I almost looked like Moshe Dayan!
ONE OF THE ADVANTAGES of my life at the Potala was that there were many storerooms, which were a thousand times more fascinating to a little boy than the rooms housing priceless religious objects made of gold or silver; they were even more interesting than the kudongs, or burial monuments, sumptuous and studded with jewels, of my predecessors. I much preferred the armory, with its collection of swords, rifles, and coats of mail. But that was nothing compared to the incredible treasures in the rooms that contained certain objects that had belonged to my predecessors. Among them, I uncovered an old air rifle, with a complete set of targets and ammunition. I also discovered a telescope, not to mention the piles of illustrated books in English about the First World War. All this fascinated me and provided me with the inspiration for the models of ships, tanks, and planes that I invented. Later on, I asked that these books be translated into Tibetan. I also found two pairs of European shoes. Since my feet were much too small, I wore them with the toes stuffed with tissue. I was excited by the sound that the massive, hard heels made.
My favorite pastime was to take things apart and then try to put them back together. I ended up excelling in this activity, but in the beginning my efforts were not always crowned with success. I had notably discovered, among the belongings of the Thirteenth Dalai Lama, an old music box that had been presented by the czar of Russia. It didn’t work, and I set about repairing it. I saw that the main spring was worn out and retracted. When I forced it with my screwdriver, the mechanism was suddenly and uncontrollably freed, and the little metal pieces flew out. I will never forget the diabolical symphony the pieces made as they flew in all directions all over the room. When I think back over the incident, I realize that I was lucky. I could have lost an eye, since my face was right next to the mechanism that I was fiddling with. I ran the risk of being mistaken for Moshe Dayan later on in life!
My Reincarnation Lineage
I am summoned to become the Dalai Lama to serve others
IUSED TO TALK CONSTANTLY with the gardeners, the servants, the sweepers. Most of them were simple people who treated me respectfully, since I was the Dalai Lama. There were also older people who were already expressing their hope, even at that early time, for a better future under my reign.
The oldest sweepers had known the Thirteenth Dalai Lama, since they had served under him. They told me a lot of anecdotes about his life. That helped me become aware of my future responsibilities. Later on, I thought that being the Dalai Lama was a difficult, complex position. It represented a real challenge, and the need to face it became increasingly imminent. As a Buddhist monk, I appreciate the value of my past lives. The virtue of good karma accumulated in my previous existences gives me, in my present life, many possibilities to help others and to serve the Buddha Dharma.9 Thinking back on all this, I found and continue to find an additional motivation—a reinforced desire to do everything I can for the welfare of others.
Progressively the little boy understood that he was called to assume high functions, a responsibility different from those of his brothers and other relatives. From the way others regarded him and acted toward him, he realized that he was the Dalai Lama even before he knew precisely what that implied. He saw that great things were expected of him, and he wanted to live up to the hopes people had in him. The task was a heavy one in a political context where the great neighboring countries, India and China, were agitated by unprecedented upheavals as imperialistic Britain and Russia quarreled over the Roof of the World. But the young sovereign saw a challenge in this situation, one he decided to meet by placing all his abilities at the service of the people.
As this part of the interview in which the Dalai Lama related his early years comes to an end, we are interrupted. A monk enters the interview room and murmurs a few words to the Dalai Lama, who immediately gets up, excusing himself, and leaves the room.
His private secretary explains that a great master has left his body. Mindroling Rinpoche died two days earlier. A delegation from his monastery has come to gather instructions about the rituals to perform and the arrangements to be made.
Twenty minutes later, the Dalai Lama is back. There is a veil of gravity in his eyes, but no sadness. In a confidential tone, he speaks about this lama who had been close to him and was just a little older. His death is a reminder of impermanence, in the Buddhist sense, which asserts the transitory quality of sentient beings and phenomena. Everything that is born from causes and conditions is perishable. Impermanence contradicts our feeling of the lasting quality of time and our human desire for immortality. It is unbearable for ordinary beings who have not trained their mind to conceive of the world’s absence of reality. Denial of impermanence represents one of the main causes of suffering in our existences. Buddhist teachings invite us to contemplate and accept it.
The Tibetans will decide if they want a Fifteenth Dalai Lama
MINDROLING RINPOCHE died two days ago. Since the time of the Fifth Dalai Lama, very special, strong links have existed between our lineages. He was seventy-eight years old, almost eighty….
I don’t know how many more years I will live, to
