PART 4

Desideri wanted to pursue his language studies, but had difficulties in finding a tutor. Although the tibetans were very polite, they did not offer to assist him in this fashion. He wondered if he should have the King intervene and order someone to help. But he thought better of that. Finally there was help in the form of a man named Sonam Khabodu.

Who was he?

He was a rimpoche, a “precious jewel,” a rebirth of a beloved saint/teacher, from a lineage that went back to 1026, and ’Bro the Translator. This was a lineage of “jewels” who did not become monks, which was traditional for these so-called White Hats. A profound scholar of wide insight and empathy, Sonam became Ippolito Desideri’s language teacher, when others were reluctant to deal with the foreigner, the alien, the Jesuit. Because of his status, they could not criticize the Rinpoche for this.

Since Desideri was about to set up a household, he also needed local help. One man who came to him looking for work was Dawa Tresig.

Who was he?

As far as the Jesuit was concerned, he was a shifty-eyed and mysterious Tartar. He did not know it, but Tresig was the assassin of the Sixth Dalai Lama, that beloved song writer, the famous rake Lama of the Tibetans. Tresig had murdered him for a few coins. He feared for his life when he returned to Lhasa, since everyone seemed to know of his deed. But no one put him out of his fearful existence, his fear of every shadow. Eventually, he died in the sack of Lhasa, when he foolishly disguised himself as a Gelug-pa (Yellow Hat) monk, just when the Mongols were killing the Yellow Hat believers.

Ippolito Desideri knew none of this. However, he had not hired Tresig. Instead he found Thubten from Chang-Lo.

Who was he?

He was a wide-eyed nomad, so devout that he came to Lhasa by way of ten thousand full-length prostrations from Shigatse, two hundred miles away. He would raise his hands over his head, then to his face, to his heart, and then go flat on the ground, outstretched, stand up and step forward to where his hands had reached, and go through it all over again, over and over. All the while, as he did this, he recited his taking of refuge in the Three Jewels — Buddha, Dharma and Sangha — over and over.

Desideri found him to be a good servant, cheerful and bright.

The Portuguese Jesuit did not seem to pay much attention to Lhasa. In his report to his superiors, which was read eventually in Goa, the old monk did not even mention the imposing Potala Palace. Everything else that he said about the city and its inhabitants was so limited that it seemed as if he were avoiding the subject. His words rang with a negative view whose sum was the advice to leave the Tibetans alone, to their own devices, and to give up any idea of missionary work amongst them. Desideri was aware of some of this, and hoped that the Catholic authorities would not take that view to heart.

The black-robed old man was determined to leave the capital. His eyes kept looking wistfully at the mountains, which edged the broad river valley and which he had to cross to leave Lhasa. He looked southward, then eastward, then westward, back towards Kailash, lingering as if looking for it. And then he looked steadfastly northwards, the direction the goddess-princess had taken to continue traveling to her own distant home.

Desideri, not being able to penetrate the other’s thoughts, was sad and disappointed. He, himself, did not wish to leave with the old man. He also did not wish to be left as the only European in Tibet. But it came to that. A group of traders were going south. Sonam had the greatest confidence in them, for his brother was their leader. They were going to penetrate as far south as Delhi and could be completely dependent upon to care for the old Jesuit.

The Portuguese Jesuit went with the traders on April 17th. To Desideri, on that day of departure the old monk seemed as sour as usual, but his own misgivings about remaining alone caused him to misread his colleague’s delight in leaving. The old man’s journey as a missionary to Tibet was about to end in a way which was very final.

Desideri was never to know what had happened to him. Sonam’s brother, Champa, delivered the old priest’s report to the Jesuits in India. Reluctantly, he sold the silver cross the old priest had given him in the Delhi bazaar. Two of his Tibetan companions had died in a rock slide in Nepal. And the black-robed Jesuit had never left Tibet. Did God take him? Or did the Buddha?

— • —

Desideri made progress in his language studies and utilized his privileges with Latzang Khan to visit him and attempt to convert him. They had many long discussions, in which Desideri impressed the King. However, the Jesuit could not get the Mongol to commit himself to Christianity. There were a number of stumbling blocks, found in basic differences between the two religions. Latzang could not accept a singular God as the Creator of the Universe. Also, he would not give up his own belief in life that followed life, the series of rebirths so tied to good and bad karma. And as contradictory as it sounded, he could not accept a permanent soul, although he would not say what it was which had the rebirths.

Desideri was frustrated by his lack of progress. The King suggested, however, that he and the lamas have a debate. The religion of the winner would be the one he and his court would embrace. That idea delighted the Jesuit, who was very sure of himself. But the King would not set a date. Which was fortunate for Desideri’s purpose, since at this stage of his Tibetan language usage, he would surely have lost. Also, at this stage of his understanding of the religion of the lamas, he would not be able to refute them, and therefore, he would have lost on that count as well.

