The Waning Spring and the Elusive Goddess of Justice: When the Seasons Change but the Ordeal Never Ends

 **25 March – 1 April 2005**

Heavily dewy nights.

Sunrays now rebuke you a bit, and you prefer shade.

After the wintertime shedding of leaves, there are lush green shoots and saplings. Glossy green foliage shines under the sun's hot gaze. Pomegranate flowers are acquiring the shape of fruits. Juicy mulberries arrive.

During the days, hotly hiccuping western winds rustle the leaves to drive away the moisture from the wheat crop, now almost golden, taking it to the threshold of harvesting.

The temperature soars towards the late thirties in degrees centigrade.

Working in the fields now becomes torturous.

Sweat now becomes the fluid of destiny with which the farmers write their fate.

And if a full-moon night happens to fall during this period, it becomes one of the most enjoyable sights.

The sky is still dust-free. Also, there is some coolness in the atmosphere.

The mornings are still misty.

Everything, bathed in milky whiteness, appears to be taking a restful sleep before the arduous journey through the summer.

People look towards summer with anxiety.

They nevertheless wish for it when bitten by mosquitoes, whose stinging is at its peak, and people want them baked alive in the scorching *loos*.

Butterflies dart from flower to flower.

All in all, it appears a very busy period.

Days are longer now.

From 5:30 in the morning to almost seven in the evening, we have the sprawl of the busy day.

And inspired by the lugubrious traces of late spring, I am inspired to think of justice as well.

It is most often one of the most belated things, in both its forms—godly, as well as its crude imitation on earth through the judiciary.

But the question is: does justice fulfil its definition if it is late?

No.

For justice to be called so in the real sense, it has to be meted out in time.

After a particular time, it becomes a slap, a mere formality.

God, too, appears to test His creation for too long a period before deciding to end the ordeal somehow.

By that time, the spirit is broken, and the spring is gone from the seeker's gait.

Do you still need it?

No.

It then becomes just an outdated pill lying on your table, its shiny wrapper holding itself out merely as an advertisement so that people keep running after it endlessly.

For who cares what time it has taken to reach that end?

The end steals the show.

People glorify justice, or the process of it, or the concept of it, while this belated shower doesn't mean anything to the dry twig on a dead tree that was kept waiting for so long for water.

And we delay the earthly one in the footsteps of the godly.

The extensive judicial citadel has so many passages and corridors, streets, bystreets, alleys, by-alleys, squares, rooms, terraces and floors that both the culprit and the victim can go on playing a game of hide-and-seek within the confines of law and constitutionality.

Thus accruing tremendous boons and boosts to the permanent denizens of these godly seats on earth.

It is such a maze that the victim and his team of counsellors have to run after the culprit and his assistants through those slippery paths, while the occupant of the high seat just gloats over all these childish bickerings.

And during this almost endless, circuitous run, the spirit of the chaser—already lacerated—goes awry somewhere, and the robust runner outpaces the poor struggler.

And the goddess of justice gloats over it with a merciless nonchalance.

Why this criminal bypassing of the issue?

Let it be simple and straight, with both its ends visible to the parties.

And if it is not possible, then give people a choice to take their own little share of justice.

Some say it will add to the list of crimes, but I say it will suppress them.

The danger of cold-blooded revenge will put a brake on the stream of criminality, which is feeling rather safe between the banks of law, jurisprudence and judiciary.

Presently, justice is just the safe house of vagabonds and scoundrels.

People don't think twice before committing a crime because the system of justice, as it is followed presently, acts as a safe cellar from the victim's fury.

If it cannot be mended, then let every human being become a walking courtroom and police lockup, with his own system of justice.

And this mammoth house of justice inside every being will be ghostly enough to put a brake on the vengeful maiden of wrongdoing.

Conditions, of course, will go a bit bloody at the start, but these very bloody chapters will write the true book of justice, with examples of apt justice.

But a person taking his own little sip of justice becomes a criminal himself in the eyes of this so-called law.

This modern system of justice should not kill the spirit of justice to such an extent.

Let such laws be swift and effective, or they should perish, leaving people the masters of their own destiny.

This great show in the name of justice should not be allowed to continue spitting in the helpless faces of the poor and deprived.

Suppose someone does something which surpasses all our moral, material, religious and social limits by unimaginable margins.

This type of savagery—like that exemplified by the Nithari monster—is beyond the remedial wand of the established system.

Such blind, calculated savagery is perhaps incapable of being identified, estimated and punished adequately.

The other day, a monster raped a five-year-old girl.

The sheer outrageousness of this heinous act demands justice as early as possible.

But our legal system is such that the fire of justice is turned to cold ashes by the time an extremely liberal, humanised version of the consequences falls upon the head of the criminal.

In this particular case, however, the fury of justice burst forth instantly, and he was lynched to death.

A consensual mob lynching a rapist.

Is it a crime?

Isn't the sheer, unselfish spirit of anger for such a moral cause, against the despicable act of the devil, beyond the pale of such categorisation?

Just as we call those who commit acts of violence for a larger cause freedom fighters, why should such popular justice, meted out on the spot, be regarded in the same light as an ordinary crime?

When such popular justice is meted out on the spot, the system of justice, its pride and self-confidence hurt, behaves nervously, as is its most favourite habit.

It orders that the culprits in the mob be found.

That being impossible in a group...

The Limits of Verbal Warfare: Two Reflections on Human Nature and the Relativity of Goodness

 **November 2006**

He and his wife were famed shouters of oaths, cuss words and obscenities.

Since most neighbourly troubles—the so-called fights—fall within the sphere of shouting at the top of one's voice, they deemed themselves the fittest in the game.

To fight at the merest drop of a pin became their hobby.

Most often, they outspoke and outshouted their rivals.

And taking long, satisfying sips of victorious feeling after an innocuous verbal duel, they eyed the next foe to be confronted and exterminated in the verbal duel of shouting.

But then real fights also take place, in which the fists do the talking of the tongue.

It so happened that they came up against a not-so-conventional neighbour who, in place of the noisy and arduous task of verbosity, believed in the short work of fists to reach some conclusion.

He acted true to his shortcutting convictions.

Just the same, while the couple made yelping noises, the silently grave man gave full vent to his fury in a hot and calculated manner.

Nobody came to their rescue, for they, too, enjoyed being partners in this big victory after all those verbal defeats.

After that day, the couple remained sullen.

Now they realised that any fight is, after all, no easy thing.

It can take on different colours, going far beyond verbosity.

* * *

Is it only the good conditions which help a so-called good person to remain so?

I have come across many formerly good people—during their good days, as if they had adopted goodness, much obliged to a good stroke of luck—who turned against their former nicety and started behaving wretchedly.

Well, maybe we are the products of our circumstances, with an equal possibility that we create our circumstances.

Or the truth is somewhere between the two, with some vague proportion of each.

But, of course, to go against the first statement, there are so many well-off people who have baseness of character.

Then there are horribly poor fellows, living in dirt and squalor, yet they are like lotuses in the mud.

