' F R E E D O M IN E X I L E
interesting story about this sudden about face by the Chinese authori
ties. It transpired that the Indian Consulate in Lhasa had asked my
officials whether I would be going to India to attend the celebrations.
On being given a negative answer, the Indians relayed this message
to their own Government - with the result that Mr Nehru personally
intervened on my behalf. However, the Chinese authorities still did
not want to let me go. It was not until General Chiang arrived back
in Lhasa and discovered that the Indian Consul had told a number
o f people about Nehru’s communication that, under threat o f harm
to Sino-Indian relations, the Chinese were forced to change their
minds.
I finally left Lhasa towards the end o f November 1956, full o f joy
at the prospect o f being able to move about freely without the con
stant supervision o f some Chinese official or other. My entourage was
quite small and, thanks to the military roads that now ran north and
south, east and west linking all o f Tibet with China, we were able to
travel almost the whole way to Sikkim by car. At Shigatse we paused
to pick up the Panchen Lama and then continued on to Chumbi-
thang, the last settlement before the Nathu pass, where the border
lay. There we exchanged cars for horses and I bade farewell to General
Tin Ming-yi, who had accompanied us from Lhasa. He seemed genu
inely sorry to see me go. I think that he was convinced that my life
was in danger from foreign imperialists, spies, revanchists and all the
other demons in the Communist pantheon. He gave me another
warning along the lines o f General Chiang’s and urged me to be
careful, adding that I must explain to any foreign reactionaries I met
all about Tibet’s great progress since ‘Liberation’. If they didn’t be
lieve me, he said, they could come to Tibet and see for themselves.
I assured him that I would do my best. With that I turned to mount
my pony and began the long trek up into the mists.
At the top o f the Nathu pass there stood a large cairn set about with
colourful prayer-flags. As is the custom, we each added a stone to the
cairn and shouted out, cLha G yalLo!y (‘Victory to the gods!), at the
top o f our voices before beginning the descent into the Kingdom o f
Sikkim.
On the other side, just below the pass, we were met in the mist by
a welcoming party consisting o f a military band, which played both
the Tibetan and Indian national anthems, and several officials. One
o f these was Mr Apa B. Pant, formerly Indian Consul in Lhasa and

now Political Officer in Sikkim. Also present was Sonam Topgyal
Kazi, a Sikkimese who was to be my translator throughout the visit.
And, o f course, my friend Thondup Namgyal, the Maharaj Kumar,
was there too.
From the border, I was escorted down to a small settlement on the
edge o f Lake Tsongo, where we were to spend the night. It was by
now very dark and cold and snow lay deep on the ground. On arrival,
I received a wonderful surprise - both Taktser Rinpoche and Gyalo
Thondup, neither o f whom I had seen for several years now, were
there to greet me. Lobsang Sam ten and little Tenzin Choegyal had
both travelled with me, so, for the first time in our lives, all five
brothers were together.
The following day, we moved on to Gangtok, capital o f Sikkim,
first by pony, then by jeep and then, for the final leg o f the journey,
by saloon. At this point, I was met by the Maharajah o f Sikkim, Sir
Tashi Namgyal, whose car it was. There followed an amusing, but
telling incident. Just as we were entering Gangtok, the convoy paused
amongst a large crowd o f people that had gathered. Thousands o f
people, including many joyful schoolchildren, pressed in from all
sides, throwing katas and flowers, and prevented us from moving,
when suddenly, an anonymous, young Chinese appeared from no
where. Without a word, he tore down the Tibetan flag that flew from
one wing o f the car, opposite the Sikkimese state flag, and replaced
it with a Chinese pennant.
We spent one night in Gangtok before leaving very early the next
morning for Bagdogra airport. It was an unpleasant journey, I recall.
I was very tired from having travelled all the way from Lhasa and,
moreover, there had been a state banquet the night before. On top
o f that, I was, to my dismay, given noodles for breakfast, and then
the heat in the car as we descended to the Indian plains was stifling.
The aeroplane that was waiting for us was much more comfortable
than the one I had flown in in China. It took us to Allahabad, where
we stopped for lunch, and then to Palam airport in New Delhi. As
we sped along, thousands o f feet above the teeming Indian towns and
countryside, I reflected on how different India felt from China. I had
been there for no time at all, but already I was aware o f an immense
gulf between the way o f life o f the two countries. Somehow, India
seemed so much more open and at ease with herself.

This impression was reinforced when we landed at the Indian capi
tal. A large guard o f honour awaited us, along with Mr Nehru, the
Prime Minister, and Dr Radhakrishnan, the Vice-President. There
was more show and ceremony than anything I had seen in China but,
at the same time, every word that was spoken, whether in greeting by
the Prime Minister or in private by a minor official, had an undertone
o f sincerity. People expressed their real feelings and did not say just
what they thought they ought to say. There was no artifice.
From the airport I was taken directly to Rashtrapathi Bhavan to
meet the President o f India, Dr Rajendra Prasad. I found him to be
quite an old man, slow and very humble. He contrasted hugely with
his aide-de-camp, a tall, splendid man in an impressive uniform, and
with his very grand, ceremonial bodyguards.
The following day, I made a pilgrimage to Rajghat on the banks
o f the Jamuna river, where Mahatma Gandhi was cremated. It was a
calm and beautiful spot and I felt very grateful to be there, the guest
o f a people who, like mine, had endured foreign domination; grateful
also to be in the country that had adopted Ahimsa, the Mahatma’s
doctrine o f non-violence. As I stood praying, I experienced simulta
neously great sadness at not being able to meet Gandhi in person and
great joy at the magnificent example o f his life. To me, he was - and
is - the consummate politician, a man who put his belief in altruism
above any personal considerations. I was convinced too that his devo
tion to the cause o f non-violence was the only way to conduct politics.
The next few days were taken up with the Buddha Jyanti celebra
tions. During these, I spoke o f my belief that the teachings o f the
Lord Buddha could lead not only to peace in the lives o f individuals,
but also to peace between nations. I also took the opportunity to have
discussions with many Gandhians about how India had achieved inde
pendence through non-violence.
One o f my main discoveries about India at this point was that,
although the banquets and receptions to which I was frequently
invited were considerably less elaborate than those I had attended in
China, the prevailing atmosphere o f sincerity meant that there was an
opportunity for genuine friendship to develop. This was in direct
contrast to my experience in the People’s Republic, where the received
opinion was that you can change people’s minds by bullying them. I
could now make comparisons and see for myself that this was faulty
thinking. Only through the development o f mutual respect, and in
a spirit o f truth, can friendship come about. By these means it is
possible to move human minds, but never by force.
As a result o f these observations, and mindful o f an old Tibetan
saying that a prisoner who once manages to escape should not go
back, I began to consider remaining in India. I made up my mind to
explore the possibility o f seeking political asylum when I met with
Pandit Nehru, which I did soon after.
In fact, I met with the Prime Minister on several occasions. He was
a tall, good-looking man, whose Nordic features were emphasised by
his small Gandhi cap. Compared with Mao, he appeared to have less
self-assurance, but then there was nothing dictatorial about him. He
seemed honest - which was why he was later deceived by Chou En-lai.
The first time we met, I took the opportunity to explain in detail the
full story o f how the Chinese had invaded our peaceful land, o f how
unprepared we were to meet an enemy and o f how hard I had tried
to accommodate the Chinese as soon as I was aware that no one in
the outside world was prepared to acknowledge our rightful claim to
independence.
At first he listened and nodded politely. But I suppose that my
passionate speech must have been too long for him and after a while
he appeared to lose concentration, as if he was about to nod off.
Finally, he looked up at me and said that he understood what I was
saying. 'But you must realise,’ he went on somewhat impatiently, 'that
India cannot support you.’ As he spoke in clear, beautiful English, his
long lower lip quivered as if vibrating in sympathy with the sound o f
his voice.
This was bad, but not entirely unexpected news. And although
Nehru had now made his position clear, I continued by saying that
I was considering seeking exile in India. Again he demurred. 'You
must go back to your country and try to work with the Chinese on
the basis o f the Seventeen-Point "Agreement” .’ I protested that I had
already tried my utmost to do so, adding that every time I thought
I had reached an understanding with the Chinese authorities, they
broke my trust. And now the situation in eastern Tibet was so bad that
I feared a massive, violent reprisal which could end up destroying the
whole nation. How could I possibly believe that the Seventeen-Point
'Agreement’ was workable any longer? Finally, Nehru said that he

would speak on the subject personally to Chou En-lai, who was due
in Delhi the very next day en route to Europe. He would also arrange
for me to meet the Chinese Minister.
Nehru was as good as his word and, the following morning, I went
with him to Palam airport where he arranged for me to see Chou that
evening. When we met again I found my old friend just as I remem
bered him: full o f charm, smiles and deceit. But I did not respond to
his artful manners. Instead, I told him quite straightforwardly o f my
concern about how the Chinese authorities were behaving in eastern
Tibet. I also pointed out the marked difference I had noticed between
the Indian Parliament and the Chinese system o f government: the
freedom o f people in India to express themselves as they really felt and
to criticise the Government if they thought it necessary. As usual,
Chou listened carefully before replying with words that positively
caressed the ear. 'You were present in China only at the time o f the
First Assembly,’ he said. 'Since then, the Second Assembly has met
and everything has changed immeasurably for the better.’ I did not
believe him, but it was useless to argue. Then he said that he had
heard a rumour that I was considering staying in India. It would be
a mistake, he warned. My country needed me. That was perhaps true,
but I left feeling that we had resolved nothing.
My two brothers, Taktser Rinpoche and Gyalo Thondup, also met
with Chou, or 'Chew and Lie’ as one Indian newspaper later called
him, whilst he was in Delhi. They were even more forthright than I
was and told him that they had no intention o f returning to Lhasa,
despite his entreaties with them to do so. Meanwhile, I began at last
my pilgrimage to the holy places o f India, during which I tried to put
politics out o f my mind. Unfortunately, I found it almost impossible
to shake off anxious thoughts about the fate o f my country. The
Panchen Lama, who accompanied me everywhere, was a constant
reminder o f our terrible situation. N o longer was he the kind and
humble boy I had known before: the constant pressure put upon his
adolescent mind by the Chinese had had an inevitable effect.
Still, I found a few moments when I was able to give myself wholly
to deep feelings o f joy and veneration as I journeyed across the coun
try from Sanchi to Ajanta, then to Bodh Gaya and Sarnath: I felt that
MR N E H R U R E GR E T S 119
I had returned to my spiritual home. Everything seemed somehow

familiar.
In Bihar, I visited Nalanda, site o f the greatest and most famous
Buddhist university which had lain in ruins for hundreds o f years.
Many Tibetan scholars had studied there and now, as I looked at the
pitiful piles o f rubble that marked the birthplace o f some o f the most
profound Buddhist thought, I saw again how true is the doctrine o f
Impermanence.
Finally, I reached Bodh Gaya. I was deeply moved to be at the very
place where the Lord Buddha had attained Enlightenment. But my
happiness did not last long. Whilst there, I received a message from
my Chinese escorts saying that Chou En-lai was returning to Delhi
and wanted to see me. Then in Sarnath, I received a telegram from
General Chiang Chin-wu requesting that I return to Lhasa forthwith.
Subversive reactionaries and imperialist collaborators were planning a
revolt and my presence was required urgently, it said.
I returned to Delhi by train and was met by the Chinese Ambassa
dor at the station. To the alarm o f my Lord Chamberlain and my
bodyguard, he insisted that I travel with him in his car to the Em
bassy, where I met with Chou En-lai. The two men feared that I
might be kidnapped and when they reached the Embassy were uncer
tain whether I was really there or not, so they asked someone there
to take a sweater up to me to see what their reaction was. Meanwhile,
I was having a frank discussion with Chou. He told me that the
situation in Tibet had deteriorated, indicating that the Chinese au
thorities were ready to use force to crush any popular uprising.
At this point I restated bluntly my concern at the way the Chinese
were behaving in Tibet, forcing on us unwanted reforms, despite
explicit reassurances that they would do no such thing. Again he
replied with great charm, saying that Chairman Mao had announced
that no reform should be introduced in Tibet for at least the next six
years. And if after that we were still not ready, they could be post
poned for fifty years if necessary: China was only there to help us. Still
I was not convinced. Chou continued, saying he understood that I
was planning to pay a visit to Kalimpong. This was true. I had been
asked to deliver teachings to the large Tibetan population that lived
there. He strongly advised me not to do so as it was ‘full o f spies and
reactionary elements’. He added that I should be careful o f which
Indian officials I trusted: that some were good, but that others were
dangerous. Then he changed the subject. Would I, he asked, be
prepared to return to Nalanda and, in my capacity as a representative
o f the People’s Republic o f China, present to the organisation there
a cheque and a relic o f T ’ang Sen, the Chinese spiritual master?
Knowing that Pandit Nehru would be present at this function, I
accepted.
When I saw him next, the Indian Prime Minister had with him a
copy o f the Seventeen-Point ‘Agreement’. Again, he urged me to
return to Tibet and to work with the Chinese on the basis o f the
‘Agreement’. There was no alternative, he said, adding that he must
make it clear that India could be o f no assistance to Tibet. He also
told me that I should do as Chou En-lai said and return to Lhasa
without stopping at Kalimpong. But when I pressed him on this
point, he suddenly changed his mind. ‘India is a free country, after
all,’ he said. ‘You would not be breaking any o f her laws.’ He then
undertook to make all the necessary arrangements for the visit.
It was February 1957 when I journeyed by train with my small
entourage to Calcutta. On the way, I remember that my mother,
unaware o f any restrictions and feeling totally unrestrained, brought
out a small stove and cooked a most delicious thugpa (traditional
Tibetan noodle soup). After our arrival in the capital o f West Bengal,
we remained a few days before flying north to Bagdogra, where the
foothills o f the Himalayas begin their craggy ascent from the hot
immensity o f the Indian plains. For the final leg o f the journey we
travelled by jeep. When we reached Kalimpong I went to stay in the
same house, owned by a Bhutanese family, that my predecessor had
stayed in once during his period o f exile in India. They gave me the
very same room that he had used. It was a strange feeling to be there
under such similar circumstances. The family o f this very friendly
household was that o f the Bhutanese Prime Minister, who was later
assassinated. There were three young sons, the smallest o f which took
a great interest in their guest. He kept coming up to my room as if
to check up on me. Then, laughing, he would slide down the banis
ters.
N ot long after my arrival I was met by Lukhangwa, my former
Prime Minister, who had recently arrived from Lhasa, ostensibly on
a pilgrimage. I was very pleased to see him, although I quickly discov-
cred that he was utterly opposed to my returning home. My two

brothers, who had likewise travelled to Kalimpong, agreed with him
and now began to try to persuade me to stay. The three o f them also
begged the Kasha# not to let me return. Whilst in Bodh Gaya, my
brothers had made contact with a number o f sympathetic Indian
politicians, one o f whom - Jaya Prakash Narayan - had promised on
some future appropriate occasion to raise India’s voice in support o f
Tibetan freedom. My brothers, Lukhangwa and one or two others
were certain that when this happened, Nehru would be forced to
support Tibetan independence. After all, it did not benefit India to
have Chinese troops on her northern border. But I was not con
vinced. I asked Ngabo Ngawang Jigme (the leader o f the delegation
which had been forced to sign the Seventeen-Point ‘Agreement’),
who was also in my entourage, what he thought. His advice was that
if it were possible to come up with a definite plan, then it might be
worthwhile to consider staying. But in the absence o f anything con
crete, he felt that I had no alternative but to return.
I consulted the oracle. There are three principal oracles whose
advice the Dalai Lama can seek. Two o f them, Nechung and Gadong,
were present. Both said that I should return. Lukhangwa came in
during one o f these consultations, at which the oracle grew angry,
telling him to remain outside. It was as if the oracle knew that Luk
hangwa had made up his mind. But Lukhangwa ignored him and sat
down all the same. Afterwards he came up to me and said, ‘When men
become desperate they consult the gods. And when the gods become
desperate, they tell lies!’
My two brothers were adamant that I should not return to Tibet.
Like Lukhangwa, they were both powerful and persuasive men. Nei
ther could understand my hesitation. They believed that with the very
existence o f the Tibetan people under threat, it was essential to con
front the Chinese in any way possible. The best way to do this, they
felt, was for me to remain in India. It would then be possible to seek
foreign support, which they were sure would be easy to obtain. They
were convinced that America would help us.
Although there was no talk at this time o f an armed struggle against
the Chinese, my brothers, unbeknown to me, had already made con
tact with the American Central Intelligence Agency. Apparently, the
Americans felt that it was worthwhile to provide limited assistance to
the Tibetan freedom fighters, not because they cared about Tibetan
independence, but as part o f their worldwide efforts to destabilise all
Communist governments. To this end they undertook to supply a
limited amount o f simple weaponry to the freedom fighters by air
drop. They also made plans for the CIA to train some o f them in
techniques o f guerrilla warfare and then parachute them back into
Tibet. Naturally, my brothers judged it wise to keep this information
from me. They knew what my reaction would have been.
When I explained that, although I could see the logic o f their
arguments, I could not accept them, Gyalo Thondup began to show
signs o f agitation. He was - and still is - the most fiercely patriotic
o f my brothers. He has a very strong character and a tendency to be
single-minded to the point o f stubbornness. But his heart is good and,
o f all o f us, he was the most affected when our mother died. He cried
a great deal. Taktser Rinpoche is milder mannered than Gyalo
Thondup, but underneath his calm and jovial exterior there lies a
tough and unyielding core. He is good in a crisis, but on this occasion
he too showed signs o f exasperation. In the end, neither prevailed and
I made up my mind to return to Tibet to give the Chinese one last
try, in accordance both with the advice o f Nehru and the assurances
o f Chou En-lai.
After leaving Kalimpong, I was compelled to remain in Gangtok for
a full month before being able to cross the Nathu pass once more.
But I did not regret this at all and I took the opportunity to give
teachings to the local population.
Finally, and with a heavy heart, I set out for the return journey to
Lhasa towards the end o f March 1957. My sadness was increased by
Lobsang Samten’s last-minute decision to remain in India due to his
poor physical condition following a recent operation for appendicitis.
When I reached the border and bade farewell to the last o f my Indian
friends - all o f whom wept - my spirits sank even lower. Fluttering
amongst the colourful Tibetan prayer-flags were at least a dozen
blood-red banners proclaiming the People’s Republic o f China. It was
no consolation at all that General Jin Raorong had come to meet me.
For, although he was a good and sincere man, I could not help
thinking o f him in terms o f the military uniform that he wore, rather
than in terms o f ‘liberation’.
7
ESCAPE INTO EXILE
O
nce over the Tibetan border, I drove back to Lhasa via
Dromo, Gyantse and Shigatse. At each place I addressed
large public gatherings, to which I invited both Tibetan
and Chinese officials. As usual, I gave a short, spiritual
teaching combined with what I had to say about temporal matters.
In doing so, I laid great emphasis on the obligation o f all Tibetans
to deal honestly and justly with the Chinese authorities. I insisted that
it was the duty o f everyone to right wrongs whenever they saw them,
no matter who had committed them. I also urged my people to
adhere strictly to the principles o f the Seventeen-Point ‘Agreement’.
I told them o f my talks with Nehru and Chou En-lai and o f how,
during the first week o f February that year, Chairman Mao himself
had publicly acknowledged that Tibet was not yet ready for reform.
Finally, I reminded them o f the Chinese claim that they were in Tibet
to help Tibetans. If any o f the authorities failed to be co-operative,
they were acting against Communist Party policy. I added that others
could be left to sing praises, but we, according to Chairman M ao’s
own directive, should be self-critical. At this, the Chinese present
became clearly uncomfortable.
In this way I tried to assure my people that I was doing all I could
for them and to send warning to our new, foreign masters that, from
now on, there would be no hesitation in pointing out malpractices
whenever necessary. However, at every stage along the journey, my
123
forced optimism was dealt fresh blows by the news and reports o f
widespread fighting in the east. Then one day, General Tan Kuan-sen,
the Political Commissar, came to meet me and asked that I send a
representative to ask the freedom fighters to lay down their arms.
Since this was my own wish, I agreed to do so and sent a lama to talk
with them. But they did not, and by the time I reached Lhasa on 1
April 1957, I knew that the situation throughout Tibet was rapidly
slipping not only from Chinese control, but also from my own.
In midsummer there was open warfare throughout Kham and
Amdo. The freedom fighters, under the command o f a man named
Gompo Tashi, were increasing their numbers on a daily basis and
becoming ever more audacious in their raids. The Chinese, for their
part, showed no restraint. As well as using aircraft to bomb towns and
villages, whole areas were laid waste by artillery barrage. The result
was that thousands o f people from Kham and Amdo had fled to Lhasa
and were now camped on the plains outside the city. Some o f the
stories they brought with them were so horrifying that I did not really
believe them for many years. The methods that the Chinese used to
intimidate the population were so abhorrent that they were almost
beyond the capacity o f my imagination. It was not until I read the
report published in 1959 by the International Commission o f Jurists
that I fully accepted what I had heard: crucifixion, vivisection,
disembowelling and dismemberment o f victims was commonplace. So
too were beheading, burning, beating to death and burying alive, not
to mention dragging people behind galloping horses until they died
or hanging them upside down or throwing them bound hand and
foot into icy water. And, in order to prevent them shouting out,
‘Long live the Dalai Lama’, on the way to execution, they tore out
their tongues with meat hooks.
Realising that disaster was in the offing, I announced that I would
present myself for my final monastic examinations during the Monlam
festival o f 1959, eighteen months from now. I felt that I must gradu
ate as soon as possible, lest time run out. At the same time, I began
very much to look forward to the arrival in Lhasa o f Pandit Nehru,
who had accepted my invitation (warmly approved by the Chinese
Ambassador) to visit Tibet the following year. I hoped that his pres
ence would compel the Chinese authorities to start behaving in a
civilised way.
ESCAPE INTO KXILE 125
Meanwhile, life in the capital continued much as it always had since

the Chinese first arrived six years before, although they themselves
became significantly more aggressive. From now on, whenever the
Generals came to see me, they were armed. They did not wear their
guns openly, however, but concealed them under their clothes. This
forced them to adopt very awkward positions when they sat down,
and even then the barrels were clearly visible. When they spoke, they
continued to offer me the usual assurances, but their faces betrayed
their real feelings by turning the colour o f radishes.
Also, the Preparatory Committee continued to meet on a regular
basis to discuss meaningless policy amendments. It was extraordinary
to what lengths the Chinese authorities went to provide a fagade
behind which they could carry out their abominations elsewhere in
the country. I felt powerless. Yet I was certain that if I resigned (which
I did consider doing) or opposed the Chinese directly, the conse
quences would be devastating. And I could not allow Lhasa and those
areas o f Tibet that were not so far engulfed in bloodshed to succumb
as well. Already there were at least eight divisions o f the PLA operat
ing in the east: over 150,000 trained men with sophisticated battle
field technology confronting an irregular band o f horsemen and
mountain warriors. The more I thought about the future, the less
hope I felt. It seemed that no matter what I or any o f my people did,
sooner or later all o f Tibet would be turned into a mere vassal state
in the new Chinese Empire, without religious or cultural freedoms,
let alone those o f free speech.
Life at the Norbulingka, where I stayed permanently now, also
continued much as ever. The thousands o f gilded Buddhas that stood
flickering in the gentle light o f countless butter lamps were a pointed
reminder that we live in a world o f Impermanence and Illusion. My
routine was much the same as it always had been, although now I got
up earlier, usually before five o ’clock, to pray and study texts alone for
the first part o f the morning. Later on, one o f my tutors would come
to discuss the texts I was reading. Then we would be joined by my
tsenshap, o f whom there were now four, and I spent much o f the rest
o f the day debating - for this was how I would be examined. And,
as usual, I would, on certain days o f the calendar, preside over a puja
in one o f the many palace shrine-rooms.
Lhasa itself had changed considerably since the Chinese invasion,
however. A whole new district had sprung up to accommodate the

Communist officials and their dependents. Already there was evidence
o f a modern Chinese city which would one day swamp the ancient
capital. They had built a hospital and a new school - although I regret
to say that these were o f little benefit to the Tibetan population - and
several new barracks. Also, in view o f the deteriorating situation, the
military had begun to dig trenches around their quarters and fortify
them with sandbags. And now when they went out, whereas before
they had felt secure enough to go in pairs (though never alone), they
did so only in convoys. But my contact with this world was slight and
most o f my information about it came from the dismal reports
brought to me by my sweepers and various officials.
In the spring o f 1958, I moved into a new palace at the Nor-
bulingka, it being the tradition for each successive Dalai Lama to
found his own building within the Jewel Park. Like the others, mine
was quite small and designed to be used as no more than my own
personal living quarters. What made it special, however, were the
modern fittings and appliances with which it was furnished. I had a
modern, iron bed in place o f my old wooden box; and there was a
bathroom complete with running water. There was plumbing for
heating it too, but unfortunately my tenure at the Norbulingka was
interrupted before it could be got to work properly. Electric lighting
was also fitted throughout, on both floors. In my audience-room I
had chairs and tables rather than the traditional Tibetan cushions (for
the benefit o f foreign visitors), as well as a large radio, a gift from the
Indian Government, if I remember correctly. It was the perfect home.
Outside, there was a small pond and a beautiful rockery and a garden
whose planting I personally supervised. Everything grows well in
Lhasa and it was soon electric with colour. Altogether, I was ex
tremely happy there, but not for long.
The fighting throughout Kham and Amdo and now central Tibet
continued to gain momentum. By early summer several tens o f thou
sands o f freedom fighters had joined forces and were pressing home
their raids closer and closer to Lhasa, despite being poorly supplied
with small arms and ammunition. Some o f what they had was cap
tured from the Chinese, some o f it had come from a raid on a Tibetan
Government ammunition dump near Tashilhunpo, and a small
ESCAPE INTO EXILE 127
amount o f it had duly materialised courtesy o f the CIA, but they were
still hopelessly ill-equipped.
When I went into exile, I heard stories o f how weapons and money
were dropped into Tibet by aircraft. However, these missions caused
almost more harm to the Tibetans than to the Chinese forces. Because
the Americans did not want their assistance to be attributable, they
took care not to supply US-manufactured equipment. Instead, they
dropped only a few badly made bazookas and some ancient British
rifles which had once been in general service throughout India and
Pakistan and thus could not be traced to their source in the event o f
capture. But the mishandling they received whilst being air-dropped
rendered them almost useless.
Naturally, I never saw any o f the fighting but, during the 1970s,
an old lama who had recently escaped from Tibet told me o f how he
had observed a skirmish from his hermitage cell high up in the moun
tains in a remote part o f Amdo. A small posse o f six horsemen had
attacked a PLA encampment several hundred strong, just near the
bend o f a river. The result was chaos. The Chinese panicked and
started shooting wildly in all directions, killing large numbers o f their
own troops. Meanwhile the horsemen, having escaped across the
river, turned back and, approaching from a different direction, at
tacked again from the flank before disappearing into the hills. I was
very moved to hear o f such bravery.
The inevitable crisis point was finally reached during the second
half o f 1958, when members o f Chushi Gangdruk, the freedom-fight
ers5alliance, besieged a major PLA garrison at Tsethang, hardly more
than two days’ travel from the gates o f Lhasa itself. At this point, I
began to see more and more o f General Tan Kuan-sen. He looked like
a peasant and had yellow teeth and close-cropped hair, and he now
came on an almost weekly basis, accompanied by very arrogant inter
preters, to urge, cajole and abuse me. Previously his visits had rarely
been more than once a month. As a result, I grew to loathe my new
audience-room at the Norbulingka. Its very atmosphere was tainted
by the tension o f our interviews and I began to dread going in there.
At first the General demanded that I mobilise the Tibetan army
against the "rebels’. It was my duty to do so, he said. He was furious
when I pointed out that if I did, he could be sure that the soldiers
would take it as an opportunity to go over to the side o f the freedom
fighters. After this he confined himself to railing against the ungrate

fulness o f Tibetans and saying that it would all end badly for us.
Finally, he identified Taktser Rinpoche and Gyalo Thondup and sev
eral o f my ex-officials (each o f whom was out o f the country) as
culprits and ordered me to revoke their Tibetan citizenship. This I
did, thinking that firstly they were abroad and therefore safe, and
secondly that for the time being it was better to acquiesce than pro
voke the Chinese into open military confrontation within Lhasa itself.
I wanted to avoid this by almost any means. I felt that if the people
o f Lhasa became involved in fighting, there could be no hope o f
restoring peace.
Meanwhile, the freedom fighters were in no mood to compromise.
They even tried to secure my approval for what they were doing. AJas
I could not give it, even though as a young man and a patriot I had
some thought now to do so. I was still pinning hope on Nehru’s
impending visit, but at the last moment the Chinese authorities can
celled it. General Tan Kuan-sen announced that he could not guaran
tee the Indian Prime Minister’s safety and the invitation would have
to be withdrawn. This was a disaster, I felt.
At the end o f summer 1 9 5 8 ,1 went to Drepung, followed by Sera
monastery, for the initial part o f my final monastic examination. This
involved several days o f debates with the most outstanding scholars o f
these two centres o f learning. The first day at Drepung began with the
wonderfully harmonious chanting o f several thousand monks in the
public assembly hall. Their praise o f the Buddha, his saints and succes
sors (many o f them Indian sages and teachers), moved me to tears.
Before leaving Drepung, I went, as per tradition, to the top o f the
tallest mountain behind the monastery, from which it was possible to
obtain a panoramic view over literally hundreds o f miles. It was so
high that even for Tibetans there was a danger o f altitude sickness -
but not too high for the beautiful birds that nested far above the
plateau, nor the profusion o f wild flowers known in Tibetan as upel.
These spectacular plants were light blue in colour, tall and thorny,
and shaped like a delphinium.
Unfortunately, these pleasant observations were marred by the fact
that it was necessary to deploy Tibetan soldiers in the mountains to
protect me. For just in front o f Drepung, there was a Chinese military
garrison, set about with barbed wire and bunkers, within whose per
imeter could be heard troops practising with small arms and artillery
every day.
When I returned to Lhasa after my examinations were over, I
learned that, so far, I had passed very well. One o f the abbots, a most
learned monk named Pema Gyaltsen, told me that if I had had the
same opportunities for study as an ordinary monk, my performance
would have been unsurpassed. So I felt very happy that this lazy
student did not in the end disgrace himself.
Back in the capital, after this short interlude o f sanity, I found the
situation considerably worse than when I left. Thousands more refu
gees from Chinese atrocity outside Lhasa had arrived and were biv
ouacked on its outskirts. By now, the Tibetan population o f the city
must have been about double the usual number. Yet still there was an
uneasy truce and no fighting actually took place. All the same, when,
during the autumn, I went to Ganden to continue my debates, I was
encouraged by some o f my advisors to take the opportunity to head
south, where much o f the country was in the hands o f the ‘defenders
o f the Buddha Dharma ’. The tentative plan was that I should then
repudiate the Seventeen-Point ‘Agreement’ and reinstate my own
Government as the rightful administration o f Tibet. I gave serious
thought to their proposition, but I was again forced to conclude that
to do so would achieve nothing positive. Such a declaration would
only provoke the Chinese into launching a full-scale attack.
So I returned to Lhasa to continue my studies throughout the
long, cold, winter months. I had one final examination to take during
Monlam at the beginning o f the following year. It was hard to concen
trate on my work. Almost every day I heard new reports o f Chinese
outrages against the non-combatant population. Sometimes the news
was favourable to Tibet - but this gave me no comfort. Only the
thought o f my responsibility to the six million Tibetans kept me
going. That and my faith. Early every morning, as I sat in prayer in
my room before the ancient altar with its clutter o f statuettes standing
in silent benediction, I concentrated hard on developing compassion
for all sentient beings. I reminded myself constantly o f the Buddha’s
teaching that our enemy is in a sense our greatest teacher. And if this
was sometimes hard to do, I never really doubted that it was so.
At last the New Year came upon us and I left the Norbulingka to
take up residence at the Jokhang for the Monlam festival, after which
came my final examination. Just before I did so, I received General

Chiang Chin-wu, who came, as was his custom, with a New Year
message. He also announced the arrival in Lhasa o f a new dance
troupe from China. Might I be interested to see them? I replied that
I would be. He then said that they could perform anywhere, but since
there was a proper stage with footlights at the Chinese military head
quarters, it might be better if I could go there. This made sense as
there were no such facilities at the Norbulingka, so I indicated that
I would be happy to do so.
When I arrived at the Jokhang, I found, as I had expected, more
people thronging the temple than ever before. In addition to the laity
drawn from the furthest reaches o f Tibet, there must have been 25-
30,000 monks mingled with the huge crowd.
Each day, the Barkhor and Lingkhor were packed with devotees
earnestly circumambulating. Some went, prayer-wheel in hand, chant
ing the sacred words cOm M ani Padme H um \ almost our national
mantra. Others silently clasped their hands to forehead, to throat and
to heart before prostrating themselves full-length on the ground. The
market-place in front o f the temple was also bursting with people:
women, in floor-length dresses decorated with colourful aprons;
jaunty Khampas, their long hair tied with bright red braid and rifles
slung across their shoulders; wizened nomads from the hills; and
everywhere gleeful children.
Never had I seen such bustle as I squinted through the curtains o f
my apartment windows. Only this year there was an air o f expectancy
that even I, secluded as I was, could not fail to notice. It was as if
everyone knew that something momentous was about to happen.
Shortly after the main Monlam ceremony was over (the one involv
ing a long recital), two junior Chinese officials came unannounced to
renew General Chiang Chin-wu’s invitation to see the dance troupe.
They also asked for a date when I could attend. I replied that I would
be pleased to go after the festival was over. But for the moment I had
rather more important things to think about, namely my final exami
nation, which was soon to take place.
The night beforehand I prayed earnestly and, as I did so, felt more
deeply than ever before the awesome, unending responsibility that my
office entails. Then, next morning, I presented myself for the debates
which were to be held before an audience o f many thousands o f
people. Before noon the subject was logic and epistemology, and my
opponents were undergraduates like myself. In the middle o f the day,
the topics were Madhyamika and Prajnaparam ita, again debated with
undergraduates. Then in the evening, all five major subjects were
hurled at me, this time by graduates, all o f them considerably older
and more experienced than myself. At last, at around seven o ’clock
in the evening, it was all over. I felt exhausted - but relieved and
delighted that the panel o f judges had unanimously agreed that I was
worthy to receive my degree and with it the title o fgeshey or Doctor
o f Buddhist Studies. On 5 March, I left the Jokhang to return to the
Norbulingka, as usual in a splendid procession. For the last time, the
full pageantry o f more than a thousand years o f uninterrupted civilisa
tion was on display. My bodyguard, dressed in their brightly coloured
ceremonial uniforms, surrounded the palanquin in which I rode.
Beyond them were the members o f the Kashapf and nobles o f Lhasa
sumptuously clad in silk and flowing robes, their horses stepping high
as if they knew that the bits in their mouths were made o f gold.
Behind them came the most eminent abbots and lamas in the land,
some lean and ascetic, others looking more like prosperous merchants
than the highly evolved spiritual masters they were.
Finally, thousands upon thousands o f citizens lined the route, and
the road was packed with eager spectators along the full four-mile
distance between the two buildings. The only people missing were the
Chinese who, for the first time since their arrival, had neglected to
send a contingent. This did nothing to reassure either my bodyguard
or the army. The latter had posted men up in the hills nearby, ostensi
bly to 'protect’ me from the freedom fighters. But in reality they had
a very different enemy in mind. My bodyguards had a similar fear.
Several o f them openly established a position and kept their Bren gun
pointing at the Chinese military headquarters.
It was not until two days later that I again had indirect communica
tion with the Chinese authorities. They wanted to know for definite
when I would be free to attend the theatrical show. I replied that the
10th o f March would be convenient. Two days later, the day before
the performance, some Chinese called on the Kusun Deport, com
mander o f my bodyguard, at home, saying that they had been told
to take him to the headquarters o f Brigadier Fu, the military advisor.
He wanted to brief him about arrangements for my visit the following

evening.
The Brigadier began by telling him that the Chinese authorities
wanted us to dispense with the usual formality and ceremony o f my
visits. Pointedly, he insisted that no Tibetan soldiers accompany me,
only two or three unarmed bodyguards if absolutely necessary, adding
that they wanted the whole affair to be conducted in absolute secrecy.
These all seemed strange requests and there was much discussion
about them amongst my advisors afterwards. Nevertheless, all agreed
that I could not refuse without causing a severe breach o f diplomacy
which might have very negative consequences. So I agreed to go with
a minimum o f fuss and to take along only a handful o f staff.
Tenzin Choegyal, my younger brother, was also invited. He was by
this time studying at Drepung monastery, so he was to travel indepen
dently. In the meantime, word went out that on the following day
there were to be traffic restrictions in the vicinity o f the stone bridge
that led over the river adjacent to the Chinese headquarters.
O f course, it was completely impossible for my movements to be
kept secret and the very fact that the Chinese wanted to do so shocked
my people, who were already greatly concerned about my safety. The
news spread like flames on dry grass.
The result was catastrophic. Next morning, after my prayers and
then breakfast, I went outside in the quiet early morning light for a
walk in the garden. Suddenly, I was startled by shouting in the dis
tance. I hurried back inside and instructed some attendants to find out
what the noise was all about. When they came back, they explained
that people were pouring out o f Lhasa and heading in our direction.
They had decided to come and protect me from the Chinese. All
morning their numbers grew. Some remained in groups at each en
trance to the Jewel Park, others began to circumambulate it. By noon
an estimated thirty thousand people had gathered. And during the
morning, three members o f the Kashag had difficulty getting past the
crowds at the front entrance. The people were showing hostility to
anyone they thought guilty o f collaboration with the Chinese. One
senior official, who was accompanied in his car by a bodyguard, was
stoned and badly injured because people thought he was a traitor.
They were mistaken. (During the 1980s, his son, who was a member
o f the delegation forced to sign the Seventeen-Point 'Agreement’,
came to India, where he wrote a detailed account o f what really

happened.) But later, someone was actually killed.
I was appalled at this news. Something had to be done to defuse
the situation. It sounded to me as though, in a fit o f anger, the crowd
might even be tempted to attack the Chinese garrison. A number o f
popular leaders had been spontaneously elected and were calling for
the Chinese to leave Tibet to the Tibetans. I prayed for calm. At the
same time I realised that whatever my own personal feelings might be,
there was no question o f my going over to the Chinese headquarters
that evening. Accordingly, my Lord Chamberlain telephoned to pass
on my regrets, adding, on my instructions, that I hoped normality
would be restored very soon and that the crowds could be persuaded
to disperse.
However, the crowd at the gates o f the Norbulingka was deter
mined not to move. As far as the people and their leaders were
concerned, the life o f the Dalai Lama was in danger from the Chinese
and they would not leave until I gave a personal assurance that I
would not go to the Chinese military headquarters that night. This
I did, via one o f my officials. But it was not enough. They then
demanded that I should never go to the camp. Again they were given
my assurance, at which point most o f the leaders left and went into
the city, where further demonstrations were held; but many o f the
people outside the Norbulingka remained. Unfortunately, they did
not realise that their continued presence constituted a far greater
threat than if they had gone away.
That same day, I sent three o f my most senior ministers to meet
with General Tan Kuan-sen. When eventually they reached his head
quarters, they found that Ngabo Ngawang Jigme was already there.
At first the Chinese were polite. But when the General arrived he was
in an ill-concealed rage. He and two other senior officers harangued
the Tibetans for several hours about the treachery o f the 'imperialist
rebels’, adding the accusation that the Tibetan Government had been
secretly organising agitation against the Chinese authorities. Further
more, it had defied the orders o f the Chinese and refused to disarm
the 'rebels’ in Lhasa. They could now expect drastic measures to be
taken to crush this opposition.
When they reported back to me that evening in my audience-room
at the Norbulingka, I realised that the Chinese were issuing an ultima-
turn. Meanwhile, at about six o ’clock, around seventy junior govern

ment officials, together with the remaining popular leaders and mem
bers o f my personal bodyguard, held a meeting outside the Jewel Park
and endorsed a declaration denouncing the Seventeen-Point ‘Agree
ment’, adding that Tibet no longer recognised Chinese authority.
When I heard o f this, I sent a message saying that it was the duty o f
the leaders to reduce the existing tension and not to aggravate it. But
my advice seemed to fall on ears that could not hear.
Later that same evening a letter arrived from General Tan Kuan-sen
suggesting, in suspiciously moderate tones, that I move to his head
quarters for my own safety. I was amazed at his effrontery. There was
no question o f doing any such thing. However, in order to try to buy
time, I wrote him a conciliatory reply.
The next day, 11 March, the crowd leaders announced to the
Government that they would post guards outside the Cabinet office,
which was situated within the outer wall o f the Norbulingka. This was
to prevent any ministers from leaving the palace grounds. They feared
that if they did not take the law into their own hands the Government
might be forced into a compromise by the Chinese authorities. The
Kashag in turn held a meeting with these leaders and requested them
to call off the demonstration as it was in danger o f precipitating an
open confrontation.
A day later, the women o f Lhasa staged a mass demonstration.
Meanwhile, the crowd leaders showed some willingness to listen to
my ministers, but then two more letters arrived from General Tan
Kuan-sen. One o f these was addressed to me, the other to the Kashag.
To the former, which was similar to the first, I again replied politely,
agreeing that there were dangerous elements within the crowd which
sought to undermine relations between Tibet and China. I also agreed
that it might be a good idea if, for my safety, I went to his headquar
ters.
In his other letter, the General ordered the ministers to instruct the
crowd to take down the barricades that had been erected on the road
outside Lhasa that led to China. Unfortunately, this had a calamitous
effect. It seemed to the crowd leaders that, by saying they wanted
these removed, the Chinese were making a clear indication that they
planned to bring in reinforcements which would be used to attack the
Dalai Lama. They refused.
On hearing this, I decided that I must speak to these men myself.