Latzang suggested that the Jesuit take advantage of the opportunity to study at the monasteries and learn what it was that he was trying to refute — document it, prepare properly, and then engage in debate once he was well-armed against what he thought were heresies.

Desideri agreed to do this, although he knew it would take time. but he was in no rush. He would rather go slowly and be successful. So that was how it was that the Italian Jesuit moved to Sera Gompa and studied the doctrine of the lamas in the chapel of the Lost Christians. Most of the monks were very helpful, convinced of the validity of their own doctrines. Those who were suspicious of the foreigner helped him anyway, knowing that the process would take a long time, perhaps even a lifetime.

An especially helpful lama was one called Geshe Langur.

Who was he?

He was a very modest man, a Precious Jewel in the lineage of the Nyingma-pa (Red Hats). He taught quietly at Sera Gompa where he befriended Ippolito Desideri, Seeing something in the Jesuit missionary that most of the others did not — a true desire to understand.

Geshe Langur of the Nyingma-pa tried many times to teach the importance of Emptiness in Buddhism to the Jesuit, but Desideri misunderstood every time, fluctuating between concepts of nihilism and intellectual constructs and analysis. The old monk was patient, and continued to try to correct Desideri’s erroneous view.

Renunciation, Desideri understood. Compassion, he understood. But the Void was beyond him.

Geshe langur persisted, realizing the importance of Nothingness in a person’s practice of the Way. Desideri became a fixture at the monastery, making friends amongst the lamas, especially one called Tashi Tsering.

Who was he?

He was Geshe Langur’s primary disciple, intelligent and cheerful. He was surely going to gain status with his intense practice of the Dharma, and be a great teacher some day. However, he suddenly died. Desideri could not even use any of his bag of medicines, it was so sudden.

This occasion gave the Jesuit an opportunity to be in the midst of the rituals of death and rebirth. He prayed with the lamas, trying to instruct Tashi Tsering in the Bardo Thodol, trying to help him choose a good rebirth. The Jesuit had mixed feelings about doing this, but his sorrow made him join the activities at the cremation. He was glad that it was not a sky burial.

His ongoing stay at the monastery caused the Jesuit to be a stimulus to many of the monks. He asked questions of them concerning their most sacred text. He was not easily answered,for careless answers he would not tolerate. He began to know the horizontal Tibetan pages better than many of the monks. This impressed them, for he would debate with them on their own terms, in their own language. His quarters became a place of congregation for elder teachers and younger instructors alike. His intellect, and piercing wit, challenged them to understand their own religion better.

It was not a matter of Christianity versus Buddhism, Desideri probably never knew that the religion which he confronted had anything to do with Buddha. He half expected it to reveal itself as a form of the teachings of Christ. Thus it never was an argument of one against another. Rather it was a search for clarity, which exercised Tibetans and Italian alike, a mental and spiritual delight.

In Lhasa there were different sects of Tibetan monks. Desideri could easily see the differences on occasion. The Red Hats and the Yellow Hats distinguished themselves from each other on occasion with the visual marks of the color of their hats.

Their philosophical views differed as well, but these variations were not as readily visible. The Gelug-pa (Yellow Hats), were the so-called reform school, and as such committed to celibacy. One would think that this parallel with the vows of the Jesuits would have made Desideri prefer them to the other group.

But no. It was precisely this point that disturbed the young Jesuit, because he could see breaking of this vow too much in evidence. At mixed gatherings when women were present, the younger monks might wander off with them, or not even hide infatuations. Also Desideri was disgusted by the display of affection of man to man, and could not abide the rumors and gossip of even worse events which some of his Red Hat informants presented to him.

It was therefore especially troublesome when all of this came closer to home.

There occurred an event which almost led to Desideri quitting Tibet. Sonam approached him one evening and, without any prelude, declared his love for the Jesuit. At first Desideri did not understand, since the other displayed a quiet dignity as usual with no display of manner indicating the nature of his declaration. But when a hand was place upon Desideri’s thigh, there was no doubt possible.

Sonam was pushed away with two hands, almost stumbling startled by the Jesuit’s exclamation. They stood apart for a moment, Desideri shaking and glaring, Sonam looking downward, shaking his head. Without a word, Sonam turned on his heel and left.

Desideri despaired. What was he to do? Sonam was the link to his further progress through language studies. He could not accept this revelation. He also could not accept a role in this proposed activity. He shuddered through and through, hurt and angry. Would a rejection on his part turn Sonam against him? That latter result would cause distress to his plans if not utterly defeating them.

That night passed quietly, but the time was a roar in Desideri’s mind. He was not disturbed in his bed. He did not believe that he would be, but his thoughts pitted against each other like thunderclouds attacking Heaven. He felt betrayed — not by Sonam, but by the crashing of continents, the convulsions of an alien culture. But he knew that this sense of betrayal was not based on clear perception.

