Chapter 11 - The Rock Monastery

Late in the afternoon we reached the entrance of a gorge from which the final ascent of the pass was to start. At the foot of a group of ragged rocks, piled one upon the other on the flank of a steep mountain, there appeared to be a few stone hovels, whose cubic forms were hardly distinguishable from the tumbled rocks. A strange contrast, however, was provided by innumerable whitewashed chorten, religious monuments which have their origin in the ancient stūpas of India, consisting of a cubic base, a hemispherical or vase-shaped middle piece, and a long conical spire of brick-red disks, crowned with the symbols of sun and moon.

Millions of such monuments are scattered all over Tibet. They are found wherever human beings live or have lived and even on dangerous passes, at the entrances of precariously constructed suspension bridges, or on strange rock formations near the caravan routes. The great number of chortens which appeared here, as if the rocks had been transformed into these shapes by magic, indicated the vicinity of a temple or a monastery. As I had heard of a very ancient rock monastery, situated in one of the gorges of these mountains, I followed the narrow path leading through the chortens, and soon I found myself in a maze of huge boulders and towering rock-walls.

The path became steeper, and finally the horses refused to go on and had to be left behind. But now masonry appeared, and out of the rocks there developed a group of high cubic buildings with balconies protruding here and there from their sloping walls. It was difficult to say where the rocks ended and the architecture began, since they were fitted into each other as if the one had grown out of the other.

Hoping to find some shelter for the night, I climbed on through a labyrinth of rocks and buildings, but the farther I proceeded the more I lost hope. No living being was to be seen anywhere, not even one of those dreadful watchdogs which generally rush at any stranger who approaches a Tibetan dwelling, be it a house, a monastery, or a nomad's tent. I did not dare to enter any of these apparently uninhabited buildings.

Near each entrance I observed a small stone pyramid, and each of them was crowned with a flat, plate-like stone slab, upon which a small round stone had been placed. I was just about to ask the one of my two men, who had accompanied me, while the other had remained behind with the horses, whether these structures were a kind of miniature chorten, when he picked up one of the small round stones and let it fall upon the slab, from which he had taken it. The slab emitted a clear, glassy sound. So this was the house-bell! I could not help admiring the ingenuity of these simple people.

We sounded several of these resonant slabs, but no response came. So we climbed on until we reached a little courtyard, which on one side was bordered by a verandalike covered passage. The other side consisted of a temple facade, built into the rock, which projected like a roof over it, while the side opposite the entrance was formed by a two-storeyed building (with open verandas) behind which strangely eroded rock formations rose into the sky. In the middle of the courtyard stood a tall white prayerflag. It was the courtyard of a monastery But even here not a living soul!

Nevertheless I felt that finally we were somewhere where one could spend a peaceful night and find shelter from rain and cold. Suddenly I heard the barking of a dog behind me, and instinctively I looked for an exit. But there was nothing of the kind. We were nicely trapped!

Fortunately the dog was not one of those ferocious creatures as I had feared, and I felt even more reassured when it was followed by an old friendly looking Lama, who welcomed me with great politeness, I told him that I was a pilgrim from a far-off country, and, seeing my monastic robes, he opened without hesitation the heavy door at the base of the rock temple and beckoned me to follow him.

He led me through a steep, dark staircase into a big cave. The smooth walls were covered with apparently very ancient frescoes. In the mellow light of an altar-lamp, I could see the statue of the great Buddhist Apostle Padmasambhava, the founder of the Old Sect (Nying-ma-pa), to which this monastery belonged. The image was flanked by two statues of Bodhisattvas and Padmasambhava's two chief disciples, the Indian princess Mandāravā and the Tibetan incarnate Khadoma (fairy) Yeshé Tshogyal (who are persistently and wrongly represented as Padmasambhavas two wives!).

After having finished my pūja, the ritual of devotion, I was conducted into a second Lhakhang in the upper storey of the adjoining building. Judging from the frescoes, this temple seemed to have been renovated not long ago. The central place of the shrine was occupied by the historical Buddha Śākyamuni, attended by his two chief disciples Maudgalyāyana and Śāriputra, and flanked by the Buddhas of the past and the future.

Returning to the courtyard, we found several other Lamas waiting there, and after answering the usual questions I was conducted into a spacious, rather rough but clean-looking room which, as I was told, had never been inhabited yet. A steep open staircase led up to it and a window opened towards the valley The wall opposite the window was partly formed by a natural rock protruding into the room and giving it a rustic atmosphere. It reminded me of the close co-operation of man and nature, through which this strange Gompa had come into existence.

While I was still talking to the Lamas, my man carried my luggage into the room, and when I started unfolding my camp-cot and screwing together my primus stove, the Lamas settled down around me in a semicircle to enjoy this rare spectacle. Even the open door was filled with spectators, who tried to peep in from outside, since there was no more space in the room. The unfolding of the camp-bed had already been followed with exclamations of surprise and various explanatory comments.

However, when I started to fill the circular contrivance of the primus stove with a mysterious water-like liquid the tension of the onlookers reached its climax. An aweinspired silence fell upon the spectators and, conscious of the dramatic character of the moment, I struck a match and lit the spirit. The spectators clicked their tongues with surprise when the ghostly flame shot up from what seemed to them plain water. They shook their heads, as if doubting the reality of what they saw. Certainly this foreign Lama was a master magician! In order to convince them of the reality of the fire I asked those who were next to the stove to hold their hands over the flame, and it caused great hilarity when each of them quickly withdrew his hand and testified that the fire was real.

However, the miracle had not yet reached its end. When the flame suddenly receded after the liquid had been consumed, and in its place there appeared around the silencer rows of blue-green fire-beads with a light hissing sound, there was no limit to their wonderment.

If I had flown away through the air with crossed legs this would have been an adequate end to the performance and would not have surprised the people around me at all. But when they saw me nonchalantly putting an ordinary cooking-pot upon the magic flame their tension collapsed like a pricked balloon and gave place to a laugh of understanding. We had reached the human plane again.

During the preparation of my food, as well as during my meal, all eyes rested upon me, and all ingredients were closely scrutinised and discussed. When they saw me eat with chopsticks (as was and still is my habit) they concluded that I must be a Chinese monk. But even when my meal was over they made no move to leave me. So I finally stretched out on my camp-bed, turned towards the wall, and feigned sleep.

Opening my eyes a few minutes later, I found myself alone.