I did so, explaining that there was a serious danger that Chinese
troops would use force to dispel the crowd if people did not leave very
soon. Evidently my entreaty was partially successful, as afterwards
they announced that they would move to Shol, the village at the foot
o f the Potala, where many angry demonstrations were subsequently
held. But the majority o f the people outside the Norbulingka re
mained.
It was at around this point that I consulted the Nechung oracle,
which was hurriedly summoned. Should I stay or should I try to
escape? What was I to do? The oracle made it clear that I should stay
and keep open the dialogue with the Chinese. For once, I was unsure
o f whether this really was the best course o f action. I was reminded
o f Lukhangwa’s remark about the gods lying when they too became
desperate. So I spent the afternoon performing Mo, another form o f
divination. The result was identical.
The next days passed in a dizzying, frightening blur. I began to
receive reports o f a Chinese military build-up and the mood o f the
crowd grew almost hysterical. I consulted the oracle a second time,
but his advice was the same as before. Then, on the 16th, I received
a third and final letter from the General, together with an enclosure
from Ngabo. General Tan’s letter was much along the lines o f his last
two. Ngabo’s, on the other hand, made clear what I and everyone else
had dimly concluded, namely that the Chinese were planning to
attack the crowd and shell the Norbulingka. He wanted me to indi
cate on a map where I would be - so that the artillerymen could be
briefed to aim off whichever building I marked. It was a horrifying
moment as the truth sank in. N ot only was my own life in danger,
but the lives o f thousands upon thousands o f my people now seemed
certain to be lost. I f only they could be persuaded to go away, to
return to their homes. Surely they could see that they had demon
strated to the Chinese the strength o f their feelings? But it was no use.
They were in such a pitch o f fury against these unwelcome foreigners
with their brutal methods that nothing could move them. They
would stay till the end and die keeping guard over their Precious
Protector.
Reluctantly, I set about replying to Ngabo and General Tan, saying
something along the lines that I was dismayed by the disgraceful
behaviour o f reactionary elements amongst the population o f Lhasa.

I assured them that I still thought it a good idea that I should move
to the sanctuary o f the Chinese headquarters, but that it was very
difficult just at the moment; and that I hoped they too would have
the patience to sit out the disturbances. Anything to buy time! After
all, the crowd could not stay put indefinitely. I took care not to say
where I was in the hope that this lack o f knowledge would cause
uncertainty and delay.
Having dispatched my replies, I was at a loss as to what to do next.
The following day, I again sought the counsel o f the oracle. To my
astonishment, he shouted, cGo! Go! Tonight!1The medium, still in
his trance, then staggered forward and, snatching up some paper and
a pen, wrote down, quite clearly and explicitly, the route that I should
take out o f the Norbulingka, down to the last Tibetan town on the
Indian border. His directions were not what might have been ex
pected. That done, the medium, a young monk named Lobsang
Jigme, collapsed in a faint, signifying that Dorje Drakden had left his
body. Just then, as if to reinforce the oracle’s instructions, two mortar
shells exploded in the marsh outside the northern gate o f the Jewel
Park.
Looking back on this event at a distance o f more than thirty-one
years, I am certain that Dorje Drakden had known all along that I
must leave Lhasa on the 17th, but he did not say so for fear o f word
getting out. If no plans were made, nobody could find out about
them.
I did not begin preparations for my escape immediately, however.
First I wanted to confirm the oracle’s decision, which I did by per
forming Mo once more. The answer agreed with the oracle, even
though the odds against making a successful break seemed terrifyingly
high. Not only was the crowd refusing to let anyone into or out o f
the palace grounds without first searching and interrogating them,
but also Ngabo’s letter made it clear that the Chinese had already
considered the possibility that I might try to escape. They must have
taken precautions. Yet the supernatural counsels fitted in with my
own reasoning: I was convinced that leaving was the only thing I
could do to make the crowd disperse. If I was no longer inside, there
could be no reason for people to remain. I therefore decided to accept
the advice.
Because the situation was so desperate, I realised that I should tell

as few people as possible o f my decision and at first informed only my
Lord Chamberlain and the Chikyab Ktnpo. They then had the task o f
making preparations for a party to leave the palace that night, but
without anyone knowing who would be amongst it. At the same time
as we discussed how they were to go about this, we decided on the
composition o f the escape party. I would take with me only my closest
advisors, including my two tutors, and those members o f my immedi
ate family who were present.
Later that afternoon, my tutors and the four members o f the Ka-
sha0 left the palace hidden under a tarpaulin in the back o f a lorry;
in the evening, my mother, Tenzin Choegyal and Tsering Dolma
went out, disguised, on the pretext o f going to a nunnery on the
south side o f the Kyichu river. I then summoned the popular leaders
and told them o f my plan, stressing the need not only for maximum
co-operation (which I knew was assured), but also for absolute se
crecy. I was certain that the Chinese would have spies amongst the
crowd. When these men had gone, I wrote them a letter explaining
my reasons for leaving and begging them not to open fire except in
self-defence, trusting that they would relay this message to the people.
It was to be delivered next day.
At nightfall, I went for the last time to the shrine dedicated to
Mahakala, my personal protector divinity. As I entered the room
through its heavy, creaking door, I paused for a moment to take in
what I saw before me. A number o f monks sat chanting prayers at the
base o f a large statue o f the Protector. There was no electric light in
the room, only the glow o f dozens o f votive butter lamps set in rows
o f golden and silver dishes. Numerous frescoes covered the walls. A
small offering o f tsampa sat on a plate on the altar. A server, his face
half in shadow, was bending over a large urn from which he was
ladling out butter for the lamps. No one looked up, although I knew
that my presence must have been noticed. To my right, one o f the
monks took up his cymbals, whilst another put a horn to his lips and
blew a long, mournful note. The cymbals clashed together and were
held, vibrating. Its sound was comforting.
I went forward and presented a kata, a length o f white silk, to the
divinity. This is the traditional Tibetan gesture on departure and
signifies not only propitiation, but also implies the intention o f re
turn. For a moment I lingered in silent prayer. The monks would now
suspect that I was going, but I was assured o f their silence. Before
leaving the room, I sat down for a few minutes and read from the
Buddha’s sutras, stopping at the one which talks o f the need to
'develop confidence and courage’.
On leaving, I instructed someone to dim the lights throughout the
remainder o f the building before going downstairs, where I found one
o f my dogs. I patted it and was glad that it had never been very
friendly with me. Our parting was not too difficult. I was much more
sad to be leaving behind my bodyguards and sweepers. I then went
outside into the chill March air. At the main entrance to the building
was a landing with steps running off either side down to the ground.
I walked round it, pausing on the far side to visualise reaching India
safely. On coming back to the door, I visualised returning to Tibet.
At a few minutes before ten o ’clock, now wearing unfamiliar trou
sers and a long, black coat, I threw a rifle over my right shoulder and,
rolled up, an old thangka, that had belonged to the Second Dalai
Lama over my left. Then, slipping my glasses into my pocket, I
stepped outside. I was very frightened. I was joined by two soldiers,
who silently escorted me to the gate in the inner wall, where I was
met by the Kusun Depon. With them, I groped my way across the
park, hardly able to see a thing. On reaching the outer wall, we joined
up with Chikyab Kenpoy who, I could just make out, was armed with
a sword. He spoke to me in a low, reassuring voice. I was to keep by
him at all costs. Going through the gate, he announced boldly to the
people gathered there that he was undertaking a routine tour o f
inspection. With that, we were allowed to pass through. No further
words were spoken.
I could sense the presence o f a great mass o f humanity as I stumbled
on, but they did not take any notice o f us and, after a few minutes’
walk, we were once more alone. We had successfully negotiated our
way through the crowd, but now there were the Chinese to deal with.
The thought o f being captured terrified me. For the first time in my
life I was truly afraid - not so much for myself but for the millions
o f people who put their faith in me. If I was caught, all would be lost.
There was also some danger that we could be mistaken for Chinese
soldiers by freedom fighters unaware o f what was happening.
Our first obstacle was the tributary o f the Kyichu river that I used
to visit as a small child, until forbidden to do so by Tathag Rinpoche.

To cross it, we had to use stepping-stones, which I found extremely
difficult to negotiate without my glasses. More than once I almost lost
my balance. We then made our way to the banks o f the Kyichu itself.
Just before reaching it, we came across a large group o f people. The
Lord Chamberlain spoke briefly with their leaders and then we passed
on to the river-bank. Several coracles were waiting for us, together
with a small party o f ferrymen.
The crossing went smoothly, although I was certain that every
splash o f oars would draw down machine-gun fire on to us. There
were many tens o f thousands o f PLA stationed in and around Lhasa
at that time and it was inconceivable that they would not have patrols
out. On the other side, we met up with a party o f freedom fighters
who were waiting with some ponies. Here we were also joined by my
mother, my brother and sister and my tutors. We then paused to wait
for my senior officials, who were following, to join us. Whilst we did
so, we took the opportunity to exchange, in highly charged whispers,
remarks about the iniquitous behaviour o f the Chinese which had
driven us to this pass. I also put my glasses back on - I could bear
sightlessness no longer - but then almost wished I hadn’t as I could
now make out the torchlight o f PLA sentries guarding the garrison
that lay only a few hundred yards from where we stood. Fortunately,
the moon was obscured by low cloud and visibility was poor.
As soon as the others arrived, we set off towards the hill and the
mountain pass, called Che-La, that separates the Lhasa valley from the
Tsangpo valley. At around three o ’clock in the morning, we stopped
at a simple farm house, the first o f many to provide us with shelter
over the next few weeks. But we did not remain long and after only
a little while left to continue the trek up to the pass, which we reached
at around eight o ’clock. Not long before we reached it, the first light
o f day dawned and we saw to our amusement the result o f our haste.
There had been a mix-up with the ponies, their harnesses and their
riders. Because the monastery that had provided the animals had had
almost no warning, and because o f the dark, the best o f them had
been fitted with the worst saddles and given to the wrong people,
whereas some o f the oldest and shaggiest mules wore the finest har
nesses and were being ridden by the most senior officials!
At the top o f the 16,000-foot pass, the groom who was leading my
pony stopped and turned it round, telling me that this was the last
opportunity on the journey for a look at Lhasa. The ancient city
looked serene as ever as it lay spread out far below. I prayed for a few
minutes before dismounting and running on foot down the sandy
slopes that gave the place its name—Che-La means Sandy Pass. We
then rested again for a short while before pushing on towards the
banks o f the Tsangpo, which we reached finally not long before noon.
There was only one place to cross it, by ferry, and we had to hope
that the PLA had not reached it first. They had not.
On the far side, we stopped in a small village whose inhabitants
turned out to greet me, many weeping. We were now on the fringes
o f some o f Tibet’s most difficult country: an area with only a few
remote settlements. It was a region that the freedom fighters had
made their own. From here on, I knew we were invisibly surrounded
by hundreds o f guerrilla warriors who had been warned o f our im
pending arrival and whose job it was to protect us as we travelled.
It would have been difficult for the Chinese to follow us, but if they
had information on our whereabouts it was possible that they might
calculate our intended route and mobilise forces ahead to try to
intercept us. So for our immediate protection an escort o f about three
hundred and fifty Tibetan soldiers had been assembled, along with a
further fifty or so irregulars. The escape party itself had by now grown
to approaching one hundred people.
Almost everyone but myself was heavily armed, including even the
man appointed as my personal cook, who carried an enormous ba
zooka and wore a belt hung with its deadly shells. He was one o f the
young men trained by the CIA. So eager was he to use his magnificent
and terrible-looking weapon that, at one point, he lay down and fired
off several shots at what he claimed looked like an enemy position. But
it took such a long time to reload that I felt sure he would have been
made short work o f by a real enemy. Altogether, it was not an impres
sive performance.
There was another o f these CIA operatives amongst the party, a
radio operator who was apparently in touch with his headquarters
throughout the journey. Exactly whom he was in contact with, I do
not know to this day. I only know that he was equipped with a
Morse-key transmitter.
That night we stopped at a monastery called Ra-Me, where I wrote
a hurried letter to the Panchen Lama telling him o f my escape and

advising him to join me in India if he could. I had not heard from
him since the middle o f winter, when he had written to offer his good
wishes for the year ahead. In a separate, secret note he had also said
he thought that, with the situation deteriorating throughout the
country, we needed to formulate a strategy for the future. This was
the first indication he had given o f being no longer in the thrall o f
our Chinese masters. Unfortunately, my message never reached him
and he remained in Tibet.
The next pass was called Sabo-La, which we reached two or three
days later. At the top, it was very cold and snowing a blizzard. I began
to be deeply worried about some o f my companions. Although I was
young and fit, some o f the older ones amongst my entourage found
the going very difficult. But we dared not slacken the pace as we were
still in grave danger o f being intercepted by Chinese forces. Particu
larly we were in danger o f being caught in a pincer movement by
troops stationed at Gyantse and in the Kongpo region.
At first, it was my intention to halt at Lhuntse Dzong, not far from
the Indian border, where I would repudiate the Seventeen-Point
'Agreement’, re-establish my Government as the rightful administra
tion o f all Tibet, and try to open negotiations with the Chinese.
However, on about the fifth day, we were overtaken by a posse o f
horsemen who brought terrible news. Just over forty-eight hours after
my departure, the Chinese had begun to shell the Norbulingka and
to machine-gun the defenceless crowd, which was still in place. My
worst fears had come true. I realised that it would be impossible to
negotiate with people who behaved in this cruel and criminal fashion.
There was nothing for it now but for us to get as far away as possible,
though India still lay many days’ journey distant, with several more
high mountain passes in between.
When eventually we reached Lhuntse Dzong, after more than a
week’s travel, we paused for only two nights, just long enough for me
formally to repudiate the Seventeen-Point ‘Agreement’ and to an
nounce the formation o f my own Government, the only legally con
stituted authority in the land. Over a thousand people attended the
ceremony o f consecration. I wanted very much to stay longer, but
reports informed us that there were Chinese troop movements not far
away. So reluctantly we prepared to move on to the Indian border,
142 '— F R E E D O M IN E X I L E
which now lay just sixty miles away in a straight line, though actually
about double that on the ground. There was still another range o f
mountains to cross and it would take several more days to cover the
distance, especially as our ponies were already worn out and there was
very little fodder to give them. They would need frequent halts to
conserve their energy. Before we left, I sent on a small party o f the
fittest men, who were to reach India as quickly as possible, find the
nearest officials and warn them that I was planning to seek asylum
there.
From Lhuntse Dzong we passed to the small village o f Jhora and
from there to the Karpo pass, the last before the border. Just as we
were nearing the highest point o f the track we received a bad shock.
Out o f nowhere, an aeroplane appeared and flew directly overhead.
It passed quickly - too quickly for anyone to be able to see what
markings it had - but not so fast that the people on board could have
missed spotting us. This was not a good sign. If it was Chinese, as
it probably was, there was a good chance that they now knew where
we were. With this information they could return to attack us from
the air, against which we had no protection. Whatever the identity
o f the aircraft, it was a forceful reminder that I was not safe anywhere
in Tibet. Any misgivings I had about going into exile vanished with
this realisation: India was our only hope.
A little later, the men I had sent on from Lhuntse Dzong returned
with the news that the Indian Government had signalled its willing
ness to receive me. I was very relieved to hear this, as I had not wanted
to set foot in India without permission.
I spent my last night in Tibet at a tiny village called Mangmang.
No sooner had we reached this final outpost o f the Land o f Snows
than it began to rain. This was on top o f a week o f appalling weather,
which threw blizzards and snow glare at us by turns as we straggled
along. We were all exhausted and it was the last thing that we needed,
but it continued torrentially throughout the night. To make matters
worse, my tent leaked and no matter where I dragged my bedding I
could not escape the water which ran in rivulets down the inside. The
result was that the fever I had been fighting off for the past few days
developed overnight into a case o f full-blown dysentery.
The following morning, I was too ill to continue, so we remained
where we were. My companions moved me to a small house nearby,
but it provided little more protection than my tent. Moreover, I was

oppressed by the stench o f cows that rose from the ground floor to
where I lay above. That day, I heard on the small portable radio we
had with us a report on All-India Radio saying that I was en route to
India, but that I had fallen off my horse and was badly injured. This
cheered me up rather, as it was one misfortune that I had managed
to avoid, though I knew my friends would be concerned.
Next day, I decided to move on. I now had the difficult task o f
saying goodbye to the soldiers and freedom fighters who had escorted
me all the way from Lhasa, and who were now about to turn and face
the Chinese. There was one official too who decided to remain. He
said that he did not think that he could be o f much use in India,
therefore it would be better to stay and fight. I really admired his
determination and courage.
After bidding these people a tearful farewell, I was helped on to the
broad back o f a dzomo, for I was still too ill to ride a horse. And it
was on this humble form o f transport that I left my native land.
8
A DESPERATE YEAR
% % / / e must have been a pitiful sight to the handful o f Indian

\ m / t^iat met us at border - eighty travellers,
%/%/ physically exhausted and mentally wretched from our
T ? ordeal. I was delighted, however, that an official I knew
from my visit two years earlier was there to rendezvous with us. He
explained that his orders were to escort me to Bomdila, a large town
that lay a further week’s travel away, for rest.
We finally reached it some three weeks after leaving Lhasa, though
it seemed like an aeon. On arrival, I was greeted by my old liaison
officer and interpreter, Mr Menon and Sonam Topgyal Kazi respec
tively, one o f whom handed me a telegram from the Prime Minister:
My colleagues and I welcome you and send greetings on your safe arrival
in India. We shall be happy to afford the necessary facilities to you, your
family and entourage to reside in India. The people o f India, who hold
you in great veneration, will no doubt accord their traditional respect
to your personage. Kind regards to you. Nehru.
I remained in Bomdila, where I was looked after very well by the

family o f the local District Commissioner, for about ten days. At the
end o f which, I was fully recovered from my dysentery. Then, early
on 18 April 1 9 5 9 ,1 was taken by jeep to a road camp called Foothills,
where a small guard o f honour was formed up on either side o f a
144
A D E S P E R A T E YEAR '—‘ 145
makeshift: carpet o f canvas leading to the camp overseer’s house, my

base for the morning. Inside, I was given a breakfast that included
fresh bananas - o f which I ate too many, with unfortunate conse
quences to my digestive system - and was also briefed by Mr Menon
about the arrangements that had been made by the Indian Govern
ment on my behalf.
That afternoon, I was to be taken to Tezpur, and from there began
the journey to Mussoorie, a hill station not far from Delhi, where a
house had been procured for me. A special train to take us the 1,500-
mile distance had already been laid on.
As I left the building at Foothills, and climbed into a big red car for
the thirty-mile drive to the station, I noticed large numbers o f camera
men. It was explained to me that these were representatives o f the
international press. They had come to report on the cstory o f the
century’. I should expect to see many more o f them on arrival in the
city.
When we reached Tezpur I was taken directly to the Circuit House,
where many hundreds o f messages, telegrams and letters awaited me,
all sending greetings and good wishes from people the world over.
For a few moments I was lost in gratitude, but the exigencies o f the
present were almost overwhelming. The most pressing requirement,
I felt, was to prepare a short statement to give to the many people
waiting for some word from me to send back to their newspapers. In
it, I gave an outline in straightforward and carefully moderate terms
o f the history I have related in these chapters. That done, and after
a light lunch, we left for our train, which was due to depart at one
o ’clock.
On the way, hundreds if not thousands o f people pressed around
my convoy, waving and shouting greetings. This continued to happen
throughout the whole journey to Mussoorie. At some points, the
tracks themselves had to be cleared o f well-wishers. News travels
swiftly amongst rural communities and it seemed that no one was
unaware o f my presence on board that train. Thousands upon thou
sands o f people turned out and shouted their welcome: ‘D alai Lam a
K i Ja i! D alai Lam a Zinda-bad!y (‘Hail to the Dalai Lama! Long live
the Dalai Lama!’) It was very moving. At three major cities en route,
Siliguri, Benares and Lucknow, I was obliged to leave my carriage and
address huge, impromptu meetings o f flower-throwing well-wishers.
The whole journey was like an extraordinary dream. Thinking back

on it, I am immensely grateful to the people o f India for their effusive
demonstration o f goodwill at that time.
The train finally pulled in at Dehra Dun station after several days
o f travel. Again, there was a large welcome for me. From there we
drove up to Mussoorie, which was about an hour’s drive. I was then
taken to Birla House, a residence o f one o f India’s leading industrial
families, which had been requisitioned for my use by the Indian
Government. There I was to stay until long-term plans could be made.
As things turned out, it became my home for a year.
A day or so after my arrival, I heard o f a Xinhua news agency report
suggesting that because my Tezpur statement had been written in the
third person it could not have been true. It went on to assert that I
had been blatantly abducted and put under duress by 'rebels’, and
referred to my statement as 'a crude document, lame in reasoning, full
o f lies and loopholes’. This Chinese version o f the story described the
Tibetan people’s uprising as having been organised by 'a reactionary
upper-strata clique’. However, they explained, 'with the aid o f the
patriotic Tibetan monks and laymen, the People’s Liberation Army
completely crushed the rebellion. Primarily, this is because the Tibe
tan people are patriotic, support the Central People’s Government,
ardently love the People’s Liberation Army and oppose the imperial
ists and traitors.’ I therefore issued another brief communique con
firming that the initial statement had been authorised by me.
On 24 April, Pandit Nehru himself arrived in Mussoorie. We talked
together for over four hours, assisted by a single interpreter. I began
by telling him everything that had happened since I had returned to
Tibet - largely, as I reminded him, at his insistence. I went on to say
that I had done just as he had suggested and dealt fairly and honestly
with the Chinese, criticising them where necessary and trying hard to
keep to the terms o f the Seventeen-Point 'Agreement’. I then ex
plained that I had not originally intended to seek India’s hospitality
but that I had wanted to establish my Government at Lhuntse Dzong.
Only the news from Lhasa had changed my mind. At this point he
became rather irritated. 'The Indian Government could not have
recognised it even if you had,’ he said. I began to get the impression
that Nehru thought o f me as a young person who needed to be
scolded from time to time.
A D E S P E R A T E YEAR 147
During other parts o f our conversation he banged the table. ‘How

can this be?’ he asked indignantly once or twice. However, I went on
in spite o f the growing evidence that he could be a bit o f a bully.
Finally, I told him very firmly that my main concern was twofold: ‘I
am determined to win independence for Tibet, but the immediate
requirement is to put a stop to the bloodshed.’ At this he could
restrain himself no longer. T h at is not possible!’ he said in a voice
charged with emotion. ‘You say you want independence and in the
same breath you say you do not want bloodshed. Impossible!’ His
lower lip quivered with anger as he spoke.
I began to realise that the Prime Minister found himself in an
extremely delicate and embarrassing position. In the Indian Parlia
ment, another tense debate on the Tibetan question had followed the
news o f my escape from Lhasa. For years now, he had been criticised
by many politicians over his handling o f the situation. And now, it
seemed to me, he was showing signs o f a guilty conscience at having
been so insistent that I return to Tibet in 1957.
Yet at the same time it was clear that Nehru wanted to protect
India’s friendly relations with China and was determined to adhere to
the principles o f the Panch Sheel memorandum, despite the Indian
politician Acharya Kripalani’s description o f it as having been ‘born
in sin to put the seal o f our approval on the destruction o f an ancient
nation’. He made it quite clear that the Government o f India still
could not contemplate taking issue with the Chinese over the ques
tion o f Tibetan rights. For now, I should rest and not make any plans
for the immediate future. We would have the opportunity for further
discussions on other occasions. Hearing this, I began to realise that
my future, and that o f my people, was far less certain than I had
imagined. Our meeting ended cordially enough but, as the Prime
Minister left, I experienced a profound feeling o f disappointment.
It quickly became clear, however, that we were faced with more
immediate problems than the question o f Tibetan independence. No
sooner had we arrived in Mussoorie than we started to receive reports
o f large numbers o f refugees arriving not only in India but also in
Bhutan. Immediately, I sent some o f my officials to receive them at
the camps hastily opened by the Indian Government.
From these new arrivals I learnt that, after their initial bombard
ment o f the Norbulingka, the Chinese had turned their guns on to
the Potala and the Jokhang, slaughtering and wounding thousands.

Both buildings were badly damaged. The Chakpori Medical School
was totally destroyed. N o one knows how many people were killed
during this onslaught, but a PLA document captured by Tibetan
freedom fighters during the 1960s stated that between March 1959
and September 1960, 87,000 deaths through military action were
recorded. (This figure does not include all those who died as a result
o f suicide, torture and starvation.)
As a result, countless thousands o f my people tried to leave Tibet.
Many died, either directly at the hands o f the Chinese, or from
wounds, malnutrition, cold and disease. Those who managed to es
cape across the border did so in a state o f abject dereliction. And
although there was food and shelter for them on arrival, the relentless
Indian sun began to exact a pitiless toll from them. There were two
main transit camps, one at Missamari, close to Tezpur, the other at
Buxa Duar, a former British prisoner-of-war camp located close to the
Bhutanese border in the north-east.
Both places were much lower than Mussoorie’s elevation o f 6,000
feet, so the heat was unmitigated. For although it can get quite hot
in Tibet during summer, the air at the high altitude people were used
to was extremely dry, whereas on the Indian plains the heat is accom
panied by high levels o f humidity. This was not just uncomfortable
for the refugees but all too often fatal. Diseases which were unknown
to Tibetans proliferated in this new environment. Thus, on top o f the
danger o f death from injuries sustained whilst escaping from Tibet,
there was also danger o f death from heat stroke and illnesses such as
tuberculosis, which flourished under these conditions. Many suc
cumbed.
Those o f us who lived in Mussoorie were considerably more fortu
nate than the majority o f our fellow countrymen and women. And
because there were fans installed at Birla House, I suffered perhaps
least o f all - though the fans themselves did cause their own difficul
ties, I found. The tendency was to leave them on at night, which
caused digestive problems. I was reminded o f a proverb o f one o f my
sweepers at the Potala: Tn the winter it is cold and you wrap up at
night. But in the summer it is warm and you forget.’
Another small observation I made at this time was that hot weather
encourages fruit eating, whereas when it is cold there is no such

desire.
I had limited personal experience o f the discomfort due to heat
suffered by my fellow exiles on those occasions when I had cause to
go down to the plains during those summer months. The first o f these
was in June, when I travelled to Delhi to call on the Prime Minister
for discussions about the growing refugee population. Already there
were 20,000 and the numbers were increasing on a daily basis.
I began by pleading for the new arrivals to be moved somewhere
that the climate was less damaging than at Tezpur and Buxa Duar.
They had arrived wearing long robes and heavy boots, completely
ignorant o f the imminent hot season. And although the first few
thousand refugees to escape from the murderous hands o f Tibet’s
‘liberators’ were mostly men, many from Lhasa and surrounding dis
tricts, later whole families began to arrive. These people came princi
pally from the border areas, where Chinese control was not yet abso
lute.
I impressed upon Nehru my conviction that the majority would die
if they were left there. At first, he showed some signs o f irritation. He
said that I was asking too much. I must remember that India was a
poor, developing country. But quickly his humanitarian instincts won
him over. Already the Kasha# had held discussions with Indian offi
cials about a plan to employ the refugees on road camps in northern
India and now Nehru said that he would see to it that the arrange
ments were made as quickly as possible. This would then allow them
to earn their keep and, at the same time, to be taken to a more suitable
climate.
He then began to talk about the future education o f the refugee
children, quickly warming to the subject, so that in the end he was
showing such interest that it was as if he considered the matter to be
his own personal responsibility. He said that, since as far as he was
concerned we would be guests o f India for the foreseeable future, our
children were our most precious resource. They should be well edu
cated. And, in order to preserve Tibetan culture, it would be necessary
to have separate schools for them. There should therefore be an
independent Society for Tibetan Education within the Indian Minis
try o f Education. He added that the Indian Government would bear
all the expenses for setting up the schools. (To this day, it continues
150 F R E E D O M IN E X IL E
to fund the greater part o f our education programme.)

Finally, he cautioned me that, whilst it was very important for our
children to be brought up with a thorough knowledge o f their own
history and culture, it was vital that they should be conversant with
the ways o f the modern world. I agreed wholeheartedly. For that
reason, he said, we would be wise to use English as our medium o f
instruction, for cit is the international language o f the future’.
Our meeting was followed by lunch, at which point Nehru said he
would call Dr Shrimali, the Education Minister. This gave us the
opportunity to continue our discussion. Then, that same afternoon,
the Prime Minister told me that the Government would announce the
formation o f the Society that very day. I was highly impressed with
such a rapid response.
Over the years now, the people and Government o f India have
given an extraordinary amount to us Tibetan refugees, both in terms
o f financial assistance and in many other ways - this despite their own
enormous economic difficulties. I doubt whether any other refugees
have been so well treated by their hosts. It is always in my mind
whenever the Tibetans have been compelled to ask for more money
that, in the meantime, hundreds o f thousands o f India’s own children
lack even basic education.
Yet in a way, it is only right that India should come to our aid. For
Buddhism came to Tibet from India, along with many other impor
tant cultural influences. There is no doubt in my mind that she has
a better claim on Tibet than China, whose influence was only ever
slight. I often compare the relationship between India and Tibet with
that between a teacher and a pupil. When the pupil gets him or herself
into difficulty, it is the responsibility o f the teacher to come to the
pupil’s assistance.
Not far behind the generosity o f the Indian people has been that
o f many foreign relief organisations. Much o f their assistance has been
o f a practical nature, especially in the fields o f health and education.
Also important has been their help in establishing handicraft and
other work centres, which have provided meaningful employment for
many people. The first were carpet-weaving workshops set up in Dar
jeeling, the tea-producing town high up on the border with Nepal,
and at Dalhousie, not far from Dharamsala. Both were founded by
the Indian Government towards the end o f 1959. These then pro
vided the model for several other such centres set up with assistance
from the overseas agencies - some o f whom continue their support
to this day. Now, many years later, each o f those organisations which
were involved at the beginning o f our exile have expressed full satisfac
tion with the progress made by the refugees under their guidance.
The positive way in which Tibetans have responded to the help
given them is the best way for us to express our enormous gratitude.
This is important, not least because I am conscious that much o f the
money donated to these agencies often comes from the pockets o f
people with quite limited resources themselves.
On returning to Mussoorie after this visit to Delhi, I felt that the time
was now ripe for me to break my elected silence and, on 20 June, I
held a press conference. There were still a great number o f newspaper
men in Mussoorie waiting to hear something from me. Although the
'story’ was by now over two months old, a total o f 130 reporters
attended, representing countries the world over.
I began by formally repudiating once more the Seventeen-Point
'Agreement5. I explained that, since China herself had broken the
terms o f her own 'Agreement5, there could no longer be any legal basis
for recognising it. I then elaborated on my original short statement
and detailed some o f the atrocities committed against the Tibetans.
I was sure that people would realise that my story was nearer the truth
than the incredible fiction put about by the Chinese. But although
my latest statement received wide coverage, I had underestimated the
power o f an efficiently conducted public relations campaign such as
the Chinese Government was able to carry out. Or perhaps I overesti
mated the willingness o f mankind to face the truth about itself. I
believe that it took first the evidence o f the Cultural Revolution, then
the sight o f the 1989 Tiananmen Square Massacre on its television
screens before the world fully accepted the mendacity and barbarity
o f the Communist Chinese.
That same evening, a communique was issued on behalf o f the
Indian Government saying that it did not recognise the Dalai Lama’s
Government in Exile. I was at first a little surprised and hurt by this. I
knew perfectly well that it did not support us politically, but such
distancing seemed unnecessary. However, my wounded feelings
quickly gave way to a sense o f enormous gratitude as I saw, really for the
first time, the true meaning o f the word 'democracy’. The Indian
Government vehemently opposed my point o f view, but it did nothing
to try to prevent me from expressing it, much less from holding it.
Likewise, there was no interference from Delhi over how I and the
growing numbers o f Tibetans conducted our lives. In accordance with
popular requests, I had begun to give weekly audiences in the grounds
o f Birla House. This gave me the opportunity to meet a variety o f
people and tell them about the real situation in Tibet. It also helped
me begin the process o f removing the protocol which did so much
to separate the Dalai Lama from his people. I had a strong feeling that
we should not cling to old practices that were no longer appropriate.
As I often reminded people, we were now refugees.
To this end, I insisted that all formality should be deliberately
reduced and made clear that I no longer wanted people to perform
the old courtesies. I felt this was especially important when dealing
with foreigners. They would be much more likely to respond to
genuine worth if they found it. It is very easy to put others off by
remaining aloof. So I was determined to be entirely open, to show
everything and not to hide behind etiquette. In this way I hoped that
people would relate to me as one human being to another.
I also stipulated that whenever I received anybody, he or she should
sit on a chair o f equal height, rather than one lower than mine as was
customary. At first, even I found this rather difficult as I did not have
much self-confidence, but it grew from then on. And despite the
misgivings o f some o f my older advisors, I think the only people who
were discomfited by these principles were occasional new arrivals from
Tibet who did not know that the Dalai Lama no longer lived the way
they were used to.
Life at Birla House was hardly conducive to formality anyway. It
was neither especially grand nor large and at times it became quite
crowded. I shared it with my mother as well as my household, and
the remainder o f my officials lived very close by. This was the first time
in my life that I had seen so much o f my mother. I very much enjoyed
her company.
In addition to reducing formality, our tragedy also gave me the
opportunity greatly to simplify my own personal life. In Lhasa I had
had many possessions which were o f little use, but it was very difficult
to give them away. Now, I possessed almost nothing and I found it
A D E SP E R A T E YEAR 153
much easier to pass on things that were given to me if they could be

o f use to my fellow refugees.
In the field o f administration, too, I was able to make radical
changes. For example, I saw at this time to the creation o f various new
Tibetan government departments. These included Offices o f Informa
tion, Education, Rehabilitation, Security, Religious Affairs and Eco
nomic Affairs. I also particularly encouraged women to take part in
government. I reminded people that selection for important positions
should never be based on the question o f gender, only on the quality
and aptitude o f the candidate. As I have already mentioned, women
always played an important part in Tibetan society and today there are
many who hold key posts in the Tibetan Government in Exile.
I returned to Delhi during September 1959. By this time, I was
somewhat easier in my mind about the refugees. Their numbers had
by now grown to almost thirty thousand, but Nehru was true to his
word and already many had been removed to road camps in the hills
o f northern India. My main aim now was to do what I could to have
the question o f Tibet’s right to independence raised at the United
Nations. Once again I began my visit by calling on the Prime Minis
ter. We spent some time discussing a proposal to transfer some o f the
new arrivals to the south o f India. He had already written to the heads
o f several Indian states asking whether any would be prepared to make
land over to us Tibetans.
After expressing great satisfaction to hear that more than one offer
had been made, I mentioned my plan to try to have a hearing at the
UN. At this, Nehru began to show signs o f exasperation. Since nei
ther Tibet nor China were member states, he said, it was highly
unlikely that I would succeed. And even if I did, it would not have
much effect. I replied that I was aware o f the difficulties, but that I
simply wanted the world to keep Tibet in mind. It was vital that my
people were not forgotten in their misery. T h e way to keep the
Tibetan question alive is not through the U N , but through the proper
education o f your children. But it’s up to you. You live in a free
country,’ he said.
I had already written to the Governments o f many countries and
now I had meetings with the Ambassadors o f several. I found this a
very trying ordeal. I was still only twenty-four, and my experience o f
dealing with high-ranking officials was limited to what I had gained
during my visit to China and my few talks with Nehru and his col
leagues. Nevertheless, it paid off to the extent that some were very
sympathetic and gave me advice on how to proceed, and all promised
to inform their Governments o f my requests for support. In the end,
the Federation o f Malaya and the Republic o f Ireland sponsored a
draft resolution which was debated by the U N General Assembly
during October. It passed in our favour in a vote split forty-five for
and nine against, with twenty-six abstentions. India was one o f the
abstainers.
Also during this particular visit to the capital, I had meetings with
a number o f sympathetic Indian politicians, including Jaya Prakash
Naryan who, true to his commitment back in 1957, had set up a Tibet
Support Committee. There was now, he felt, a good chance o f per
suading the Government to change its stance on Tibet. His enthusi
asm was infectious and deeply moving, though instinctively I knew
that Pandit Nehru would never change his mind. Another welcome
development was news that the International Commission o f Jurists,
an independent organisation dedicated to upholding justice around
the world, had recently published a report on the legal status o f Tibet
that vindicated our position entirely. The Commission, which had
taken up our case early in the year, was now planning to conduct a
full-scale enquiry.
In October, after returning to Mussoorie, I received a welcome
boost to morale when the Afro-Asian Committee met in Delhi. It
devoted almost the whole o f its business to discussing the Tibetan
issue. The majority o f its delegates were from countries that had
themselves suffered from colonial oppression, so naturally they were
well disposed towards Tibet. They saw us in the same position as they
themselves had been before they won their independence. I received
reports o f their unanimous support with feelings o f great joy and
optimism and began to feel that something positive must surely come
o f all this. But alas, deep down it was clear to me that the Prime
Minister was right. We Tibetans must not think in terms o f an early
return to our country. Instead we must concentrate on building a
strong community in exile so that when the time eventually came, we
would be able to resume our lives back home transformed by our
experience.
The offers o f land Nehru had mentioned seemed to hold the best
prospect o f allowing us to do this. Three thousand acres near to