Some good fellows turn bad on becoming rich, while some become more generous.

So, looking at all these variations, it sounds difficult to arrive at a fixed yardstick of goodness or badness as practised by people as social units.

Still, maybe there is some inherent, absolute, elementary goodness and badness, and our being called good or bad depends upon how near or how far we find ourselves from a particular axis of these true fundamental points during our sways to the left and right.

All of us are thus relatively good and relatively bad.

A perfectly good human being and a perfectly bad human being are very difficult to find.

The Fatal Precipice of Progress: Three Reflections on Nature, Poverty and the Tyranny of One's Own Desires

 **November 2006**

Isn't it that, in advancing on the path of modernisation, we are moving—as a species—towards extinction?

From an environmentalist point of view, every step ahead on the so-called path of progress is, in fact, taking us towards the ultimate chasm, where the system is bound to fall headlong.

It is a vicious circle: the so-called solutions themselves spawn numerous additional, unseen problems while helping us tackle the particular problem at hand in the present.

So the best solution is to move back—to get away from the fatal precipice.

Dumping all our jingoistic egos, we should run to the safety of nature.

Return we will have to in the future.

But I am afraid that by then it will be too late.

We might return to barren, dead dunes, with the orchards having disappeared years ago.

So, fella, let us move back.

Back to our Mother Nature.

* * *

Should a poor man marry?

Logically considered, it normally adds to his worries: puts more pressure on his starved resources.

But just as one poison becomes the antidote for another poison, marriage, while adding to a poor man's frustrating responsibilities, also provides him with a possible antidote to his despair.

The more the problems, the greater becomes the need for a possible solution.

A poor man's arena of life increases. He is forced to look more and more optimistically towards the future, and when a child is born to him, he has more reasons to engage in the struggle for survival than a rich man.

A better future for his children becomes a mirage, and moving spellbound in its direction, he is less aware of the burning sand around his lacerated feet.

Now consider the opposite: a poor man not marrying.

The world definitely is not his, and the tiny world of matrimony, which could have been his own, with himself as its sovereign, is also snatched away from him.

Circumstances are the same, but in that dreary desert he no longer sees the mirage.

So he moves destinationless, deprived of the yoking force of life.

Thus, the need of a poor man for marriage is far, far greater than that of a rich one.

* * *

Do the reproaches of your acquaintances matter?

Of course they do.

But just like the oft-repeated superficiality and shallowness of such criticism, they are, after all, merely abrasive on the outer crust of your being.

It is simply a bodily battering.

Its tremors are seldom felt inside.

Reproaches by a well-meaning self, on the other hand, have that terrible girth and gumption which shake the inner core—the soul—of our being.

When one understands it crystal clearly that he has been practically wrong, that his ideology, his passion, the very force with which his soul boils, have been impractically surviving like a parasite, bestowing doom upon the self as well as upon those who, given their well-justified attachment and feelings for us—and whom we are indebted to reciprocate in concrete, helpful, material terms—also suffer.

When one feels their pains, it is still more painful to realise that their sufferings are driven more by your own losses than by their own unfruitful pursuits of a relationship with you.

You then become a culprit in your own eyes.

Your conscience pricks at your soul.

Thus struck, you want to do something for them.

But there can be no greater torture than finding yourself almost incapable of taking even a single step in that direction.

The path with all the nicest prospects for you and your near and dear ones lies ahead in the clearest of manners, and how torturous it is to know that you ought to take at least a few steps on it.

Yet you find yourself with your soul madly pining for that dreary path where some vague glimmer of hope shines at the distant horizon.

You know that even if you manage—some day—to reach that place, isn't it that by that time too much water would have flowed through the rivers?

Maybe by that time those who would have enjoyed that goal reached by you even more than yourself will be gone.

Does the goal, in that case, serve its purpose?

Isn't it selfishness of the utmost type?

Are you not the person with the least sense of kindness and magnanimity?

So reciprocate the feelings if you can.

Otherwise—O ye followers of blind passion—you stand a culprit in the court of God, as one too tightly chained to his own desires to fulfil his obligations towards others.

Happiness is no absolute.

It is relative to the relations around us.

Holi: When the Colours of Life Met the Flames of Death

On Holi, colours go riotous.

It is a carnival of spring rejuvenation, resurrection, blooming fresh hopes, warmth and love.

Cutting across ages, childhood dawns colourfully. Water is thrown around, sometimes even mud in the countryside. There is dancing, too, as there are beatings by womenfolk.

In the countryside, drinkers have a heyday. Bhang flows unchecked. There are cries, calls and playful, challenging quarrels—sneering, sniding and chiding.

As the floodgates of festivity are opened, all is permitted: flirting, revenge, bonhomie.

We celebrate festivals for life, hope, light and blossoming. And when there is a death in the near neighbourhood within a fortnight or so of the festival date, we normally don't celebrate.

The old lady had been on her deathbed for at least a couple of months.

An averagely good woman was the tag she got when people discussed her plight. They even prayed to God for a hasty, painless, smooth end to her journey.

For such sufferings put speed breakers on the road of life. We always fear the same for ourselves; so, like a bad nightmare, we wish it a prompt ending.

But then Holi was approaching.

If she had died before Holi, the date with colours would have been missed.

But as it happens, such last sufferings are prolonged—prolonged to break the instinct of life inside.

Just surviving on a few teaspoons of water, the old woman kept hanging there between life and death since the last week before Holi.

Anybody could have said she might die at any moment, but the feeble flicker kept on burning, as if it didn't want to become the reason for the postponement of the colourful fair for one year.

And since Holi morning, while she was taking her last laboured breaths, the festival started with its customary worship at the shrine of the village god.

Then gulal-smeared children ran amok through the streets.

Menfolk got to drinking in order to benumb their senses against the beatings.

Ladies prepared hunters out of twisted and corded headcloths.

Then it was the same thing: children shouting and clapping, the men mimicking bravery while the women pounded them as if they were letting out all the pent-up fury due to their subservient position in a male-dominated society throughout the year.

So this was their day on which they could vent their grudges against the menfolk.

The festivity was on its downslope—with ladies, all drenched and smeared, slogging out the day, and men with tired bodies still standing to see the day out—when, at four-thirty in the afternoon, the news of the old lady's death spread.

A night with a corpse is too long in a Hindu home.

The funeral had to be arranged before sundown.

So, with sobering senses, benumbed bodies and smeared clothes, like sleepwalkers, the revellers got busy with the funeral, most of them still drunk.

Sobriety and sense were dawning upon them with the setting sun; their bodies aching with pain; their faces and clothes smeared in colours.

What a strange funeral procession it was!

They had glided down from the plane of festivity, only to be suddenly checked by a happening which, like a strict and unsparing teacher, put them in a line to behave themselves.

As under intoxication a man is not totally at the behest of the reins of his emotions, tears flowed freely from many eyes.

Many became unshackledly philosophical about the questions of life and death.

The procession walked silently.

