The Moral Support

 

EVERY TIME THE BALMY WIND breeze past the crowd at the Tsuglakhang, it took along a moment of their attention to the mundane world outside the blissful mass. Tucked nicely at the feet of Dauladhar ranges, its fine architecture offering a majestic sight, the cathedral is specious enough to accommodate a couple of thousands people. 

As is usual for this time of a year, the annual prayer congregation for the long life of His Holiness the Dalai Lama and for the political and religious cause of the Tibetan people was already underway. During this week-long congregation, people chant the mantra of Buddha of compassion, Om mani padme hun ri. 

The congregation is open for all and sundry. Anyone who is even remotely religious voluntarily attends this congregation. Generally, it can safely be assumed that nearly 99% of the Tibetan people are religious by nature. The attendance at the Tsuglakhang was no different today. 

As I overlooked the packed courtyard of temple, I could clearly see that an overwhelming majority of the laity was 50-plus people. “So, only our grannies and grandpas are qualified for saying prayers?” I thought. “Or is it simply because they have an uncommon faith and confidence in the (Tibetan) Buddhism?” 

Cast under the spell of the din of mass prayers, I felt like jotting down some of my stray thoughts.

On my right, at one corner, was a septuagenarian granny, who may have been there since the break of dawn. I have been noticing her since I had joined the mass about an hour ago at about 8 a.m. She was sitting cross-legged, calm and composed, without any hint of fatigue or discomfort. On the contrary, I was already feeling my legs and rear going numb. I was as such shamelessly stretching my legs to and fro, and tilting my rear sideways. I was naturally astounded by the tolerance level of that granny. In fact, I went red with embarrassment. 

At some point drinks were served. I was starving. As soon as tea and bread landed on my lap, I gobbled them up in no time. Since I had never attended such a congregation before, I had no idea that one must wait for the libation. Later, when all the people raised their cups and bread to offer libation, I curled my toes in embarrassment. 

After saying the prayers, the old lady ripped off a morsel of bread, ducked it in the tea, and ate it nimbly. My embarrassment grew all the more, when I found out that the only people who had already gobbled the eateries were a bunch of some foreigners, who were now staring at me for some justification. Before everybody was finished with tea and bread, the prayer session resumed. As if on an automated mode, the old lady began her chanting instantly. 

In order to prevent any further cause of embarrassment, I picked up my rosary, and started chanting. Not long afterwards, just as the numbness in my feet was going beyond the limit of my tolerance, I went for a long bathroom break. When I returned, I found the old lady just as she was when I had left: calm and composed in comfort. As I sat beside her, I could not take my eyes off the old lady, who did not even need a bathroom break. 

“You look like a recent refugee from Tibet. When did you come to India?,” she asked me.

“Yes mam. It’s been three years since I arrived India,” I responded respectfully.

“Oh really! What do you do for living?”

“I have been teaching Tibetan for three years. At present I am doing a teacher training course.”

“Very good! You people are young and educated. You are competent enough to serve the religious and political cause of Tibet. Your service would earn you a great meritorious karma,” she said. One could feel the overwhelming feeling of resignation that underlined the tenor of her speech.

 

“We older folks have nothing left in us. The only thing alive in us is our spirit. We can do nothing except praying to His Holiness the Dalai Lama and chanting mantras,” she said, with tears welling up in her eyes. At a loss for comforting words, I stood dumb like a zombie. The old lady went on:

“You must study hard. There is no greater accomplishment than the fulfillment of the wishes of His Holiness the Dalai Lama.” She folded her hands and supplicated the Buddha of Compassion: 

 

May Tibet regain her independence!

May peace reign all over the world!

May His Holiness the Dalai Lama live long!

May the wishes of His Holiness see fruition!

 

As she closed her eyes, the tears welled up in her eyes burst open, cascading down, drop by drop, on her rosary. I garnered all my strength to offer some words of comfort. 

“Do not be so depressed. We will fulfill the wishes of His Holiness the Dalai Lama. His Holiness’ wish is our command. We will redeem our freedom. You just be good.” I managed to tell her, with a sour throat, and watery eyes.

She responded by affectionately stroking my head. A smile had rekindled her face—a smile that conveyed both compliments and the feeling that she had her hope reposed in me.

The prayer session resumed. I began chanting with my rosary, even as an unusual feeling kept churning deep inside me, compelling me to glance at her repeatedly. The old lady was back in a trance of utter devotion. Eyes shut, her folded-hands on her forehead, her right hand rotating a mini-prayer wheel, she was praying in a voice that was both fine and fruity. For a deeply religious person, she might have appeared as ardently supplicating the Buddha of Compassion to manifest in flesh. Her voice, as for myself, resonated more like a far cry of freedom towards the Tibetan young guns.

When I raised my head, overlooking the packed courtyard of Tsuglakhang, the faces of our grannies and grandpas radiated a long-cherished aspiration for peace. They carried an uncanny aura of confidence. The din of their collective prayers prodded the youngsters to step forward. On the spur of that moment, I made this promise to myself:

Mam!  The deep faith and confidence that is oozing out from every syllable of your prayers is in fact the greatest gift one could have possibly asked for. I say this with absolute certitude. We can never thank you enough for this gift. Although you were born in Tibet, you have been forced to spent most of your lifetime outside Tibet. Today, I pledge my commitment to devote my whole lifetime in assuring that the time when you will breathe your last, it shall be the air of Tibet. 

Just as I breathe my pent-up emotions out, the sound of bells clanged by the breezing wind echoed across the courtyard, and the din of prayers cranked up as if in a show of solidarity.

———————End