Mysore in southern India were immediately available if we wanted
them, but, generous though this was, I was at first hesitant to accept.
I had visited the area whilst on pilgrimage during my first visit to the
country, and knew the area to be quiet and lightly populated. How
ever, it is considerably hotter there than it is in the north and I felt
that the conditions would likely be too harsh. Furthermore, with my
administration located in Dharamsala, I feared the distance was too
great.
On the other hand, given our present situation, I realised it was
necessary to think in terms o f settling semi-permanently in India.
Only then would it be possible to begin an education programme and
take steps to ensure the cultural continuity o f the Tibetan people. In
the end, I concluded that these considerations outweighed the geo
graphical and psychological problems, and I gratefully accepted the
land. A first batch o f 666 settlers would leave in the New Year o f 1960
to begin the work o f making it habitable. On the basis o f one acre per
refugee, the eventual aim was to establish a community for 3,000.
Towards the end o f 1959 came news o f two organisations, the Central
Relief Committee, headed by Acharya Kripalani, and the American
Emergency Committee for Tibetan Refugees, that had been set up
specifically to help us. These were later followed by other similarly
dedicated agencies in other countries which, between them, provided
invaluable assistance.
Meanwhile, I began to receive visits from a number o f interesting
people. One o f these was the same Indian monk that I had met in
Dromo when he was travelling with a relic o f the Lord Buddha. I was
delighted to see him again. He was very scholarly and had a particular
interest in socio-economics. In the time since we had last met, he had
expended much time and energy in trying to synthesise Marxist ideol
ogy with the spiritual principles o f Buddhism. This interested me
greatly. I was convinced that, because so much o f Asia, from the Thai
border up to Siberia, whose native faith was Buddhism, was now
suffering terribly as a result o f Marxism’s hostility to religion, such
work was vital.
Also at around this time, I received a visit from a left-leaning
Sinhalese monk. At the end o f his stay in Mussoorie, my new friend
invited me to Sri Lanka. This was somewhere I very much wanted to

go to, not least because it would give me the opportunity to see the
most important o f all relics, the Buddha’s tooth. However, some
months later, when the time approached for me to make the journey,
I received a forceful indication o f how uncertain is the status o f a
refugee. The Sri Lankan Government sent a communication regret
ting that my visit would have to be indefinitely postponed as there had
been ‘unforeseen developments’. These turned out to have originated
from Peking. Again I was reminded o f the power o f brothers and
sisters in high places to stop even religious activities if they chose to.
The urgency o f opening a meaningful dialogue with the Chinese
was brought home to me when I received a deputation from some
other victims o f Communist expansionism. They were from East
Turkestan, which had been overrun by China in 1949. We had much
to talk about and spent many hours relating our experiences to one
another. It transpired that the East Turkestani refugees were consider
ably more numerous than us and one o f their leaders was a lawyer.
This was at a time when there was not a single practitioner o f allo
pathic medicine amongst the entire Tibetan population, let alone a
qualified lawyer. We discussed at length the various ways we could
carry on the struggle for freedom in our countries. Finally, we agreed
to keep in close touch, which we do to this day, although somehow
the Tibetan cause has always attracted more publicity than theirs.
In December, I made the six-hour journey down to Delhi once
more, this time as the first leg o f a new pilgrimage. I wanted to spend
more time at the places I had visited at the beginning o f 1957. On
my way I called on the Prime Minister once more. I was somewhat
anxious o f what he might have to say to me on account o f the U N
resolution and I half expected him to be annoyed. In fact, he con
gratulated me warmly. I began to see that, despite his occasional
heavy-handedness, he was a man o f great magnanimity. And once
again, I was reminded o f the meaning o f the word ‘democracy’. Even
though I had rejected his opinion, there was no change whatever in
his attitude towards the Tibetans. As a result, I felt more disposed
than ever to listen to him. This was exactly contrary to my experience
in China. Nehru did not smile much. He would sit quietly listening
with that tremulous lower lip protruding slightly, before making his
reply, which would always be frank and honest. Above all, he gave me
complete freedom to follow my own conscience. The Chinese, on the

other hand, had always been full o f smiles and deceit.
I also saw the Indian President, Dr Rajendra Prasad, once more.
I was his guest at Rastrapathi Bhavan, along with a Jain, Acharya
Tulsi, towards whom I developed strong feelings o f respect. As I had
been on our first meeting back in 1 9 5 6 ,1 was deeply impressed by the
President’s humility. His demeanour was something quite extraordi
nary and I was actually moved to tears. He seemed to me like a true
Bodhisattva. The last time I saw him was in the garden o f his resi
dence. I went down very early in the morning for a walk and found
that he was outside too, an old man, hunched and magnificent, in a
large, black wheelchair.
From Delhi I proceeded to Bodh Gaya. Whilst there, I received a
deputation o f sixty or more Tibetan refugees who were also making
a pilgrimage. A very moving moment followed when their leaders
came to me and pledged their lives in the continuing struggle for a
free Tibet. After that, for the first time in this life, I ordained a group
o f 162 young Tibetan novices as bikshus. I felt greatly privileged to
be able to do this at the Tibetan monastery which stands within sight
o f the Mahabodhi temple, next to the Bodhi Tree under which the
Buddha finally attained Enlightenment.
I then travelled to Sarnath and the Deer Park, where the Buddha
had preached his first sermon. With me I had a small retinue o f staff,
including Ling Rinpoche, Trijang Rinpoche and, o f course, my Mas
ters o f the Robes, the Ritual and the Kitchen. On arrival, I found that
something like two thousand Tibetan refugees, newly arrived through
Nepal, had assembled, knowing that I planned to give a teaching.
They were in very poor condition, but I could see that they were
facing their hardship with great spirit. Tibetans are indefatigable trad
ers and already they had set up stalls. Some were selling a few valuables
they had managed to bring with them, others were selling old clothes.
Many sold just tea. I was much encouraged by their vigour in the face
o f such suffering. Each person could have told a tale o f desperate
hardship and cruelty, yet here they were making the best o f what little
life had to offer them.
This first week-long teaching in the Deer Park was a wonderful
event for me. It meant a great deal to be able to give it in the very
place where the Buddha himself had taught 2,500 years before. Dur
ing the course o f it, I concentrated on the positive aspects o f our

ordeal. I reminded everyone o f the Buddha’s own words when he said
that suffering is the first step towards liberation. There is an old
Tibetan saying, too, that ‘pain is what you measure pleasure by’.
Shortly after returning to Mussoorie, I learned that the Indian Gov

ernment had plans to move me to permanent accommodation at a
place called Dharamsala. This was unexpected news and quite alarm
ing. I found Dharamsala on the map and discovered that it was
another hill station, like Mussoorie, but in a considerably more re
mote location. On further investigation I was told that, unlike Mus
soorie, which was only a few hours from Delhi, Dharamsala was a
whole day’s journey from the capital. I began to have some suspicion
that the Indian Government was now trying to hide us away some
where without good communications in the hope that we Tibetans
would disappear from the sight o f the outside world.
I therefore requested that I be allowed to send a Tibetan Govern
ment official to Dharamsala to see whether it was really suitable for
our needs. My plea was heard and I sent a member o f the Kashag,
J. T. Kundeling, to reconnoitre the spot. When he came back after
a week’s absence, he announced that ‘Dharamsala water is better than
Mussoorie milk’. So we made preparations to shift camp without
delay.
In the meantime, I made the first o f many visits to the northern
provinces, where thousands o f my people were now engaged on road
building. I was heartbroken when I saw them. Children, women and
men were all working side by side in gangs: former nuns, farmers,
monks, officials, all thrown together. They had to endure a full day’s
hard physical toil under a mighty sun, followed by nights crammed
into tiny tents. Nobody was yet properly acclimatised to the condi
tions and even though it was a bit cooler than in the transit camps,
heat and humidity still exacted a frightening toll. The air was fetid and
thick with mosquitoes. As a result, sickness was universal and often
fatal, thanks to the already weakened state o f people’s constitutions.
Worse still, the work itself was quite risky. Much o f it was done on
steep mountain-sides and the dynamite they used claimed its own
share o f casualties.
Even today, quite a few old people carry scars from this terrible
labour and are maimed and crippled. And although now the fruit o f
their labours is clearly visible, at the time there were moments when
the whole venture seemed pointless. It took only one fierce downpour
o f rain to wash away their efforts in a slick o f red mud. Yet for all this,
despite their desperate situation, the refugees showed me deep, per
sonal respect and listened closely when I said that it was vital for us
to remain optimistic. I was very moved.
These first visits to the road camps made me aware o f a new prob
lem, however. The children o f the roadworkers were suffering badly
from malnutrition and their mortality rate was very high. So I con
tacted the Indian Government, which hurriedly organised a new tran
sit camp dedicated specifically to their needs. At the same time, an
initial batch o f fifty children was sent to Mussoorie, where the first
o f our schools had been set up.
On 1 February 1960, the first settlers arrived at Bylakuppe in
Mysore state. I heard later that when they saw the land, many o f the
refugees broke down and cried. The task before them seemed so
immense. They had been supplied with tents and basic equipment,
but apart from this, their only resource was such determination as
they could bring to bear.
Just over a month later, on 10 March, just before leaving for
Dharamsala with the eighty or so officials who comprised the Tibetan
Government in Exile, I began what is now a tradition by making a
statement on the anniversary o f the Tibetan People’s Uprising. On
this first occasion, I stressed the need for my people to take a long
term view o f the situation in Tibet. For those o f us in exile, I said that
our priority must be resettlement and the continuity o f our cultural
traditions. As to the future, I stated my belief that, with Truth, Justice
and Courage as our weapons, we Tibetans would eventually prevail in
regaining freedom for Tibet.
9
100,000 REFUGEES
he journey to Dharamsala was by a combination o f overnight
T
train and motorcade. Together with my entourage, I left Mus-
soorie on 29 April 1960 and arrived at Pathankot station in
Himachal Pradesh the following day. I well remember the
drive that followed our train ride. After about an hour on the roa
I saw white peaks towering high up in the far distance. We were
headed straight for them. On the way we passed through some o f the
most beautiful countryside in India - lush green fields sprinkled with
trees and everywhere flowers wild with colour. After three hours we
pulled into the centre o f Dharamsala, and I exchanged my limousine
for a jeep to ride the final few miles to my house, which was situated
just above the village o f Mcleod Ganj, overlooking a broad valley.
It was a steep and hair-raising climb and I was reminded o f some
o f the journeys around Lhasa where, from the edge o f the road, you
could sometimes look down thousands o f feet. When we arrived at
McLeod Ganj, we found that a new bamboo gate had been erected
for us, with a sign saying ‘Welcome’ painted in gold letters across the
top. From there it was a matter o f only one more mile to my new
home, Swarg Ashram, formerly Highcroft House and residence o f the
Divisional Commissioner in the days o f the British Raj. It was a
smallish house, set in woodland and surrounded by a compound o f
outbuildings, one o f which was the kitchen. A further three houses
had been requisitioned for my officials. Although it had good poten
161
tial for expansion, this was less room than we had been used to, but
I was grateful that we could now settle down.
It was quite late when we arrived so I was not able to see much,
but the following morning, when I woke, the first thing I heard was
the distinctive call o f a bird which I later discovered is peculiar to this
place. ‘Knra-chok, Kam-chok, ’ it seemed to say. I looked out o f the
window to see where it was, but could not find it. Instead, my eyes
were greeted by a view o f magnificent mountains.
On the whole, our experience at Dharamsala has been quite happy,
although I note that Kundeling rediscovered his taste for Mussoorie
milk and retired back there some years ago. The only real drawback
o f the Dharamsala region is its rainfall, which is the second highest
in the Indian sub-continent. At first there were less than a hundred
Tibetans all told. But today the refugee population has grown to more
than five thousand. Only once or twice has there been any serious
thought o f moving. The last time was a few years ago when a severe
earthquake caused damage to several buildings. People began to say
that it was too dangerous to remain. We did not leave, however,
mainly because whilst there is quite often seismic activity in the area,
it is normally only slight. The last serious disturbance occurred in
1905, during the time that the British used the place as a summer
retreat. On that occasion, the spire o f their parish church was knocked
down. So it seems reasonable to assume that large-scale tremors are
very infrequent. Besides which, for practical reasons, it would be very
difficult to move.
As at Birla House, I shared my new home with my mother - and
also a couple o f Lhasa Apso dogs which had recently been presented
to me. These animals were a continual source o f amusement to every
one. They both had very distinctive characters. The larger o f the two
was called Sangye. I often thought that he must have been a monk
in his previous life, perhaps one o f those who died o f starvation in
Tibet, as many did. I say this because on the one hand he showed no
interest in the opposite sex, but on the other, he was most enthusias
tic about food: even when he must have been completely full, he
could always find room for more. Also, he was extremely loyal to me.
Tashi, the other, was very different. Despite being smaller, he was
much the braver o f the two. He was given to me by Tenzin Norgay,
the Everest mountaineer, so that may have had something to do with
100,000 REFU G EES ---- 163
it. I well remember a time when he got ill and had to be given
injections. After the first o f these, he became very frightened. So on
succeeding occasions when the vet came, he had to be caught up by
two people and held down whilst the drugs were administered. Mean
while, Tashi would growl and snarl at his persecutor who, when he
had completed his work, had quickly to leave the house. Only then
was it safe to let the little dog go, whereupon he would go racing off,
sniffing all over the house in search o f the poor man. But if he seemed
rather ferocious, his bark was much worse than his bite: his jaw
overlapped in such a way that he could not actually sink his teeth into
anything.
When I moved to Dharamsala, I went with an Indian Government
liaison officer, Mr Nair, and a number o f Indian army bodyguards.
I had an excellent relationship with Mr Nair, who volunteered to
teach me English. Realising its importance, I had already arranged for
Tenzin Choegyal to be sent to North Point, an English school in
Darjeeling, and had started taking language lessons whilst at Mussoo-
rie. Very generously, the Indian Government had provided someone
to give me regular coaching, perhaps two or three times a week. But
I was not at that time a very willing pupil and quickly found excuses
to avoid them. So far I had made little progress. However, I enjoyed
working with my new liaison officer and progressed well under his
tuition, though I could not get enthusiastic about the mass o f writing
he gave me to do. I was sorry when he was posted elsewhere after two
years.
From then on, my instruction in English was much less formal.
Various other people helped me, including some Tibetans, but I
doubt whether my command o f the language is much better now than
it was twenty-five years ago. I am always painfully reminded o f this
when I go abroad. I am often embarrassed at the terrible mistakes I
make and regret that I did not work harder when I had the opportu
nity.
In addition to learning English during those first years o f living in
Dharamsala, I also rededicated myself to religious study. I began by
reviewing a number o f Tibetan texts I had first looked at as a teenager.
At the same time, I took teachings from some o f the spiritual masters
o f different traditions who had come into exile. And although the
realisation o fBodhichitta (the aspiration to achieve Buddahood for the
164 ---- FREEDOM IN E X I L E
benefit o f all sentient beings) still seemed a long way off, I found that
now there was no compulsion to work, the idea o f it was not so
unpleasant and I began to get a lot done. Unfortunately, lack o f time
quickly became a major obstacle to advancement in this sphere. But
I can say that, insofar as I have achieved anything spiritually, it is out
o f all proportion to the amount o f effort I have managed to put in.
Within a fortnight o f our arrival in Dharamsala, I was able to open

the first nursery for Tibetan refugee children. This was established in
a small, previously derelict building rented for us by the Indian Gov
ernment to house the growing number o f orphans amongst the new
arrivals. I appointed my elder sister, Tsering Dolma, to run it. There
was not much room for them when the initial consignment o f fifty
children arrived. But they lived in luxury compared with later on, for,
by the end o f the year, their numbers had multiplied tenfold, with no
end to the increase in sight. At one point, 120 shared a single bed
room. They had to sleep five or six to a bed, lying across it so that
they could all fit on. But although conditions were harsh, I could not
help feeling joy every time I went to visit my sister and her new
extended family. For, parentless as they were, these destitutes were so
full o f laughter and joy that they seemed to make a mockery o f their
hardship.
My sister proved to be an excellent leader, who never gave in to
despair. She was a powerful woman and quite strict, having inherited
the family temper in full measure. At heart though, she was a very kind
person with a good sense o f humour. Her contribution in those
difficult times was invaluable. As a simple village girl, she had had no
education whatever and much o f her early life was spent helping my
mother run the family house. She had an enormous capacity for hard
work. This, coupled with her rather fierce nature, made her an excel
lent leader.
However, it soon became apparent that neither we nor the Indian
Government had sufficient resources to cope with all our orphans,
and I came to the conclusion that it was necessary to have at least
some o f them adopted overseas, if that were possible. I therefore
contacted a Swiss friend, Dr Aeschmann, and asked him to look into
the possibility. Switzerland seemed to me an ideal place, given the fact
that it is a relatively small country with excellent communications and,
100,000 REFU G EES • 165
as a bonus, mountains which are reminiscent o f home.

The Swiss Government was co-operative from the start and said it
was willing to take 200 children immediately. Furthermore, it agreed
to take steps to help ensure that, although the children were to be
adopted into ordinary Swiss families, as far as possible there would be
opportunities for them to pursue their own unique Tibetan culture
and identity.
This first batch o f children was followed by others, and later there
was also a scheme not only for some older students to study in
Switzerland but also for the resettlement o f 1,000 adult refugees. As
our situation improved, we no longer needed to call on the generosity
o f the Swiss nation. But I continue to be tremendously grateful to
them for all they have done for my people.
Soon after arriving in Dharamsala, I came into personal contact
with members o f the International Commission o f Jurists, whose
work the previous year had done so much to encourage us. They
invited me to give evidence to the Commission’s Legal Inquiry Com
mittee, which I gladly did. The results o f these investigations were
published in Geneva during August 1960. Once again, the Jurists
entirely vindicated the Tibetan viewpoint: China, it reported, had
violated sixteen articles o f the Universal Declaration o f Human Rights
and was guilty o f genocide in Tibet. They also detailed some o f the
vile atrocities I have already mentioned.
On a practical level, I learned one very useful thing from my discus
sions with the Commission. One o f its members, an Englishman I
think, asked me whether we had someone monitoring Peking’s radio
broadcasts. N o, I replied, we did not. He was a little shocked at this
and explained in some detail the necessity o f listening carefully to
what they said. It is a comment on our lack o f sophistication that this
had not occurred to us. As far as we were concerned, Radio Peking
did nothing but disseminate lies and propaganda. We did not see the
value o f listening to it for an indication o f what was going on in the
Chinese mind. However, I could see the logic o f doing so and imme
diately instructed the Kashag to organise a monitoring team - whose
successors carry on their work to this day.
Throughout 1960, I continued to work at reforming the Tibetan
Administration and, together with the Kashag and others, I began
the difficult process o f full democratisation. On 2 September, I
166 — ■' F R E E D O M IN E X IL E
inaugurated the Commission o f Tibetan People’s Deputies. Member

ship o f this organisation, the highest legislative body o f the Govern
ment, was open to freely elected representatives o f the three regions
o f Tibet, U-Tsang, Amdo and Kham. Each o f the main traditions
within Tibetan Buddhism likewise had seats. Later, followers o f the
old Bon religion were also included. The Commission, now known
as the Assembly o f Tibetan People’s Deputies, or Bhoe M imang Chetui
Lhenkhang, functions much like a house o f parliament. Its members
meet with the Kashag and the secretaries o f the different Depart
ments, or Lhenkhangs, for discussions once a month. On specific
occasions, it meets with the full National Working Committee, or
Gyunle, which comprises the heads o f the Lhenkhangs and members
o f the Kashag (whose members are today no longer appointed by me
but elected). Anything put to the vote by the People’s Deputy must
be carried out according to the result.
T o begin with, these new arrangements were not very satisfactory.
Because the changes were so radical to Tibetans, some people even
suggested that the Government in Dharamsala was practising true
Communism! Three decades later, we are still faced with many prob
lems, but things are changing and improving all the time. Certainly
we are far ahead o f our brothers and sisters in China, who could learn
a great deal from us. At the time o f writing, the Tibetan Government
in Exile is in the process o f implementing new measures to promote
democracy further.
Some o f the older officials who had come into exile found these
changes hard to accept at first. But, on the whole, they saw the need
for reform o f our system and worked hard and enthusiastically to
achieve it. I shall always think fondly-of them. In the early years,
although I was able to live in some degree o f comfort, the same was
by no means true for the majority o f government officials. Many o f
them, even quite elderly men, were compelled to live under very poor
conditions - some taking shelter in cowsheds^ for example. But this
they did cheerfully and without complaint, even though they had
often lived extremely well throughout their lives in Tibet. And even
if some o f them disagreed in their hearts with the direction in which
I was heading, due to their conservatism, each and every one contrib
uted something during those dark days. They faced the difficulties we
shared with great joy and determination and did all they could to help
100,000 REFU G EES 167
rebuild the shattered lives o f our people, entirely without thought o f

personal gain. Their salary in those days was not above 75 rupees, or
£3, a month, even though they could have done much better for
themselves elsewhere, thanks to their education.
None o f which is to say that the business o f administration at that
time was easy. Naturally, there were some personal differences be
tween people and a fair amount o f petty squabbling. That is only
human nature. But overall, everyone expended their energies enthusi
astically and unselfishly for the good o f others.
My other main preoccupation right from the start was the preserva
tion and continuation o f our religion. Without it, I knew that the
well-spring o f our culture would dry up. Initially, the Government o f
India agreed to provide for a scholastic community o f 300 monks to
be established at the old prisoner-of-war camp at Buxa Duar, near the
Bhutanese border. But, by explaining that Buddhism depends upon
a high standard o f scholarship, we managed eventually to persuade
them to increase the commitment to funding for 1,500 o f all tradi
tions. This figure represented the youngest and most able o f the
6,000-odd monks who had escaped into exile, and as many experi
enced teachers as had survived.
Unfortunately, conditions at Buxa Duar remained very bad. The
climate there was especially hot and humid and disease was rampant.
These problems were exacerbated by the fact that food rations had to
be sent in from far away. When they arrived, they were often in an
extremely bad state. Within months, several hundred o f these scholar
monks had developed tuberculosis. Nevertheless, they worked and
studied hard until they could be moved. To my sorrow, I was unable
to visit the site but, meanwhile, I tried to sustain them with letters
and taped messages. Evidently this paid off to some degree for, al
though the camp never overcame its terrible problems, the survivors
became the nucleus o f a vigorous monastic community.
O f course, one o f the greatest difficulties we faced during those
early years was lack o f money. This was not a problem so far as our
educational and resettlement programmes were concerned, thanks to
the enormous generosity o f the Indian Government and the various
voluntary agencies overseas, which funded many projects. But I did
not feel that it was appropriate to ask for assistance with things like
the Administration. The small amount o f revenue raised by the impo
sition o f a voluntary freedom tax o f 2 rupees per person per month,

combined with a similarly voluntary monthly income tax o f two per
cent for salaried workers, did not go far. However, we had a lifeline
in the form o f the treasure, which Kenrap Tenzin had deposited in
Sikkim with such foresight back in 1950. It was still there.
At first, I had it in mind to sell the treasure directly to the Indian
Government, a plan proposed by Nehru himself. But my advisors
were adamant that the treasure should be sold on the open market.
They were certain we could get more for it that way. So it was finally
disposed o f in Calcutta, where it fetched what seemed to me an
enormous sum, equivalent then to $8 million.
A number o f enterprises were invested in with this money. There
was a plant to manufacture iron pipes and a business connected with
a paper mill, amongst other supposedly guaranteed money-spinning
projects. Unfortunately, it was not long before each o f these attempts
to make our precious capital work for us failed. Sadly, we were not
well served by a number o f people who were ostensibly helping us.
It seems they were more interested in helping themselves, and we lost
the majority o f the funds. The vision o f the ChikyabKenpo turned out
to have been largely wasted.
Less than an eighth o f the original total was salvaged to form what
came to be known as His Holiness the Dalai Lama’s Charitable Trust,
which was set up in 1964. However, if there is some sadness in this
episode, I myself do not regret very much the way things turned out.
In retrospect, it is clear that the treasure belonged to all the people
o f Tibet, not just the few who had escaped into exile. We did not,
therefore, have an exclusive right to it, no Karm ic right. I was re
minded o f the example set by Ling Rinpoche, who left his favourite
watch behind on the night that we left Lhasa. He felt that by going
into exile he was forfeiting his right to it. I now see that this was the
correct view.
As to my own personal finances, whereas in the old days there were
two offices to look after the financial affairs o f the Dalai Lama, since
1959 there has been only one. This is the Private Office, which
handles all my income and expenditure, including my own allowance,
which is paid in the form o f a stipend by the Indian Government at
the (unchanged) rate o f 20 rupees a day: slightly more than a dollar,
rather less than a pound. Theoretically, it pays for my food and
100,000 REFU G EES 169
clothing. As in former times, I have nothing directly to do with

money, which is probably just as well as I have a suspicion that mine
is a free-spending nature, although I know from my childhood that
I can be very stingy over small amounts. However, I am o f course able
to direct how such funds as I personally receive are spent (for example,
the Nobel Peace Prize money).
During that first summer in Dharamsala, I found time for some

relaxation and took to playing badminton most evenings. (I often did
not wear monk’s robes.) Then, during the winter, which was very
severe, we all enjoyed playing in the snow. My elder sister and my
mother were particularly enthusiastic participants in snowball fights,
despite their age.
A more serious form o f recreation was trekking in the nearby
Dhauladar Range, whose highest mountain reaches to over seventeen
thousand feet. I have always loved mountains. On one occasion, I
climbed to a great height with a party consisting o f my Tibetan
bodyguards. At the top, we were all extremely tired, so I suggested
we stop for some moments’ rest. As we sat breathlessly admiring the
beautiful view, I noticed that we were being watched from a distance
by one o f the mountain dwellers native to the area: a small, dark-
skinned, rather furtive-looking man. He stood staring at us for a few
minutes, then suddenly sat down on what looked like a small piece
o f wood and slid at great speed down the side o f the mountain. I
looked on fascinated as he disappeared into a speck thousands o f feet
below. I suggested we try his method o f descent.
Someone produced a rope and all ten o f us joined ourselves to
gether with it. Then we all did as our silent friend had done and sat
either on pieces o f wood or flat rocks and sped off down the slope.
It was great fun, if rather dangerous. There was much bumping and
subsequent bruising as we slammed into one another in a whoosh o f
streaming snow. Luckily no one was hurt, but thereafter I noticed a
certain reluctance on the part o f many o f my attendants to venture
beyond our base-camps. My bodyguards in particular showed great
hesitation whenever I announced a new expedition.
One other spare-time activity during this early period was my work
with David Howarth, an English writer, on a book, My Land and My
People, in which I gave a first account o f my life.
In 1961, the Government published a synopsis o f a Draft Constitu

tion o f Tibet. All members o f the Tibetan population were invited to
submit comments and criticisms. There were plenty o f these. Mainly
they referred to the important clause relating to the office o f Dalai
Lama. As a principal means o f formalising the move away from theoc
racy to full democracy, I made provision for the National Assembly
to be able to remove the incumbent from office given a two-thirds
majority in favour. Unfortunately, the thought that the Dalai Lama
could be deposed flabbergasted many Tibetans. I had to explain that
democracy is very much in keeping with Buddhist principles and,
somewhat autocratically perhaps, insisted that the clause be left in.
During the early part o f that year, in addition to visiting the road
gangs again, I paid my first visit to the new settlement at Bylakuppe.
On arrival, I found the settlers all to be very dark and thin. I saw
immediately why they had been so pessimistic. The camp consisted o f
nothing but a few tents on the edge o f a forest and, although the
countryside was just as I remembered it from my pilgrimage, the land
itself did not look promising. Moreover, the heat from burning de
bris, combined with the heat o f the sun, was almost unbearable.
The settlers had made a special tent for me with bamboo walls and
a canvas roof. But even though it was well made, it was no proof at
all against the terrible dust thrown up by the clearing process. Every
day, a thick cloud o f smoke and soot hung over the whole area. At
night it would settle slowly, penetrating every tiny opening, so that
in the morning you woke covered in a fine layer o f powder. Because
o f these conditions, morale was very low. Yet there was not much I
could do save give these pioneers every encouragement. I told them
that we must not give up hope and assured them, hardly believing it
myself, that in time we would be prosperous once more. I promised
them that we would prevail. Fortunately, they believed every word I
said and sure enough, little by little, their situation was transformed.
Thanks to the generosity o f several Indian states, we were able,
during the early 1960s, to establish over twenty settlements, gradually
taking people off the roads, so that today there are only a few hun
dred, out o f the present total o f over 100,000 refugees, who are still
making their living in road camps. And now it is o f their own free will.
Because nearly half o f the land given to us was situated in southern
India, where the climate is considerably hotter than in the north, I
100,000 REFU G EES 171
stipulated that only the strongest should be sent in the early stages.
Nevertheless, the death toll from sunstroke and heat exhaustion was
at times so high that I wondered whether I had been right to accept
land in the tropics. Yet, I was certain that, eventually, my people
would learn to adapt. Just as they had faith in me, I had faith in them.
Often I had to console the refugees in their sadness when I visited
these camps. The thought o f being so far from home and with no
prospect o f seeing ice or snow, let alone our beloved mountains, was
hard for them to bear. I tried to take their minds off the past. Instead,
I told them that the future o f Tibet depended on us refugees. If we
wanted to preserve our culture and way o f life, the only way to do so
was by building strong communities. I spoke too o f the importance
o f education and even o f the significance o f the institution o f mar
riage. Although it was not really a proper thing for a monk to advise,
I told the women that wherever possible they should marry Tibetan
men so that the children they bore would be Tibetans too.
The majority o f the settlements were begun between 1960 and
1965. I visited them all as often as I could over this period. Although
I never entertained thoughts o f failure, there were moments when our
problems seemed insurmountable. At Bandhara in Maharashtra state,
for example, the first batch o f settlers went in spring, just before the
start o f the hot season. Within a matter o f weeks, a hundred (that is,
a fifth) o f them had died from the heat. When I visited them for the
first time they came to me with tears in their eyes and begged to be
evacuated to a cooler place. I could do nothing other than explain to
them that their arrival had been badly timed but that the worst was
now certainly over. They should therefore learn to adopt the ways o f
the natives and see whether they couldn’t make the best o f the situa
tion. I urged them to try for one more year. If they could not make
a success o f the place by the time I returned the following winter, then
I promised to have them moved.
As it turned out, things went well from then on. Twelve months
later I went back and found the settlers beginning to prosper. ‘So
you’re not all dead!’ I said when I met the camp leaders. They laughed
and replied that everything had happened just as I said it would.
However, I must add that, although this particular community has
since become quite successful, it proved impossible to attract more
than 700-odd settlers, due to the heat problem. As at Bylakuppe, we
were given 3,000 acres o f land on the basis o f one acre per settler. But
because o f the small number who arrived we forfeited the remaining
2,300 acres, which were made over to some other refugees - though
they did not last long either.
One o f the great difficulties o f the resettlement programme was that
whilst we were able to foresee many o f the obstacles before they arose,
there were some that took us completely by surprise. At one place,
for example, great difficulties were experienced as a result o f wild boars
and elephants straying on to the land. Not only did they destroy the
crops, but they stampeded from time to time, knocking down several
huts and killing a number o f people.
I remember one old lama who lived there asking me to pray for
their protection, but using the Sanskrit term hathi for elephant. It
means, literally, precious creature and refers to the mythological ele
phants which symbolise charity. I knew precisely what he meant, but
I was very surprised to hear the word used in this way. I suppose the
monk had expected real elephants to be benevolent animals.
As it happened, many years later, whilst on a trip to Switzerland,
I was on a tour o f inspection at a farm where I was shown some
electric fencing. Much to the surprise o f my guide, I asked him
whether he thought that this could deter elephants. He said that if
the voltage were turned up sufficiently, he did not see why not. So
I arranged for a batch to be sent out to the settlement in question.
Not all our problems were practical, however. At times, our culture
has made it difficult for us Tibetans to adapt to new conditions. On
that first visit to Bylakuppe, I well remember the settlers being very
concerned that the burning they were having to carry out to clear the
land was causing the death o f innumerable small creatures and insects.
For Buddhists, this was a terrible thing to be doing, since we believe
that all life, not just human life, is sacred. Several o f the refugees even
came up to me and suggested that the work should be stopped.
A few o f the projects set up with the assistance o f the overseas aid
agencies failed for similar reasons. For example, all attempts to found
poultry farms and piggeries have been unsuccessful. Even in their
reduced circumstances, Tibetans have shown themselves unwilling to
become involved in animal production for food. This has given rise
to a certain amount o f sarcasm on the part o f some foreigners, who
100,000 REFU G EES 173
point out the anomaly between Tibetans’ willingness to eat meat and
their disinclination to provide it for themselves.
That said, the majority o f projects undertaken with the help o f
these organisations have succeeded very well and our friends have
been overjoyed at the positive results.
These experiences o f support, freely given by people from the indus
trially advanced nations, have confirmed my basic belief in what I call
Universal Responsibility. It seems to me to be the key to human
development. Without such a sense o f Universal Responsibility, there
can be only unequal development in the world. The more people
come to realise that we do not live on this planet o f ours in isolation
- that ultimately we are all brothers and sisters - the more likely is
progress for all humankind, rather than for just parts o f it.
Some o f the people who came from overseas and gave their lives to
the refugees stand out. One o f these was Maurice Friedmann, a Jew
from Poland. I met him for the first time in 1956, together with Uma
Devi, a painter friend o f his, also Polish. They had both settled
(independently) on the sub-continent to pursue the Indian way o f life.
When we came into exile, they were amongst the very first people to
offer their assistance.
Friedmann, who was quite old by this time, was in poor physical
condition. He had a permanent stoop and thick spectacles which
betrayed his failing sight, yet he had the most piercing blue eyes and
an extremely sharp brain. He could be exasperating at times: he would
argue stubbornly in favour o f projects which were completely impossi
ble. But on the whole, the advice he gave, especially in regard to the
establishment o f children’s homes, was invaluable. Uma Devi, who
was more spiritually inclined than Friedmann, but similarly oldish,
also devoted the rest o f her life to working on behalf o f my people.
Another important character was Mr Luthi, who worked for the
Swiss Red Cross. Paid (‘Papa’ in Tibetan), as he was known, was a
man o f tremendous zeal and energy, a real leader, who drove the
people under him extremely hard. The habitually easy-going Tibetans
found him quite difficult to take and I know there was a certain
amount o f grumbling about his methods, but in reality he was well
loved by all. I cherish his memory, and that o f others like him, who
worked so hard and so selflessly for my people.
174 F R E E D O M IN E XILE
* * *
For us Tibetan refugees, one significant event during the early 1960s
was the Sino-Indian War o f 1962. Naturally, I was extremely sad
when the fighting began, but it was a sadness tinged with fear. At that
time, the resettlement process was still in its earliest stage. Several o f
the road camps were situated perilously close to where the fighting
took place, in Ladakh and NEFA, with the result that they were
forced to close. Some o f my people thus became refugees a second
time. What made the whole experience even sadder for us was the
spectacle o f our saviours, the Indians, being humiliated by Chinese
soldiers stationed on Tibetan soil.
Mercifully, it was a short war, although at the end o f it there were
many dead on both sides for no obvious gain to either. Reflecting on
his China policy, Nehru was forced to state that India had been 'living
in a fool’s paradise o f our own making’. All his life, he had dreamed
o f a free Asia, in which every country would coexist in harmony. Now
Panch Sheel was shown to be an empty vessel, less than a decade after
it had been signed and despite everything that this most humane man
had done to preserve it.
I remained in contact with Pandit Nehru right up to his death in
1964. He himself continued to take a close interest in the plight o f
the Tibetan refugees, especially the children whose education he al
ways held to be o f the greatest importance. Many people say that the
Sino-Indian War broke his spirit. I think they may be right. I saw him
for the last time in May o f that year. As I entered his room, I sensed
that he was in a state o f deep mental shock. He had just suffered a
stroke and was very weak and haggard-looking, propped up in an
armchair with pillows under each arm. As well as obvious signs o f
acute physical discomfort, I also noticed indications o f intense mental
strain in him. Our meeting was short and I left with a heavy heart.
Later that same day he left to go to Dehra Dun, and I went to bid
him farewell at the airport. When I got there, I happened to see Indira
Gandhi, his daughter, whom I had come to know well over the years
since I first met her when she accompanied her father to Peking in
1954 (I had at first been under the impression that she was his wife).
I told her how sorry I was to find her father in such poor health. I
went on to say that I feared I had seen him for the last time.
As it turned out I was right, for within less than a week he was dead.
100,000 REFU G EES 175
Unfortunately, I was unable to attend his cremation. Instead, I par