Minding their steps well, some still staggered.

And the bearers of those steps went on cursing their missteps.

And when the pyre burnt warmly and hugely, many a battered limb felt the soothing warmth of the burning fire.

But conscience repulsed all such feelings of ease at the pyreside.

"She was deaf due to old age and had missed most of the conversations, but a few things—mostly unwanted—entered her ears like a distant golf shot which incidentally falls straight into the hole."

This was the conversation two drunkards shared as they stood paying homage to the old woman, feeling the warmth of the fire.

Clement Town: The Golden Buddha, the Prayers of Exile and the Long Shadow of China

 **November 2006**

Clement Town, Dehradun.

Clement Town is peacefully spread over a broad plain with the gentlest of undulations. There are scattered trees, scattered houses, farming fields and Air Force buildings.

And in their background is the Tibetan colony.

Stony, crusty, dusty roads reach its gate from three sides. The circular tin board, arching over the open gateway, salutes Nehru's legendary role in providing shelter to these refugees.

A finely tarred street, leading in and forth, with low, one-storeyed, small, neat and trim houses and shops on both sides, has the mountainous, quaint charm of a tranquil mountain town.

It is an uncrowded, peaceful Tibetan world here.

There are Tibetan eating points, saloons, PCOs, little grocery stores and garment shops in this tiniest of markets operated by the Tibetan settlers.

Intermittently, a marble plaque by the main front gate bears a Tibetan name.

Here, in this restfully dealing Tibetan market, the Tibetans—young men, old men, boys and girls—can be seen.

It is wonderful how relaxedly they conduct business.

The bonhomie of passing time intimately with each other is predominant over the conducting of business among themselves.

They talk in Tibetan, and if you ask them about anything, they readily answer in Hindi, their accent thick, each word hesitatingly emphasised.

Strongly limbed and stocky, they walk leisurely with their knees parted a bit to the sides.

The youngsters wear westernised clothes, while the elders, especially the ladies, wear their traditional knee-length shirts in a single fold, mostly violet in colour, with tighter upper garments.

Their young, dreamy-eyed faces still evince a hope that it is, after all, a status quo, and a day will come when they might enjoy religious freedom in their native land far away across the Himalayas.

For Tibetans, religion is the most important factor defining their way of life.

Their houses, if they have a second storey, have an upper sloping, canopied roof, its eaves jutting out with architectural frills at the borders.

The predominant colours are light violet, chocolate, yellow and maroon.

The tiny, proud head of every shelter is peacefully upheld by long poles from which long, narrow strips of cloth in various colours flaunt the flagship of Tibetan Buddhism.

Then there are long lines hung at a height, and from them also hang colourful pieces of cloth and paper.

This is Tibetan Buddhism at its charming best.

Unthreatened and at full liberty in India, a secular land.

Seeing them so easily nestled, one might think that the child which had gone away thousands of years ago has returned home.

Buddhism coming home from a land tortured by aggressive imperialism which cannot tolerate the diversity prevailing in its parts.

Then there is the monastery-cum-stupa complex.

It is an elaborately sprawled-out, spacious, neat and clean complex surrounded by high walls.

There are beautiful flower gardens, lawns and garden walks lined with potted plants.

There is this massive, sky-high image of Buddha, about five or six storeys high, painted in golden colours, his hand raised in a blessing mudra.

The golden folds of his robe hang down his forearm, a part of his muscular chest visible.

His divinely big eyes open from a height and look at you.

A compassionate smile plays over his lips.

This lofty statue is supported against a wall tower rising from the back wall of the temple, on whose roof the image has been constructed.

A broad, marble-paved staircase takes visitors and devotees right up to the feet of Buddha's statue.

Standing at the God's feet, he looks of mountainous proportions, and from this square roof at the feet of the God, one can have a beautiful look at the Buddhist panorama beautifully laid out around.

In the squarish temple below, silence sleeps eternally on the clean, dark-purple carpet.

As one enters through the medium-sized door, one catches a glimpse of a small altar placed in the middle of the religious hall.

The god of this altar is His Holiness the Dalai Lama.

His picture is the depiction of an eternally pious smile.

Before his framed picture, incense smoke wafts through the still air, and then there are some bowls full of oblations to the beholder of the spiritual baton.

Though the holy man leads a spiritual government in exile, most Indians do not look at him from that angle.

They love and revere him like their own holy pontiff.

The Dalai Lama commands tremendous respect and goodwill in India across all castes, classes, creeds and religions.

The Buddhist religious places are world-famous for their glorious depiction of important, spiritually uplifting scenes—scenes from the life of the Master.

The walls of this temple are lined with glossy, colourful pictures from the lifetime of Buddha.

The ceiling, too, has depictions of his life and works through pictures.

Aha, those spiritually laced scenes from the Jatakas!

There are so many figures in the pictures that it might take days to have a close and detailed look at all of them.

The stupa is equally lofty, grand, ornate and majestic as the statue of Buddha, surrounded by well-manicured lawns.

It is a white-painted shrine raised on a marble plinth.

It is double-storeyed.

The prayer halls on the ground and first floors are high-ceilinged, spacious and square.

A few steps from the ground take one to the massive, ornately carved doors of the ground-floor prayer hall.

Just in front, a few paces from the back wall, one comes across the main altar dominated by Buddha's idol in one of his avatars.

The altar is ornate, embroidered, silken, tapestried, on a raised pedestal.

In the lap of this avatar, the officiating priest sits to lead the prayer.

When it is prayer time, the bhikshus, clad in yellow sleeveless vests and maroon-coloured robes, sit in rows facing each other across the middle of the hall.

There are about a hundred of them.

It is a massive, pillared prayer hall.

Beautiful tapestries hang from the pillars.

Every inch of the interior space is fabulously covered with paintings on glossy paper, plastered to the walls.

The floor rug is neat and clean.

A row of pillars all around, at a distance from the walls, forms a sort of watching pavilion for visitors while the prayers are going on.

The prayers are written on long, rectangular paper sheets.

These, when intoned in devotion to Buddha, leave one spellbound with their rhythm and divinely cadenced notes.

The bhikshus' masculine voices create such a spiritually synchronised chorus that the walls, plastered with painted paper, seem to reverberate with the spiritual creation.

The entire interior seems to come alive with those throbs.

All pictures seem lifeless as the divine sounds fill each and every particle of the incensed air inside the spacious hall.

At certain intervals, amidst the mantra chimes, they let loose musical interjections.

These come with the pleasant suddenness of a mark of exclamation after an emotional sentence in a paragraph.

These taps and notes seem to soak into the visitor's being.

Huge waves of this rhythm then suddenly take one to the highest heavens of ecstasy and humming as two bhikshus, sitting in separate rows, take up their instruments.

Before them are placed two massive brass trumpets, about ten or twelve metres long, supported on many wooden pedestals.

All along their ornate length, they open their big mouths at a distance from the players.

With specialised effort, both bhikshus blow into the mouth tubes, and their bass notes surpass any scales of our imagination.

