Chapter 39 - The Life Story of an Oracle-Priest

No greater contrast could be imagined than that between the tense and overpowering atmosphere that prevailed in the sombre Chiökyong Temple during the invocation of the Oracle and the festival of the first full moon on the fifteenth day of the new Tibetan year (co-lnga-mchod-pa chen-po), which was celebrated in the evening of the same day and continued until late into the night. Here the Buddha reigned supreme, and happiness was reflected on all faces. Since the early morning elaborate preparations had been going on, creating a sense of joyful expectation and a festive mood, similar to that of Christmas Eve in Western countries. The similarity was heightened by the fact that the celebrations took place during a winter night (February) in the warm and cheerful light of more than a thousand butter-lamps in the big courtyard of the monastery, which had been turned into a vast hall, having been covered with a temporary roof of tent-canvas, to keep out the snow which had started to fall in the afternoon. The whole two-storeyed front of the main temple was hidden under an enormous silk-appliqué thanka, fastened under the eaves of the roof and reaching almost to the ground, The central figure of this thanka was the Buddha Śākyamuni, benignly smiling down upon the large congregation of monks and the happy and colourful crowd of men and women, clad in their best garments and decked out with all their traditional jewellery. In front of this thanka a huge altar had been erected, on which hundreds of butter-lamps were burning, illuminating an elaborate structure of highly artistic decorations and offerings, representing flowers, fruits, animals, gods, and human beings, as well as many auspicious religious symbols, flanked by golden dragons—all beautifully modelled, down to the smallest detail, and delicately coloured, as if made of the finest porcelain. But, as we discovered later, all thus -- except for the dragons -- was made of butter!

The monks who recited the Monlam Prayers were arranged in three groups, forming three sides of a rectangular open space before the altar. In the centre of the row facing the altar was the empty throne of Tomo Géshé Rimpoché with his robes folded upright on their cushions, and to the left of it was the raised seat of Lobonla, the present abbot. But, where was the Chöjé? We looked around among the rows of the monks, but we could not discover him. Immediately the prayers were over, we asked some of the monks whether the Chöjé did not take part in the prayers, whereupon one of them pointed to a monk standing near us and said: 'Here he is! Did you not recognise him?' Indeed, we had not, and at first we could hardly believe that this simple trapa could be the same person whom we had seen on the golden throne of the Oracle only a few hours before!

But during the following weeks we often enjoyed his company and learned to know him as a kind-hearted and humble man. We soon were on friendly terms with him, and this enabled us to learn much about his life, his training as Chöjé (chos-rjé) or High Priest of the Oracle, and his own inner attitude towards the strange phenomena which manifested themselves through him.

However, during this memorable night we had no opportunity of approaching him, and we enjoyed to the full this 'festival of lights' with its prayers and blessings for the welfare of all living beings, so similar in spirit to that of Christmas with its feelings of joy and goodwill and innocent revelry. The latter came towards midnight at the end of the religious celebration and consisted of a rider-dance, in which colourfully costumed and masked young men were prancing about on hobby-horses, which they handled so well that every movement was true to life and that one had to make an effort to realise that the riders were not seated on real horses. The heads of the hobby-horses were realistically made of wood or paper-mâché while a cloth-covered bamboo structure suggested the body of the horse and hid the legs of the dancer. It was amusing and beautiful to observe this scene of youthful enjoyment, and it seemed to be the most natural thing to see the giant figure of the Buddha smiling down upon the scene. How far away was all this from the deadly pessimism that Westerners associate with the teachings of the Buddha! It was a perfect ending to a perfect day during which we had traversed the whole gamut of human emotions.

The crowd slowly melted away, most of the people remaining within the precincts of the monastery during the night. Most of the men were housed in the monastery proper, while women and children were accommodated in the outhouses. All of them appeared like one big family, rich and poor, clergy and laity; all of them were united through the strong bond of faith in the common destiny of man and the supreme power of the Enlightened Ones. It is this that enables the Tibetan to stand up against the demoniacal powers and dangers of an unseen world and to meet them fearlessly.

We were fortunate in being able to discuss with the Chöjé himself many of the questions which were uppermost in our mind after the experience of the Oracle.