ticipated in the scattering o f his ashes at the confluence o f the three
rivers in Allahabad. This was a great honour for me, as it made me
feel close to his family. One o f its members that I saw there was Indira.
Sometime after the ceremony, she came up to me and, looking
straight into my eyes, said, ‘You knew.’
10
A WOLF IN MONK’S ROBES
sering Dolma also died in 1964. Her work was taken over by
T Jetsun Pema, our younger sister, who has shown similar cour
age and determination. Today, the nursery thrives as part o f
the Tibetan Children’s Village (TCV) in Dharamsala.
The TCV, which has many branches throughout the settlements,
today houses and educates more than six thousand children in all,
around fifteen hundred o f them at Dharamsala. Although most o f the
initial funding was by the Indian Government, much o f the expense
is now met by the charity SOS International. Thirty years on, it is
pleasing to see the results o f our efforts in the field o f education.
Presently, more than two thousand refugee children have graduated
from schools o f higher education - most o f them in India, but a
growing number in the West. Throughout this time I have taken a
close interest in our education programme, always mindful o f Nehru’s
remark about children being our most precious resource.
In those early days, these schools were nothing more than dilapi
dated buildings where Indian teachers taught very diverse groups o f
children. Now, we have a healthy number o f qualified Tibetan staff.
But still there are considerable numbers o f Indian educators involved.
To these men and women, and their predecessors, I wish to offer my
deepest thanks. I cannot adequately express the gratitude I feel for the
many who have so freely devoted much o f their lives to the service o f
my people, often in very poor conditions and in remote areas.
176
A WO L F IN M O N K ’S R O B E S ---- 177
On the negative side, it is unfortunately the case that many children

do not finish their education, especially girls. This is sometimes due
to their own disinclination, sometimes to their parents’ shortsighted
ness. Whenever I have the opportunity, and it is appropriate, I tell
parents that they have a great responsibility not to use their children’s
small hands for their own short-term benefit. Otherwise, there is a
danger o f producing semi-educated children, who see the colourful
opportunities o f life but, because o f their lack o f education, are not
equipped to grasp them. This can result in dissatisfaction and even
greed.
The man who succeeded Pandit Nehru as Prime Minister o f India was
Lai Bahadur Shastri. Despite his being in power for less than three
years, I met him quite a number o f times and grew to respect him very
much. Like Nehru before him, Shastri was a great friend o f the
Tibetan refugees. Even more than Nehru, however, he was also a
political ally.
In autumn 1965, Tibet was discussed at the United Nations once
more, thanks to a draft resolution submitted by Thailand, the Philip
pines, Malta, Ireland, Malaysia, Nicaragua and El Salvador. On this
occasion India, at Shastri’s insistence, voted in favour o f Tibet. Dur
ing his tenure o f office, it began to look as if the new Indian Govern
ment might even recognise the Tibetan Government in Exile. But
sadly, the Prime Minister did not live long. In the meantime, India
went to war once more, this time with Pakistan. Fighting broke out
on 1 September 1965.
Because Dharamsala lies less than a hundred miles from the Indo-
Pakistan border, I was able to see at first hand the tragic effects o f
battle. N ot long after the fighting had begun, I left home for one o f
my frequent visits to the settlements in the south. It was night and
there was a total blackout in force. We were compelled to drive the
three hours to Pathankot railway station without headlights. The only
other traffic on the road was military and I remember thinking that
it is a very sad state o f affairs when ordinary citizens are forced into
hiding and the ‘defence forces’ are called forward. In reality, o f course,
these are the same people - human beings like myself.
When at last we reached the station, after a difficult journey, I could
hear the heavy shelling o f Pathankot airport in the near distance. At
one point, I heard jets shrieking overhead and then, moments later,
the luminous stutter o f anti-aircraft tracers spat up into the sky. The
noise was terrifying and I was quite frightened, though I am pleased
to say that I was not the only one. I have never been on a train that
pulled out o f a station as fast as ours did that night!
On arrival in the south, I went first to Bylakuppe, where I saw the
original refugee settlement, reaching it on 10 September. By now it
was home to more than 3,200 people. There was also permanent
housing, each building being constructed o f brick and roofed with
local tiles, and work on the drilling o f wells and cutting down o f trees
was completed. According to the original plan, agricultural work was
now beginning in earnest. Each person had been given nominal own
ership o f one acre o f land, though really it was farmed co-operatively,
with a small proportion kept over for private kitchen gardens which
produced seasonal fruits and vegetables. The main crops were to be
rice, maize and m gi (millet). I was very happy to see such progress.
It confirmed my belief in the tremendous power o f a positive outlook
when coupled with great determination.
Overall, I found the situation considerably improved. N o longer
did I have to confront people who were on the edge o f despair. Nor
did I have to make promises o f future prosperity which I myself could
hardly believe. But although there were signs that their tenacity was
paying off, the life o f the settlers was still extremely hard.
In the earliest days o f planning the resettlement programme with
the Indian Government, we had hoped that the refugees would be
self-sufficient within five years. Thereafter, it was intended that the
Tibetans would begin to contribute to India’s economy by raising an
agricultural surplus which could then be sold. However, our opti
mism failed fully to acknowledge that the workforce was completely
untrained. Few o f the people who worked on the land had any knowl
edge o f farming. Former tradesmen, monks, soldiers, nomads and
simple villagers who knew nothing were all pitched into this new
enterprise, regardless.
And o f course, agriculture in the Indian tropics is a very different
proposition from agriculture at Tibet’s high altitudes. So even those
who did know something about it had to learn entirely new methods,
from working with bullocks to using and maintaining tractors. Thus,
A WO L F IN M O N K ’S R O B E S 179
even after almost five years, conditions in the camps were still very
primitive.
Yet, looking back, I see that in some ways the mid-1960s were a
high point in the Tibetan resettlement programme: the majority o f
the necessary land clearance had been done, most o f the refugees had
access to basic medical attention, courtesy o f the International Red
Cross and others - and the farm machinery was still fairly new,
whereas today it is old and in need o f replacement.
On this occasion in 1965, I remained for a week or ten days at
Bylakuppe, after which I took the opportunity to visit Mysore,
Ootamacund and Madras by road before proceeding to Trivandrum,
capital o f Kerala, India’s most literate state. I was invited to reside
with the Governor. In the end, my stay turned out to be one o f several
weeks on account o f the war in the north, which continued to look
very dangerous: two bombs had already fallen on Dharamsala. How
ever, the time was not wasted.
It so happened that my room in the Rajbhavan, the Governor’s
residence, looked directly on to the kitchens opposite. One day I
chanced to see the slaughter o f a chicken, which was subsequently
served up for lunch; as it was having its neck wrung, I thought o f how
much suffering the poor creature was enduring. The realisation filled
me with remorse and I decided it was time to become a vegetarian.
As I have already mentioned, Tibetans are not, as a rule, vegetarians,
because in Tibet vegetables are often scarce and meat forms a large
part o f the staple diet. Nevertheless, according to some M ahayana,
Buddhist texts, monks and nuns should really be vegetarians.
To check my resolve, I had the food sent in to me. When it arrived,
I looked at it very carefully. The chicken had been cooked in the
English style, with onions and gravy; it smelled delicious. But I had
no difficulty refusing it. From that moment on, I adhered minutely
to the vegetarian rule and, in addition to abstaining from meat, ate
neither fish nor eggs.
This new regime suited me well and I was very contented; I felt a
sense o f fulfillment from a strict interpretation o f the rule. Back in
1954, in Peking, I had discussed the subject o f vegetarianism with
Chou En-lai and another politician at a banquet. This other man
claimed to be vegetarian, yet he was eating eggs. I questioned this and
argued that because chickens come from eggs, eggs could not be
considered to be vegetarian food. We disagreed quite strongly - at

least until Chou brought the discussion to a diplomatic close.
The war with Pakistan ended on 10 January 1966. But with this happy
event came bad news: the death o f Prime Minister Shastri in Tash
kent, where he had gone to negotiate a settlement with the Pakistani
President, Ayub Khan. He passed away within a few hours o f signing
the peace treaty.
Lai Bahadur Shastri has left a powerful impression on my memory
for, although he was a small, rather weak and ineffectual-looking man,
he had a powerful mind and spirit. Despite his frail appearance, he was
an outstanding leader. Unlike so many people who hold positions o f
great responsibility, he was bold and decisive: he did not allow events
to carry him along, but did his best to direct them.
Shortly after, I was invited to attend the cremation, which I did on
my way back home from Trivandrum. It was a sorrowful affair, partic
ularly as it was the first time in my life that I had seen a dead body
from close up - even though as a Buddhist I visualise death every day.
I remember looking at his inert form lying on top o f the funeral pyre
and recalling all his mannerisms and the little bits o f personal informa
tion he had shared with me. He himself was a strict vegetarian, he had
told me, because as a young schoolboy he had once chased a wounded
pigeon round and round until it died o f exhaustion. He was so
horrified at what he had done that he vowed never to eat another
living creature. So not only had Tibet lost a true and mighty friend,
not only had India lost one o f her finest politicians, not only had the
world lost an enlightened leader, but mankind had lost a genuinely
compassionate spirit.
After paying my final respects to the late Prime Minister, I returned
to Dharamsala, but not before visiting some o f the hospitals in Delhi
containing casualties from the war. Most o f those that I saw were
officers. Many were in great pain and enduring terrible hardship. As
I walked between the rows o f beds, amongst sobbing family members
o f the wounded, I thought to myself that this was the only real result
o f war: tremendous human suffering. Anything else that might arise
from conflict could be brought about by peaceful means. It was small
consolation to realise that the people in this hospital were being well
looked after: many o f those who had been caught up in the struggle
A WOL F IN M O N K ’S R O B E S '— ' 181
would not have the benefit o f such good facilities.

A fortnight later, Indira Gandhi was sworn in as Prime Minister o f
India. Because I had seen her practically every time I saw her father,
I already felt quite close to her. I have reason to believe that she felt
quite close to me too. More than once she took me into her confi
dence about people and things that were causing her trouble. And for
my part, I considered that I knew her well enough to be able to
remind her, on one occasion towards the end o f her first administra
tion, that it is vital for a leader to keep in touch with the common
people.
I myself had learned at an early age that anyone who wishes to lead
must remain close to the common people. Otherwise, it is all too easy
to be misled by advisors and officials and others around you who, for
reasons o f their own, might wish to prevent you from seeing things
clearly.
As with each o f India’s Prime Ministers, I owe a great debt o f
gratitude to Indira Gandhi for her warm support o f the Tibetan
refugees. From its inception, she was a member o f the Tibetan Homes
Foundation based in Mussoorie and was particularly helpful in the
field o f education. She had her father’s vision when it came to the
importance o f schooling. And although much strong language was
used to denounce her after the Emergency, with some people even
calling her a dictator, I note that she relinquished power quite grace
fully when the electorate delivered its verdict in March 1977. To me
that was a wonderful example o f democracy in action: though there
was much conflict both within Parliament and without, when the
moment came for her to leave, she did so without fuss. I remember
thinking the same about President Nixon. So often a change o f leader
ship is taken as a cue for blood-letting. It is a sign o f a truly civilised
country when parliamentary procedure triumphs over personal inter
est.
The People’s Republic o f China presented a very different picture
o f domestic politics at this time. From the mid-1960s until M ao’s
death in 1976, the country, together with its colonies, endured a
series o f bloody and violent upheavals. Many years passed before a
true picture o f the so-called Cultural Revolution began to emerge. It
turned out that not only was this a period o f aimless madness, but the
behaviour o f Jiang Qing, M ao’s wife, resembled that o f an Empress.
At the same time, I realised that the Communist leaders, who at first
I had thought o f as having a single mind inhabiting their different
bodies, were all at each other’s throats.
Then, however, it was not possible to do more than guess at the
extent o f the turmoil. Along with many Tibetans I realised that
terrible things were happening in our beloved homeland. But commu
nications had dried up entirely. Our only sources o f news were individ
ual Nepalese traders who were occasionally allowed over the border.
However, such information as they were able to give us was scant and
invariably outdated. For example, it was not until over a year later that
I learned o f a large-scale revolt that took place in several different parts
o f Tibet during 1969. According to some reports, even more people
were killed during the reprisals that followed than in 1959.
We know now that many such outbreaks o f unrest occurred. O f
course, I had no direct contact with the leaders in Peking who, at this
time, began to refer to me as the V o lf in monk’s robes’. I became the
focus o f the Chinese Government’s bile and was regularly denounced
in Lhasa as someone who merely posed as a religious leader. In reality,
the Chinese said, I was a thief, a murderer and a rapist. They also
suggested that I performed certain quite surprising sexual services for
Mrs Gandhi!
Thus, for almost fifteen years, the Tibetan refugees entered a period
o f darkness. The prospect o f returning to our homeland seemed
further off then when we had first come into exile. But o f course night
is the time for regeneration and during these years the resettlement
programme was brought to fruition. Gradually, more and more peo
ple were taken off the roads and put into the new settlements around
India. Also, a few o f the refugees left India to found small communi
ties around the world. At the time o f writing, there are approximately
1,200 spread throughout Canada and the United States (in equal
proportions), some 2,000 in Switzerland, 100 in Great Britain, and
a handful in almost every other European country, including one
young family in the Republic o f Ireland.
In tandem with this second wave o f resettlement, the Tibetan
Government in Exile opened offices in several countries overseas. The
first o f these was in Kathmandu, the second in New York, followed
by Zurich, Tokyo, London and Washington respectively. As well as
looking after the interests o f Tibetans living in these countries, the
A WOLF IN M O N K ’S R O B E S 183
Offices o f Tibet also do what they can to disseminate information

about our country, culture, history and way o f life both in exile and
at home.
In 1 9 6 8 ,1 made plans to move from Swarg Ashram, my home for
eight years, into a small house called Bryn Cottage. The building itself
was no bigger than the last one, but it had the advantage o f a newly
constructed compound, which housed the Private Office and the
Indian Security Office, along with an audience-room and an office for
myself. The Tibetan Government in Exile had grown to be an organi
sation several hundred strong and most o f them were now moved into
a complex o f offices some distance away. At the same time as this
reorganisation was taking place, my mother also moved to a new
house, Kashmir Cottage (though not very willingly at first), enabling
me to live a truly monastic life once more.
Shortly after moving to Bryn Cottage, I was able to refound Nam-
gyal monastery, whose monks were previously living in a small house
above Swarg Ashram. Today it occupies a building not far from my
own residence. A little later, in 1970, work was also completed on a
new temple, the Tsuglakhang. This meant that I now had the oppor
tunity to take part in the various ceremonies o f the traditional Tibetan
calendar in an appropriate setting. Today, adjacent to the buildings
at Namgyal, is housed the School o f Buddhist Dialectics, which helps
to keep alive the art o f debating within our monastic community.
Most afternoons, the courtyard outside the temple is now full o f
young monks in maroon robes clapping their hands and shaking their
heads and laughing as they practise for their examinations.
In 1963, I had called a meeting o f all heads o f the different tradi
tions, together with representatives o f the Bon religion. Together we
discussed our common difficulties and strategies for overcoming them
in order to preserve and propagate the different aspects o f our Tibetan
Buddhist culture. At the end o f several days, I was satisfied that, if we
could only provide ourselves with the right facilities, our religion
would survive. And now, soon after reinaugurating my own monas
tery, I re-established Ganden, Drepung and Sera, in the southern state
o f Karnataka, initially with a complement o f 1,300 monks - the
survivors from Buxa Duar.
Today, as we begin our fourth decade in exile, there is a thriving
monastic community over six thousand strong. I would even go so
far as to say that we have too many monks: after all, it is the quality
and dedication o f these people that counts, not their numbers.
Another cultural enterprise begun towards the end o f the 1960s
was the Library o f Tibetan Works and Archives, which not only
contains more than forty thousand original Tibetan volumes but is
also involved in publishing both English-language and Tibetan books.
This year, 1990, it published its 200th English title. The Library
building is constructed in traditional Tibetan style and, besides hous
ing literature, also contains a museum that is stocked with many items
brought to India by the refugees. O f the few possessions that people
were able to bring with them, a lot took thangkas, books o f scripture
and other religious artefacts rather than things o f a more practical
nature. Many o f these they characteristically offered to the Dalai
Lama. I in turn passed items on to these organisations.
Just before actually moving in to Bryn Cottage, I became very ill for
a number o f weeks. On returning to Dharamsala in early 1966, after
the cessation o f conflict between India and Pakistan, I had taken
enthusiastically to my new, vegetarian diet. Unfortunately, there are
few dishes in Tibetan cuisine that do not use meat and it was some
time before the cooks learned how to make them taste good without
it. But eventually they succeeded and began to produce delicious
meals. I felt really well on them. Meanwhile, several Indian friends
told me o f the importance o f supplementing my diet with plenty o f
milk and nuts. I followed this advice faithfully - with the result that
after twenty months I contracted a severe case o f jaundice.
On the first day, I vomited a great deal. Thereafter, I lost my
appetite completely for two or three weeks, and fell into a state o f
utter exhaustion. To move at all required tremendous effort. On top
o f this, my skin turned bright yellow. I looked like the Buddha
himself! Some people used to say that the Dalai Lama lives as a
prisoner in a golden cage: on this occasion, I was golden-bodied too.
Eventually the illness, which turned out to be Hepatitis B, cleared
up, but not before I had consumed large quantities o f Tibetan medi
cine (about which I shall say more in a later chapter). As soon as I
began once more to take an interest in eating, I was instructed by my
doctors that not only must I take less greasy food, cut out nuts and
reduce my consumption o f milk, but also I must start eating meat
A WOLF IN M O N K ’S RO B E S 185
again. They were very much afraid that the illness had caused perma
nent damage to my liver and were o f the opinion that, as a result, my
life has probably been shortened. A number o f Indian doctors I
consulted were o f the same opinion, so reluctantly I returned to being
non-vegetarian. Today, I eat meat except on special occasions re
quired by my spiritual practice. The same is true for a number o f
Tibetans who followed my example and suffered a similar fate.
From the start, I was very happy in my new home. Like Swarg
Ashram, the house was originally built by the British and stands at the
top o f a hill in a small garden o f its own, surrounded by trees. It has
a fine view both o f the Dhauladar mountain range and o f the valley,
in which lies Dharamsala itself. Apart from having sufficient space just
outside to address over a thousand people, its main attraction for me
is the garden. I set to work on it immediately and planted many
different types o f fruit trees and flowers. This I did with my own
hands: gardening is one o f my great joys. Sadly, few o f the trees did
well and they produce rather poor, bitter fruit, but I took consolation
from the great variety o f animals, and particularly birds, that came to
visit.
I enjoy watching wildlife even more than gardening. For this pur
pose, I constructed a bird table just outside my study window. It is
surrounded by wire and netting to keep out the larger birds and birds
o f prey, which tend to scare off their smaller brethren. This is not
always sufficient to keep them away, however. Occasionally, I am
compelled to take out one o f the air guns that I acquired shortly after
arriving in India, in order to discipline these fat, greedy trespassers.
Having spent a great deal o f time as a child at the Norbulingka
practising with the Thirteenth’s old air rifle, I am quite a good shot.
O f course, I never kill them. My intention is only to inflict a measure
o f pain in order to teach a lesson.
My days at Bryn Cottage were taken up in much the same way as
before. Each winter I toured the refugee settlements, and from time
to time I gave teachings. I also continued my religious studies. In
addition, I began to try to learn something about Western thought,
particularly in the fields o f science, astronomy and philosophy. And
in my spare moments, I rediscovered my old enthusiasm for photogra
phy. As a thirteen or fourteen year old, I had acquired my first box
camera through the good offices o f Serkon Rinpoche, the lame tsen-
shap.
At first, I entrusted the exposed films to him for development. He
then pretended that the films were his own (to save me from embar
rassment if I had photographed anything that might be considered
unworthy o f the Dalai Lama) and took them to a merchant. They
were then processed in India. This procedure always caused him
anxiety - because if my subject matter really had been unsuitable, he
would have had to take responsibility! Later on though, I constructed
a darkroom at the Norbulingka and, from Jigme Taring, one o f my
officials, learned how to do this work myself.
Another hobby that I resumed after moving to my new home was
that o f mending watches. Having more space than before, I was able
to set aside a room as a workshop, for which I acquired a proper set
o f tools. For as long as I can remember, I have been fascinated by
watches and rosaries, a facet o f character that I share with the Thir
teenth Dalai Lama. Often, when I look at our differences in nature,
I think that it is not possible that I am his reincarnation. But consider
ing our interest in watches and rosaries, I realise that o f course I must
be!
When I was very young, I carried my predecessor’s pocket-watch.
But what I always longed for was a wrist-watch - although some
people advised me against it. As soon as I was old enough to convince
Serkon Rinpoche that I needed them, I arranged for him to buy me
a Rolex and an Omega from the Lhasa market. Incredible as it may
seem, even in those far off days before the Chinese had arrived to
civilise us, it was possible to buy Swiss watches in Lhasa. In fact, there
were few things that you could not buy from the market - everything
from Marmite and Yardley’s soap from England to last month’s edi
tion o f Life magazine were quite easily obtainable.
Needless to say, the first thing I did with my latest acquisitions was
take them apart. When I first saw the tiny pieces that comprised the
mechanism, I regretted my haste. But it did not take me long to put
them back together again or to learn how to slow them down and
speed them up. So I was delighted when I was finally able to have a
proper workshop to do these things. I repaired quite a few apparently
hopeless cases for family and friends and still to this day like to keep
my tools handy, although I no longer have time to do very much o f
A WOLF IN M O N K S ROBES 187
this work. Besides, so many watches that are made today are impossi
ble to open without scratching. I fear that I have disappointed a
number o f people whose timepieces have been returned to them in
full working order, but in less than pristine condition.
That said, I have managed more or less to keep up with modern
technology, although, o f course, digital watches are outside my
scope. I need admit only to a couple o f failures. One o f these was the
beautiful, gold Patek Philippe sent to me as a gift by President Roose
velt. With separate movements for the second hand and date, it was
beyond me - and beyond the professional repairers I sent it to as well.
It was not until I took it personally to the manufacturers whilst on
a visit to Switzerland a few years ago that anyone has succeeded in
getting it to run properly. Fortunately, it was in the hands o f an
Indian repairer at the time o f my escape from Lhasa. Another failure
was a watch belonging to a member o f my Government: I regret to
say that I had to send it back in an envelope - in pieces.
At this point I can perhaps mention the three cats which I have
owned whilst in India. The first o f them joined my household towards
the end o f the 1960s. It was a black-and-white spotted female called
Tsering, who had many good points, amongst which was her friendli
ness. I have few rules for any creature that joins my household, other
than that they are compelled to be monks and nuns, but Tsering had
one major failing which I, as a Buddhist, could not tolerate: she was
unable to resist chasing mice. I frequently had to discipline her for
this. It was on one o f these occasions that I regret to say she met her
end. I caught her in the very act o f killing a mouse inside my house.
When I shouted at her, she ran to the top o f a curtain, where she
suddenly lost her grip, fell to the ground and was mortally wounded.
Despite all the attention and care I could give her, she did not recover
and died within a few days.
Not long afterwards, however, I discovered a small kitten in the
garden, which had apparently been abandoned by its mother. I picked
it up and noticed that its hind legs were crippled in just the same way
as Tsering’s were when she died. I took this creature into my house
and looked after it until eventually it was able to walk. Like Tsering,
she was also female, but very beautiful and even more gentle. She also
got along very well with the two dogs, particularly Sangye, against
whose furry chest she liked to lie.
188 ---- FREEDOM IN E X I L E
When she in her turn died, after both dogs, I decided against
having any more pets. As my Senior Tutor, Ling Rinpoche, himself
a great animal lover, had once said, ‘Pets are in the end only an extra
source o f anxiety to their owners.5 Besides, from the Buddhist point
o f view, it is not enough to be thinking and caring about only one
or two animals when all sentient beings are in need o f your thoughts
and prayers.
However, during the winter o f 1988, I happened to notice a sick
kitten with its mother in the kitchens opposite the front entrance to
my house. I took her into my care. To my surprise, I found that she
too was crippled, just as her two predecessors had been. So I fed her
with Tibetan medicine and milk from a pipette until she was strong
enough to be able to look after herself, and she has now joined my
household. At the time o f writing, she does not yet have a name: that
will come in due course. In the meantime, she has proved herself to
be a very lively individual and very curious. Whenever I have a visitor
to the house, she invariably comes to inspect them. So far she is quite
well behaved as regards chasing other creatures, though she is not
above helping herself to food from my table if the opportunity arises.
One observation about animals I have is that, even as pets and
despite having all facilities, they tend to run away, given the chance.
This reinforces my belief that the desire for freedom is fundamental
to all living beings.
To me, one o f the most important aspects o f my thirty-one years in

exile has been my meetings with people from all walks o f life. Thanks
to India being a free country, there has been no restriction on who
I am permitted to see. On occasion, I have had the good fortune to
welcome some truly remarkable people. Sometimes, though, I also
receive people who are quite sick, even mentally disturbed. But
mostly, those that I see are ordinary men and women. Whenever I
do meet people, my aim is to help in any way that I can, and also to
learn what I can.
Infrequently, these audiences are awkward in some way, but in
every case that I can recall, I have parted on friendly terms with all
who have come to visit. I believe that this has been possible by always
having the same motivation o f sincerity.
Especially, I enjoy meeting men and women from varied back-
A WOLF IN M O N K ’S R O B E S 189
grounds, including some from different religious traditions. One fa

mous example was J. Krishnamurti. I found him to be an impressive
person, with a sharp mind and considerable learning. Although he
had a gentle appearance, he had very clear-cut views about life and its
meaning. Subsequently, I have also met many followers o f his who
have derived much benefit from his teachings.
One o f my happiest memories o f this time is the occasion when I
was fortunate enough to receive a visit from Father Thomas Merton,
the American Benedictine monk. He came to Dharamsala in Novem
ber 1968, just a few weeks before his tragic death in Thailand. We met
on three consecutive days, for two hours at a time. Merton was a
well-built man o f medium height, with even less hair than me, though
that was not because his head was shaved as mine is. He had big boots
and wore a thick leather belt round the middle o f his heavy, white
cassock. But more striking than his outward appearance, which was
memorable in itself, was the inner life that he manifested. I could see
he was a truly humble and deeply spiritual man. This was the first time
that I had been struck by such a feeling o f spirituality in anyone who
professed Christianity. Since then, I have come across others with
similar qualities, but it was Merton who introduced me to the real
meaning o f the word 'Christian’.
Our meetings were conducted in a very pleasant atmosphere. Mer
ton was both humorous and well informed. I called him a Catholic
jjeshe. We talked about intellectual and spiritual matters that were o f
mutual interest and exchanged information about monasticism. I was
keen to learn all that I could about the monastic tradition in the West.
He told me a number o f things that surprised me, notably that
Christian practitioners o f meditation do not adopt any particular
physical position when they meditate. According to my understand
ing, position and even breathing are vital components to its practice.
For his part, Merton wanted to know all he could about the Bodhi-
sattva ideal. He also hoped to meet a teacher who could introduce
him to Tantrism. Altogether, it was a most useful exchange - not least
because I discovered from it that there are many similarities between
Buddhism and Catholicism. So I was extremely sad to hear o f his
sudden death. Merton acted as a strong bridge between our two very
different religious traditions. Above all, he helped me to realise that
every major religion, with its teaching o f love and compassion, can
produce good human beings.
Since my meeting with Father Thomas Merton, I have had consid
erable contact with other Christians. On my visits to Europe, I have
visited monasteries in a number o f different countries and, on each
occasion, have been very impressed with what I have seen. The monks
that I have met have shown a devotion to their calling o f which I am
quite envious. Although they are comparatively few in number, I have
the impression that their quality and dedication are very high. Con
versely, we Tibetans, even in exile, have a very large number o f monks
- four or five per cent o f the exile population. Yet there is not always
the same degree o f dedication.
I am also very impressed with the practical work o f Christians o f
all denominations through charitable organisations dedicated to
health and education. There are many wonderful examples o f these
in India. This is one area where we can learn from our Christian
brothers and sisters: it would be very useful if Buddhists could make
a similar contribution to society. I feel that Buddhist monks and nuns
tend to talk a great deal about compassion without doing much about
it. On several occasions, I have discussed this matter with Tibetans as
well as other Buddhists and am actively encouraging the setting up o f
similar organisations. However, if it is true that we can learn from
Christians, I also feel that they could learn from us. For example, the
techniques we have developed for meditation and one-pointed con
centration o f the mind might well help them in other areas o f the
spiritual life.
The end o f the 1960s coincided with the first signs that my dream o f
resettling all 100,000 Tibetan exiles in India, Nepal and Bhutan could
be achieved. So although the little news I heard from Tibet was very
depressing, I looked forward to the future with a sense o f real and
well-founded optimism. However, two series o f events outside my
direct control reminded me o f just how precarious our position was.
The first o f these concerned approximately four thousand refugees
who had settled in Bhutan. The Kingdom o f Bhutan is a remote
country lying on the far eastern border o f India, due south o f
U-Tsang, the central province o f Tibet. Like Tibet, it is a land o f
majestic mountains and is home to a devoutly religious people who
A WOLF IN M O N K ’S ROB ES 191
follow the same Buddhism as we do. Unlike Tibet, it is a full member

o f the United Nations.
The late King o f Bhutan was very kind to the Tibetans who sought
exile in his country and, with assistance from the Indian Government,
he provided land and transport and helped to set up agricultural
settlements for my people.
All went well to begin with, and the Tibetans were very happy.
When I met with a group o f them at the first Kalachakm initiation
ceremony that I gave in Bodh Gaya in 1974, I was pleased to learn
that they were doing well. They were full o f praise for their hosts, and
especially for the new king, Jigme Wangchuk, who had recently as
cended the throne. He impressed everyone with his maturity in han
dling affairs o f state. But only a few months later, matters took a turn
for the worse. Twenty-two prominent members o f the Tibetan com
munity were arrested, tortured and thrown, without trial, into jail in
Timphu, the capital. My personal representative, Lhading (a relation
o f the late king), was amongst them. I was deeply distressed at this
news and felt that there should be a thorough investigation (though
I did not believe the allegations o f conspiracy levelled against these
people). This did not happen and the true position never became
clear. Eventually, I realised that these Tibetans were being used as
scapegoats in an internal affair o f the Bhutanese Government.
After this unfortunate occurrence, many o f the refugees decided to
leave Bhutan. But those who remained have since continued to live
peacefully, despite there still being some suspicion and resentment
against them, I believe. In any case, I am grateful to the Bhutanese
people and Government for all they have done for my people and am
certain that in the future our traditional friendly relations will be fully
restored.
The other sad episode concerned the guerrillas, trained and
equipped by the CIA, who continued their struggle to regain Tibetan
freedom by violent means. On more than one occasion, I tried to
discover detailed information about these operations from Gyalo
Thondup and others, but I have never heard the full story. I do know,
however, that in 1960 a guerrilla base was established in Mustang, an
area which lay in the most remote northern region o f Nepal, right on
the border with Tibet. A force several thousand strong drawn from
the exile population was assembled there (though only a small propor
tion actually received training from the Americans). Unfortunately,

the logistics o f this camp were not well planned. As a result, the
would-be insurgents endured many difficulties, though o f course
nothing compared with the dangers faced by the many extraordinarily
brave freedom fighters who carried on the struggle from inside Tibet
itself.
When the base finally became operational, the guerrillas harassed
the Chinese on a number o f occasions and once managed to destroy
a convoy. It was this raid which captured the document recording the
87,000 deaths in Lhasa during the period March 1959-September
1960. These successes had some positive result in that they boosted
morale. But the fact that there was no consistent, effective follow-up
probably only resulted in more suffering for the people o f Tibet.
Worse, these activities gave the Chinese Government the opportunity
to blame the efforts o f those seeking to regain Tibetan independence
on the activities o f foreign powers - whereas, o f course, it was an
entirely Tibetan initiative.
In the end, the Americans discontinued their backing for the guer
rillas following their recognition o f the Chinese Government in the
1970s - which indicates that their assistance had been a reflection o f
their anti-Communist policies rather than genuine support for the
restoration o f Tibetan independence.
The guerrillas, however, were determined to fight on. This caused
the Chinese Government (who must have been considerably troubled
by their activities) to demand that Nepal disarm the forces in Mus
tang, even though there must have been some arrangement between
these Tibetans and the Nepalese Government. But when they tried to
do so, the guerrillas refused, saying that they were determined to carry
on even if it meant that they must now fight the Nepalese army as
well.
Although I had always admired the determination o f the guerrillas,
I had never been in favour o f their activities and now I realised that
I must intervene. I knew that the only way I could hope to make an
impression on them was by making a personal appeal. Accordingly,
I instructed former Kusun Depon P.T. Takla to take a taped message
to their leaders. In it, I said that it would be senseless to fight the
Nepalese, not least because there were several thousand Tibetan refu
gees settled in Nepal who would also suffer if they did. Instead they
A WOL F IN M O N K ’S R O B E S 193
ought to be grateful to the Nepalese Government. They should there

fore lay down their arms and themselves settle peacefully. The Tibetan
struggle needed a long-term approach.
Afterwards, P.T. Takla told me that many o f the men felt that they
had been betrayed - a few o f their leaders actually cut their own
throats rather than leave. I was distraught to hear this. Naturally, I
had had mixed feelings about appealing to the freedom fighters. It
seemed wrong in a way to challenge such courage, such loyalty and
such love for Tibet, though I knew in my heart that it was the right
thing to do.
The great majority o f the guerrillas did put down their weapons.
But some o f them, less than a hundred, ignored my plea, with the
result that they were pursued by the Nepalese army as they crossed
from one side o f the border to the other. Finally, they were caught
in an ambush and met the violent deaths they must have been expect
ing. Thus ended one o f the saddest episodes in the history o f the
Tibetan diaspora.
11
FROM EAST TO WEST
I
made my first journey outside India during the autumn o f 1967,
when I went to Japan and Thailand. Since then, I have travelled
with increasing frequency—this despite the difficulties often im
posed by my brothers and sisters in China. Unfortunately, al
though the great majority o f my journeys overseas are entirely private
(generally at the invitation o f one o f the Tibetan or Buddhist commu
nities abroad), the Chinese always consider them to be political, and
anyone who meets me is seen by the authorities in Peking to be
making a political statement. For this reason, there have been times
when leading public figures have been prevented from making my
acquaintance for fear o f incurring their government’s or China’s dis
pleasure.
At the time o f those first visits, the Vietnam War was at its height.
I recall that at one point on the flight out, as we cruised at high
altitude, I noticed another, larger aircraft climbing past us. I recog
nised it as a B-52 bomber. With great sorrow I realised that this plane
must be about to shed its load not harmlessly over the sea but on to
other human beings like myself. I was further dismayed to see that,
even at 30,000 feet above the earth’s surface, it is not possible to
escape evidence o f man’s inhumanity to man.
On landing in Tokyo, I was pleased to find signs o f man’s better
nature. The first thing I noticed was an extraordinary tidiness. Every
thing was far cleaner than I had ever seen before. I soon discovered
194
F R O M HAS T T O W E S T 195
that this emphasis on outward orderliness extended even to the food,

which was always exquisitely presented. It seemed to me that accord
ing to Japanese sensibilities, its arrangement on the plate was o f
greater importance than the taste. Another thing that struck me
immediately was the huge number o f cars and trucks that plied their
way up and down the city streets, transporting people and goods
throughout the day and night. I was particularly interested to find
that, although Japan has achieved great material advancement, she
has done so without losing sight o f her traditional culture and values.
Seeing this impressed on me the tremendous potential for good o f
modern technology.
Whilst in Japan, I was very happy to see a number o f young Tibetan
students studying there. I was also glad to meet some Japanese who
spoke Tibetan and had a good knowledge o f my homeland. As re
cently as the time o f the Thirteenth Dalai Lama, Japanese scholars had
come to Tibet to study. So it was a pleasure to re-establish, albeit as
a refugee, links between our two countries.
My impressions o f Thailand were quite different. I found the peo
ple there wonderfully easy-going. This was in contrast to Japan, where
even the waiters struck me as formal. That said, there are certain rules
o f etiquette to be observed in Thailand which I found distinctly
difficult. According to Thai custom, the laity should always show
respect for the Sanjjha, as Buddhist monasticism is properly known.
However, it is considered entirely wrong for a monk to acknowledge
such reverence, even when a person prostrates him or herself. I found
this extremely hard to get used to. Under normal circumstances, I
always try to return greetings. And whilst I did my best to restrain
myself, I often found my hand behaving independently!
Visiting Thailand on a subsequent occasion, this tradition pre
sented me with an interesting problem when I was invited to lunch
with the King. Should I or should I not shake his hand? He might
consider it unseemly for me to do so. Nobody was quite sure. In the
event, he came forward and shook my hand warmly.
My only other difficulty in that country was the heat which, even
more than in southern India, was stunning. That and the mosquitoes.
Together they made sleeping very difficult. On the positive side, some
o f the senior monks I was privileged to meet were deeply impressive.
As in Japan, there was much to discuss as our different traditions share
many common practices—which helped me see that Buddhism in the