The sound is of such proportions as if a fighter jet has sneaked inside the prayer hall.

The floor and the walls almost shake with the vibrations escaping from the massive trumpets.

For a few moments, there is an element of awe, but without any aggravation of the frailty of our reaction, we are childishly plucked away and carried to a realm of peace, satisfaction and ecstatic trance by these mammoth, oracular notes.

As per Buddhist theory, every phenomenon in the world is correlated through dependent origination.

Then these pious sounds and chants spread out in all directions to carry their message of peace, love, harmony and tranquillity.

The same ceremony goes on on the upper floor of the two-storeyed stupa, which is reached by a marbled flight of stairs going like porches over the main door of the lower prayer hall.

After this elaborate ceremony involving chanting, obeisance and the paying of oblations is over, the round-faced, fair-coloured young monks troop out with plates full of prasad.

At the other ends of the sprawling complex, one can see rows of their rooms—a modern version of the Buddhist vihara, the place of students' residence.

The top of the stupa is worked in shining brass metal.

It is ornately carved out like a beautiful tiara or the crown of a spiritual king.

From a distance, it shines like a triumphant spirit of some faith against the predatory splurges of some atheist.

Yes, Tibetan Buddhism is fully alive here.

Thanks to the followers—full-time, unflinching, undisturbed, organised adherents—this strand of faith is still strong.

Only the visitors create some noisy, disturbing, disorderly ripples here.

Otherwise, the entire spacious complex is in a meditative trance, like the semi-open eyes of the Buddha.

Then there are religious prayer ceremonies for the lay followers of Buddha as well.

These take place on the lawn at the foot of the massive idol of Buddha.

Here a tented mandapa has been erected.

The prayers are led by a priest on a cushioned platform.

Here the lay followers of all ages, genders and backgrounds sit at ease in front and chant with the officiating priest.

Some read from prayer books—ladies in long-skirted smocks, gents in versions of westernised traditional wear.

As they mutter prayers, they roll the prayer wheels attached to handles.

Two cords across the circumference provide the force to turn the cylinder.

The mantra *Om Mani Padme Hum* is carved on the prayer wheels.

Buddhists believe that a single roll of this wheel gives spiritual benefits worth lakhs of chantings of the mantra.

Those who are utterly devoted to the faith continuously prostrate themselves at the end of each hymn.

They rise slowly and then again go down, prostrating full length, their hands joined in a namaste and jutting out ahead of their faces, ahead of their downturned heads.

Others go round the rows of prayer wheels fixed along the walls, touching them with devotional fingers and rolling them for the Master's beneficence.

Others, mostly the old ones with drooping gait, do slow-stepped rounds around the image, silently muttering the mantra, rolling the holy beads of their rosaries among their fingers with each new chant.

Then there is this big signboard bearing a helpless request about the disappearance of the boy Panchen Lama, chosen by His Holiness the Dalai Lama.

People widely believe that the Chinese have kidnapped the boy and placed a puppet Panchen Lama in his place.

It is a criminal case involving what is described as the youngest political prisoner in the world.

The boy was just six years of age when he was kidnapped in 1995.

It was then, in November 1996, that Chinese President Jiang Zemin visited India.

The event was expected to be an ice-breaker between these two subcontinental nations, the bearers of ancient civilisations.

This first-ever visit by a Chinese head of state was more symbolism than substance, in keeping with the changing world order led by globalisation, liberalisation and the dominance of the world by a superpower.

The changing world situation—integrated economies, multicultural, multilateral and bilateral trade agreements, security cooperation—now requires subtle diplomatic and geostrategic engagements with even the supposed rivals.

It is evident that in the present world order, even the staunchest rivals have more to gain by engaging on mutually agreed issues than by brooding over the irritants.

So the burden of history has to be cast off.

It might sound a bit undiplomatic and unrefined to put it this way, but the mere mention of China to a layman makes him gulp down the term in the synonymous sense of a foe.

People cannot forget the war.

1962, after all, is not too far away.

More than the war and the defeat, it is the betrayal of Nehru's Panchsheel principles and that slogan of brotherhood which puts the germs of mistrust in the minds of Indians.

But then international relations cannot be defined by such street-level relations and reactions.

For if they were, we ought to be the bitterest opponents of America and its policies, for the communist section of India is a rigid critic of the Americans for their pampering and bonhomie with the country ever longing to launch jihad in every nook and corner of the world—that is, Pakistan.

But still we are engaging on shared interests.

History has no scope in international relations; only greedy eyes, ever seeking greater importance in the future, lead the modern principles of foreign relations.

But putting all unconventional, modernist principles of diplomacy apart, the long and wordy tale of Indo-China mistrust cannot be squeezed and boxed down into the neat and clean tiny box of international relations.

It has a long and treacherous past, jagged like the Line of Control along the rugged Himalayan terrain.

However hard we might try, the tensions are bound to persist.

Almost exactly ten years after that ice-breaking visit by the Chinese President, we now come across the second one, by Chinese President Hu Jintao, on November 20, 2006.

This time, it is expected to take a few nascent steps towards economic cooperation.

Chinese occupation of strategic territories on many fronts is a big issue.

Its claims on our states in the Northeast.

Who gains more by economic cooperation?

That is a question.

India's flimsy, lip-service support to the Tibetan cause.

What else can we do, given our limitations?

China is too strong now.

China's role as a patron of Pakistan is also a big issue.

Its increasing friendship with Russia, which many Indians take as snatching away a friend, and our strategically devised lollipop of pampering by the Americans, and many such other issues have been dumped and crushed under the red carpet welcoming the Chinese President.

While the Chinese President hogged the media limelight in India, the Tibetan cause seemed to be put on the backstage for more lucrative gains.

What can these poor, pious religious refugees do for India, except remind us occasionally that Buddhism was born in this country?

Earlier, it was our limitation that we could not become proactive for the Tibetan cause, but now it is a necessity for a modern India aspiring to a greater role internationally.

Looking at the vibrant colours of ever-worshipping traditional Buddhism, it is doubtful how an officially atheist China will accept such a rich, distinct religious-cultural design on its sweeping, mundane, grey-shaded carpet of monotonous, juggernauting policies and planning.

As far as the Tibetan community is concerned, the arrival of the big boss from across the Himalayas was just like a big stone thrown into its calm and tranquil waters.

Its ripples broke the religious, meditative spell of these humans who still decide to cling to the off-the-line bright colours of their religious, majestic elaborateness of Tibetan Buddhism.

Religion is what makes it an eyesore to the Chinese.

In its present form, which they still keep alive through unflinching devotion to the traditional path, this land just does not fit into the level-playing, standardising policies of enforced uniformity.

So they want to see this zeal dismantled, divested of its own distinctiveness, as the years wear away and His Holiness the Dalai Lama takes mortal steps towards the fag end of his life.

I shudder to think who will keep the flame alive after the holy man leaves for the divine abode of supreme grace and beneficence.

I can only pray that His Holiness continues to live forever.