Unable to sleep, he dressed and quietly found the door. The watchman was startled to see him exit the gompa grounds just as wind arose and a storm, hidden in the night made its way from the cold edge of the valley. Desideri walked towards the Potala whose shadowy outline he could make out, now dim and now bright in the flashes of lightening.

It began to rain, and he took shelter in a square of yellow light. It was a house of chang sellers. Some were drinking, others half-asleep, muttering. They were polite, but offered him nothing because of his monkly robes. In the mutual eye movings, he realized where he was — one of the houses where the now-dead Dalai Lama had drunk and made songs for his lovers.

It was strange that he had found his way here. Male and female lovers, was that true? There was no way to know. The storm was now upon the valley, and the yellow room picked up the solo singing of a man’s voice somewhere out in the rain. The others, half-drunk, looked startled, and frightened, staring out into the darkness.

Desideri could understand why. The voice was so beautiful. Going to the door, he went out to find the singer. The rain stung his face, but he did not step back in. It was cold, and the drops were sharp as needles.

His head covered, he ventured towards the voice. It was near the Naga King’s park. In the flickering of lightening, he could see the little deserted pavilion over a bridge where there had been so many lovers’ rendezvous. He crossed over to be under the shelter of porch. A sleepy guard with a lantern came, recognized him, and left without a word. Then, it was then, Desideri heard the singer, as if in the sky or up on the Potala. Impossible, singing of being in Litang. He shuddered, for this was the last song of that lover-priest before he was killed by the Chinese. Silence came, but not to his heart, nor to his body. He remained where he was, mixing thoughts of staying warm with the strangeness of love in Tibet.

The cold rain began to freeze, but it was not until dawn struck that he realized the extent of the ice storm. With the storm gone, and the sun rising, he saw the twisted trees, those wooden dragon spirits made of glass, every tiny twig encased in ice — startling trees, made of brilliant light. And as quickly, they began to move with tinkling bell-like sounds, lifting his heart to a joy which he could not understand. He moved amongst them, head and eyes lifted, seeing the blue sky erase clouds and shield the valley.

He returned to Sera Gompa.

By noon that day, the ice was gone. In fact, many had not seen any evidence of its short visit.

— • —

Desideri saw Sonam at their lessons. The Tibetan was his usual polite and formal self, with hardly an indication that anything had happened. Desideri was relieved, although he did catch a sidelong glance from the other’s brown eyes. He had not imaged the night before. No, not at all.

The Jesuit would fight his reaction and continue his language work. To expose the fallacies of the heathens, the manuscript depended upon it. The entire mission depended upon the written work.

In the assembly at Sera, at times there was confession everywhere. But it was a complete confusion to Desideri. A mass of monks were gathered taking turns, or speaking simultaneously, reciting off confessions. At first, Desideri felt gratified that there was this shared sense of guilt, that they were aware of their sins. A good utilization of shame, he felt. But then he focused further on what was happening. The sins were categories, there was nothing specific or personal in them. It was as if it were a requirement to recite particular kinds of errors, even if they had not been committed. He saw young monks confessing to activities which they were too young physically to have accomplished.

This caused confusion in his mind. Perhaps, by mass confession, the confession of the innocent (potentially guilty) spared the true sinner? But that would be absurd! Upon further looking staring in thought, he nodded solemnly. They were confessing to everyone’s error as if they were responsible for it all! But how could that be? They would lose meritorious virtue. How could they ever accumulate merit if they kept giving it away?

He thought angry thoughts. Could these really be lost children of Christ? He did not say, even to himself. Since the other Jesuit was gone, he made no confession of his own. It was just as well. He suddenly felt that he did not know how to do it.

In the great chapels and halls there were always butter lamps burning before the great images. The Jesuit noticed the great reverence given by the Tibetans to the paintings and sculptures of their deities. The simplest worshippers, pilgrims, herdsmen or nomads approached wide-eyed with hands before their hearts, palm to palm, just as if they were in a Catholic church. Just as if they were approaching an image of the Holy Virgin Mary, Mother of Jesus.

Desideri strongly felt that these worshippers were a lost kin, lost Christians far from their original home, but still the children of God. He looked upon the image of the Bodhisattva of Compassion with its face of gentleness. He spoke to Sonam about Chen-re-zi as if the bodhisattva was feminine, as if a mother, as if the Mother. The Tibetan, ever polite, would not argue, but also did not agree. Later, others were bold enough to gently suggest that the Bodhisattva was a male, after all. Desideri pretended not to understand them and persisted in his analogy with the Mother of God. They kept quiet. They had no reason to convince him.

— • —

PART 5 OF DESIDERI