Tibetan tradition is a very complete form o f Buddhism.
In 1973, I made my first trip to Europe and Scandinavia. It lasted
for over six weeks and took in eleven countries. By the end, I was
completely exhausted. Yet I was exhilarated to have had the opportu
nity o f seeing so many new places and o f meeting so many new people.
I was also pleased to renew some old acquaintances. It was especially
good to see Heinrich Harrer once more. He was his usual, jovial self
and his sense o f humour was as coarse and earthy as ever. He had been
to Dharamsala once, but it was many years since I had last seen him,
and his yellow hair, about which I had always teased him when I was
a boy, was now very grey. Otherwise, the years had not changed him
much. His strong mountaineer’s fingers still captivated me and, al
though he had collected even more injuries than when I knew him
last, thanks to an accident whilst leading an expedition in New
Guinea, he was altogether very full o f himself.
My first stop was Rome, where I met His Holiness the Pope. As
the aircraft came in to land, I was very curious to see whether the
landscape offered any indications o f the tremendous differences that
are supposed to exist between East and West. Even though I had seen
countless photographs o f European cities, particularly in my collec
tion o f books about the First and Second World Wars, I was still not
quite sure what to expect. So it was with relief that I saw the same
trees and vegetation and the same signs o f human habitation that I
knew from the East. Things were obviously not so different, after all.
On landing, I went straight to Vatican City, where I found St
Peter’s Basilica in some ways reminiscent o f the Potala, at least in
terms o f its size and great antiquity. On the other hand, the Swiss
guards, in their very colourful uniforms, seemed quite comical. They
looked almost like decorations. My talk with Pope Paul VI was very
brief, but I took the opportunity to express to him my belief in the
importance o f spiritual values for all humanity, no matter what the
particular creed. He was in complete agreement with me and we
parted on very good terms.
The following day I flew to Switzerland for a week, where I met
some o f the 200 children who had been adopted into Swiss families.
I found them very shy and awkward in their behaviour towards me.
Sadly, most o f them had completely lost the ability to speak their
F R O M HAS T T O WE S T ---- 197
native language. (However, on a subsequent visit, in 1979, I found

the situation much improved. The children had taken lessons and
spoke to me in broken Tibetan, rather like my own broken English.)
Remembering their sad state six years previously, I was delighted to
see their smiling faces and to discover that, as I had hoped, the people
o f Switzerland had greeted them with open arms. It was obvious that
they had grown up in an atmosphere o f love and kindness.
From Switzerland, I travelled to Holland, where one o f the people
I met was a rabbi. This was a particularly moving experience. Because
o f the language difficulties, we hardly exchanged any words, but there
was no need. In his eyes I clearly saw all the terrible suffering o f his
people, and wept.
I spent only two days in the Netherlands and a few hours in Bel
gium before flying on to Ireland, then Norway, Sweden and Den
mark, each for only a day or two. Time was far too short to gain more
than the slightest impression o f these places. But everywhere I went,
I found the same kindness and hospitality and thirst for information
about Tibet. It became clear to me that my country holds a special
fascination for many people around the world. One o f the particular
joys o f this energetic trip was the opportunity it gave me o f thanking
in person some o f the many people who had organised aid to the
Tibetan refugees. In Norway, Denmark and Sweden, for example, I
visited the organisations which had made it possible for forty young
Tibetan men and women to be trained as mechanics and agricultural
ists.
The country in which I spent the most amount o f time was the
United Kingdom. I stayed for ten days and was pleased to find con
firmation o f my belief that, o f all western countries, Britain has the
closest links with Tibet. To my surprise, I met a number o f very old
people who were actually able to speak to me in Tibetan. It turned
out that they, or, in some cases, their parents, had been stationed in
Tibet as officials at one time or another. One o f these was Hugh
Richardson, whom I had last seen about ten years previously when he
came to Dharamsala.
While in Britain I met Sir Harold Macmillan, who impressed me
very much. He seemed extraordinarily nice and had an air o f authority
combined with humility that was very striking. He also showed an
interest in spiritual values. Another person whose acquaintance I
made and who has since become a valued friend was Humphrey
Carpenter, then Dean o f Westminster, whose wife now always calls
me ‘My Boy’. I call her ‘Mother’.
Although in 1960 I saw an Indian newspaper report saying that
President Eisenhower had indicated that he would receive the Dalai
Lama if I went to America, an enquiry into the possibility o f my going
there in 1972 suggested that there might be some difficulty in obtain
ing a visa. Naturally, I was very curious to see the country that is said
to be both the richest and freest nation on earth, but it was not until
1979 that I was able to do so.
On arrival in New York, where I went first, I was immediately
impressed by an atmosphere o f liberty. The people I met seemed very
friendly and open and relaxed. But at the same time, I could not help
noticing how dirty and untidy some parts o f the city were. I was also
very sorry to see so many tramps and homeless people taking shelter
in doorways. It amazed me that there could be any beggars in this
vastly rich and prosperous land. I was reminded o f what my Commu
nist friends had told me about the injustices o f the ‘American Imperi
alist Paper Tiger’, how it exploits the poor for the benefit o f the rich.
Ajiother surprise was to discover that although, like many Easterners,
I held the view that the US was the champion o f freedom actually very
few people had any knowledge o f the fate o f Tibet. Now, as I have
come to know the country better, I have begun to see that, in some
ways, the American political system does not live up to its own ideals.
None o f this is to say that I did not hugely enjoy that first visit,
nor that I did not see much that impressed me. I particularly enjoyed
addressing many student audiences, where I found continual expres
sions o f goodwill. No matter how badly I expressed myself in English,
the response I had was always warm, whether people understood
everything or not. This helped me to overcome my shyness o f speak
ing in public using this foreign language and helped me to grow in
confidence, for which I am very grateful. However, I now wonder
whether this kindness did not contribute in some way to a loss o f
determination on my part to improve my English further. For al
though I now made up my mind to do so, as soon as I returned to
Dharamsala, I found that my resolve had vanished entirely! The result
is that I continue on the whole to prefer talking to German and
French and other European people, many o f whom speak English as
F ROM EAS T TO WES T 199
I do, ungrammatically and with a heavy accent. Least o f all do I enjoy

speaking it with the English themselves, many o f whom strike me as
very reserved and formal.
Since those first visits to different parts o f the world, I have been
back many times. Especially, I welcome the opportunity offered by
travel to meet and talk with people from different walks o f life—some
poor, some rich, some well educated, some ill educated, some who
are religious, many who are not. So far, I have received only support
for my belief that wherever you go, people everywhere are basically
the same, despite certain superficial differences. They all, like myself,
seek happiness: no one wants suffering. Furthermore, everyone ap
preciates affection and at the same time has the potential for showing
affection to others. With this in mind, I have found that friendship
and understanding can develop.
Overall I have found much that is impressive about western society.
In particular, I admire its energy and creativity and hunger for knowl
edge. On the other hand, a number o f things about the western way
o f life cause me concern. One thing I have noticed is an inclination
for people to think in terms o f "black and white5and "either, or5, which
ignores the facts o f interdependence and relativity. They have a tend
ency to lose sight o f the grey areas which inevitably exist between two
points o f view.
Another observation is that there are a lot o f people in the West
who live very comfortably in large cities, but virtually isolated from
the broad mass o f humanity. I find this very strange—that under the
circumstance o f such material well-being and with thousands o f broth
ers and sisters for neighbours, so many people appear able to show
their true feelings only to their cats and dogs. This indicates a lack o f
spiritual values, I feel. Part o f the problem here is perhaps the intense
competitiveness o f life in these countries, which seems to breed fear
and a deep sense o f insecurity.
For me, this sense o f alienation is symbolised by something I once
saw at the home o f a very rich man whose guest I was on one o f my
trips abroad. It was a very large private house, obviously designed
expressly for convenience and comfort, and fitted with every kind o f
appliance. However, when I went into the bathroom, I could not
help noticing two large bottles o f pills on the shelf above the hand
basin. One contained tranquillisers, the other sleeping pills. This was
proof, too, that material prosperity alone cannot bring about lasting
happiness.
As I have already said, I usually go abroad at the invitation o f
others. Very often, I am also asked to address groups o f people. When
this happens, my approach is threefold. Firstly, as a human being, I
talk about what I have termed Universal Responsibility. By this I
mean the responsibility that we all have for each other and for all
sentient beings and also for all o f Nature.
Secondly, as a Buddhist monk I try to contribute what I can to
wards better harmony and understanding between different religions.
As I have said, it is my firm belief that all religions aim at making
people better human beings and that, despite philosophical differ
ences, some o f them fundamental, they all aim at helping humanity
to find happiness. This does not mean that I advocate any sort o f
world religion or 'super religion’. Rather, I look on religion as medi
cine. For different complaints, doctors will prescribe different reme
dies. Therefore, because not everyone’s spiritual 'illness’ is the same,
different spiritual medicines are required.
Finally, as a Tibetan, and furthermore as the Dalai Lama, I talk
about my own country, people and culture whenever anyone shows
interest in these matters. However, although I am greatly encouraged
when people do show concern for my homeland and my suffering
fellow countrymen and women in occupied Tibet, and although it
gives fuel to my determination to continue the fight for justice, I do
not consider those who support our cause to be 'pro-Tibet’. Instead,
I consider them to be pro-Justice.
One o f the things that I have noticed whilst travelling is the
amount o f interest shown by young people in the things that I talk
about. This enthusiasm could, I suppose, be due to the fact that my
insistence on absolute informality appeals to them. For my own part,
I greatly value exchanges with younger audiences. They ask all sorts
o f questions concerning everything from the Buddhist theory o f Emp
tiness, through my ideas about cosmology and modern physics, to sex
and morality. Those questions which are unexpected and complicated
are the ones I appreciate most. They can help me a great deal as I am
compelled to take an interest in something that might not otherwise
have occurred to me. It becomes a bit like debating.
Another observation is that many o f the people I talk to, especially
F R O M E AS T TO WES T 201
in the West, have a highly sceptical cast o f mind. This can be very
positive, I feel, but with the proviso that it is used as the basis for
further enquiry.
Perhaps the most sceptical o f all are the journalists and reporters
with whom, because o f my position as the Dalai Lama, I inevitably
have a great deal o f contact, especially when I travel. However, al
though it is often said that these men and women from the world’s
free press are very tough and aggressive, I have found that in general
this is not so. The majority turn out to be friendly, even if the
atmosphere is sometimes a little tense at first. Just occasionally, a
question and answer session will turn into a serious argument. If this
happens, I usually stop when it comes to politics, which I try to avoid.
People have a right to their own opinions and I do not see it as my
role to try to change their minds.
On a recent trip abroad, exactly this happened. After the press
conference was over, some people felt that the Dalai Lama had not
given good answers. However, I was not concerned. People must
decide for themselves whether or not the Tibetan cause is a just one.
Much worse than the odd unsatisfactory encounter with newspaper
people have been a couple o f incidents involving television appear
ances. On one occasion, when I was in France, I was invited to speak
on a live news programme. It was explained that the presenter would
speak to me directly in French. What he was saying would be simulta
neously translated into English for me, via a small earphone. But in
the event, I was unable to understand a word o f what came out.
On another occasion, when I was in Washington, I was asked to
do a similar thing, only this time I was alone in the studio. The
interviewer spoke to me from New York. I was told to look directly
at a screen showing not his face, but my own. This completely unset
tled me. I found it so disconcerting to be talking to myself that I was
lost for words!
Whenever I go abroad, I try to contact as many other religious
practitioners as possible, with a view to fostering inter-faith dialogue.
On one o f my foreign visits, I met some Christians with a similar
desire. This led to a monastic exchange whereby for a few weeks some
Tibetan monks went to a Christian monastery, while a similar number
o f Christian monks came out to India. It proved to be an extremely
useful exercise for both parties. In particular, it enabled us to gain a
deeper understanding o f other people’s way o f thinking.

Amongst the many religious personalities that I have met, I will
single out a few. The present Pope is a man I hold in high regard.
To begin with, our somewhat similar backgrounds give us an immedi
ate common ground. The first time we met, he struck me as a very
practical sort o f person, very broad-minded and open. I have no doubt
that he is a great spiritual leader. Any man who can call out "Brother’
to his would-be assassin, as Pope John Paul did, must be a highly
evolved spiritual practitioner.
Mother Teresa, whom I met at Delhi airport on my way back from
a conference at Oxford, England, during 1988 (which she had also
attended), is someone for whom I have the deepest respect. I was at
once struck by her demeanour o f absolute humility. From the Bud
dhist point o f view she could be considered to be a Bodhisattva.
Another person whom I think o f as a highly evolved spiritual
master is a Catholic monk I met at his hermitage near Monserrat in
Spain. He had spent a great many years there, just like an eastern sage,
surviving off nothing more than bread and water and a little tea. He
spoke very little English—even less than me—but from his eyes I
could see that I was in the presence o f an extraordinary person, a true
practitioner o f religion. When I asked him what his meditations were
about, he answered simply, "Love’. Since then, I have always thought
o f him as a modern Milarepa, after the Tibetan master o f that name
who spent much o f his life hidden away in a cave, meditating and
composing spiritual verses.
One religious leader with whom I have had several good conversa
tions is the outgoing Archbishop o f Canterbury, Dr Robert Runcie
(whose courageous emissary, Terry Waite, I always remember in my
prayers). We share the view that religion and politics do mix and both
agree that it is the clear duty o f religion to serve humanity, that it must
not ignore reality. It is not sufficient for religious people to be in
volved with prayer. Rather, they are morally obliged to contribute all
they can to solving the world’s problems.
I remember once an Indian politician taking me to task over this
view. He said to me, quite humbly, "Oh, but we are politicians, not
religious people. Our first concern is with serving people through
politics,’ to which I replied, "Politicians need religion even more than
a hermit on retreat. If a hermit acts out o f bad motivation, he harms
F ROM E AS T TO WEST 203
no one but himself. But if someone who can directly influence the
whole o f society acts with bad motivation, then a great number o f
people will be adversely affected.’ I find no contradiction at all be
tween politics and religion. For what is religion? As far as I am
concerned, any deed done with good motivation is a religious act. On
the other hand, a gathering o f people in a temple or church who do
not have good motivation are not performing a religious act when
they pray together.
Although I do not seek them out, I have also made the acquaint
ance o f a number o f politicians whilst on my travels. One o f these was
Edward Heath, the former Prime Minister o f Great Britain, whom I
have met four times. Like Nehru, on the occasion o f our first private
meeting, I found that he seemed to have some difficulty concentrat
ing on what I had to say. However, on the last three occasions, we
had long and frank discussions about Tibet and China, during which
Mr Heath expressed his enthusiasm for Chinese successes in agricul
ture. As someone who has visited Tibet more recently than I have,
he also said that I should realise that many changes have taken place
in my homeland - particularly with regard to support for the Dalai
Lama. In his opinion, it is fast vanishing, especially amongst the
younger generation.
This was a very interesting point o f view to hear from such a senior
politician, moreover one who has had extensive dealings with Peking.
Nevertheless, I explained that my concern was not for the Dalai
Lama’s position but for the rights o f the six million who live in
occupied Tibet. Having said this, I told him that as far as I was aware,
support for the Dalai Lama amongst young people in Tibet was at its
highest level ever and that my exile had united the Tibetan people in
a way that had never been possible before.
We still keep in touch, despite our differences o f opinion, and I
continue to value Mr Heath as a man with great knowledge o f world
affairs. Yet at the same time, I am highly impressed at the effectiveness
o f Chinese disinformation and deception even on such an experienced
person as he is.
An interesting phenomenon o f the past two decades or so has been

the rapid growth o f interest in Buddhism amongst western nations.
I see no special significance in this, although o f course I am very
happy that there should now be more than five hundred centres o f
Tibetan Buddhism worldwide, many o f them in Europe and North
America. I am always glad if someone derives benefit from adopting
Buddhist practices. However, when it actually comes to people chang
ing their religion, I usually advise them to think the matter through
very carefully. Rushing into a new religion can give rise to mental
conflict and is nearly always difficult.
Nevertheless, even in those places where Buddhism is quite new,
I have, for the benefit o f those wishing to participate, performed
ceremonies on a few occasions. For example, I have given the Kala-
chakm initiation in more than one country outside India - my motive
for doing so being not only to give some insight into the Tibetan way
o f life and thinking, but also to make an effort, on an inner level, in
favour o f world peace.
Whilst on the subject o f the spread o f Buddhism in the West, I
want to say that I have noticed some tendency towards sectarianism
amongst new practitioners. This is absolutely wrong. Religion should
never become a source o f conflict, a further factor o f division within
the human community. For my own part, I have even, on the basis
o f my deep respect for the contribution that other faiths can make
towards human happiness, participated in the ceremonies o f other
religions. And, following the example o f a great many Tibetan lamas
both ancient and modern, I continue to take teachings from as many
different traditions as possible. For whilst it is true that some schools
o f thought felt it desirable for a practitioner to stay within his or her
own tradition, people have always been free to do as they think fit.
Furthermore, Tibetan society has always been highly tolerant o f other
people’s beliefs. Not only was there a flourishing Muslim community
in Tibet, but also there were a number o f Christian missions which
were admitted without hindrance. I am therefore firmly in favour o f
a liberal approach. Sectarianism is poison.
As for my own religious practice, I try to live my life pursuing what
I call the Bodhisattva ideal. According to Buddhist thought, a Bodhi-
sattva is someone on the path to Buddhahood who dedicates them
selves entirely to helping all other sentient beings towards release from
suffering. The word Bodhisattva can best be understood by translat
ing the Bodhi and Sattva separately: Bodhi means the understanding
or wisdom o f the ultimate nature o f reality, and a Sattva is someone
FROM E AS T TO WEST 205
who is motivated by universal compassion. The Bodhisattva ideal is

thus the aspiration to practise infinite compassion with infinite wis
dom. As a means o f helping myself in this quest, I choose to be a
Buddhist monk. There are 253 rules o f Tibetan monasticism (364 for
nuns) and by observing them as closely as I can, I free myself from
many o f the distractions and worries o f life. Some o f these rules
mainly deal with etiquette, such as the physical distance a monk
should walk behind the abbot o f his monastery; others are concerned
with behaviour. The four root vows concern simple prohibitions:
namely that a monk must not kill, steal or lie about his spiritual
attainment. He must also be celibate. If he breaks any one o f these,
he is no longer a monk.
I am sometimes asked whether this vow o f celibacy is really desirable
and indeed whether it is really possible. Suffice to say that its practice
is not simply a matter o f suppressing sexual desires. On the contrary,
it is necessary fully to accept the existence o f these desires and to
transcend them by the power o f reasoning. When successful, the
result on the mind can be very beneficial. The trouble with sexual
desire is that it is a blind desire. To say T want to have sex with this
person’ is to express a desire which is not intellectually directed in the
way that T want to eradicate poverty in the world’ is an intellectually
directed desire. Furthermore, the gratification o f sexual desire can
only ever give temporary satisfaction. Thus as Nagarjuna, the great
Indian scholar, said:
When you have an itch, you scratch.

But not to itch at all
Is better than any amount o f scratching.
Regarding my actual daily practice, I spend, at the very least, five

and a half hours per day in prayer, meditation and study. On top o f
this, I also pray whenever I can during odd moments o f the day, for
example over meals and whilst travelling. In this last case, I have three
main reasons for doing so: firstly, it contributes towards fulfilment o f
my daily duty; secondly, it helps to pass the time productively; thirdly,
it assuages fear! More seriously though, as a Buddhist, I see no
distinction between religious practice and daily life. Religious practice
is a twenty-four-hour occupation. In fact, there are prayers prescribed
for every activity from waking to washing, eating and even sleeping.
For Tantric practitioners, those exercises which are undertaken dur
ing deep sleep and in the dream state are the most important prepara
tion for death.
However, for myself, early morning is the best time for practice.
The mind is at its freshest and sharpest then. I therefore get up at
around four o ’clock. On waking, I begin the day with the recitation
o f mantras. I then drink hot water and take my medicine before
making prostrations in salutation o f the Buddhas for about half an
hour. The purpose o f this is twofold. Firstly, it increases one’s own
merit (assuming proper motivation) and secondly, it is good exercise.
After my prostrations, I wash - saying prayers as I do so. Then I
generally go outside for a walk, during which I make further recita
tions, until breakfast at around 5.15 a.m . I allow about half an hour
for this meal (which is quite substantial) and whilst eating read scrip
tures.
From 5.45 a.m . until around 8.00 a.m., I meditate, pausing only to
listen to the 6.30 news bulletin o f the BBC World Service. Then,
from 8.00 a.m. until noon, I study Buddhist philosophy. Between
then and lunch at 1 2 .3 0 ,1 might read either official papers or newspa
pers, but during the meal itself I again read scripture. At 1.00 p.m ., I
go to my office, where I deal with government and other matters and
give audiences until 5.00 p .m . This is followed by another short period
o f prayer and meditation as soon as I get back home. I f there is
anything worthwhile on television, I watch it now before having tea
at 6.00 p.m. Finally, after tea, during which I read scripture once more,
I say prayers until 8.30 or 9 . 0 0 p m ., when I go to bed. Then follows
very sound sleep.
O f course, there are variations to this routine. Sometimes during
the morning I will participate in a puja or, in the afternoon, I will
deliver a teaching. But, all the same, I very rarely have to modify my
daily practice - that is my morning and evening prayers and medita
tion.
The rationale behind this practice is quite simple. During the first
part o f it when I make prostrations, I am ‘taking refuge’ in the
Buddha, the Dharm a and the Sangha. The next stage is to develop
Bodhichitta or a Good Heart. This is done firstly by recognising the
impermanence o f all things and secondly by realising the true nature
F R O M E AS T TO WE S T 207
o f being which is suffering. On the basis o f these two considerations,

it is possible to generate altruism.
To engender altruism, or compassion, in myself, I practise certain
mental exercises which promote love towards all sentient beings,
including especially my so-called enemies. For example, I remind
myself that it is the actions o f human beings rather than human beings
themselves that make them my enemy. Given a change o f behaviour,
that same person could easily become a good friend.
The remainder o f my meditation is concerned with Sunya or Empti
ness, during which I concentrate on the most subtle meaning o f
Interdependence. Part o f this practice involves what is termed ‘deity
yoga’, Ibdi naljor, during which I use different m andalas to visualise
myself as a succession o f different ‘deities’. (This should not, however,
be taken to imply belief in independent external beings.) In so doing,
I focus my mind to the point where it is no longer preoccupied with
the data produced by the senses. This is not a trance, as my mind
remains fully alert; rather it is an exercise in pure consciousness. What
exactly I mean by this is hard to explain: just as it is difficult for a
scientist to explain in words what is meant by the term "space-time’.
Neither language nor every-day experience can really communicate
the meaning experience o f ‘pure mind’. Suffice to say that it is not an
easy practice. It takes many years to master.
One important aspect o f my daily practice is its concern with the
idea o f death. To my mind, there are two things that, in life, you can
do about death. Either you can choose to ignore it, in which case you
may have some success in making the idea o f it go away for a limited
period o f time, or you can confront the prospect o f your own death
and try to analyse it and, in so doing, try to minimise some o f the
inevitable suffering that it causes. Neither way can you actually over
come it. However, as a Buddhist, I view death as a normal process
o f life, I accept it as a reality that will occur while I am in Sam sara.
Knowing that I cannot escape it, I see no point in worrying about it.
I hold the view that death is rather like changing one’s clothes when
they are torn and old. It is not an end in itself. Yet death is unpredict
able - you do not know when and how it will take place. So it is only
sensible to take certain precautions before it actually happens.
As a Buddhist, I further believe that the actual experience o f death
is very important. It is then that the most profound and benefi-
rial experiences can come about. For this reason, many o f the great
spiritual masters take release from earthly existence - that is, they
die - whilst meditating. When this happens, it is often the case that
their bodies do not begin to decay until long after they are clinically
dead.
My spiritual ‘routine’ changes only when I undertake a retreat. On
these occasions, in addition to my normal daily practice, I also per
form special meditations. This takes the place o f my usual period o f
meditation and o f my study o f Buddhist philosophy between breakfast
and noon. These I shift to the afternoon. After tea, there is no
change. However, there are no hard and fast rules. Sometimes, be
cause o f external pressures, I am compelled to deal with official mat
ters, or even to give audiences whilst on retreat. In that case, I may
sacrifice some sleep in order to be able to fit everything in.
The purpose o f undertaking a retreat is to enable a person to
concentrate fully on inner development. As a rule, my opportunities
for doing so are very limited. I am lucky if I can find two periods o f
a week in any given year, although occasionally I have managed a
month or so. In 1 9 7 3 ,1 had a strong desire to undertake a three-year
retreat, but unfortunately circumstances did not permit. I would still
like very much to do this one day. In the meantime, I have to make
do with just short battery-charging sessions, as I call them. A week
is not long enough to make any actual progress or to develop in any
way, but it is just sufficient to allow me to recharge myself. It takes
much longer periods actually to train the mind to any extent. This is
one o f the reasons why I consider myself to be very much in the
primary grade o f spiritual development.
O f course, one o f the main reasons I have so little time for retreats
is the amount o f travelling that I do nowadays, though I do not regret
this. By travelling, I am able to share my experiences and hope with
many more people than would otherwise be possible. And if, when
I do so, it is always from the viewpoint o f my being a Buddhist monk,
this does not mean I believe that it is only by practising Buddhism that
people can bring happiness to themselves and others. On the con
trary, I believe that this is possible even for people who have no
religion at all. I only use Buddhism as an example because everything
in life has confirmed my belief in its validity. Besides, as a monk since
the age o f six, I have some knowledge in this field!
12
OF ‘MAGIC AND MYSTERY’
I
am often asked questions about the so-called magical aspects o f
Tibetan Buddhism. Many westerners want to know whether the
books on Tibet by people like Lobsang Rampa and some others,
in which they speak about occult practices, are true. They also ask
me whether Shambala (a legendary country referred to by certain
scriptures and supposed to lie hidden among the northern wastes o f
Tibet) really exists. Then there was the letter I received from an
eminent scientist, during the early 1960s, saying he had heard that
certain high lamas were capable o f performing supernatural feats and
asking whether he could conduct experiments to determine whether
this was so.
In reply to the first two questions, I usually say that most o f these
books are works o f imagination and that Shambala exists, yes, but not
in a conventional sense. At the same time, it would be wrong to deny
that some Tantric practices do genuinely give rise to mysterious phe
nomena. For this reason I half considered writing to the scientist to
say that what he had heard was correct and, further, that I was in
favour o f experimentation; but I regretted to have to inform him that
the person on whom these experiments could be performed had not
yet been born! Actually, there were at that time various practical
reasons why it was not possible to participate in enquiries o f this sort.
Since then, however, I have agreed to a number o f scientific investi
gations into the nature o f certain specific practices. The first o f these
209
was carried out by Dr Herbert Benson, who is presently head o f the

Department o f Behavioural Medicine at Harvard Medical School in
America. When we met during my 1979 visit, he told me that he was
working on an analysis o f what he terms the "relaxation response5, a
physiological phenomenon encountered when a person enters a medi
tative state. He felt that it would further understanding o f this process
if he were able to conduct experiments on highly advanced practition
ers o f meditation.
As a strong believer in the value o f modern science, I decided to
let him proceed, though not without some hesitation. I knew that
many Tibetans were uneasy about the idea. They felt that the practices
in question should be kept confidential because they derive from
secret doctrines. Against this consideration I set the possibility that
the results o f such an investigation might benefit not only science but
also religious practitioners and could therefore be o f some general
benefit to humankind.
In the event, Dr Benson was satisfied that he had found something
extraordinary. (His findings were published in several books and
scientific journals, including N ature.) He came out to India with two
assistants and several pieces o f sophisticated equipment and con
ducted experiments on some monks in hermitages near to Dharamsala
and in Ladakh and Sikkim, further north.
The monks in question were practitioners o f Tum-mo yoga, which is
designed to demonstrate proficiency in particular Tantric disciplines.
By meditating on the chakras (energy centres) and the nadis (energy
channels), the practitioner is able to control and prevent temporarily
the activity o f the grosser levels o f consciousness, permitting him or
her to experience the subtler levels. According to Buddhist thought,
there are many levels o f consciousness. The grosser pertain to ordinary
perception - touch, sight, smell and so forth - whilst the subtlest are
those apprehended at the point o f death. One o f the aims o f Tantra is
to enable the practitioner to "experience5death, for it is then that the
most powerful spiritual realisations can come about.
When the grosser levels o f consciousness are suppressed, physio
logical phenomena can be observed. In Dr Benson’s experiments,
these included the raising o f body temperatures (as measured inter
nally by rectal thermometer and externally by skin thermometer) by
up to 18° Fahrenheit (10 Centigrade). These increases allowed the
OF ‘ M A G I C A N D M Y S T E R Y ’ 211
monks to dry out sheets, soaked in cold water and draped round
them, even though the ambient temperature was well below freezing.
Dr Benson also witnessed, and took similar measurements from
monks sitting naked on snow. He found they could remain still
throughout the night without any loss o f body temperature. During
these sessions, he also noted that the practitioner’s oxygen intake
decreased to around seven breaths per minute.
Our knowledge o f the human body and how it works is not yet
sufficient to offer an explanation o f what is happening here. Dr Ben
son believes that the mental processes involved may enable the medita
tor to burn ‘brown fat’ deposits in the body - a phenomenon previ
ously thought to be confined to hibernating animals. But whatever
mechanisms are at work, what interests me most is the clear indication
that there are things about which modern science could learn from
Tibetan culture. What is more, I believe that there are several other
areas o f our experience which could usefully be investigated. For
example, I hope one day to organise some sort o f scientific enquiry
into the phenomenon o f oracles, which remain an important part o f
the Tibetan way o f life.
Before I speak about them in detail, however, I must stress that the
purpose o f oracles is not, as might be supposed, simply to foretell the
future. This is only part o f what they do. In addition, they can be
called upon as protectors and in some cases they are used as healers.
But their principal function is to assist people in their practice o f the
Dharma. Another point to remember is that the word ‘oracle’ is itself
misleading. It implies that there are people who possess oracular
powers. This is wrong. In the Tibetan tradition there are merely
certain men and women who act as mediums between the natural and
the spiritual realms, the name for them being kuten, which means,
literally, ‘the physical basis’. Also, I should point out that whilst it is
usual to speak o f oracles as if they were people, this is done for
convenience. More accurately, they can be described as ‘spirits’ which
are associated with particular things (for example a statue), people and
places. This should not be taken to imply belief in the existence o f
external, independent entities, however.
In former times there must have been many hundred oracles
throughout Tibet. Few survive, but the most important - those used
by the Tibetan Government - still exist. O f these, the principal one
is known as the Nechung oracle. Through him manifests Dorje Drak-

den, one o f the protector divinities o f the Dalai Lama.
Nechung originally came to Tibet with a descendant o f the Indian
sage Dharmapala, settling at a place in Central Asia called Bata Hor.
During the reign o f King Trisong Dretsen in the eighth century A.D.,
he was appointed protector o f Samye monastery by the Indian Tantric
master and supreme spiritual guardian o f Tibet, Padmasambhava.
(Samye was in fact the first Buddhist monastery to be built in Tibet
and was founded by another Indian scholar, the abbot Shantarak-
shita.) Subsequently, the second Dalai Lama developed a close rela
tionship with Nechung - who had by this time become closely as
sociated with Drepung monastery - and thereafter Dorje Drakden was
appointed personal protector o f succeeding Dalai Lamas.
For hundreds o f years now, it has been traditional for the Dalai
Lama, and the Government, to consult Nechung during the New
Year festivals. In addition, he might well be called upon at other times
if either have specific queries. I myself have dealings with him several
times a year. This may sound far-fetched to twentieth-century western
readers. Even some Tibetans, mostly those who consider themselves
'progressive5, have misgivings about my continued use o f this ancient
method o f intelligence gathering. But I do so for the simple reason
that as I look back over the many occasions when I have asked
questions o f the oracle, on each one o f them time has proved that his
answer was correct. This is not to say that I rely solely on the oracle’s
advice. I do not. I seek his opinion in the same way as I seek the
opinion o f my Cabinet and just as I seek the opinion o f my own
conscience. I consider the gods to be my 'upper house5. The Kashag
constitutes my lower house. Like any other leader, I consult both
before making a decision on affairs o f state. And sometimes, in addi
tion to Nechung’s counsel, I also take into consideration certain
prophecies.
In one respect, the responsibility o f Nechung and the responsibility
o f the Dalai Lama towards Tibet are the same, though we act in
different ways. My task, that o f leadership, is peaceful. His, in his
capacity as protector and defender, is wrathful. However, although
our functions are similar, my relationship with Nechung is that o f
commander to lieutenant: I never bow down to him. It is for Ne
chung to bow to the Dalai Lama. Yet we are also very close, friends
OF " MA GI C A N D M Y S T E R Y ’ 213
almost. When I was small, it was touching. Nechung liked me a lot

and always took great care o f me. For example, if he noticed that I
had dressed carelessly or improperly, he would come over and rear
range my shirt, adjust my robe and so on.
But despite this sort o f familiarity, Nechung has always shown
respect for me. Even when his relations with the Government have
deteriorated, as they did during the last few years o f the Regency, he
invariably responds enthusiastically whenever asked anything about
me. At the same time, his replies to questions about government
policy can be crushing. Sometimes he just responds with a burst o f
sarcastic laughter. I well remember a particular incident that occurred
when I was about fourteen. Nechung was asked a question about
China. Rather than answer it directly, the kuten turned towards the
East and began bending forward violently. It was frightening to
watch, knowing that this movement combined with the weight o f the
massive helmet he wore on his head would be enough to snap his
neck. He did it at least fifteen times, leaving no one in any doubt
about where the danger lay.
Dealing with Nechung is by no means easy. It takes time and
patience during each encounter before he will open up. He is very
reserved and austere, just as you would imagine a grand old man o f
ancient times to be. Nor does he bother with minor matters: his
interest is only in the larger issues, so it pays to frame questions
accordingly. He also has definite likes and dislikes, but he does not
show them very readily.
Nechung has his own monastery in Dharamsala, but usually he
comes to me. On formal occasions, the kuten is dressed in an elaborate
costume consisting o f several layers o f clothing topped by a highly
ornate robe o f golden silk brocade, which is covered with ancient
designs in red and blue and green and yellow. On his chest he wears
a circular mirror which is surrounded by clusters o f turquoise and
amethyst, its polished steel flashing with the Sanskrit mantra corre
sponding to Dorje Drakden. Before the proceedings begin, he also
puts on a sort o f harness, which supports four flags and three victory
banners. Altogether, this outfit weighs more than seventy pounds and
the medium, when not in trance, can hardly walk in it.
The ceremony begins with chanted invocations and prayers, accom
panied by the urgings o f horns, cymbals and drums. After a short
while, the kuten enters his trance, having been supported until then
by his assistants, who now help him over to a small stool set before
my throne. Then, as the first prayer cycle concludes and the second
begins, his trance begins to deepen. At this point, a huge helmet is
placed on his head. This item weighs approximately thirty pounds,
though in former times it weighed over eighty.
Now the kuten’s face transforms, becoming rather wild before
puffing up to give him an altogether strange appearance, with bulging
eyes and swollen cheeks. His breathing begins to shorten and he starts
to hiss violently. Then, momentarily, his respiration stops. At this
point the helmet is tied in place with a knot so tight that it would
undoubtedly strangle the kuten if something very real were not hap
pening. The possession is now complete and the mortal frame o f the
medium expands visibly.
Next, he leaps up with a start and, grabbing a ritual sword from one
o f his attendants, begins to dance with slow, dignified, yet somehow
menacing, steps. He then comes in front o f me and either prostrates
fully or bows deeply from the waist until his helmet touches the
ground before springing back up, the weight o f his regalia counting
for nothing. The volcanic energy o f the deity can barely be contained
within the earthly frailty o f the kuten, who moves and gestures as if
his body were made o f rubber and driven by a coiled spring o f enor
mous power.
There follows an interchange between Nechung and myself, where
he makes ritual offerings to me. I then ask any personal questions I
have for him. After replying, he returns to his stool and listens to
questions put by members o f the Government. Before giving answers
to these the kuten begins to dance again, thrashing his sword above
his head. He looks like a magnificent, fierce Tibetan warrior chieftain
o f old.
As soon as Dorje Drakden has finished speaking, the kuten makes
a final offering before collapsing, a rigid and lifeless form, signifying
the end o f the possession. Simultaneously, the knot holding his hel
met in place is untied in a great hurry by his assistants, who then carry
him out to recover while the ceremony continues.
Surprising as it may seem, the oracle’s replies to questions are rarely
vague. As in the case o f my escape from Lhasa, he is often very specific.
But I suppose that it would be difficult for any scientific investigation
OF ' M A G I C A N D M Y S T E R Y ’ —' 215
either to prove or disprove conclusively the validity o f his pronounce