This second visit by the Chinese President does come as a shock to their otherwise serene appearance.

Their meditative trance seems to have been broken as the big leader of big China takes news-creating strides across Indian metropolises, brandishing the glittering face of corporate China.

The uneconomical, ever-chanting Buddhist monks look on anxiously into their hazy future with their cute little eyes in Clement Town.

The divine equanimity of their temper has been tinkered with, and the way they talk, it seems as if they feel, deep down in their souls, betrayed by their traditional friend.

India has taken formal, almost impolite steps to quell even the feeblest protests by these seekers of religious freedom.

After all, the visit of the Chinese President has to be made completely hassle-free.

It is a big and bad world, and soft and silent prayers are very rarely heard.

So, breaking through all the precautionary measures taken by the Government of India, some Tibetans did protest noisily to raise the issue of their plight before the national and international media.

It sounds nice that they consider India almost their homeland.

So they protested against the enemy's visit.

One young Tibetan tried to immolate himself before a camera.

Another jumped from a flyover, perhaps to commit suicide.

They want to remind us that in this game of greater issues, please do not forget the small issues.

Moral, aesthetic, religious, brotherly.

Garhi Cantt and Tapkeshwar Mahadev: In the Sacred Solitude of the Himalayan Foothills

 **November 2006**

Garhi Cantt, Dehradun.

Garhi Cantt, clinging somewhere to the urban finger of Uttaranchal's capital like a tiny child.

It is a small, peaceful world of little markets, little shops selling petty items, and a small road circuiting over the finely, almost imperceptibly undulating terrain at the foot of the Himalayan foothills.

It is remarkably free of noises.

The homes on both sides of tiny Tapkeshwar Road bask in splendid isolation, shaded by little vegetable and flower gardens. These are tiny concrete houses made by retired army officials and people of the salaried class.

It is rather pleasing that one can still see here—in such near vicinity of human habitation—little wildflowers of crimson, violet, blue and yellow, thus spreading colours on the wayside bushes and undergrowth.

It seems as if Tapkeshwar Temple's majestic solitude permeates through the area and spreads around.

And the devotees do trickle in.

They come slowly, uncluttered, without breaking the temple premises' cool silence during this first week of November.

From a little distance before the stone gate—biscuit-coloured, with dark stripes running artistically—the path is lined with a few tiny stalls selling tea, puja samagri and such things.

In front of the main gate, at both ends of the path, are two massive trees.

The trees of Indian spiritualism, mythology and religion.

The banyan and the peepal tree.

And in its fantastic, multiple-trunked form, which appears mossy in this season, the peepal has given the banyan a great chase in the latter's legendary scale of horizontal and vertical development.

The peepal tree's diameter has grown to several metres, and its broad trunks, sub-trunks, branches and sub-branches shelter a big spiritual world from within their lofty perch.

A brick-and-concrete pedestal has been created around the base of the mammoth trunk.

Many hollows and crevices at the base are used as tiny shrines of devis and devtas.

The base of the trunk has gone a bit blackish due to the repeated offerings of the devotees around its circumference.

The thread of devotion is tied around it in many turns.

It seems as if the mythological tree has been tamed for religious purposes.

At the other end is a banyan tree.

Though the peepal seems to beat its colleague in mammoth girth, the banyan has a more charming wilderness about it—thanks to its intricate aerial roots going through the majestic curves of its trunks and branches.

Given this natural filigree, it appears that its canopy is moulded more finely, giving it a more appealing appearance from a distance.

Below the banyan, on the squarish kerb at its base, a puja samagri vendor has pitched his tent.

On his stall tables, we come across framed photographs of Hindu gods and goddesses, ready-made puja thalis with flowers, ritual offerings, sindoor, incense, etc.

Then there are cheap amulets and rings bearing the pictures of gods and goddesses.

And on the brick platform around the peepal, an old, brass-spectacled sadhu, bearing a silvery beard and wearing a woollen cap, sits on his haunches in solitary contemplation.

On the platform beneath the banyan, we have this clay sculpture of a crouching lion, its mouth open in a roaring posture and tail half in the air, as if it is just about to take a leap at its prey.

The sadhu is a very old one.

He takes lurching steps with the help of his stick.

A bright red sachet hangs down his neck, and an open-fronted, grey-coloured woollen jacket protects his old body from the faint traces of early winter.

It is, after all, the season of winter for these homeless people.

They just spread a poor cloth and get down on their backs for hard, cool, solid support from beneath the cloth spread.

The world, meanwhile, goes slowly, slowly, in synchronism with the tranquil salubrity of this place.

The shade of religion is very great in protecting us from the scorching, nasty glow of reason, adharma and most of the modernity-driven things.

And these two mighty trees standing in front of the gate do just the same.

It is a welcoming natural porch under which a small world—like a little head under an umbrella—comes to life with the dawn, lives contentedly through the day and then goes to sleep during the night.

Nearby, adjoining the little row of stalls, is the Tourist Information Centre.

It is a very neat and clean, whitewashed, cream-coloured cottage made in the style of Victorian architecture.

Its concrete sloping roof, painted red, has a slabbed pattern, making it appear like those red-tiled structures of the British Raj.

Inside its little interior, there is exquisite cleanliness and orderliness.

To make it even more interesting, it has even got an internet facility for visitors.

The temples in India are rarely found in isolation.

Temple complexes, we call them.

So near both ends of the main gate, we have two little shrines.

Their exteriors and interiors, furnished with marble tiles, add to the charming sanctity of the place.

While the sun shines soothingly, a bit faded over the misty forenoon, some taxi-borne visitors-cum-devotees do trickle in, thus making the place more sacred and visit-worthy.

From the main gate, there is a long flight of broad, marbled steps descending down to the sanctum sanctorum on its left-hand side.

Each step bears a marble plaque, fixed in the wall, with the name of the devotee who contributed to the construction of that particular step.

And to make religion more sacred, each step has a separate name.

Along these steps, we have a series of covered terraces with cemented floors, plastered walls and shelves along the back walls.

These are the sheltering places for mendicant friars and religionists of all sorts.

The majority of them are absent during the day, so their humble belongings, bundled in sackcloth, can be seen on these long shelves.

The other side of the staircase is a wooded, steep slope.

In the middle of the broad, marbled staircase, there is an iron handrail, thus partitioning it into two parts.

As one goes down the steps and takes a turn, the brook's music becomes incessantly charming and rhythmic.

The real feel of religion gushes into the head through one's nostrils.

You come across the sadhus, the occupants of these covered terraces on the sides of the staircase.

In the mornings, they can be seen coming with unhurried steps after taking a bath in the holy brook.

There is incense smoke.

Little, little idols placed along the sides with some offerings.

Sadhus sitting by the sides of the staircase, reading scriptural pamphlets.

Higher on the wooded slope, amidst a break in the series of terraces, we see a sadhu cooking on his little coal furnace.

He is cooking something in a covered little tin pot.