On the following day, he paid us a visit in our private chapel. He was still suffering from the after-effects of his trance and complained that his whole body was hurting. He asked whether we had any medicine to relieve the pain and we gave him some aspirin, which he gladly accepted. But to our surprise he refused to take tea or anything to eat, because, as he explained, it was his rule never to accept food or even tea prepared by others. He lived on a very simple and strictly vegetarian diet and prepared everything with his own hands, because he had to be exceedingly careful to preserve the purity and perfect balance of his body. Any mistake in his diet, any uncleanliness in body or mind, could have fatal consequences, and only by a life of austerity, devotion, and discipline could he protect himself from the dangers to which anybody who offered his body to the Spirit-Kings of the Great Oracle would be exposed.

Our first question was whether he remembered any of the answers that had come through him during the previous days invocation of the Oracle. 'No, he said', 'I know nothing of what happens during the trance. But when I come back to my normal state my whole body is in pain and I feel completely exhausted. It always takes days for me to recover'.

'But what made you accept the position of a Chöjé, if it is so dangerous and painful? Was it that you had any natural inclination towards spiritual things or mediumistic abilities?'

'Oh no, not in the least! I had a wife and children and earned my livelihood as a muleteer on the caravan route between Sikkim and Lhasa. I was a very simple man and I had no ambitions. In fact, my comrades looked down upon me, because I was shabbily clothed and did not care for cleanliness. I led a rough life, but I was quite happy, though I was poor and could neither read nor write. I had a little house at Phari, where I lived with my family when I was not on tour. And it was there that one day I fell ill. Nobody knew what it was, and I got worse and worse, until I was so weak that my wife thought I would die and called a Lama to read the prayers and to prepare me for death. But while the Lama recited the invocations to the powerful Protectors of the Sacred Law, the Chökyongs, I was suddenly possessed by them -- though I myself knew nothing about it, nor about the contents of the recitation -- and when I came to, the Lama told me that my life would be saved if I were willing to serve the Chökyongs, who had chosen me as their vehicle. However, I did not want to leave my wife and my children. But the Lama told me: "If you die, you will have to leave wife and children too: but if you will serve the higher powers, you will not only save your life, but your wife and your children will not have to starve." My wife agreed that the Lama was right, and so I gave in and promised to dedicate my life to the Dharma, and especially to the Great Protectors, if they would save me from death. From the moment I had taken the vow, I became better and soon recovered completely. But whenever those invocations were recited I fell into trance and was seized by the divine powers.

'Did you go through a special training before you were appointed to the Great Oracle; or had you to pass certain tests, before being recognised as Chöjé?'

Indeed! To make sure that my case was genuine and neither imagination nor fraud, I was sent to Lhasa and confronted with the Great Oracle of Nāchung. We were made to sit side by side during the invocation, and only after various trials and a careful observation of all symptoms was I admitted as a candidate for the priesthood of the Oracle. I had to take the vows of celibacy and observe all the rules of the Vinaya. From then on, I wore monastic robes and was given special tutors, who taught me to read and write and instructed me in the Scriptures. I had to observe special rules of cleanliness and diet. My life was completely changed and more strictly regulated than that of an ordinary monk, because the smallest transgression or mistake in my conduct might make me vulnerable and lead to my destruction by the very powers to whom I had devoted myself, to whom I had surrendered my body and my life. It was only after a long and severe training that I was finally declared fit and was sent to Dungkar Gompa, where the throne of the Oracle had become vacant. And I have been here ever since.'

The thought that this intelligent, polite, refined-looking monk, who behaved with the quiet self-assurance of a born aristocrat, could ever have been an ordinary muledriver was something that we could not imagine. But people who had known him previously confirmed it and told us that he had not only been an ordinary muleteer but one who was exceptionally uncouth and rough, so that he was an object of ridicule. When he returned from Nāchung, his former associates could not recognise him, and everybody who had known him before wondered how such a complete transformation was possible.

A few days later we were invited by him to tea in his private apartments. He was a most charming host, and we admired not only his perfect manners, but even more so the meticulous cleanliness and orderliness of his rooms and his little kitchen with its gleaming copper utensils, in which he prepared his food.

The longer we knew this man, the more we liked him. He was neither proud nor bigoted and was ever ready to help us in our studies. In fact, he was more open-minded than most Tibetans towards research work, and he allowed me to make tracings of inscriptions in the Oracle Temple; and what was more: he allowed Li to photograph and to sketch him in his full regalia on the golden Throne of the Oracle, a unique favour, never granted to anybody else before.