ments. The same would surely be true o f other areas o f Tibetan
experience, for example the matter o f tulkus. Nevertheless, I hope one
day that some sort o f enquiry into both phenomena will be made.
Actually, the business o f identifying tulkus is more logical than it
may at first appear. Given the Buddhist belief that the principle o f
rebirth is fact, and given that the whole purpose o f reincarnation is
to enable a being to continue its efforts on behalf o f all suffering
sentient beings, it stands to reason that it should be possible to
identify individual cases. This enables them to be educated and placed
in the world so that they can continue their work as soon as possible.
Mistakes in this identification process can certainly be made, but
the lives o f the great majority o f tulkus (of whom there are presently
a few hundred known, although in Tibet before the Chinese invasion
there were probably a few thousand) are adequate testimony o f its
efficacy.
As I have said, the whole purpose o f reincarnation is to facilitate
the continuity o f a being’s work. This fact has great implications when
it comes to searching for the successor o f a particular person. For
example, whilst my efforts in general are directed towards helping all
sentient beings, in particular they are directed towards helping my
fellow Tibetans. Therefore, if I die before Tibetans regain their free
dom, it is only logical to assume that I will be born outside Tibet. O f
course, it could be that by then my people will have no use for a Dalai
Lama, in which case they will not bother to search for me. So I might
take rebirth as an insect, or an animal - whatever would be o f most
value to the largest number o f sentient beings.
The way that the identification process is carried out is also less
mysterious than might be imagined. It begins as a simple process o f
elimination. Say, for instance, we are looking for the reincarnation o f
a particular monk. First it must be established when and where that
monk died. Then, considering that the new incarnation will usually
be conceived a year or so after the death o f its predecessor - these
lengths o f time we know from experience - a timetable is drawn up.
Thus, if Lama X dies in year Y, his next incarnation will probably be
born around eighteen months to two years later. In the year Y plus
five, the child is likely to be between three and four years old: the field
has narrowed already.
216 F R E ED O M IN EXILE
Next, the most likely place for the reincarnation to appear is es
tablished. This is usually quite easy. First, will it be inside or out
side Tibet? If outside, there are a limited number o f places where it
is likely - the Tibetan communities o f India, Nepal or Switzerland,
for example. After that, it must be decided in which town the child
is most likely to be found. Generally this is done by referring to
the life o f the previous incarnation.
Having narrowed the options and established parameters in the way
I have shown, the next step is usually to assemble a search party. This
need not necessarily mean that a group o f people is sent out as if they
were looking for treasure. Usually it is sufficient to ask various people
in the community to look out for a child o f between three and four
who might be a candidate. Often there are helpful clues, such as
unusual phenomena at the time o f the child’s birth; or the child may
exhibit peculiar characteristics.
Sometimes two or three or more possibilities will emerge at this
stage. Occasionally, a search party is not required at all because the
previous incarnation has left detailed information right down to the
name o f his successor and the name o f his successor’s parents. But this
is rare. Other times, the monk’s followers may have clear dreams or
visions about where to find his successor. On the other hand, one
high lama recently directed that there should be no search for his own
rebirth. He said that whoever seemed likely to serve the Buddha
Dharma and his community best should be installed as his successor,
rather than for anyone to worry about an accurate identification.
There are no hard and fast rules.
If it happens that several children are put forward as candidates, it
is usual for someone well known to the previous incarnation to con
duct a final examination. Frequently, this person will be recognised
by one o f the children, which is strong evidence o f proof, but some
times marks on the body are also taken into consideration.
In some cases, the identification process involves consulting one o f
the oracles or someone who has powers o f ngon she (clairvoyance).
One o f the methods that these people use is Ta, whereby the practi
tioner looks into a mirror in which he or she might see the actual
child, or a building, or perhaps a written name. I call this ‘ancient
television’. It corresponds to the visions that people had at Lake
Lhamoi Lhatso, where Reting Rinpoche saw the letters Ah, K a and
OF ‘ M A G I C A N D M Y S T E R Y ’ --- 217
Ma and the views o f a monastery and a house when he began the

search for me.
Sometimes, I myself am called upon to direct the search for a
reincarnation. In these circumstances it is my responsibility to make
the final decision on whether a given candidate has been correctly
chosen. I should say here that I have no powers o f clairvoyance. I have
had neither the time nor the opportunity to develop them, although
I have reason to believe that the Thirteenth Dalai Lama did have some
ability in this sphere.
As an example o f how I do this, I will relate the story o f Ling
Rinpoche, my Senior Tutor. I always had the greatest respect for Ling
Rinpoche, although when I was a child I only had to see his servant
to become afraid - and whenever I heard his familiar footsteps, my
heart missed a beat. But, in time, I came to value him as one o f my
greatest and closest friends. When he died not long ago, I felt that
life without him at my side would be very difficult. He had become
a rock on which I could lean.
I was in Switzerland, in the late summer o f 1983, when I first heard
o f his final illness: he had suffered a stroke and become paralysed. This
news disturbed me very much. Yet, as a Buddhist, I knew there was
not much use in worrying. As soon as I could, I returned to Dharam-
sala, where I found him still alive, but in a bad physical state. Yet his
mind was as sharp as ever, thanks to a lifetime o f assiduous mental
training. His condition remained stable for several months before
deteriorating quite suddenly. He entered a coma from which he never
emerged and died on 25 December 1983. But, as if any further
evidence o f his being a remarkable person were needed, his body did
not begin to decay until thirteen days after he was pronounced dead,
despite the hot climate. It was as if he still inhabited his body, even
though clinically it was without life.
When I look back at the manner o f his demise, I am quite certain
that Ling Rinpoche’s illness, drawn out as it was over a long period,
was entirely deliberate, in order to help me get used to being without
him. However, that is only half the story. Because we are speaking o f
Tibetans, the tale continues happily. Ling Rinpoche’s reincarnation
has since been found, and he is presently a very bright and naughty
boy o f three. His discovery was one o f those where the child clearly
recognises a member o f the search party. Despite his being only
218 ---- F R E E D O M IN E X I L E
eighteen months old, he actually called the person by name and went
forward to him, smiling. Subsequently he correctly identified several
other o f his predecessor’s acquaintances.
When I met the boy for the first time, I had no doubts about his
identity. He behaved in a way that made it obvious he knew me,
though he also showed the utmost respect. On that first occasion, I
gave little Ling Rinpoche a large bar o f chocolate. He stood impas
sively holding on to it, arm extended and head bowed all the time he
was in my presence. I hardly think any other infant would have kept
something sweet untasted and remained standing so formally. Then,
when I received the boy at my residence and he was brought to the
door, he acted just as his predecessor had done. It was plain that he
remembered his way round. Moreover, when he came into my study,
he showed immediate familiarity with one o f my attendants, who was
at the time recovering from a broken leg. First, this tiny person
gravely presented him with a kata and then, full o f laughter and
childish giggles, he picked up one o f Lobsang Gawa’s crutches and ran
round and round carrying it as if it were a flagpole.
Another impressive story about the boy concerns the time he was
taken, at the age o f only two, to Bodh Gaya, where I was due to give
teachings. Without anyone telling him o f its whereabouts, he found
my bedroom, having scrambled on his hands and knees up the stairs,
and laid a kata on my bed. Today, Ling Rinpoche is already reciting
scriptures, though it remains to be seen whether, when he has learned
to read, he will turn out to be like some o f the young tulkus who
memorise texts at astonishing speed, as if they were simply picking up
where they had left off. I have known a number o f small children who
could declaim many pages with ease.
Certainly there is an element o f mystery in this process o f identify
ing incarnations. But suffice to say that, as a Buddhist, I do not
believe that people like Mao or Lincoln or Churchill just "happen’.
Another area o f Tibetan experience that I would like very much to
be scientifically investigated is the Tibetan medical system. Although
it dates back more than two thousand years and is derived from a
variety o f sources, including ancient Persia, today its principles are
wholly Buddhist. This gives it an entirely different complexion from
western medicine. For example, it holds that the root causes o f disease
are Ignorance, Desire or Hatred.
OF ' M A G I C A N D M Y S T E R Y ’ 219
According to Tibetan medicine, the body is dominated by three

main nopa, meaning literally ‘harmers’ but more often translated as
‘humours’. These nopa are considered to be ever present within an
organism. This means that it can never be entirely free from disease,
or at least from its potential. But provided they are kept in a state o f
equilibrium, the body remains healthy. However, an imbalance
brought about by one or more o f the three root causes will manifest
as illness, which is generally diagnosed by feeling a patient’s pulse and
checking his or her urine. Altogether, there are twelve principal places
on the hands and wrists where the pulse is checked. The urine is
similarly assessed in a variety o f different ways (for colour, smell and
so forth).
As regards treatment, the first line o f approach concerns behaviour
and diet. Medicine forms the second line; acupuncture and moxibus-
tion (a specific heat treatment) the third; surgery the fourth. The
medicines themselves are made from organic materials, sometimes
combined with metal oxides and certain minerals (including, for ex
ample, crushed diamonds).
So far, there has been little clinical research into the value o f the
Tibetan medical system, although one o f my former personal physi
cians, Dr Yeshe Dhonden, did participate in a series o f laboratory
experiments at the University o f Virginia, USA. I understand that he
had some surprisingly good results in curing white mice o f cancer. But
much more work needs to be done before any definite conclusions can
be reached. In the meantime, I can only say that, in my personal
experience, I have found Tibetan medicine to be very effective. I take
it regularly, not just as a cure but also as a preventative against illness.
I have found that it helps to strengthen the constitution, whilst its
side effects are negligible. The result is that, despite my long days and
intensive periods o f meditation, I almost never experience feelings o f
tiredness.
Yet another area where I believe that there is scope for dialogue
between modern science and Tibetan culture concerns theoretical
rather than experiential knowledge. Some o f the latest discoveries o f
particle physics seem to point towards the non-duality o f mind and
matter. For example, it has been found that if a vacuum (that is to
say empty space) is compressed, particles appear where there were
none before, matter being apparently inherent in some way. These
220 F RE ED O M IN EXILE
findings would appear to offer an area o f convergence between science

and the Buddhist Madhyamika theory o f Emptiness. Essentially this
states that mind and matter exist separately, but interdependently.
I am well aware, however, o f the danger o f tying spiritual belief to
any scientific system. For whilst Buddhism continues to be relevant
two and a half millennia after its inception, the absolutes o f science
tend to have a relatively short life. This is not to say that I consider
things like the oracle and the ability o f monks to survive nights spent
out in freezing conditions to be evidence o f magical powers. Yet I
cannot agree with our Chinese brothers and sisters, who hold that
Tibetan acceptance o f these phenomena is evidence o f our backward
ness and barbarity. Even from the most rigorous scientific viewpoint,
this is not an objective attitude.
At the same time, even if a principle is accepted, it does not mean
that everything connected with it is valid. By way o f analogy, it would
be ludicrous to follow slavishly and without discrimination every
utterance o f Marx and Lenin in the face o f clear evidence that Com
munism is an imperfect system. Great vigilance must be maintained
at all times when dealing in areas about which we do not have great
understanding. This, o f course, is where science can help. After all,
we consider things to be mysterious only when we do not understand
them.
So far, the results o f the enquiries I have described have been
beneficial to all parties. But I realise that these are only ever as accu
rate as the experiments employed to achieve them. Furthermore, I
am aware that not finding something does not mean that it does not
exist. It only proves that the experiment was incapable o f finding it.
(If I have a non-metallic object in my pocket which is not picked up
by a metal detector, it does not mean that my pocket is empty.)
This is why we must be careful in our investigations, especially when
dealing in an area where scientific experience is slight. It is also im
portant to keep in mind the limitations imposed by nature itself.
For example, whilst scientific enquiry cannot apprehend my
thoughts, not only does this not mean that they are non-existent,
but also that some other method o f investigation cannot discover
something about them - which is where Tibetan experience comes
in. Through mental training, we have developed techniques to do
things which science cannot yet adequately explain. This, then, is
the basis o f the supposed ‘magic and mystery’ o f Tibetan Buddhism.
13
THE NEWS FROM TIBET
n early 1959, as tension began to mount towards the final cata
I clysm, I heard o f a PLA memorandum sent to Chairman Mao.

It reported that the Tibetans were unhappy with the continued
presence o f the PLA, adding that there was so much disobedience
that all the prisons were now full. Mao supposedly replied that there
was no need to worry. The feelings o f the Tibetans could be disre
garded: they were irrelevant. As to the disobedience, the authorities
must be prepared to put the whole population in prison if need be.
Therefore, room would have to be made. I remember being horrified
at hearing this. What a contrast from the old days when I could
recognise every prisoner in Lhasa and considered each to be my friend.
Another story from around this time concerned M ao’s reaction to
a report sent him after the March uprising, saying that order had been
restored. A nd what about the Dalai Lama?’ he is said to have asked.
When told that I had escaped, he replied, Tn that case we have lost
the battle.’ After that, all my information concerning the Great
Helmsman came from reading newspapers and listening to the BBC
World Service news broadcasts. I had no contact whatever with Pe
king; nor did the Tibetan Government in Exile, until after M ao’s
death in September 1976.
At that time I was in Ladakh, part o f the remote northern Indian
province o f Jammu and Kashmir, where I was conducting a Kala-
chakra initiation. On the second o f the ceremony’s three days, Mao
died. On the third day, it rained all morning. But, in the afternoon,
221
there appeared one o f the most beautiful rainbows I have ever seen.
I was certain that it must be a good omen. However, despite this
auspicious sign, I did not expect the dramatic pace o f change that
followed in Peking. Almost immediately, the Gang o f Four, led by
M ao’s wife, Jiang Qing, was arrested. It quickly became apparent that
it was they who had effectively ruled China behind the ailing Chair
man’s back for the past several years, pursuing viciously radical policies
and supporting a continuation o f the Cultural Revolution.
Then, in 1977, Li Xiannian, at that time President o f the People’s
Republic o f China, was reported as saying that although it had
achieved much, the Cultural Revolution had simultaneously caused
some damage. This was the first sign that the Chinese leadership had
at last begun to face reality. It was followed by a conciliatory state
ment about Tibet when, in April o f that year, Ngabo Ngawang Jigme
(by now a high ranking member o f the administration in Peking),
publicly announced that China would welcome the return o f the
Dalai Lama ‘and his followers who fled to India’. Since the 1960s, the
Chinese had been calling for all who had left Tibet to return, saying
that they would be welcomed with open arms.
This statement marked the start o f an intensive propaganda cam
paign to try to entice people back. We began to hear more and more
about the ‘unprecedented happiness in Tibet today’. Soon afterwards,
Hua Guofeng, M ao’s designated successor, called for the full restora
tion o f Tibetan customs and, for the first time in twenty years, elderly
people were permitted to circumambulate the Jokhang once more and
national dress was allowed. This seemed very promising, and it proved
not to be the last hopeful sign.
On 25 February 1978, to my great joy and surprise, the Panchen
Lama was suddenly released after almost a decade in jail. And soon
afterwards, Hu Yaobang, then in the ascendant, revised President Li
Xiannian’s pronouncement on the Cultural Revolution and stated
that it had been an entirely negative experience, which had not bene
fited China in any way.
This sounded like a remarkable advance. But still, I felt that if the
Chinese had really had a change o f heart, this would best be signalled
by genuine openness as regards Tibet. In my 10 March speech (mark
ing the nineteenth anniversary o f the Tibetan people’s national upris
ing), I therefore called on the Chinese authorities to allow unre-
T H E N EWS F R O M T I B E T --- 223
stricted access to Tibet for foreigners. I also suggested that they

should permit Tibetans in occupied Tibet to visit their families in
exile, and vice versa. I felt that if the six million Tibetans really were
happy and prosperous as never before, as was now being suggested,
we had no reason to argue otherwise. But it was only right that we
should have the opportunity to find out the truth o f these statements.
To my surprise, it seemed that my suggestions were taken note of.
For, not long after, the first foreign visitors were admitted to Tibet.
And, in accordance with my wishes, provision was made for Tibetans
both inside and outside Tibet to be able to make visits, although in
neither case were these new permissions unrestricted.
The upheavals in China occurred at a time when India was going
through important changes too. In 1977, Mrs Gandhi lost the elec
tion she called after a period o f Emergency. She was followed in office
by Mr Moraji Desai, whose Janata party succeeded in toppling the
Congress party for the first time since Independence. It was not long
before Mrs Gandhi regained power, but in the meantime I came to
deepen my acquaintance with Mr Desai, whom I had first met in 1956
and already knew and liked.
At the time o f writing, he is still alive, though now a very old man,
and I continue to regard him as a close friend. He is a remarkable
person with a wonderful face, which is full o f life and free o f worries.
By this, I do not mean he is without his faults. But as with Mahatma
Gandhi, his daily life is very austere. He is a strict vegetarian; he does
not touch alcohol or tobacco. He is also utterly straightforward in his
dealings with others. I sometimes wonder if he is not too straightfor
ward. However, if this is one o f his failings, in my eyes it is more than
made up for by his friendship towards the Tibetan people. He once
wrote to me saying that Indian culture and Tibetan culture are differ
ent branches o f the same Bodhi Tree. This is quite true. As I have
already made clear, the relationship between our countries goes very
deep. Many Indians consider Tibet to be a manifestation o f Heaven
on Earth - a land o f gods and holy places. Both Mount Kailash and
Lake Mansarova, in south and south-western Tibet respectively, are
important places o f pilgrimage to devout Indians. Similarly, we Tibe
tans consider India to be Aryabhumi, the Land o f the Holy.
* * *
Towards the end o f 1978, there was a further encouraging develop

ment when Deng Xiaoping emerged as paramount authority in Pe
king. As leader o f a more moderate faction, his ascendancy seemed to
signal real hope for the future. I had always felt that Deng might one
day do great things for his country. When I was in China during
1954-5, I met him a number o f times and had been very impressed
by him. We never had any long conversations but I heard much about
him - particularly that he was a man o f great ability and very decisive
too.
The last time I saw him I remember him sitting, a very small man
in a large armchair, slowly and methodically peeling an orange. He
did not talk much, but it was clear that he was listening intently to
all that was being said. He struck me as a powerful man. Now it began
to look as if, in addition to these qualities, he was also quite wise. He
came up with a number o f impressive catch phrases, such as Tt is
important to seek truth from facts’, cSo long as it catches mice, it
doesn’t matter whether it’s black or white’ and T f your face is ugly,
there is no use trying to pretend otherwise.’ Furthermore, as regards
policy, he appeared more concerned with the economy and education
than with political doctrine and the usual empty slogans.
Then, in November 1978, thirty-four prisoners, mostly elderly
members o f my own administration, were publicly released with great
ceremony in Lhasa. These men were purportedly the last o f the ‘rebel
leaders’. Chinese newspapers stated that, after being taken on a
month-long tour o f the ‘New Tibet’, they were to be assisted in
finding jobs and even in going abroad if that was what they desired.
The arrival o f the New Year brought no let-up in this spate o f
extraordinary developments. On 1 February 1979, coincidentally the
day that the People’s Republic o f China was formally recognised by
the U S, the Panchen Lama, in his first public appearance for fourteen
years, added his voice to those calling for the Dalai Lama and his
fellow exiles to return. T f the Dalai Lama is genuinely interested in
the happiness and welfare o f the Tibetan masses, he need have no
doubts about it,’ he said. ‘I can guarantee that the present standard
o f living o f the Tibetan people in Tibet is many times better than that
o f the old society.’ A week later, this invitation was repeated by Radio
Lhasa as it announced the formation o f a special welcoming commit
tee to receive Tibetans from abroad.
T H E NEWS F ROM T I B E T 225
This was followed just a week later by the unexpected arrival o f

Gyalo Thondup in Kanpur (Uttar Pradesh) where I was attending a
religious conference. To my surprise, he announced that he had heard
through some old and trusted friends o f his in H ong Kong (where
he now lives) that Xinhua, the New China News Agency, which
constitutes China’s official legation to the British colony, wanted to
make contact with him. Following this, he had met a personal emis
sary o f Deng Xiaoping, who explained that the Chinese leader wanted
to open communications with the Dalai Lama. As a mark o f his
goodwill, Deng wanted to invite Gyalo Thondup to Peking for talks.
My brother had refused as he wanted to seek my opinion first.
This was totally unexpected, and I did not reply immediately. The
developments o f the past two years all looked very promising. How
ever, as the ancient Indian saying goes, 'When you have once been
bitten by a snake, you become cautious even o f rope.’ And unfortu
nately, all my experience o f the Chinese leadership suggested that it
was untrustworthy. Not only did the authorities in question lie, but
worse, when these lies were exposed they were not the least bit
ashamed. The Cultural Revolution had been a 'tremendous success’
whilst it was going on; now it was a failure - but there was no sense
o f humility in this admission. Nor was there anything to suggest that
these people ever kept their promises. Despite the concrete undertak
ing o f clause thirteen o f the Seventeen-Point 'Agreement’ that the
Chinese would 'not arbitrarily take a needle or thread’ from the Tibe
tans, they had ransacked the whole country. On top o f this, through
countless atrocities, they had shown a total disrespect for human
rights. It seemed that to the Chinese mind, perhaps because o f the
huge size o f their own population, human life is considered to be a
cheap commodity - and Tibetan lives to be o f still less value. I there
fore felt it necessary to exercise extreme caution.
On the other hand, my basic belief is that human problems can only
be solved through human contact. So there could be no harm in
hearing what the Chinese had to say. Hopefully we could simulta
neously explain our own views. We certainly had nothing to hide.
Also, if the authorities in Peking were in earnest, we might even be
able to send some fact-finding missions to discover for ourselves the
real situation.
With these considerations in mind, and knowing that our cause was
100 per cent just and in accordance with the wishes o f the entire
population o f Tibet, I told my brother he was free to go. After he had
seen the Chinese leaders, we would consider the next step. At the
same time, I sent word to Peking via the Chinese Embassy in India,
proposing that a fact-finding mission from Dharamsala should be
permitted to visit Tibet with a view to discovering the real situation
there and reporting back to me. I also suggested to my brother that
he should see whether this might be feasible.
Soon afterwards, I received another exciting piece o f news from an
entirely different quarter. This came in the form o f an invitation to
visit the Buddhist communities o f the Republic o f Mongolia and o f
the USSR. I realised that to go might not please my friends in Peking,
but, on the other hand, I felt that as a Buddhist monk and further
more as the Dalai Lama, I had a responsibility to serve my co-religion-
ists. Besides, how could I refuse the very people who gave me my title!
And moreover, since I had not been able to fulfil my dream o f visiting
Russia when I was a high Chinese official (albeit one whose move
ments were severely restricted), I did not wish to miss the opportunity
o f going as a Tibetan refugee. I therefore accepted joyfully.
In the event, there were no negative repercussions and, when Gyalo
Thondup returned to Dharamsala at the end o f March, he announced
that the Chinese had accepted my proposal to send a fact-finding
mission to Tibet. This encouraged me enormously. It appeared that
China was at last trying to find a peaceful solution to the Tibetan
question. A date in August was set for the departure o f the delegation.
Meanwhile, I left for Moscow en route to Mongolia in early June.
On arrival I felt as if I was back in a familiar world. I recognised at
once the same repressive atmosphere that I had come to know so well
in China. But it did not put me off, for I could see that the people
I met were essentially good and kind - and surprisingly nai ve. This
last observation was brought home to me when a journalist from one
o f the Russian daily newspapers came to interview me. All his ques
tions were clearly designed to extract compliments. If I said anything
that was not supportive o f the Government or if my answers were not
exactly what he was looking for, he gave me angry looks. On another
occasion, a journalist, having come to the end o f his prepared list o f
questions, became quite humble and said with total simplicity, ‘What
do you think I should ask you now?’
T H E NEWS FROM T I B E T ---- 227
Wherever I went in Moscow, I saw this same charm beneath surface

conformity. It was further confirmation o f my belief that nobody
anywhere in the world consciously wants suffering. At the same time,
I was reminded o f the importance o f contact with people on a per
sonal level: I could see for myself that the Russians were not monsters
any more than the Chinese or the British or the Americans are. I was
particularly touched by the warmth o f my reception by members o f
the Russian Orthodox Church.
From Moscow I journeyed to the Buryat Republic, where I spent
a day at a Buddhist monastery. Although I was unable to communi
cate directly with anyone, I found I could understand their prayers
as these were said in Tibetan, rather as Catholics all over the world
use Latin. The monks also wrote in Tibetan. On top o f this, I discov
ered that we could converse very well with our eyes. As I entered the
monastery, I noticed that many o f the monks and lay people in the
congregation were in tears. This was just the sort o f spontaneous
expression that Tibetans are prone to and I felt immediate kinship.
The monastery in Ulan Ude, the capital o f Buryat, was one o f the
most remarkable things I saw in the USSR. It had been built in 1945,
when Stalin was at the height o f his power. I did not see how this
could be, but it helped me to realise that spirituality is so deeply
rooted in the human mind that it is very difficult, if not totally
impossible, to eradicate. Like my own countrymen and women, the
people o f Buryat had suffered horribly for their faith, and for an even
longer period o f time. Yet everywhere I went, I found clear evidence
that, given the slightest opportunity, their spiritual life flourished.
This deepened my conviction that it is vital for there to be dialogue
between Buddhism and Marxism, where it survives, as indeed there
must be between all religions and any form o f materialist ideology.
The two approaches to life are so obviously complementary. It is sad
that people tend to think o f them as being in opposition. If material
ism and technology really are the answer to all o f humanity’s prob
lems, the most advanced industrial societies would by now be full o f
smiling faces. But they are not. Equally, if people were meant only
to be concerned with matters o f spirituality, we would all be living
joyously according to their religious beliefs. But then there would be
no progress. Both material and spiritual development are required.
And humanity must not stagnate, for that is a kind o f death.
From Ulan Ude, I flew to Ulan Bator, the capital o f the Republic
o f Mongolia, where I was met by a group o f monks who gave me an
emotional welcome. However, the joy and spontaneity with which I
was greeted were evidently not approved o f by the authorities. On
that first day, people pressed in from all sides, trying to touch me. But
next morning, I found everyone behaving as if they were statues and
I noticed tears in their eyes. No one came near me when I visited the
house where my predecessor had stayed at the beginning o f this
century. Later, though, one person did manage secretly to defy offi
cialdom. As I left a museum, I felt something very curious in the
handshake o f a man standing at the gate. On looking down, I realised
that he was pressing a small rosary into my hand for blessing. Seeing
this, I felt simultaneously great sorrow and compassion.
It was in this museum that I happened to notice a picture showing
a monk with a huge mouth into which nomads were walking with
their cattle. It was obviously intended as anti-religious propaganda. I
moved over to take a closer look, but my guide nervously tried to steer
me away from this embarrassing example o f Communist propaganda.
So I said there was no need to hide anything from me. There was a
certain amount o f truth in what the picture was saying. Such facts
should not be shied away from. Every religion has the capacity to do
harm, to exploit people as this image suggested. This is not the fault
o f the religion itself, but the fault o f the people who practise it.
A further amusing incident concerned another exhibit which was
a model o f the Kalachakra mandala. I noticed that there were some
inaccuracies in the way it was laid out, so when one young woman
staff member began to explain its meaning to me, I said, 'Look! Tm
the expert in these matters, why don’t you let me explain it to you?’
and began to point out the inaccuracies in the mandala,. I found this
quite satisfying.
As I got to know the Mongolians, I began to realise just how strong
are the links between our two countries. For a start, the religion o f
Mongolia is the same as ours. As I have already mentioned, in the
past, many Mongolian scholars visited Tibet, where they contributed
a great deal to our culture and religion. Tibetans also use many
religious texts which were written by Mongolians. Furthermore, we
share many customs, for example the giving o f katas. (One slight
difference is that whereas Tibetan ones are white, Mongolian katas are
T HK NEWS F ROM T I B E T 229
pale blue or slate grey.) Thinking along these lines, it occurred to me

that, historically speaking, Mongolia has a similar relationship with
Tibet as Tibet has with India. With this in mind, I arranged for an
exchange between students from our respective communities, thereby
reviving an ancient link between our two countries.
When I came to leave, I had gained many favourable impressions
o f both the U SSR and o f Mongolia. Some o f these concerned the
material progress I had seen, particularly in the latter country where
considerable advances had been made in the fields o f industry, agricul
ture and animal husbandry. I have been back to Russia twice since
then (in 1982 and 1986). On the last occasion, I was pleased to find
that the atmosphere had changed dramatically for the better. This was
tangible evidence that political liberty has a direct bearing on the way
people feel about themselves. Now that they were able to express their
true feelings, they clearly felt much happier.
On 2 August 1979, a delegation comprised o f five members o f the

Tibetan Government in Exile left New Delhi en route to Tibet via
Peking. I had chosen them carefully. Because it was important that
they should be as objective as possible, I selected men who not only
knew Tibet as it was before the Chinese invasion, but were familiar
with the modern world as well. I also ensured that there was a repre
sentative o f each o f the three different provinces.
My brother Lobsang Samten was one o f their number. He had long
since renounced his monastic vows, leaving me as the only member
o f the family in the Sangha, and was at that time going through a very
modern phase in terms o f dress and appearance. He wore his hair long
and had a thick, droopy moustache. His clothes were very casual too.
I was a little worried that he might not be recognised by those in Tibet
who should remember him.
More than ten years later, I still do not quite know what impression
the leadership in Peking expected the delegation to have o f the ‘new5
Tibet. But I think they were convinced that they would find such
content and prosperity throughout their homeland that they would
see no point in remaining in exile. (And in fact, fearing that the
delegation might be physically attacked by a right-thinking local pop
ulation, the Chinese authorities actually briefed Tibetans to show
courtesy to the delegates!) I also suspect that the Dalai Lama and the
230 ~ F R E E D O M IN EXIL E
existence o f the Tibetan Government in Exile were a great embarrass

ment to China, which was becoming anxious about world opinion.
Therefore, any means to lure us back was acceptable.
It was fortunate they were so certain o f themselves. For, while the
first delegation was in Peking, the Chinese authorities accepted my
proposal that this mission should be followed by three more.
My five representatives spent two weeks in Peking holding meetings
and planning their route which, over a period o f four months was to
take them across the length and breadth o f Tibet. However, as soon
as they arrived in Amdo, things started to go wrong for the Chinese.
The delegates were mobbed by crowds o f thousands o f people wher
ever they went, especially by young people, all asking for blessings
and for news about myself. This outraged the Chinese, who frantically
signalled ahead to Lhasa to alert the authorities there o f what might
be in store for them. A reply came back saying, Thanks to the high
standard o f political training in the capital, there is no possibility o f
embarrassment.’
Yet, every step o f the way, the welcome the five exiles received was
ecstatic. And, on arrival in Lhasa, they were greeted by an immense
crowd - the photographs brought back by them show the streets to
be dense with thousands and thousands o f well-wishers - who dis
obeyed an explicit warning to stay away. Whilst in the city, one o f the
delegates overheard a senior Chinese cadre turn to a colleague and say,
T h e efforts o f the last twenty years have been wasted in a single day.’
Although there is often a gap between the leadership and the
people in countries where there is an authoritarian government, here
it seemed that the Chinese had made an altogether extraordinary
miscalculation. Even though they had a highly efficient intelligence
system designed to prevent this sort o f thing, their assessment was
entirely wrong. But what I find still more surprising is that despite
these experiences, the Chinese continue to persevere with the system.
So, for example, when Hu Yaobang, then General Secretary o f the
Chinese Communist Party and Deng’s heir apparent, visited Tibet the
following year, he was taken to the Chinese equivalent o f a Potemkin
village and completely misled. Similarly, in 1 9 8 8 ,1 was told that when
a prominent Chinese leader visited Lhasa, he asked an old woman
directly what she felt about the present situation in Tibet. She, o f
course, faithfully repeated the Party line and he duly took this to be
T H E NEWS F R O M T I B E T '—' 231
the true feelings o f a Tibetan. It is as if the Chinese authorities actually

want to fool themselves. Yet surely anyone who was half sensible
would realise that a person under threat o f violent punishment would
not reveal any negative thoughts?
Fortunately, Hu Yaobang was not entirely deceived. He publicly
expressed shock at the living conditions o f Tibetans and even asked
whether all the money sent to Tibet had been thrown in the river. He
went on to promise the withdrawal o f eighty-five per cent o f the
Chinese cadres stationed in occupied Tibet.
Little more was heard about these proposed measures. Hu Yao-
bang’s ascendancy did not last long and he was eventually forced to
resign as General Secretary o f the Chinese Communist Party. Never
theless, I am very grateful to his memory for the great courage he
displayed in admitting China’s mistakes in Tibet. The fact that he did
so is clear evidence that not everyone, even amongst the leadership
in China, supports the Government’s repressive policies abroad. But
if Hu Yaobang’s admission did not have a lasting impact on Tibetan
affairs, the report prepared by the first delegation, after its return to
Dharamsala in late December, most certainly did.
When I arrived back from two long journeys o f my own (to Russia,
Mongolia, Greece, Switzerland, and finally the United States) in
October 1979, the five members o f the delegation returned. With
them they brought hundreds o f rolls o f film, many hours o f recorded
conversations and enough general information to occupy many
months o f collation, distillation and analysis. They also brought back
more than seven thousand letters from Tibetans to their families in
exile - the first time that mail had left Tibet for more than twenty
years.
Unfortunately, their impressions o f the ‘new’ Tibet had been
strongly negative. At the same time as being mobbed by tearful Tibe
tans wherever they went, they saw abundant evidence o f the way that
the Chinese authorities had ruthlessly and systematically tried to de
stroy our ancient culture. Moreover, they were regaled with number
less accounts o f years o f famine, mass starvation, public execution and
gross and disgusting violations o f human rights, the least o f which
included the abduction o f children either into forced labour gangs or
for ‘education’ in China, the imprisonment o f innocent citizens and
the deaths o f thousands o f monks and nuns in concentration camps.
It was a horrific litany, graphically illuminated by dozens o f photo

graphs o f monasteries and nunneries reduced to piles o f rubble, or
turned into grain stores or factories or cattle pens.
However, in the face o f this information, the Chinese authorities
made it clear they would not hear any criticism either from the dele
gates or any other Tibetan from the exile community. So long as we
remained outside, we had no right to criticise what went on inside,
they said. When Lobsang Samten told me this, I was reminded o f an
incident that took place during the 1950s. A Tibetan official was asked
by a Chinese Party member what was his opinion o f Chinese rule in
Tibet. 'First let me leave the country,’ the Tibetan replied, 'and then
I will tell you.’
Yet it is true to say that the delegation did bring back some hopeful
pieces o f news. For example, when they were in Peking, they met a
number o f young students who were being educated as Communist
Party cadres. But instead o f them all being blindly Marxist and pro-
Chinese policy, they turned out to be fully committed to the cause
o f Tibetan freedom. And, judging by the numerous instances when
ordinary Tibetans, especially the young, openly defied Chinese au
thority to express their love and respect for the Dalai Lama, the spirit
o f the people was far from broken. In fact, it seemed that these
desperate experiences had only served to strengthen their resolve.
Another positive event for the first delegation was its meeting, in
Peking, with the Panchen Lama. He had been treated with great
cruelty by the Chinese authorities and showed his five compatriots
permanent marks on his body that had been inflicted during torture.
He explained that after my flight into exile, his own monastery at
Tashilhunpo had been left unharmed by the PLA. But after he had
begun to criticise our new masters, troops were sent in. Then, during
1962, he was told to take my place as Chairman o f the Preparatory
Committee. He refused and, instead, sent to Chairman Mao a
70,000-character-long memorandum o f complaints. Subsequently, he
was stripped o f office (although Mao shamelessly assured him that his
observations would be heeded), and the handful o f elderly caretaker
monks that had found their way back to Tashilhunpo were arrested,
accused o f criminal activities and subjected to abuse in front o f the
people o f Shigatse.
At the beginning o f 1964, the Panchen Lama was given the oppor-
tunity o f rehabilitation. He was invited to make a speech to the people

o f Lhasa during the Monlam festival, which was to be revived for a
single day. He agreed to do so. However, to the amazement o f the
Chinese authorities, he announced to the assembled crowd that the
Dalai Lama was indeed the true leader o f the Tibetan people. He
ended his speech with a rousing cry of'L o n g live the Dalai Lama!5He
was duly arrested and, after a secret trial lasting seventeen days, he
disappeared from view. Many people feared that he too had been
killed. But now it turned out that he had at first been put under house
arrest before eventually being imprisoned in China’s maximum secu
rity jail, where he was subjected to intensive torture and political
'reeducation5. Conditions there were so harsh that he attempted sui
cide more than once.
So, the Panchen Lama was alive and comparatively well. But the
delegates saw that the health o f Tibet itself was very poor. True, the
country’s economy had been transformed and there was more o f
everything. Yet this was o f zero benefit to the Tibetans as all com
modities were in the hands o f the occupying Chinese. For example,
there were now factories where there had been none before, but all
that they produced went to China. And the factories themselves were
sited with no regard for anything other than utility, with predictably
detrimental results to the environment. The same was true o f the
hydro-electric power stations. Furthermore, the Chinese quarter o f
every town and city was flooded with light but, even in Lhasa, in the
Tibetan district one bulb o f 15 to 20 watts was the most that could
be found in any room. These often failed, especially in winter when
electric power resources were diverted to accommodate heavier use
throughout the rest o f the city.
As to agriculture, the Chinese had insisted that winter wheat be
sown in place o f the traditional barley crop. This was because the
Chinese eat wheat rather than barley. Consequently, thanks to new
intensive farming methods, one or two bumper crops were pro
duced - followed by years o f famine. The changes had caused the
rapid erosion o f Tibet’s thin, fragile layer o f fertile topsoil, leaving
miles o f desert.
Other land resources, such as forestry, had been similarly exploited.
Since 1955, it was estimated that nearly fifty million trees had been
felled and many millions o f acres all but cleared o f vegetation. Animal
234 ~ F R E E D O M IN E X I L E
husbandry had improved dramatically: in some places there were ten