He rubs something on his palm, and from the mystical music and an unrestrained smile on his bearded face, one can smell that something intoxicating, of a liberating nature, is cooking in the air.

On the back walls of these covered, open-fronted terraces, one sees framed pictures of gods and goddesses.

Most of the sadhus who are reading scriptural and religious pamphlets have thick, plastic-framed spectacles, which make them mystic, lone musers.

There is a speckled, white-marble-tiled façade.

It welcomes the devotees as they move towards the sanctum sanctorum.

Its grilled doors are open now, and from the mythical literature of India, one of the ancientmost writers, Balmiki, looks at you.

It is a very, very impressive idol of the legendary creator and writer of the epic *Ramayana*.

There is one more little shrine inside the bigger shrine, within which, on a white-tiled seat, sits the writer-sage.

His full beard is spotlessly white, his red lips shining against the background of white, as if at any moment they will reveal something important and divine.

The colour of his full, squarish face is a divinely glowing red.

His straight nose, full, healthy cheeks and those big, widely opened eyes, after having seen and read all, look at you with an aura of divine liveliness.

His long hair, as spotlessly white as his beard, is tied in a knot at the top of his head, with a string of holy beads tied around it, making him look spiritually impressive.

He sits in a true meditative posture, with a yellow silk cloth around his torso and a garland of flowers around his neck.

And he sits there as the proud creator of one of the major books of Indian religiondom, the *Ramayana*.

The book eulogising the times when the gods descended on earth to spread the godly message, laced with timelessly relevant virtues, taking up indefatigable cudgels against the ever-growing heads of vices and negativities.

The roof of this little shrine is made up of real, mossy, muddy, jutting outcroppings of stone because it has been cut into the mountainside along the staircase.

This flight of steps comes to an end at the pious doorstep of a towered shrine on a raised platform erected from the bed of the brook, overlooking the stony, slippery course of this water channel, which flows musically like the lifeline of this temple complex.

From here, one path to the left side leads on its journey almost below a vertically cut slope—stony, mossy crags, boulders jutting out against the roots of trees holding their perch on the almost vertical space, almost impossibly.

The other path goes along the stream's upper course to cross it along a tiny bridge and then continues its course on the other side, on a sidewalk raised on pillars from the stream bed, below the overhanging foliage of trees and shrubs.

It then takes its fabulous journey to the temple complex overlooking the gurgling mountain stream from the other side.

From the stream's bottom, on the side of the path leading to the Tapkeshwar Mahadev Temple, concrete was being dumped into big holes to raise the foundational pillars for erecting structures along the streamside, because the other end is just a solid, mossy wall of stones, mud, roots and trees.

And it is almost vertical.

This little mountain stream has cut its course almost vertically.

Its channel is narrow, and if you look into the distance, the upper ends of the trees on both sides of the slopes seem to be shaking hands in spiritual bonhomie.

A massive block of stony hillside, with its crop of trees on top, overhangs the path entering the main shrine, which has been dug into the hillside.

The riverside façade of the shrine complex then overlooks the stream, which sings more vigorously here after falling a few feet down the outcropping edge of a massive block of stone in the stream bed.

Here, artistic strains do stream out of the complex and mix with the murmurous sound of this littlest of waterfalls.

Some drops do sprinkle up and happily, devoutly shake hands with the finely subsiding fragrance of incense, which seems ever longing to kiss the bottom of this tiny valley before escaping to the heavens with many messages and prayers as beseeched by the devotees.

The foundational façade of the riverside main complex is made of moderately hewn stone blocks, which, in their black, damp and mossy appearance, check the pressure brought both from the slopes as well as the weight of people's worries.

Moving further downstream, we come across a pillared verandah at the height of one storey from the stream bed, serving as a balcony along the main shrine, which can be seen through grilled doors and windows along the inner side of the roof pillars.

A railing overlooks the stream along the verandah.

The floor is made of exquisitely clean marble slabs, and on top of this pillared verandah is a row of rooms for the devotees.

Their row of glass windows looks over the stream from a height of two storeys.

Standing against the railings, one can have a miniature view of the riverfront terrace.

The main shrine is a low-roofed cave-shrine complex.

Its real charm is the finely undulating roof, which has been painted.

The devotees need to keep their heads low to avoid getting a few bumps, as if receiving reprimands for the sins they have been committing.

The innermost part of the shrine, showing the depth to which it has been dug into the hillside, is quite low-roofed.

Its inner recess is quite small.

Small niches, like shrines, have been dug out for different aspects of Lord Shiva and different forms of Maa Adi Shakti.

The floor is made of exquisitely polished marble slabs.

Towards the outer side of the shrine hall, a flight of two steps leaves us with the roof hanging at a comfortably high position.

Here the devotees can usher through with their offerings without caring for their heads.

Two massive brass heads of the Lord and Shakti are the main attractions of this part.

Then there is a third, plush section as well.

Its roof is man-made, projecting out from the outermost part of the dugout.

Apart from its godly furnishings, it also shows man's worldly furnishings as well.

Here the priests pass away their spare time.

Temples on the other side are mostly under the big awnings left by the overhanging cliffside.

Stalactites overhang from the muddy, coiled maze of roots, stones, earth and trees.

The upper part of this balcony complex is nature-made, and the flooring is man-made, with a railing overlooking the mountain stream.

In that haphazard maze of the roof, one can spot pigeonholes, with a few pigeons perched precariously on the littlest of ledges at the openings of their holes.

There is a massive clay statue of Lord Hanuman sitting on the floor, his head touching the rough hillside below the natural awning.

The expression on his face even seems to bear a burden, as if he is supporting, like a mighty pillar, the entire hillside with its overhang above him.

The roof is a fantastic mix of tree roots acting like roof timbers, stones acting like slabs and mud acting like a cementing agent.

Due to the leaching down of alkaline minerals from the rocks, the lower portion of the dripping roof at the inner end has turned white, as if it has been whitewashed.

Tibetan notes - 14

 

At Shimla, the Tibetan community gave an emotional and heartfelt send-off to the SFF soldiers heading to the China border in another sector after the Pangong feat. They cheered the gallant commandos waving to the crowd by standing and clapping from both sides of the road. Waved Indian and Tibetan flags and shouted, “Bharat Mata Ki Jai!” Hailed Indo-Tibetan friendship. Local Tibetan Sansad Secretary ⇒ Palden Dhondup.

◉ SFF now has Gorkhas along with Tibetans. Secret Tibetan 

◉ guerrilla Squad. Little known Paramilitary Unit. Covert SFF Battalion Special Operations Squad. SFF is under Director General of Security (DGS) and under Cabinet Secretariat. The DGS is now part of India’s external intelligence agency RAW. Has its own rank structure and training infrastructure. SFF units are called Vikas Battalions. Clandestine unit. Mysterious guerrilla Faction. Tibetan Annexation in 1951 by PLA meant India lost the buffer zone. In 1962, India and the CIA agreed to cooperate on secret military programs. Chushi Gangdruk, the Tibetan guerrilla movement which had been fighting the Chinese since 1956, was still active. Its leaders were involved in SFF recruitment.