times the number o f animals feeding off the same amount o f pasture
as in former times. But in other places, over-exploitation meant the
environment could no longer support any kind o f grazing. As a result,
whole ecologies have been lost. The once ubiquitous herds o f deer,
kyang and drong have now all but disappeared and the huge flocks o f
ducks and geese that were such a familiar sight are no longer to be
seen.
Regarding health care, it now became clear that there were indeed
a considerable number o f hospitals, just as the Chinese had said. But
these practised open discrimination on behalf o f the immigrant popu
lation. And whenever a Chinese required blood in a transfusion, this
would be taken from Tibetan Volunteers'.
There were also far more schools than there had ever been. But
again, the education programme had been perverted to benefit the
Chinese. For example, the first delegation heard stories o f how, in
order to obtain funds from the central administration, the local Chi
nese authorities claimed that they were improving facilities for the
Tibetans. The money was then used to benefit their own children. As
to the education the Chinese provided for Tibetans, most o f it was
conducted in Chinese. It had been promised that the Tibetan lan
guage itself would be eradicated "within fifteen years’. In reality, many
o f the schools were nothing more than labour camps for children.
The only ones who really received proper schooling were the fifteen
hundred or so most intellectually promising ones, who were forcibly
sent to establishments in China, on the grounds that it would foster
"unity’.
The delegates also found that communications throughout Tibet
had been transformed dramatically. There were roads criss-crossing it
and linking almost every settlement. There were thousands o f vehicles
too, mainly heavy trucks - but all belonging to the Chinese Govern
ment. For ordinary Tibetans, however, movement was impossible
without permission. Granted, the rules had recently been relaxed
somewhat, but very few could afford to take advantage o f this.
Similarly, although some consumer goods were certainly availa
ble, none but a tiny handful o f Tibetans could afford them. The
great majority lived in a state o f abject and pitiful poverty. The dele
gates heard how until only recently food rationing had been so tight
that the quota for thirty days could only be eked out for twenty.
After that, people were reduced to eating leaves or grass. A month’s
butter ration, for example, which would in former times have been
used in a single serving o f tea, could only be used to smear the lips.
And, everywhere they went, the delegates found the local people
stunted in growth from malnutrition and dressed literally in rags.
Gone, needless to say, were the gay ornaments and pieces o f jewel
lery - earrings and so forth - which even the least exalted Tibetan
would have had in former times.
On top o f this extraordinary hardship, people were taxed unbelieva
bly, though o f course the charges were not called taxes: it was ‘rent’,
or whatever. Even nomads were forced to pay for the privileges o f
their precarious livelihood. All in all, China’s economic programme
for Tibet was itself a form o f torture.
As if this were not enough, with regard to Tibetan culture the
delegates found that it had been brutally suppressed. For example, the
only songs allowed were political paeans sung to Chinese tunes. For
mal religion was banned. Thousands o f monasteries and nunneries
had been desecrated. They heard how this had been systematically
carried out from the late 1950s onwards. Each building was visited
first by clerks who documented the contents. They were followed by
teams o f workers who loaded everything o f immediate value on to
trucks which went straight back to China, where the booty was either
melted down for bullion or sold on the international art market in
exchange for hard currency. Next, more workers would be sent in to
remove any other materials that could be useful, including the roof
tiles and timber. Finally, members o f the local population would be
forced to ‘show their contempt’ for the old society and the ‘corrupt’
monks. Within a matter o f weeks, there would be nothing left but
piles o f rubble.
The contents o f these monasteries represented the real disposable
wealth o f Tibet. For hundreds o f years, they had amassed the dona
tions o f succeeding generations o f families who always gave the best
they could afford. Now, all this had vanished into the insatiable
stomach o f the Chinese nation.
Still not content with this, the Chinese authorities had also deter
mined to control the Tibetan population. A limit o f two children per
couple had been imposed in Tibet (and not just in China itself, as was
claimed). Those who exceeded this quota were sent to medical facili
ties like the one known simply as ‘the butchery’ in Gyantse, where
pregnant women had their foetuses forcibly aborted prior to sterilisa
tion. Indeed, many women were involuntarily forced into using birth
control, as we now know from recent arrivals from Tibet who were
discovered to have been fitted with crude copper intra-uterine devices.
And when the people rose in revolt, which they did on several
different occasions after 1959, whole villages were razed, their inhabi
tants murdered, while tens o f thousands o f the remaining population
were put into prison. There they were kept under the most vile
conditions, with forced labour by day, thamzing sessions until late at
night, and only starvation rations to nourish them. I myself have since
spoken to a number o f people who were prisoners o f the Chinese.
One o f them was Dr Tenzin Choedrak, who had been appointed my
junior personal physician in the late 1950s. When the first fact-finding
mission went to Peking, I requested that they ask the authorities there
that he be released and allowed to join me in exile.
Nothing came o f this at first, but a year later he was finally freed
and, at the end o f 1980, he came to Dharamsala. The stories o f cruelty
and degradation he brought with him were almost unbelievable.
Many times over the twenty years o f his incarceration he had been
close to death from starvation. He told me o f how he and his fellow
prisoners were forced to consume their own clothing for food and
how one inmate, with whom he was in hospital at one time, was so
desperate for nourishment that when he passed a worm in his meagre
stool, he washed it and ate it.
I do not repeat any o f this information gratuitously. I write as a
Buddhist monk not to antagonise my Chinese brothers and sisters but
because I want to educate people. There are undoubtedly many good
Chinese people who are unaware o f the true situation in Tibet. Nor
do I relate such grim facts out o f bitterness. On the contrary, these
things have happened, so there is nothing to be done except look to
the future.
Since the return o f the first fact-finding delegation, more than ten
years ago now, its findings have been confirmed from numerous other
sources, including further Tibetan delegations and foreign journalists
and tourists, as well as a few sympathetic Chinese. Unfortunately, in
the interval, although there has been some further material progress,
the picture has in many ways worsened.
We now know that more than 300,000 Chinese troops are sta
tioned in Tibet, many o f them along the still-disputed border with
India, but also at least 50,000 based within a day’s journey from
Lhasa. On top o f this, China maintains at least one-third o f its nuclear
weaponry on Tibetan soil. And because Tibet contains one o f the
world’s richest deposits o f uranium, the Chinese are likely to render
large areas o f the country hazardous from radio-active waste through
their mining activities. In Amdo, the north-eastern province where I
was born, there exists the largest gulag known to man - big enough,
by some estimates, to cater for the internment o f up to ten million
prisoners.
And following a massive immigration programme, the population
o f Chinese in Tibet now comfortably exceeds that o f Tibetans. My
countrymen and women are today in grave danger o f becoming noth
ing more than a tourist attraction in their own country.
14
INITIATIVES FOR PEACE
he second and third fact-finding missions both left India for
T
Tibet during May 1980. One was comprised o f younger peo
ple, the other o f educators. In the first instance, I wanted to
try to gain an impression o f how the situation in Tibet ap
peared to people whose perspective had the freshness o f youth. In th
second, I wanted to know what were the prospects for the youth o f
Tibet itself.
Unfortunately, the young people’s mission was unable to complete
its investigations. When Tibetans began turning out in force to greet
the exiles and to denounce the Chinese presence, the authorities
accused the delegates o f inciting the masses to acts o f defiance and
expelled the delegation from Tibet for endangering the ‘unity o f the
Motherland’. Naturally, I was disturbed by this turn o f events. Far
from ‘seeking truth from facts’, it seemed that the Chinese were
determined to ignore facts altogether. But, at least this expulsion
showed that they were taking some notice o f the feelings o f Tibetans.
The third delegation, which was led by my sister Jetsun Pema, was
permitted to stay, however. Returning to Dharamsala in October
1980, its findings made clear that although there had been a slight
improvement in the general standard o f education over the past
twenty years, this was not much o f a blessing, for it seemed that, to
the Chinese, the real value o f reading was to enable children to study
the thoughts o f Chairman Mao and o f writing to enable them to
produce ‘confessions’.
238
INITIATIVES FOR PEACE 239
Overall, the information gathered by the fact finding missions re

vealed not only the full extent o f China’s rape o f Tibet, but also that
living conditions for Tibetans continued to be wretched. And al
though, compared with the suffering o f the previous twenty years, the
situation had undoubtedly improved, it was evident that the Chinese
authorities still considered Tibetans to be ‘backward, ignorant, cruel
and barbaric’, as they put it.
In 1981, my mother died after a short period o f illness following a

stroke. All her long life (she was as old as the century) she had enjoyed
good health, so to be bedridden was a new experience for her. It
meant that for the first time she was dependent on others. Previously,
my mother had always taken care o f herself. For example, although
she liked to get up very early, she never imposed this on her servants,
always fetching her own tea in the morning, despite an injured wrist
which made it difficult for her to manage.
During the last months o f her life, Tenzin Choegyal, who at that
time lived with her, asked her quite candidly which one o f her chil
dren was her favourite. I think he was hoping that he would receive
the citation. But no, she replied that it was Lobsang Samten. I tell
this story not just because, when my younger brother related it to me,
I too thought for a moment that I might be a candidate, but also
because, as it turned out, Lobsang Samten was the only one o f her
children present at her passing. I myself saw her shortly beforehand,
when I walked down to her cottage, but at the actual time I was away
at Bodh Gaya.
As soon as I heard the news, I began to say prayers asking that she
should have a good rebirth. I was joined in this by every Tibetan
present; it was very touching to see the depth o f feeling shown by all
these other people. Naturally, the Government sent a letter o f condo
lence too. This was addressed to Ling Rinpoche, who was supposed
to break the news. But for some reason it was delivered directly to me.
An amusing incident followed. Having read the letter, I passed it on
to him. When he in turn had read it, he came up to me puzzled and,
scratching his head, said: T see that I was supposed to convey this
letter to you, not the other way round. Now what am I to do?’ It was
the only time I ever saw Ling Rinpoche lost for words.
O f course, I was very sad at my mother’s death. I had seen less and
less o f her as the years went by and the pressure o f my work and duties
240 —' F R E E D O M IN E X IL E
increased. Yet we remained spiritually close, so I experienced a great

sense o f loss - just as I always do when any old member o f my
entourage dies. O f course, with time, the older generation is gradually
passing away, as it must. More and more I am surrounded by people
who are younger than me. In fact, the average age o f my administra
tion is under thirty-five. This, I feel, is good in many ways. The
challenges presented by the situation in Tibet today require modern
minds. Also, it is hard for people who grew up in the old Tibet to
comprehend what is happening there. It is better that those who
address these problems should not have to bear the burden o f mem
ory. Besides, it is for our children that the struggle to regain Tibet’s
rightful independence is being waged and it is they who must carry
on that fight, if they still want to.
At the beginning o f April 1982, a three-member team o f negotia
tors from Dharamsala flew to Peking for discussions on the future o f
Tibet. It was led by Juchen Thubten Namgyal, then senior member
o f the Kashag. With him were Phuntsog Tashi Takla, my former
Kuson Depon, who was one o f the interpreters for Ngabo Ngawang
Jigme in 1951, and Lodi Gyaltsen Gyari, Chairman o f the Chetui
Lhenkhang, the Tibetan People’s Assembly. Whilst there, they met
senior members o f the Chinese Government with a view to both sides
clarifying their position.
Among the points put forward for discussion by the Tibetans were,
firstly, the historical facts concerning our homeland. They reminded
the Chinese that, historically speaking, Tibet has always been separate
from China, a fact that was implicitly recognised when Peking im
posed the Seventeen-Point 'Agreement’. Secondly, the negotiators
put it to the Chinese that, despite the 'progress’ in Tibet, loudly
publicised with outrageous exaggeration, in reality the Tibetan people
were totally dissatisfied. On the basis o f these facts, they suggested,
it was up to China to find a new approach which acknowledged
reality.
One o f the negotiators also asked whether Tibetans, in view o f their
different race, should not have the same rights, if not more, than the
Chinese Government had said it was prepared to grant its own people
in Taiwan. He was told that these offers were being made to Taiwan
because it had not yet been 'liberated5. 'But Tibet is already on the
glorious road to Socialism.’
IN IT IA TIV ES FOR PEACE 241
Unfortunately it turned out that, for their part, the Chinese did not
have anything o f substance to say. They lectured the delegates and
accused us o f using the evidence o f the fact-finding missions to distort
the truth. All that they really wanted to discuss was the return o f the
Dalai Lama. To this end, they produced the following list o f five
points regarding my future status:
1 The Dalai Lama should be confident that China has entered

a new stage o f long-term political stability, steady economic
growth and mutual help among all nationalities.
2 The Dalai Lama and his representatives should be frank and

sincere with the Central Government, not beat about the
bush. There should be no more quibbling over the events o f
1959.
3 The central authorities would sincerely welcome back the

Dalai Lama and his followers. This is based on the hope that
they will contribute to upholding China’s unity, to promot
ing solidarity between the Han and Tibetan nationalities and
among all nationalities, and to promoting the modernisation
programme.
4 The Dalai Lama will enjoy the same political status and living
conditions as he had before 1959. It is suggested that he need
not go to live in Tibet or hold local posts there. O f course,
he may go back to Tibet from time to time. His followers
need not worry about their jobs and living conditions. These
will only be better than before.
5 When the Dalai Lama wishes to come back, he can issue a
brief statement to the press. It is up to him to decide what
he would like to say in the statement.
Then, after the delegates had returned to Dharamsala, the Chinese

Government published a heavily slanted version o f the proceedings,
which referred to our viewpoint as being ‘splittist’, ‘reactionary’ and
‘opposed by the Chinese people and most strenuously by the Tibe
tans’. It began to look as if China’s ‘new’ policy regarding Tibet was

much less than the developments o f the late 1970s had suggested. As
an old Tibetan saying goes, ‘Before your eyes they show you brown
sugar, but in your mouth they put sealing wax.’
As regards the five points concerning myself, I do not know quite
why the Chinese thought that my personal status was o f much impor
tance to me. Throughout our struggle I have not been concerned for
myself but for the rights, welfare and freedom o f my six million fellow
countrymen and women. My reason for this is not simply a concern
with borders and so forth. It is because I believe that the most
important thing for humankind is its own creativity. I further believe
that, in order to be able to exercise this creativity, people need to be
free. I have freedom in exile. And, as a refugee for over thirty-one
years, I have learned something o f its value. Therefore, it would be
wrong for me to return to Tibet before all Tibetans enjoy similar
liberty in their own country.
Nevertheless, despite the unproductive nature o f these discussions
with the Chinese administration, I decided I would make a short trip
to Tibet, if that were acceptable to Peking. I wanted to talk with my
people and find out for myself what the situation really was. The
response was favourable, and preparations were put in hand for an
advance party to go over in 1984 prior to my own visit the following
year.
In the meantime, owing to the lifting o f travel restrictions, a con
siderable number o f Tibetans began to arrive in India. They continue
to do so, though less and less. At the time o f writing, about 10,000
have made the journey and more than half, mostly young people who
want to take advantage o f the education offered by our schools and
monastic universities, have remained. O f those who returned, most
did so for compelling reasons.
I try to greet all these visitors and new arrivals from Tibet in person.
Invariably, our meetings are very emotional: most are such sad, inno
cent people, ragged and destitute. I always ask them about their own
lives and families. And always there are tears when they reply - some
breaking down entirely as they relate their pitiful stories.
Also during this period I began to meet growing numbers o f tour
ists who had been to Tibet. For the first time in history, foreigners
(mostly western) were being given limited access to the Land o f
IN IT IA TIV E S FOR PEACE 243
Snows. Unfortunately, the Chinese authorities imposed severe restric

tions from the start. Except during the initial period o f the open-door
policy, entry was virtually impossible unless as a member o f a group
with a planned itinerary. And once inside, the number o f places open
to visitors was strictly limited. Furthermore, contact with Tibetans
was minimal, since the great majority o f accommodation available was
Chinese-owned and run. The few Tibetans working in these establish
ments were in menial jobs as servants and cleaners.
All o f this was - and continues to be - a drawback. Worse, the
Chinese tour guides inevitably only show people those monasteries
and buildings which have been or are being rebuilt. They do not see
the thousands still in ruins. It is true, especially in and around Lhasa,
that much restoration work has been under way for the past ten years
or so. But it is not cynicism which prompts me to say that this is
largely for the benefit o f the tour groups. Since the monks allowed
into these revived buildings are, we know, carefully screened by the
authorities, and since, rather than study, they must carry out the
restoration work themselves (with money provided mainly by private
individuals), it is the only possible conclusion.
Thanks to the carefully trained guides, few tourists ever realise this.
And if they ask why so much restoration work is necessary, they are
told that, regrettably, the excesses o f the Cultural Revolution reached
even into Tibet but that the Chinese people, who are truly sorry for
what happened under the rule o f the Gang o f Four, are taking all steps
necessary to put right those terrible wrongs. It is never said that the
majority o f the destruction was carried out long before the Cultural
Revolution.
Sadly, to many visitors, Tibet is probably little more than an exotic
destination, another stamp in the passport. They see enough monas
teries to satisfy their curiosity, and enough colourfully-dressed pil
grims visiting them to allay any suspicions they may have. However,
if this is true o f most, it is not true o f all. And this is where the real
benefit o f tourism in Tibet lies. It has nothing to do with economics
or statistics, but rather with the small percentage o f visitors who have
real imagination and curiosity. They are the ones who take the oppor
tunity to slip away from their chaperones and look where they are not
supposed to look and, more importantly, hear information that they
are not supposed to hear.
Between 1981 and 1987, the number o f visitors to Tibet rose from
1,500 to 43,000 per year. From those who subsequently contacted
us in exile, we learned that there was little substance to China’s
supposed ‘liberalism’. Tibetans were still denied free speech. And
although in private people made clear their opposition to China’s
occupation o f our country, they dared not do so in public. Further
more, their access to information was strictly controlled, as was the
practice o f religion. It took little objectivity to see that Tibet was a
police state where people were terrorised into submission. Thus they
continued to live in fear, despite the promises o f genuine reform in
the immediate aftermath o f Mao’s death. And now they had to con
tend with the increasing influx o f Chinese immigrants who threatened
to swamp them.
Many o f the visitors that I met subsequently said they had basically
been pro-China before they went, only to have their ideas overturned
by what they saw. Similarly, a lot said that, although they were
basically uninterested in politics, they now felt compelled to change
their stance. I remember in particular a Norwegian man who told me
that initially he had admired the Chinese for their destruction o f
religion. But now that he had been back to Lhasa for a second time,
he had seen what was really happening. Was there anything, he asked,
that he could do to help my people? I replied to him, as I reply to
all those who have been to Tibet and ask this question, that the best
thing he could do was tell the truth o f what he had seen to as many
people as possible. That way, the world’s knowledge o f Tibet’s plight
is gradually increased.
Following what I learned both from the new arrivals and those
tourists I met, I was not greatly surprised to hear, in September 1983,
o f a new bout o f repression in China and Tibet. Executions were
reported in Lhasa, Shigatse and Gyantse, with further arrests in
Chamdo and Karze. Ostensibly, the crack-down (which covered
China as well) was aimed at ‘criminal and anti-social elements’ but,
this clearly meant dissidents. However, although this seemed to indi
cate a hardening in the attitude o f the Chinese authorities, there was
a positive aspect to the news. For the first time, information about
China’s activities in Tibet was disseminated by the international press,
which had recently been permitted to send correspondents to Tibet.
Feeling that this new terror must signal a return to the old, harsh
methods o f the Mao era, the refugee population reacted strongly.

Mass demonstrations o f protest were held in Delhi and throughout
the settlements in India. For my own part, I felt it was too soon to
tell whether this brutality merely represented a backlash by conserva
tives against Deng Xiaoping’s regime, or whether Tibet was re-enter
ing a period o f darkness. But it was evident that the advance party to
my visit could not now take place. Subsequently my own did not
materialise.
By May 1984, it had become clear that China’s policy with regard
to Tibet had indeed undergone a major shift. In direct contradiction
to Hu Yaobang’s pledge to reduce by eighty-five per cent the number
o f Chinese officials in Tibet, a massive effort to encourage immigra
tion began. In the name o f 'development’, 60,000 skilled and un
skilled workers were recruited to start the process and given financial
guarantees, housing assistance and the promise o f home-leave entitle
ments. Simultaneously, due to the relaxation o f travel restrictions
within China itself, many others followed as private individuals, lured
by the prospect o f finding work. Thus, in accordance with the Tibetan
saying that where there is one Chinese, ten will follow, a huge influx
ensued - and continues unabated.
In late autumn that same year, Mrs Gandhi was assassinated and the
Tibetan refugees lost a true friend. I was very shocked when I heard
the news, en route to Delhi from London - not least because I was
due to have lunch with her and J. Krishnamurti that very day. She was
succeeded in office by her son Rajiv, who, as a young leader, had great
determination to do something for his country and whatever he could
for the Tibetan exile community.
Rajiv Gandhi is a man with a friendly, gentle nature and a very good
heart. I well remember the first time I saw him. During my 1956 visit
to India, I was invited to lunch at the residence o f his grandfather,
Pandit Nehru. When the Prime Minister showed me into the garden,
I noticed two small boys playing around a tent with a large firework
that they were trying unsuccessfully to launch into space. This was
Rajiv and his elder brother Sanjay. Recently, Rajiv reminded me that
I had tied them both inside the tent, much to their amusement.
Less than a year later, Tibet lost one o f its very greatest supporters
when Lobsang Sam ten died. He was only fifty-four. In a way, despite
my profound sorrow, I was not much surprised at this. His experi

ences as a member o f the first fact-finding mission had affected him
profoundly. He could make no sense o f Chinese indifference to Tibet
in the face o f such obvious suffering and unhappiness. And whereas
previously he had always been full o f jokes and fun (he had a highly
developed and very vulgar sense o f humour), subsequently he fell into
long periods o f depression. I do not think it an exaggeration to say
that he died o f a broken heart.
I deeply regretted Lobsang Sam ten’s death, not only because we
were so close, but also because I was unable to be with him during
his fatal illness. The last time I saw him was on a visit to Delhi, where
he was attending to some business connected with his work as director
o f the Tibetan Medical Institute. Rather than return to Dharamsala
by bus with his wife, he had decided to remain an extra day to carry
on with his work. He would then travel back with me. But on arrival
at the train station, he had a change o f heart. His business was not
quite finished so, despite the opportunity o f a lift home, he felt that
really he ought to stay. This was typical o f him. He never put himself
first. A day later he went down with flu for no apparent reason. This
progressed to pneumonia complicated by jaundice and he was dead
within three weeks.
Whenever I think about Lobsang Samten today, I am struck by his
humility. He always paid me the same respect as an ordinary Tibetan,
and did not really treat me as a brother. For example, whenever I
arrived home or left to travel somewhere, he invariably lined up with
the people at the gate to my residence to greet me or wish me a safe
journey. And not only was he humble, but he was also very compas
sionate. I recall once mentioning to him something about the leper
colony at Orissa in eastern India. Like me, he was deeply impressed
with any kind o f work dedicated to relieving the suffering o f others.
So when I told him that I was wondering whether the Tibetan com
munity in exile could do anything to help them, he burst into tears
and said that he personally was ready to do anything he could.
Following my visits to America in 1979, 1981 and 1984, many people

in that country had expressed a desire to do something for Tibet. As
a direct result o f this, in July 1985, ninety-one members o f the US
Congress signed a letter to the then President o f the People’s Assem
bly in Peking, Li Xiannian, expressing support for direct talks between
the Chinese Government and my representatives. The letter urged the

Chinese to ‘grant the very reasonable and justified aspirations o f His
Holiness the Dalai Lama and his people every consideration’.
For the first time, Tibet had formal political support - something
I took as an encouraging sign that the justice o f our cause was finally
beginning to be recognised internationally. Further evidence o f this
was a surge o f interest among people in other countries, who started
to take similar steps.
Then, in early 1 9 8 7 ,1 received an invitation to address the Human
Rights Caucus o f the U S Congress in Washington DC. I accepted
gladly. A date was fixed for a visit during the autumn. In the mean
time, a number o f my old friends suggested that I should use this
opportunity to put forward some definite goals for the Tibetan cause
with which supporters o f justice round the world could identify. This
struck me as good advice and I began to formalise some o f the ideas
that I had had in mind over the past few years.
Just before I was due to leave for America, Congress published a
new report on human rights violations in Tibet. In this, it was noted
that its 1985 letter to President Li Xiannian had been ignored: ‘there
has been no evidence o f any consideration [of the Dalai Lama’s very
reasonable and justified aspirations] being granted by the People’s
Republic o f China’.
After arriving in America, I delivered my address on Capitol Hill
on 21 September 1987. The proposals that I outlined have since
become known as the Five-Point Peace Plan. It is comprised o f the
following points:
1 The transformation o f the whole o f Tibet into a zone o f

peace.
2 Abandonment o f China’s population transfer policy which

threatens the very existence o f the Tibetans as a people.
3 Respect for the Tibetan people’s fundamental human rights

and democratic freedoms.
4 Restoration and protection o f Tibet’s natural environment

and the abandonment o f China’s use o f Tibet for the produc
tion o f nuclear weapons and dumping o f nuclear waste.
5 Commencement o f earnest negotiations on the future status

o f Tibet and o f relations between Tibetan and Chinese peo
ples.
After briefly putting forward these suggestions, I invited questions

from the audience. As I did so, I noticed a number o f people who
looked as though they might be Chinese. I asked them whether they
were. There was a moment’s hesitation before they replied that, yes,
they were from Xinhua, the New China News Agency. Since then,
I have noticed that Peking now invariably sends monitors whenever
I speak in public abroad. Often, these men and women show personal
friendliness towards me and only occasionally have they been negative
and sarcastic, their faces distorted with guilt.
I would like to explain in general terms the Five-Point Peace Plan.
Its first component, my proposal that the whole o f Tibet, including
the eastern provinces o f Kham and Amdo, be transformed into a zone
o f Ahimsa (a Hindi term meaning a state o f peace and nonviolence)
is in keeping with Tibet’s position as a peaceful Buddhist nation. It
is also in keeping with Nepal’s similar move to proclaim itself a peace
zone, something that had already drawn China’s support. If imple
mented, it would allow Tibet to resume its historical role o f acting
as a neutral buffer state separating the continent’s great powers.
The following are key elements o f the proposed Zone o f Ahimsa:
The entire Tibetan plateau would be demilitarised.
The manufacture, testing and stockpiling o f nuclear weapons

and other armaments on the Tibetan plateau would be prohib
ited.
The Tibetan plateau would be transformed into the world’s

largest natural park or biosphere. Strict laws would be enforced
to protect wildlife and plant life; the exploitation o f natural
resources would be carefully regulated so as not to damage rele
vant ecosystems; and a policy o f sustainable development would
be adopted in populated areas.
The manufacture and use o f nuclear power and other technolo

gies which produce hazardous waste would be prohibited.
National resources and policy would be directed towards the

active promotion o f peace and environmental protection. Or
ganisations dedicated to the furtherance o f peace and to the
protection o f all forms o f life would find a hospitable home in
Tibet.
The establishment o f international and regional organisations

for the promotion and protection o f human rights would be
encouraged in Tibet.
When established, the Zone o f Ahimsa would enable India to

withdraw her troops and military installations from the Himalayan
regions bordering Tibet. This would be achieved under an interna
tional agreement which would satisfy China’s legitimate security
needs and build trust among the Tibetan, Chinese, Indian and other
peoples o f the region. This is in everyone’s best interest, particularly
that o f China and India, as it would enhance their security, at the
same time reducing the economic burden o f maintaining high troop
concentrations on the disputed Himalayan border. Historically, rela
tions between China and India were never strained. It was only when
Chinese armies marched into Tibet, creating for the first time a com
mon border, that tensions arose between these two powers, ultimately
leading to the 1962 war. Since then, numerous dangerous incidents
have continued to occur.
A restoration o f good relations between the world’s two most
populous countries would be greatly facilitated if they were sepa
rated—as they have been throughout history - by a large and friendly
intermediary region.
To improve relations between the Tibetan people and the Chinese,
the first requirement is the creation o f trust. After the holocaust o f
the last three decades, during which, incredibly, almost one and a
quarter million Tibetans lost their lives from starvation, execution,
torture and suicide, and tens o f thousands lingered in prison camps,
only a withdrawal o f Chinese troops could start a genuine process o f
reconciliation. The vast occupation force in Tibet is a daily reminder

to Tibetans o f the oppression and suffering they have experienced. A
troop withdrawal would be an essential signal that in future a mean
ingful relationship might be established with the Chinese, based on
friendship and trust.
Unfortunately, Peking read this first part o f my proposal as a move
towards separation, though it is not so to my mind. All that I meant
by it is the logical conclusion that if there is to be genuine harmony
between our two peoples, then one side or the other must make a
concession or at least some conciliatory gesture. And since Tibet is the
aggrieved party, because we Tibetans have lost everything, we have
nothing to offer the Chinese. Therefore, it is reasonable that, in order
to bring about an atmosphere o f mutual trust, those people who carry
rifles (whether these rifles be hidden or not) should be withdrawn.
That is what I mean by a zone o f peace: simply an area where no one
carries weapons. Not only will this help to create trust between the
two sides, but it will also give the Chinese an important economic
boost. Their expenditure on maintaining large standing armies in
Tibet is an enormous drain on their resources as a developing country.
The second component o f my Five-Point Peace Plan concerns what
amounts to the greatest threat to the continuation o f Tibetans as a
distinct race, namely the population transfer o f Chinese into Tibet.
By the mid-1980s, it had become clear that the Government in Peking
is pursuing a deliberate policy o f Sinicization: what some people have
called a ‘final solution’ by stealth. They are doing this by reducing the
native Tibetan population to an insignificant and disenfranchised mi
nority in its own homeland. This must be stopped. Such a massive
transfer o f Chinese civilians into Tibet is in direct contravention o f
the Fourth Geneva Convention. As a result o f it, in the eastern parts
o f our country the Chinese now greatly outnumber Tibetans. For
example, in Qinghai Province, which today comprises Amdo, where
I was born, there are, according to Chinese statistics, 2.5 million
Chinese and only 750,000 Tibetans. Even in the so-called Tibet Au
tonomous Region (that is to say, central and western Tibet), the
Chinese already outnumber Tibetans, according to our information.
This population transfer policy is not new. China has systematically
applied it to other areas. N ot long ago, the Manchus were a distinct
IN IT IA T IV E S FOR PEACE 251
race with their own culture and traditions. Today, only two to three
million Manchurians are left in Manchuria, where 75 million Chinese
have settled. In Eastern Turkestan, which the Chinese now call Xin-
jang, the Chinese population has grown from 200,000 in 1949 to
over seven million today: more than half the total population. In the
wake o f the Chinese colonisation o f Inner Mongolia, the Chinese
number 8.5 million, Mongolians only 2.5 million. At present, in the
whole o f Tibet, we estimate that there are already 7.5 million Chi
nese, outnumbering the Tibetan population o f around six million.
For the Tibetans to survive as a people, it is imperative that popula
tion transfer is stopped and that Chinese settlers be allowed to return
to China. Otherwise, Tibetans will soon be no more than a tourist
attraction and relic o f a noble past. At present it seems that it is mainly
economic incentive which keeps them there; they certainly find the
conditions difficult: altitude sickness is reported to be endemic
amongst the Chinese population.
The third component o f my proposal concerns human rights in
Tibet. These must be respected. The Tibetan people must once again
be free to develop culturally, intellectually, economically and spiritu
ally and to be able to exercise basic democratic freedoms. Human
rights violations in Tibet are among the most serious in the world.
This is attested to by Amnesty International and other such organisa
tions. Discrimination is practised in Tibet under a policy o f outright
apartheid which the Chinese call ‘segregation and assimilation5. In
reality Tibetans are, at best, second-class citizens in their own country.
Deprived o f all basic democratic rights and freedoms, they exist under
a colonial administration o f occupation in which all real power is
wielded by Chinese officials o f the Communist Party and the PLA.
Although the Chinese Government allows Tibetans to rebuild some
Buddhist monasteries and to worship in them, it forbids all serious
study and teaching o f religion. Thus, while Tibetans in exile have the
opportunity to exercise their democratic rights under the draft consti
tution promulgated by myself in 1963, thousands and thousands o f
my countrymen continue to suffer in prisons and labour camps for
their belief in freedom. For in Tibet a Tibetan who shows loyalty to
China is called ‘progressive5, but anyone who shows loyalty to his or
her own country is branded a ‘criminal5 and incarcerated.
My fourth proposal calls for serious efforts to be made to restore

the natural environment o f Tibet. Tibet should not be used for the
production o f nuclear weapons and the dumping o f nuclear waste.
Tibetans have a great respect for all forms o f life. This inherent feeling
is enhanced by our Buddhist faith which prohibits the harming o f all
sentient beings, whether human or animal. Prior to the Chinese
invasion, Tibet was a fresh, beautiful, unspoiled wilderness sanctuary
in a unique natural environment.
Sadly, during the past few decades, the wildlife o f Tibet has been
almost totally destroyed and, in many places, irreparable damage has
been done to its forests. The overall effect on Tibet’s delicate environ
ment has been devastating - particularly since the country’s altitude
and aridity mean that the process o f restoring vegetation will take
much longer than in lower, wetter regions. For this reason, what little
is left must be protected and efforts made to reverse the effects o f
China’s iniquitous and wanton destruction o f the Tibetan environ
ment.
In doing so, the first priority will be to halt the production o f
nuclear weaponry and, even more importantly, to prevent the dump
ing o f nuclear waste. Apparently, China plans not only to dispose o f
its own but also to import other countries’ waste, in exchange for hard
currency. The danger this represents is obvious. Not only living gen
erations, but future generations are threatened. Furthermore, the
inevitable problems this would cause locally could so easily turn into
a catastrophe o f global proportions. Giving waste to China, which
might have access to large areas o f lightly populated land but has only
crude technology, will likely prove only a short-term solution to the
problem.
In my call for negotiations on the future status o f Tibet, I expressed
my wish to approach the subject in a spirit o f frankness and concilia
tion, with a view to finding a solution that is in the long-term interest
o f everyone - the Tibetans, the Chinese and ultimately all people on
earth - my motivation in all this being the possibility o f contributing
to world peace through regional peace. I said nothing merely to
criticise the Chinese. On the contrary, I want to help the Chinese in
any way that I can. I hoped that my suggestions would be useful to
them. Unfortunately, they chose only to see them as a call for separa
tism (although, with regard to the future o f Tibet, I nowhere spoke
IN IT IA TIV ES FOR PEACE 253
to the question o f sovereignty) and Peking moved swiftly to denounce

my speech in strong terms.
This did not much surprise me. Nor was I greatly surprised at the
reaction o f the people o f Tibet - though I did not expect it. A few
days after I had spoken in Washington, there came reports o f huge
demonstrations in Lhasa.
15
UNIVERSAL
RESPONSIBILITY AND
THE GOOD HEART
I
later discovered that the demonstrations o f September and Octo
ber 1987 followed directly Peking’s denunciation o f my Five-
Point Peace Plan. Lhasans in their thousands turned out to call
for a restoration o f Tibetan independence. Predictably, the Chi
nese authorities reacted with violence and cruelty. Armed police
moved in to break up the demonstrations, opening fire indiscrimi
nately and killing at least nineteen people. Many more were wounded.
At first the Chinese denied that any shots had been fired. Six
months later they admitted that some members o f the security forces
had fired warning shots into the air above the heads o f the crowd.
But, they suggested, some o f these rounds must have struck the
crowd, instead o f falling harmlessly. (When I heard this, I wondered
whether perhaps they were referring to some new secret weapon: a
Tibetan blood-seeking bullet.)
News o f the demonstrations and the merciless and bloody crack
down flashed around the world and, for the first time since 1959,
Tibet was headline news. However, it was not until some time after
wards that I heard the full details o f what happened. And for this I
was indebted to the handful o f western tourists who happened to be
in the capital at that time.
Forty o f them subsequently formed a group and submitted a report
on the atrocities they had seen. From this I learned that the pattern
o f both demonstrations was the same. Initially, a handful o f monks
254
UNIVERSAL RESPO N SIBILITY AND THE GOOD HEART 255
had gathered in front o f the Jokhang, shouting, cBo mnjjzen "Inde

pendence for Tibet5. They were quickly joined by hundreds, then
thousands, o f lay people who echoed these calls for freedom. Sud
denly, a battalion o f security men appeared. Without warning, about
sixty monks and lay people were arrested and hustled into the police
station, which today lies immediately opposite the Jokhang. Before
being taken inside, they were viciously beaten. Meanwhile, people
pleaded with officials for the release o f the demonstrators. But sud
denly dozens o f security men arrived with video cameras and began
filming the crowd. Fearing subsequent indentification, several people
began throwing stones at the police as they filmed. A few Tibetans
panicked and began overturning police vehicles and setting them
alight, whereupon armed members o f the security forces started
shooting. Most people showed great restraint, however, and when
some o f the police ran away, dropping their guns, they gathered up
the weapons and broke them on the ground.
During the disturbances o f 1 October 1987, the police station itself
was, regrettably, set on fire by the demonstrators, who, in a desperate
attempt to release their companions, tried to burn down the door.
Until then, members o f the security forces had repeatedly come run
ning out o f the building to drag people inside, where they were
horribly beaten.
When eventually the crowd dispersed, at least a dozen Tibetans,
including several children, lay dead. That night and on subsequent
nights, hundreds were seized from their homes. In the end, more
than 2,000 were imprisoned. O f these, most were subjected to beat
ings and torture, and one report spoke o f forty executions.
Before going further, I wish to express my deep appreciation to
those foreigners who, despite their having no obligation to do so,
selflessly risked their lives to help their suffering fellow human beings.
Such spontaneous expressions o f humanity represent the only hope
for the future o f mankind. Some o f these men and women repeatedly
risked their lives trying to help the many seriously wounded Tibetans.
They also witnessed, and took photographs of, numerous acts o f
Chinese barbarity.
Although the Chinese authorities hurriedly expelled not only those
journalists present in Tibet but also all foreigners, their atrocities
received worldwide coverage. As a result, several western Govern-
merits called on the Chinese to respect human rights in Tibet and to

release all political prisoners there. The Government in Peking replied
to this by saying that the disturbances were an internal matter for
themselves and rejected any criticism o f their actions.
Because Tibet was now closed to the outside world, I heard little
more information for several months. But I now know that, in the
immediate aftermath o f the demonstrations, the Chinese began a
massive programme o f political ‘re-education’. They even tried to
organise a counter-demonstration in late October, offering potential
participants the equivalent o f a week’s wages. But it had to be called
off: no one came forward. Also, in order to try to prevent any more
news leaking out, the PLA did its best to seal Tibet’s borders, while
the Government in Peking actually succeeded in pressuring a sover
eign state, namely the Kingdom o f Nepal, into arresting and handing
over twenty-six Tibetans who managed to slip through the net. But
it was during this period that I was informed by a Chinese source
(motivated, like the tourists, by compassion and outrage) that an
order to open fire on the demonstrators had most certainly been
given.
At the beginning o f 1988, the Chinese authorities in Lhasa in
structed the monastic community to hold the Monlam prayer festival
as usual. (It had been revived after twenty years in 1986.) However,
the monks felt this would be inappropriate while so many people
remained in prison and they resisted the edict. The Central People’s
Government in Peking then ordered that the celebrations must go
ahead as planned, hoping to show the outside world that the situation
in Tibet was normal. So the monks were forced to proceed. But
evidently the Chinese feared more disturbances. On 28 February, the
BBC reported that
Thousands o f Chinese security forces have been moved into the Lhasa
area - road blocks are in force all over the city. Long convoys o f
armoured vehicles patrol the streets at night, and people are advised
through loud-speaker announcements to stay at home. One message
said bluntly, ‘If you misbehave, we will kill you.’
Then, a week before Monlam, a Reuters dispatch from Peking stated

that fifty military vehicles and more than a thousand Chinese police,
many in riot gear, rehearsed their manoeuvres in front o f the Jokhang.