The initial plan was to train 6,000–7,000 recruits in mountain warfare, sabotage and demolition, and push them into Tibet to fight the Chinese. This prospect lured many Tibetans into SFF. Snow Lion Insignia of the SFF. CIA provided light weapons like M-1 and M-2 submachine guns. Inspired by US Army Special Forces for operations deep behind enemy lines. [Green Berets’ inclination for special warfare. Earlier, the ranks were non-military. Tibetan commanders were called “Political Leader”. 

◉ Ironically, the first bullets were fired against Pakistan not China. The SFF trained Bengali fighters. The US was with Pakistan, so it would not give weapons to the SFF. The US arms were replaced with Bulgarian AK-47s. In late October 1971, SFF deployed their guerillas in the rugged, marshy terrain of Chittagong Hill Tracts. Three battalions (1,000 men) were commanded by a Tibetan Political Leader and an Indian Colonel ⇒ Operation Eagle. By the time India formally declared war against Pakistan on December 3, 1971, the SFF had caused sufficient damage to Pakistan’s military stronghold in Chittagong [important naval port base for Pakistan reinforcements.]. ⇒ Their exploits earned them the title of “Phantoms of Chittagong”. They lost 56 men, and 196 were injured. It was an unofficial mission. The Indian officers were given gallantry medals. The Tibetans got only cash awards. Almost paid foreign mercenaries. PM Indira credited the SFF in private correspondence. A memorial is built

at Chakrata to the victims of 1971 and other operations. Also used in combating communal riots in the mid-1970s. Recently Nepali Gorkha and hill tribesmen have joined ranks. Rumored to be 10,000 strong. They have been instrumental in reconnaissance missions for the Indian army.

◉ A kind of emotional release. A veteran, “It’s our only chance to fight the Chinese.”

◉ Norgyeling Tibetan Refugee settlement in Maharashtra. Tenzin Thandoe.

◉ Tibetan refugee community is very excited. India’s stealth capture of border territory.

◉ India has been reluctant to use SFF against China so far. It is feared that with Tibetans being so emotional (passionate) about China, they might not be able to keep their emotions under control during a clash.

◉ Tibetan population in India has fallen from 150,000 (2011) to 85,000 (2018) ⇒ many emigrating to Western countries or taking Indian passports.

◉ After the clash that got highlighted, there is excitement among young boys to join SFF and fight China.

◉ Indian army says SFF soldier died accidentally after stepping onto a vintage 1962 minefield.

◉ Shimla ⇒ waving and offering traditional Khatas (white scarves) to a departing convoy.

◉ Trained to work in the shadows.

◉ Most of resistance fighters were from the Kham region in eastern Tibet. Uprising started in 1956.

◉ Next of Kin (NoK) for SFF soldiers is the Dalai Lama.

◉ The Noodle Maker of Kalimpong by Gyalo Thondup.

◉ In Kalimpong, many resistance fighters were followers of Gompo Tashi, a trader. Their organisation was called CHUSHI-GANGDRUK, Four rivers and six ranges. The Dalai Lama’s younger brother facilitated a group of six fighters to receive Morse Code and radio communication technology by the CIA. Unknown to India, they were sent to Bangladesh and flown to the island of Saipan in the Pacific for four months of training in guerrilla warfare and communication. They were airdropped back in Tibet in July 1957. ⇒ began to send intelligence to the US. ⇒ By 1958, Chushi Gangdruk had 23 units and drove the Chinese out from South Tibet. There were 25,000 poorly equipped fighters. CIA failed at a critical juncture ⇒ supplied only 700 outdated guns ⇒ 6,000 fighters remained in India ⇒ IB Chief B.N. Mullik put forward the idea of SFF. ⇒ Major General Sujan Singh drove in a taxi from Delhi to an old Gurkha training centre that was lying vacant at Chakrata at a height of 7,000 feet. There were barracks and training areas like rock climbing. It was raised on Nov 14, 1962, Nehru’s birthday ⇒ A week later ceasefire ⇒ no action.

⇒ There were anger and shame for what happened to the Dalai Lama, their God. ⇒ Incredible athleticism and blessed with excellent genetics. ⇒ The founder’s son, Gurdip Singh Uban (IG) was 22 and a Second Lieutenant at that time. They renamed it SFF in 1967. Frontier standing for NWFP from where their family came. He served as IG of SFF and led them in Kargil Operations. All was kept secret. This time at the LAC, India has opened about them to play the Tibet card and a message for the people in Tibet. The third generation is serving the SFF now. Their battle song: “The Chinese snatched Tibet from us, and kicked us out of our homes; Even then, India kept us like their own... Our young martyrs have no sadness whatsoever; Whether it’s Kargil or Bangladesh; We will not lose our strength; Whenever opportunities arise we will play with our lives.”

◉ A former SFF commando whose son is lying injured in the Pangong clash says that this time India had the advantage and should get Tibet liberated. [Preemptive operation against China]

◉ Took part in Siachen operations also.

◉ India had its reasons in not being open about the Tibetan battalions in its elite SFF force. Being secretive about it was practical enough. So they operated under the shadows, doing what would normally be really difficult. About 60 of them died and 200 injured in the war of Bangladesh liberation in 1971. In 1999, during the Kargil operations against Pakistan they proved their bravado in frozen heights. Further, they have been part of many other counter-insurgency operations. Beyond laurels and gallantry awards they have fought only for the God King, H/H the Dalai Lama, who is the official next of kin of every SFF fighter. This time India has decided to come out in the open about their role in a war-like situation. The exiled Tibetans get a brief and long overdue moment of pride for contributing to the cause of the nation that has hosted them. However, beyond all Indo-China complexities and issues, these third-generation SFF soldiers still, primarily, fight for their God King and the snow lion flag. The Government of India has agreed to come out at long last for it sends a fresh wave of excitement among the exiled Tibetans and those suffering under the brutal hand of the Han Chinese in Tibet.

◉ [Report of 2017]: Whether Tibetans in exile applying for Indian passports are “endangering the freedom struggle” has triggered a debate within the Tibetan community. According to the Indian Ministry of External Affairs, a Tibetan refugee applying for an Indian passport has to give up his/her refugee status and leave the Tibetan settlement ⇒ Tibetans view it as a blow to their freedom struggle. Tibetan Administration (Global HQ of Tibetans living in 40 countries) ⇒ issued notice to Tibetan settlements against providing any supportive documents to anyone applying for Indian passport. Their department of home has cautioned them against surrendering their Tibetan identities. [After a court case, Lobsang Wangyal (47) became the first Tibetan to get Indian passport in March 2017]. ⇒ many others started applying ⇒ Regional Passport Office at Shimla. In four months, 200 applied. About 40 of them surrendered their registration certificates (RCs) with police to avail Indian passports in Kangra alone. Tibetans born in India are recognised as foreigners and require a permit renewed each year (or sometimes 5 years). Tenzin Tsundue ⇒ Activist, writer. They face travel hassles ⇒ a yellow book (Identity Certificate) works as a passport. Lengthy process to get it and many countries don’t recognise the yellow book. – Sonam Norbu Dagpo ⇒ Secretary international relations at Tibetan H/Q. Tibetans sometimes have to wait for a few years to get the yellow book. 150,000 Tibetans across the globe (12,000 in India). Karma Rinchen – Secretary in security department. – Till 2008, more than 3000 Tibetans entered India from Tibet. Now only 35/year. – Around 40,000 are eligible Indian voters in HP following a 2013 court order which granted Indian citizenship to Tibetan refugees born in India after 26 Jan 1950 and before July 1, 1987. ⇒ Most of them haven’t enrolled to have voting rights.