The festival began with tensions running high. A large military
presence accompanied the opening ceremonies and there were at least
ten security personnel to every monk present. In addition, many
plain-clothes police mingled with the crowd, some again armed with
video cameras. In a sinister development, it also appears that members
o f the security forces disguised themselves, some by shaving their
heads, others by wearing wigs, to give the impression either that they
were monks or that they were from outside Lhasa.
At first, peace prevailed; but, on 5 March, some monks began
shouting for the release o f a tulku named Yulu Dawa Tsering, one o f
the many protestors to have been imprisoned without charge since the
previous October. Next, the crowd that had assembled for the last
part o f the prayer festival, when a statue o f Maitreya is taken round
the Barkhor, began to denounce the Chinese presence in Tibet and
to throw stones at the police who paraded provocatively nearby. To
this, the security forces responded first by repeatedly charging into the
crowd with clubs and electric cattle prods. Then, the military opened
fire, not indiscriminately this time. With precision they singled out
and shot several protestors. There followed running battles which
caused hundreds o f Tibetan casualties. At around noon, police
stormed the Jokhang and murdered at least twelve monks. One they
beat severely, before tearing both his eyes out and hurling him from
the roof down to the ground. Tibet’s holiest shrine became like a
butcher’s yard.
The whole Tibetan quarter o f Lhasa was now in uproar and, during
the night, about twenty Chinese shops, whose owners had repeatedly
expressed a negative attitude towards Tibetans, were burned down. At
the same time, the security forces made frequent assaults, dragging
away hundreds o f men, women and children.
Because there was only a handful o f westerners in the city at the
time, none o f them journalists, little news escaped the media blackout
and it was several weeks before I heard any details. In the meantime,
it quickly became apparent that this latest disturbance exceeded in
both scale and severity those o f the previous autumn. As a result, a
two-week curfew was imposed, during which at least 2,500 arrests
were made and the entire Tibetan population o f Lhasa was ruthlessly
intimidated.
Once again, I was not greatly surprised by this expression o f the

Tibetan people’s desperation, but I was nevertheless profoundly
shocked to hear o f China’s violent response. World opinion was
equally outraged and for the second time in six months there was wide
coverage o f the disturbances in the international press, despite the
small amount o f information available. Meanwhile, China’s official
reaction was the same as before: this was an internal matter for the
Peking Government and they denounced the demonstrations as the
work o f a handful o f ‘reactionary splittists’ and called me a dangerous
criminal. The Dalai Lama, they suggested, had deliberately incited
riots and sent in agents to Tibet to carry them out. This was predict
able, though I was disturbed that the Chinese were now openly
accusing foreigners o f having played a leading part in both distur
bances.
I received the first full report o f the Monlam demonstration from
the British politician, Lord Ennals, who arrived in Lhasa less than a
month later. As leader o f an independent delegation sanctioned by
the Peking Government, Lord Ennals’s aim was to investigate the
human rights situation in Tibet. Along with the other members o f his
team, he was shocked to find that gross violations continued to be
committed against the Tibetan people. The delegates also came across
irrefutable evidence o f torture and physical abuse o f prisoners follow
ing the demonstrations, about which they heard complete details
from numerous eyewitnesses. Their report, published by Interna
tional Alert, spoke o f a ‘crisis which demands a rapid and positive
response’.
At the time, I myself was in Britain, where I was impressed to find
intense and sympathetic media interest in the plight o f the Tibetan
people. Also, I was pleased to receive an invitation to speak to a group
o f concerned politicians at the European Parliament later in 1988.
This coincided with several western leaders calling on China to open
negotiations with myself on the future o f Tibet.
Thinking that this invitation offered an opportunity to re-state the
Five-Point Peace Plan and, in particular, to expand on its fifth compo
nent, I gladly accepted. In my speech, which I delivered in Strasbourg
on 15 June 1 9 8 8 ,1 mentioned my opinion that, under certain special
circumstances, it could be possible for the whole o f Tibet to exist in
association with the People’s Republic o f China, with foreign affairs
U N IVERSAL RESPO N SIB ILITY AND TH E GOOD HEART 259
and limited defence directed from Peking until a regional peace con
ference can take place, after which the whole o f Tibet would be
designated a Zone o f Peace. I also made plain that the Tibetan Gov
ernment in Exile was ready to negotiate with the Chinese authorities
whenever they were ready. But I insisted that this was only a proposal
and any decisions would have to be made by the Tibetan people, not
by me.
Again, the response from Peking was negative. My speech was
denounced and the European Parliament was severely criticised for
having permitted me to speak. However, during the autumn o f 1988,
in a very promising development, the Chinese indicated that they
wished to discuss the future o f Tibet with the Dalai Lama. For the
first time, they professed themselves willing not merely to discuss the
Dalai Lama’s status, but the matter o f Tibet itself. It was left to me
to choose a venue. Immediately, I nominated a team o f negotiators
and proposed that the two sides meet in Geneva during January 1989.
My reason for this choice was to enable me to participate personally
in the talks as soon as it became apparent that my presence was
required.
Unfortunately, no sooner had they agreed in principle to talks,
than the Chinese began to put up conditions and objections. At first,
they expressed a preference for Peking as the venue; then they made
a condition that no foreigner could be a member o f the negotiating
team; next they said that they could not accept anyone who was a
member o f the Tibetan Government in Exile, because they did not
recognise it; then they said they could not talk to anyone who had
ever called for Tibetan independence. Finally, they said they would
only talk to me. This was very disappointing. Having professed a clear
willingness to talk, the Chinese had then made it virtually impossible
for the negotiations ever to begin. And whilst I am by no means averse
to meeting the Chinese personally, it is only sensible that there are
preliminary discussions with my representatives first. So, although
Geneva was finally agreed to as a venue, January 1989 came and went
with nothing accomplished.
On 28 January 1989, news came that the Panchen Lama had died
whilst on a rare visit to Tibet from Peking, where he lived. He was
only fifty-three, and naturally I was deeply saddened. I felt that Tibet
had lost a true freedom fighter. It cannot be denied that some Tibe
tans see him as a controversial character. Indeed, during the early

1950s, when he was still very young, I have a suspicion that, by siding
with the Chinese, he thought he could use the situation to his own
advantage. But his patriotism was real, I believe. And even though the
Chinese used him as a puppet after releasing him from jail in 1978,
he continued to oppose them until the end. Just before he died, he
made a speech, reported by Xinhua, that was highly critical o f the
‘many mistakes’ made in Tibet by the Chinese authorities. It was a
courageous last act.
Two days later, he made his final appearance at Tashilhunpo monas
tery, where, shortly after consecrating the tombs o f his predecessors,
he apparently suffered a fatal heart attack. Many felt that the Panchen
Lama’s death in his own monastery was symbolic, the deliberate ges
ture o f a true spiritual master.
Although I was not able to see him before he died, I did speak with
the Panchen Lama on the telephone three times. Twice I spoke to
him at his office in Peking, where he had been appointed to the
National Assembly, and once whilst he was abroad. Inevitably, his
conversations in Peking were monitored. I know this because, some
weeks after the second o f them, a carefully edited transcript o f our
conversation was published in the Chinese press. However, while he
was in Australia, he managed to give his escort the slip at a prear
ranged time and I spoke to him from West Germany. We were not
able to speak for long, but it was enough to assure me that in his heart
the Panchen Lama remained true to his religion, to his people and
to his country. So I was not too concerned when I heard bad reports
o f him from Lhasa, where he was criticised for having extensive busi
ness interests. It was also said that he had taken a wife.
Following his death, I received an invitation from the Buddhist
Society o f China to attend his funeral in Peking. This amounted to
an official invitation to visit China. Personally, I wanted to go but
hesitated, as inevitably there would be some discussion about Tibet
if I went. Had the Geneva talks taken place as planned, this might
have been opportune. However, under the circumstances, I felt it
would be inappropriate to go and regretfully refused.
Meanwhile, China’s procrastination produced its inevitable result.
On 5 March 1989, there began three more days o f demonstrations
in Lhasa. In some o f the most vigorous expressions o f discontent
UN IVERSAL RESPO N SIBILITY AND THE GOOD HEART 261
since March 1959, many tens o f thousands took to the streets. Chang
ing their tactics, the Chinese security forces remained on the sidelines
throughout the first day, merely filming scenes which they showed on
television that night. Then, on the following days, they reacted with
repeated baton charges and indiscriminate shooting. Witnesses re
ported seeing them firing automatic weapons into Tibetan homes
killing whole families.
Unfortunately, Tibetans reacted to this not only by attacking the
police and security forces, but also, in a few instances, innocent
Chinese civilians. This made me very sad. It makes no sense whatever
for Tibetans to resort to violence. If they wanted to, with a thousand
million people against our six million, China could forcefully erase the
entire Tibetan race from the face o f the earth. It would be much more
constructive if people tried to understand their supposed enemies.
Learning to forgive is much more useful than merely picking up a
stone and throwing it at the object o f one’s anger, the more so when
the provocation is extreme. For it is under the greatest adversity that
there exists the greatest potential for doing good, both for oneself and
others.
Yet, in truth, I realise that for most people such words are unrealis
tic. It is too much to ask. It is not right for me to expect Tibetans,
who live their daily lives under such terrible hardship, to be able to
love the Chinese. So whilst I will never condone it, I accept that some
violence is inevitable.
Actually, I greatly admire and respect the courage o f my people.
Many o f those who joined in the demonstrations were women, chil
dren and old people: hundreds o f men were arrested on the first
evening, so it was mostly their families who continued to express their
feelings so vividly on the second and third days. Many o f them are
now probably dead. Even more are still in prison, being tortured and
beaten on a daily basis.
Thanks to the presence o f a few brave foreigners, some o f whom
experienced personal harassment, reports o f this latest outrage were
quickly transmitted to the outside world. As before, there was over
whelming support for the Tibetan people: the United States, France
and the European Parliament condemned China’s reprisals, which
caused the deaths o f at least two hundred and fifty unarmed Tibetans,
not to mention the wounding o f countless others. Many other Gov
ernments expressed their "grave concern5, and the subsequent imposi

tion o f martial law on 8 March drew widespread criticism.
The idea o f China imposing martial law in Lhasa was terrifying, for,
in reality, the city had been under military rule ever since 26 October
1951, when the first PLA troops arrived. It looked as if the Chinese
must be about to turn the place into a slaughter house, a Himalayan
killing fields. Two days later, on the thirtieth anniversary o f the
Tibetan People’s Uprising, I therefore sent an appeal to Deng Xiao
ping, asking that he intervene personally to lift martial law and end
the repression o f innocent Tibetans. He did not reply.
Within only a few weeks o f the protests in Lhasa came the uprising
in China. I followed events there with a mixture o f disbelief and
horror, becoming especially anxious when some o f the demonstrators
began a hunger strike. The students were obviously so bright, so
sincere, so innocent, with their whole lives to live. Against them, they
had a Government that remained totally stubborn and cruel and
indifferent. At the same time, I could not help feeling a certain
admiration for the Chinese leadership, those decrepit, foolish old
men who clung so fiercely and determinedly to their ideas. In spite
o f clear evidence that their system was breaking down and that Com
munism was failing throughout the world, and in spite o f a million
protestors outside their front door, they held to their faith.
Naturally, I was appalled when the military was finally deployed to
break up the demonstration. But considered politically, I feel it de
noted no more than a temporary setback for the democracy move
ment. By resorting to violence, the authorities can only have helped
develop a favourable attitude towards the students amongst ordinary
Chinese people. In so doing, they shortened by half to two-thirds the
life o f Communism in China. Also, they showed the world the truth
about their methods: scepticism o f Tibetans5 claims about Chinese
human rights5 abuse is no longer possible.
On a personal level, I feel somewhat sorry for Deng Xiaoping. His
name is now irreparably damaged, whereas without the massacre in
1989 he would have gone down in history as a great leader o f his
country. I also feel sympathy for his co-leaders who, in their igno
rance, destroyed China’s reputation abroad after a decade o f assiduous
image-building. It seems that, although they failed to propagandise
UN IVERSAL RESPO N SIB ILITY AND THE GOOD HEART 263
the people, they succeeded only too well with themselves.

In cruel counterpoint to the many wonderful happenings elsewhere
in the world, martial law prevailed in Lhasa throughout 1989. Never
was I more conscious o f this sad fact than when, on a visit to the US
that autumn, I learned that I had won the Nobel Prize for Peace.
Although the news did not matter much to me personally, I realised
that it would mean a great deal to the people o f Tibet, for it was they
who were the real 'winners5o f the prize. My own satisfaction derived
from what I saw as international recognition o f the value o f compas
sion, forgiveness and love. Moreover, I was pleased that at that mo
ment the people o f many countries were discovering for themselves
that peaceful change was not impossible. In the past, the idea o f
non-violent revolution had seemed perhaps idealistic, and I drew great
comfort from this overwhelming proof to the contrary.
Chairman Mao once said that political power comes from the barrel
o f a gun. He was only partly right: power that comes from the barrel
o f a gun can be effective only for a short time. In the end, people’s
love for truth, justice, freedom and democracy will triumph. N o
matter what governments do, the human spirit will always prevail.
I had direct experience o f that truth right at the end o f 1989, when
I visited Berlin on the very day that Egon Kranz was toppled. Thanks
to the cooperation o f the East German authorities, I was able to go
up to the Wall itself. As I stood there, in full view o f a still-manned
security post, an old lady silently handed me a red candle. With some
emotion, I lit it and held it up. For a moment the tiny dancing flame
threatened to go out, but it held and, while a crowd pressed round
me, touching my hands, I prayed that the light o f compassion and
awareness would fill the world and dispel the darkness o f fear and
oppression. It was a moment I shall always remember.
Something similar happened when I went to Czechoslovakia a few
weeks later as the guest o f President Havel, who, fresh from a jail
sentence for his political activities, was now President o f his country.
On arrival, I was greeted by an emotional crowd. Many people had
tears in their eyes as they waved and gave the victory sign. And I saw
at once that, despite the years o f totalitarianism, these men and
women were full o f life and exultant in their newly-won freedom.
I felt greatly honoured to be invited to Czechoslovakia, not only
by a head o f state - for the first time - but also by a man who has
consistently shown such devotion to truth. I found the new President

to be very gentle and full o f honesty, humility - and humour. At
dinner that evening, as he sat drinking a glass o f beer and holding a
cigarette, he told me he identified strongly with the Sixth Dalai Lama,
who had a reputation for worldliness. This prompted me to look
forward to a second revolution in Czechoslovakia: that o f less smok
ing at mealtimes! But what really impressed me about President Havel
was his lack o f pretence. He seemed quite unaffected by his new
position, and his looks and talk suggested great sensitivity.
Another person I met in early 1990, who made a vivid impression
on me, was Baba Amte, a man who founded a village in southern
India. On what was previously barren earth he has brought into
existence a thriving community surrounded by trees, a rose garden
and a vegetable garden, and provided with a small hospital, an old
people’s home, schools and workshops. This alone is a great achieve
ment, but what makes the place remarkable is that it was built entirely
by handicapped people.
As I walked round it, I saw nothing to suggest any concessions to
disability. At one point I went into a shed where a worker was repair
ing a bicycle wheel. In what remained o f his leprous hands, he held
a chisel and a hammer, which he was wielding with such vigour that
I couldn’t help feeling he was showing off. But his exuberant self-
confidence made it clear to me that, given enthusiasm and proper
organisation, even those people with crucial disadvantages can gain
dignity and come to be recognised as productive members o f society.
Baba Amte is an extraordinary person. After a long, vigorous life,
during which he has suffered great physical hardship, he is himself
virtually a cripple and, because o f damage to his spine, he can only
stand straight or lie down. Yet he remains so full o f energy that I could
not do his work, even though I am much fitter. As I sat on his bed
holding his hand, and he lay talking to me, I could not help feeling
that here was someone who was truly compassionate. I told him that
whereas my compassion is just so much talk, his shone through
everything he did. In turn, Baba Amte told me the story o f how he
had made the decision to dedicate his life to helping others. One day,
he had seen a leper with worms in the place where his eyes had been.
That was all it took.
Such examples o f humanity as this give me the conviction that one
U N IVERSA L RESPO N SIB ILITY AND THE GOOD HEART 265
day there will be an end to my people’s suffering at the hands o f the

People’s Republic o f China, for there are more than a billion Chinese,
and whilst maybe several thousand are participating in acts o f cruelty
at any one moment, I believe there must be several million performing
acts o f kindness.
That said, I cannot forget the present situation in Tibet, where
neither discontent nor repression are confined to Lhasa. Between the
end o f September 1987 and May 1990, more than eighty separate
demonstrations have been reported. Many have involved no more
than a handful o f protestors, and not all have ended in bloodshed. But
as a result, my fellow countrymen and women are enduring a new
reign o f terror. In the capital itself, where Chinese now far outnumber
Tibetans, tanks have recently been sighted while recent reports by
organisations such as Amnesty International and Asia Watch make
clear that brutal repression continues throughout Tibet. Arrests with
out justification, beatings and torture, prison sentences and even
execution without trial, characterise the behaviour o f the Chinese
authorities.
To this unhappy list must be added the testimonies o f several
Tibetans who, having been imprisoned and pitifully ill-treated follow
ing one or more o f the demonstrations, have since succeeded in
escaping to India. One, who must remain nameless for fear o f reprisals
against his family, described to human rights investigators how he was
kept naked and handcuffed in his cell for prolonged periods, during
which he was abused physically and verbally. On occasions, drunken
guards came into his cell and beat him. One night his head was
repeatedly struck against the wall until his nose bled, although he
remained conscious. He also described being used as a target for
martial arts’ practice by guards ‘smelling o f alcohol’. In between peri
ods o f interrogation trying to force him to confess that he had taken
part in the protests, he was sometimes left alone for days without food
or bedding in a bitterly cold cell.
On the fifth day o f detention this person was woken after dawn and
taken to an interrogation centre outside the prison compound. He
was first pinned to the ground by two guards, while a third, having
knelt on his head, then took it in both hands and repeatedly banged
his left temple against the ground for some ten minutes. He then
described how he was subjected to the so-called ‘hanging airplane5

method o f torture:
I was picked up from the ground and two soldiers began to bind a rope
around my arms. This long rope had a metal ring in the middle which
was positioned behind my neck. Both ends were then passed in front
o f my shoulders and wound in a spiral tightly around my arms, finally
trapping my fingers. One soldier then drew the two rope ends back
through the metal ring, forcing my arms up between the shoulder
blades. Holding on to the rope he kneed me hard in the small o f the
back, which caused a sharp pain in the chest. The rope was then passed
over a hook in the ceiling and pulled downwards so that I was suspended
with my toes just touching the ground. I quickly lost consciousness. I
don’t know how long I blacked out for, but I woke up back in my cell,
naked except for handcuffs, and shackled around my ankles.
Four days later he was again led naked from his cell, handcuffed but
without leg shackles, outside the prison compound. He was not
brought to the interrogation room, however.
One soldier took a thick piece o f rope and tied me to a tree. The rope
was wound around my body from the neck down to the knees. The
soldier then stood behind the tree and put his foot against it, pulling
the rope tight. Chinese soldiers were sitting around the tree having
lunch. One stood up and threw the remains o f his bowl o f vegetables
and chillies in my face. The chillies burned my eyes and I still suffer a
little. I was then untied and taken back to my cell, but I stumbled often
as I still found it difficult to walk and I was beaten every time I fell.
Other ex-detainees have related how they were repeatedly given

shocks from the electric cattle prods that police used while the demon
strations were actually taking place. A young man had one forced into
his mouth, causing severe swelling, and a nun told investigators o f
how she had had this instrument o f torture forced into both her anus
and vagina.
While it is tempting to take this sort o f information as definitive o f
the Chinese people as a whole, I know it would be wrong to do so.
But equally, such depravity cannot be dismissed. So, although I have
now spent the greater part o f my life in exile and although I have
naturally taken a keen interest in China’s affairs throughout that time,
as a result o f which I have some experience as a 'China watcher’, still
I must admit that I do not fully understand the Chinese mind.
When I visited China in the early 1950s, I could see that a lot o f
people had given up everything in order to help bring about a trans
formation in society. Many bore physical scars from the struggle and
most were men o f the highest principle who genuinely sought to
bring about real benefits for every person in their vast country. To do
this, they constructed a party system which enabled them to know
every last detail about one another, right down to the number o f
hours’ sleep each one needed. They were so passionate about their
ideals that they would stop at nothing to achieve them. And in their
leader, Mao Tse-tung, they had a man o f great vision and imagina
tion, someone who realised the value o f constructive criticism and
frequently encouraged it.
Yet in no time at all, the new administration became paralysed by
petty in-fighting and squabbling. I saw it happen in front o f my own
eyes. Soon, they began to exchange fact for fable, to tell falsehoods
whenever it was necessary to show themselves in a good light. When
I met Chou En-lai in India on that occasion in 1956 and told him
o f my fears, he replied by telling me not to worry. All would be well.
In reality, things only changed for the worse.
When I returned to Tibet in 1 9 5 7 ,1 found the Chinese authorities
openly persecuting my people, though simultaneously I was con
stantly assured there would be no interference. They lied without
hesitation, just as they have ever since. Worse, it seemed that the vast
majority o f the outside world was prepared to believe this fiction.
Then, during the 1970s, a number o f prominent western politicians
were taken to Tibet and came back saying that all was well there.
The truth remains that, since the Chinese invasion, over a million
Tibetans have died as a direct result o f Peking’s policies. When adopt
ing its resolution on Tibet in 1965, the United Nations stated plainly
that China’s occupation o f my homeland has been characterised by
'acts o f murder, rape and arbitrary imprisonment; torture and cruel,
inhuman and degrading treatment o f Tibetans on a large scale’.
I remain at a loss to explain how this happened, how the noble ideals
o f so many good men and women became transformed into senseless
268 ~ / F R E E D O M IN E X IL E
barbarity. Nor can I understand what motivated those people within

the Chinese leadership who actively counselled the total destruction o f
the Tibetan race. It seems that China is a country which has lost its
faith, as a result o f which the Chinese people have themselves endured
unspeakable misery over the past forty-one years - all in the name o f
Communism.
Yet the pursuit o f Communism has been one o f the greatest human
experiments o f all time, and I do not deny that I myself was very
impressed with its ideology at first. The trouble was, as I soon discov
ered, that although Communism claims to serve "the people’ - for
whom there are "people’s hotels’, "people’s hospitals’, "people’s ar
mies’ and so on - "the people’ does not mean everyone, only those
who hold views that are held by a minority to be "the people’s views’.
Some o f the responsibility for the excesses o f Communism rests
squarely on the West. The hostility with which it greeted the first
Marxist Governments accounts in part for the often ludicrous precau
tions they took to protect themselves. They became suspicious o f
everything and everyone, and suspicion causes terrible unhappiness
because it goes against a fundamental human trait - namely one
person’s desire to trust another person. In this connection, I remem
ber, for example, the absurd situation o f my visit to Lenin’s room in
the Kremlin during my visit to Moscow in 1982. I was watched over
by an unsmiling plain-clothes security man who was clearly ready to
shoot in an instant, while a woman guide mechanically explained the
official history o f the Russian Revolution.
However, in as much as I have any political allegiance, I suppose
I am still half Marxist. I have no argument with Capitalism, so long
as it is practised in a humanitarian fashion, but my religious beliefs
dispose me far more towards Socialism and Internationalism, which
are more in line with Buddhist principles. The other attractive thing
about Marxism for me is its assertion that man is ultimately responsi
ble for his own destiny. This reflects Buddhist thought exactly.
Against this, I set the fact that those countries which pursue Capi
talist policies within a democratic framework are much freer than
those which pursue the Communist ideal. So ultimately I am in favour
o f humanitarian government, one which aims to serve the whole
community: the young, the old and the disabled, as much as those
who can be directly productive members o f society.
UN IVERSAL RESPO N SIB ILITY AND THE GOOD HEART ---- 269
Having said that I remain half Marxist, if I were actually to vote

in an election it would be for one o f the Environmental parties. One
o f the most positive developments in the world recently has been the
growing awareness o f the importance o f Nature. There is nothing
sacred or holy about this. Taking care o f our planet is like taking care
o f our houses. Since we human beings come from Nature, there is no
point in our going against Nature, which is why I say the environment
is not a matter o f religion or ethics or morality. These are luxuries,
since we can survive without them. But we will not survive if we
continue to go against Nature.
We have to accept this. If we unbalance Nature, humankind will
suffer. Furthermore, as people alive today, we must consider future
generations: a clean environment is a human right like any other. It
is therefore part o f our responsibility towards others to ensure that the
world we pass on is as healthy, if not healthier, than when we found
it. This is not quite such a difficult proposition as it might sound. For
although there is a limit to what we as individuals can do, there is no
limit to what a universal response might achieve. It is up to us as
individuals to do what we can, however little that may be. Just because
switching off the light on leaving the room seems inconsequential, it
does not mean that we should not do it.
This is where, as a Buddhist monk, I feel that belief in the concept
o f karma is very useful in the conduct o f daily life. Once you believe
in the connection between motivation and its effect, you will become
more alert to the effects which your own actions have upon yourself
and others.
Thus, despite the continuing tragedy o f Tibet, I find much good
in the world. I am especially encouraged that the belief in consumer
ism as an end in itself seems to be giving way to an appreciation that
we humans must conserve the earth’s resources. This is very necessary.
Human beings are in a sense children o f the earth. And, whereas up
until now our common Mother tolerated her children’s behaviour,
she is presently showing us that she has reached the limit o f her
tolerance.
It is my prayer that one day I shall be able to carry this message o f
concern for the environment and for others to the people o f China.
Since Buddhism is by no means alien to the Chinese, I believe that
I may be able to serve them in a practical way. The last Panchen
Lama’s predecessor once conducted a Kalachakm initiation ceremony

in Peking. If I were to do the same, it would not be without prece
dent. For as a Buddhist monk, my concern extends to all members
o f the human family and, indeed, to all suffering sentient beings.
I believe that this suffering is caused by ignorance, and that people
inflict pain on others in pursuit o f their own happiness or satisfaction.
Yet true happiness comes from a sense o f inner peace and content
ment, which in turn must be achieved through cultivation o f altruism,
o f love, o f compassion, and through the elimination o f anger, self
ishness and greed.
To some people this may sound nai ve, but I would remind them
that, no matter what part o f the world we come from, fundamentally
we are all the same human beings. We all seek happiness and try to
avoid suffering. We have the same basic needs and concerns. Further
more, all o f us human beings want freedom and the right to determine
our own destiny as individuals. That is human nature. The great
changes taking place everywhere in the world, from Eastern Europe
to Africa, are a clear indication o f this.
At the same time, the problems we face today - violent conflicts,
destruction o f nature, poverty, hunger, and so on - are mainly prob
lems created by humans. They can be resolved - but only through
human effort, understanding and the development o f a sense o f broth
erhood and sisterhood. To do this, we need to cultivate a universal
responsibility for one another and for the planet we share, based on
a good heart and awareness.
Now, although I have found my own Buddhist religion helpful in
generating love and compassion, I am convinced that these qualities
can be developed by anyone, with or without religion. I further
believe that all religions pursue the same goals: those o f cultivating
goodness and bringing happiness to all human beings. Though the
means might appear different, the ends are the same.
With the ever-growing impact o f science on our lives, religion and
spirituality have a greater role to play in reminding us o f our human
ity. There is no contradiction between the two. Each gives us valuable
insights into the other. Both science and the teachings o f the Buddha
tell us o f the fundamental unity o f all things.
U N IVERSA L RESPO N SIB ILITY AND THE GOOD HEART 271
I wish to conclude this book with a personal note o f thanks to all

friends o f Tibet. The concern and support which you have expressed
for the plight o f the Tibetans has touched us all greatly, and continues
to give us courage to struggle for freedom and justice, not through
the use o f arms, but with the powerful weapons o f truth and determi
nation. I know that I speak on behalf o f all Tibetans when I thank
you and ask you not to forget Tibet at this critical time in our coun
try’s history.
We, too, hope to contribute to the development o f a more peace
ful, more humane and more beautiful world. A future free Tibet will
seek to help all those in need, to protect Nature, and to promote
peace. I believe that our Tibetan ability to combine spiritual qualities
with a realistic and practical attitude will enable us to make a special
contribution, in however modest a way.
Finally, I would like to share with my readers a short prayer which
gives me great inspiration and determination:
For as long as space endures,

And for as long as living beings remain,
Until then may I, too, abide
To dispel the misery o f the world.
Taken in India just after my arrival, April 1959.
With Jawaharlal Nehru and
his daughter, Indira Gandhi,
at the Prime Minister's
Residence in Delhi, 7
September 1959.
In prayer under the Bodhi
Tree. Ling Rinpoche is on my
left.
With his Holiness Pope John Paul 77, Italy, 1982.
With Dr Robert Runcie, Archbishop of Canterbury, Britain, 1988.

The PLA deploy in Lhasa, March 1989.
V . »K N K l
Holding the medal and diploma of the Nobel Prize for Peace,
Oslo, 10 December 1989.
Myself as a young child.
Dromo, at the
ceremony where
I received the relic.
(Left) With the Panchen Lama, flanked by
Chu Te (left) and Chou En-lai (right), on
arrival at Peking railway station, 1954.
Phuntsog Wangyal can be seen in the centre
of the picture.
(Left below) With my Tutors, the Kashag,
my senior attendants and members of my
family in Peking. My mother, Tenzin
Choegyal, and my elder sister, Tsering
Dolma, are on the right.
(Right) In Gangtok with Thondup
Namgyal, Maharaj Kumar of Sikkim. He
shared my interest in photography.
(Below) The only photograph ever taken of my
complete family, India 1956/7. Only my
father is missing. From left to right: my
mother, Tsering Dolma, Gyalo Thondup,
Takster Rinpochc, Lobsang Samtcn, myself,
Jctsun Pema and Tenzin Choegyal.
12 March 1959: the uprising of Tibetan women shown demonstrating in Shot below the Potala.
Escape into exile.

(continued from front flap)
often with humor, what it was lihe to grow up ong world leaders there is no one like
as a revered deity among his people, sharing His Holiness the Dalai Lama, religious and
with us his inner feelings about what it means secular head of Tibet and winner of the 1989
to he the Dalai Lama and the contrast in his Nobel Peace Prize. And there can be few hooks
own life between his interest in science and his like this one, his full, frank, and stirring auto
adherence to Tibetan traditions such as ora biography. It tells the story of his extraordi
cles. And he explains his ideas on the environ nary life and that of his ancient, mysterious,
ment, at the very heart of his philosophy. wonderful, and recently tragic country.
Among his political experiences, the Dalai The Dalai Lama describes his unusual
Lama reveals the secret deals struck with the childhood: in 1938, at age two, he was recog
CIA as Tibet continued its struggle for inde nized through a traditional process of “dis
pendence. He talks freely of the many world covery” to he the fourteenth reincarnation of
leaders he has known as he has traveled the the Dalai Lama; taken away from his parents,
world, telling the story of his country. And, he was then brought up in Lhasa according to
while acknowledging his debt to the West, he a monastic regimen of rigorous austerity and
gives his views on the spiritual crises we are in almost total isolation. At fifteen, with his
faced with today. country under threat from the newly commu
nist China, he was invested withfull powers as
head of the state of Tibet, a country the size of
western Europe.
Over the next traumatic decade, he became
the confidant of both Chairman Mao and
Jawaharlal Nehru as he tried desperately to
maintain autonomy for his people. Finally,
in 1959, he was forced into exile, escaping,
in a daring plan, to the Himalayan village
of Dharamsala. Over 100,000 destitute
refugees followed. During his exile he has
devoted himself to rebuilding the shattered
lives of his fellow refugees and to promoting
world peace through an unwavering policy of
nonviolence.
The Dalai Lama takes us inside the mys
teries of Tibetan Buddhism, with its super
jacket design © by Neil Stuart
Jacket photograph © hy Galen Rowell/Mountain Light
natural elements, reincarnated Lamas, and
ascetic life-style. He tells, with charm and
A Cornelia & Michael Bessie Book (continued on back flop)
An Imprint of HarperCollinsPwWisiers

Tibet - Dalai Lama, Freedom in Exile

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Tibet - Dalai Lama, Freedom in Exile

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This book was first published in Great Britain in 1990 by Hoddcr and

Stoughton Ltd. It is here reprinted by arrangement with Hodder and

FREEDOM IN EXILE. Copyright © 1990 by Tenzin Gyatso, the Four­

Designed by Helene Berinsky

Library o f Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Tibet and Her Neighbours X

(maps drawn by Hanni Bailey)

the Third Dalai Lama’s name: Gyatso means ocean in Tibetan. A

north o f Kham is situated Amdo. On the eastern borders o f both

My mother was undoubtedly one o f the kindest people I have ever

idea that I would be proclaimed Dalai Lama. My father’s recovery

Before going on to tell about my discovery as Dalai Lama, I must first

sessed a vast empire, which dominated Central Asia with territories

'wheel o f suffering’, as the phenomenon o f existence is known, will

ership o f my people, lasted one whole day. But my memory o f it is

senior officials. He was very shocked, and so was I. cGo away,’ I

together, these men were my only companions. But what companions

member oversleeping and waking up to find Lobsang Samten already

day when, in addition to my position as spiritual leader o f Tibet, I

down and recast as monks. In their original form, I enjoyed using

time when my tutors became worried about my rate o f progress. So

electricity and the workings o f dynamos. This turned out to be very

It may happen that here in Tibet, religion and government will be

Up until my early twenties, when I began to remain there perma­

acted as guard dogs; a Pekinese sent from Kumbum; a few mountain

helped me with my English, which I had recently begun to study with

To my horror I saw that the glass o f one o f the headlamps was

The Tibetan calendar is rather complicated. It is based on a lunar

puppet shows and music played by military bands and an atmosphere

My room in the Jokhang was on the second storey, that is to say

Drcpung monastery. He then appointed, from amongst his monks,

favourite time o f the sweepers at the Norbulingka. In the days preced­

o f Tibet: certainly in Chamdo, nearly 400 miles to the east, and in

myself up, and, holding my breath, began to spy on the Regent. I

thronement. They chose 17 November 1950 as the most auspicious

o f nature. However, the astrologers had also stipulated that I must

Needless to say, few reforms were ever introduced. N ot even the

REFUGE IN THE SOUTH

here was much to organise and it was several weeks before we

could. I owed it to the faith o f my people to be the best person I could

nothing could have prepared me for the shock when it came.

Tibet’s position on the expulsion of the Chinese in 1912 can fairly be

So now I was faced with a dilemma. If my brother’s letter was

handed over a copy o f it, together with two other documents. As he

with the swords o f my lead soldiers when he caught me up in his arms

dedicated to my guru. I felt quite sad as I prostrated full length in

So now, as I heard o f similar cases o f injustice, I became ever more

The terms o f the Seventeen-Point ‘Agreement5 made it clear that

During the summer o f 1953, so far as I can remember, I received the

give many more Kalachakra initiations than any o f my predecessors,

I was very glad o f this period o f fragile rapprochement with the

bout a year after the departure from office o f Lobsang

A Tashi and Lukhangwa, the Chinese suggested that the

family, my two tutors, my two tsenshap (a new one having been

washed away as soon as we reached the Kongpo region, and many

frames without any sort o f upholstery. But I was so excited at the

with the People’s Republic o f China. The more I looked at Marxism,

(The Steering Committee discussed policy before it was put up to the

They were in constant fear o f their jobs, if not their lives.

Later on I did get to talk to the Indian Ambassador, at his request,

because the notion o f Tibetans and Mongolians together was an

During the winter o f 1954 I went on an extensive tour o f China,

ever my mother or anyone made a disparaging remark about one o f

FREEDOM IN EXILE. Copyright © 1990 by Tenzin Gyatso, the Four

Up until my early twenties, when I began to remain there perma

favourite time o f the sweepers at the Norbulingka. In the days preced

fighters. After this he confined himself to railing against the ungrate

turn. Meanwhile, at about six o ’clock, around seventy junior govern

Shortly after returning to Mussoorie, I learned that the Indian Gov

inaugurated the Commission o f Tibetan People’s Deputies. Member

In 1961, the Government published a synopsis o f a Draft Constitu

Unfortunately, I was unable to attend his cremation. Instead, I par

grounds, including some from different religious traditions. One fa

ought to be grateful to the Nepalese Government. They should there