◉ [September 6, 2020:] The Indian forces now occupy 30 dominating heights and many other similar features in the southern Pangong Tso area. These were partly occupied or unoccupied so far. It includes Rezang La and Reqin La, which dominate the Spanggur Gap covering Patrol Points 27 to 31. Other heights include: Black Top, Hanan, Helmet, Gurung Hill, Gorkha Hill and Magar Hill. This has been done to pre-empt PLA transgressions to unilaterally change the LAC. It will now strengthen the Indian position during territorial trade-offs at the negotiating table. There are 1,600 km² of disputed area in Eastern Ladakh [350 km² in southern Pangong, 250 km² in northern Pangong and 1,000 km² in Depsang plains.]. Now Indians can monitor the PLA activity in the north Pangong. Soldiers face each other within small-arms firing range. The Army has also climbed the heights facing Finger 4. China dominates 8 km area between Finger 4 and Finger 8. Indian troops are fully equipped with mortars, rocket launchers, tanks, artillery guns and surveillance equipment. Brigadier-level talks ⇒ tactical rules of engagement at the ground level to avoid bloody face-offs.

◉ The SFF soldier was cremated with full public honour. The Indian Army, Tibetans and BJP’s Ram Madhav paid their last respects, the latter briefly tweeted with funeral pictures and deleted them later. SFF soldiers owe their loyalty and allegiance to H.H. the Dalai Lama, Tibetan flag and the Indian tricolour. Coffin wrapped in Indian and Tibetan flags. Slogans: “Bharat Mata Ki Jai!” Ceremonial guns fired, salutes offered. The Indian national anthem was played along with the Tibetan national anthem of the government in exile (written in 1950). “We salute the Indian Army”. BJP’s National General Secretary was present. The Chinese spokesperson says they are curious about this connection between the Indian Army and Tibetans. Firebrand BJP MP Jamyang Tsering Namgyal. The funeral cortege was led by a convoy of cars and motorcycles. People waved Indo-Tibetan flags. Coffin carried in an army truck with white scarves tied around. The flags offered to the widow at the funeral. First instance of SFF soldier given a public funeral with full military honour. Volley of shots by ceremonial guards. “Vikas Regiment Zindabad” “Tibet desh Ki Jai!” “Glory be to our second homeland!”

◉ Ladakh is now a separate UT created in August 2019.

◉ As India had been trying to strengthen its relationship with China through informal summits, the Tibetans felt they were sidelined, substantiated by GoI’s actions like asking officials and BJP leaders not to attend an event marking the Dalai Lama’s 60 years in exile.

◉ Ram Madhav: “Peace along India-Tibet border” not “India-China border”.

◉ The strong message should reach Tibetans in Tibet.

◉ “He lived for the love of Tibet and died for the love of India!”

◉ Chanted Tibetan cries of nationalism.

◉ Dawa Dolma – Journalist in Leh.

◉ Given a guard of honor; Army and civil administration officials laid wreaths.

◉ SFF deployed in Chushul in early June.

◉ Occupying half of Black Top, halfway there, says the injured SFF soldier’s father.

◉ Global Times says India is using Tibetan soldiers like cannon fodder. The PLA accuses Indian soldiers of crossing the LAC and firing “warning shots”.

◉ A jittery China is again issuing threats of dire consequences.

◉ Biju Patnaik was instrumental in getting the CIA to set up a secret communication base at Charkatia in Odisha. Through this facility, the CIA, Indian intelligence personnel and the Tibetan rebel leaders stayed in touch. ⇒ Spying and covert operations by the SFF in the Himalayas led by Captain Mohan Singh Kohli (1964) ⇒ Spying apparatus on Nanda Devi.

◉ 1971 operations: Bulgarian assault rifles and US-manufactured carbines to hide their links to India ⇒ fought under the direct command of RAW’s legendary spymaster Rameshwar Kao ⇒ engaged in low-grade border skirmishes ⇒ destroyed several key bridges ⇒ Pakistan’s 97 Independent Brigade and crack 2 Commando Battalion remained stranded in Chittagong Hill Tracts ⇒ SFF thought they were rehearsing for Lhasa.

◉ The use of SFF is to upset China; SFF soldiers fight for Dalai Lama who is vilified by Beijing; SFF acquiring tactical heights in Chushul sector, where the Buddhist Tibetans outflanked the Chinese with perfect ease; Original SFF cadres were recruited from the famous Khampa warrior refugees from the treacherous terrain of the Kham region. They served as Dalai Lama’s bodyguards. The Chinese leadership is nervous and jittery about anything related to China ⇒ Success of SFF might encourage Tibetan resistance in the oppressed homeland.

◉ A former RAW China [unclear] specialist now running a Centre for China Analysis.

◉ European Foundation for South Asian Studies.

◉ Now India seems ready to break its historical reticence due to repeated PLA violations. India has the resources to encourage a popular movement against the Chinese occupation of Tibet; global chorus against the legitimacy of Chinese rule over Tibet.

◉ Chakrata – 87 km from Dehradun.

◉ SFF has got decent salaries and service benefits in 2016 after a long legal battle.

◉ It was basically created for deployment against the PLA and to garner intelligence from inside China (from their contacts and associates) and cross-border reconnaissance and raids. US hated communism and President Kennedy encouraged the training of the SFF. But then the US under Nixon eased up to China (the US president hated Indians on racial grounds) and Sinicisation of Tibet began. The Han Chinese subjugated the plateau at cultural, ethnic and social levels. The CIA withdrew its support for the SFF which it had been providing in the areas of light equipment, mountain craft & guerrilla warfare, infiltration, rock climbing, irregular warfare and sabotage.

◉ In 1964, the SFF began its airborne training at Agra, which was later shifted to a “specialised” facility at Saraswa near Saharanpur.

◉ [1965]: In 1964, China conducted a nuclear test. The CIA and IB collaborated over an expedition of SFF soldiers to 24,000-foot-high Nanda Devi peak [A classified electronic intelligence mission] to install a nuclear-powered sensing device to monitor future Chinese nuclear activity. Monitoring device weighed 60 kg, (a 10-foot-high antenna, a generator and its fuel comprising seven plutonium capsules in a special container [Half the size of the atomic bomb dropped over Hiroshima]. They were just about to reach the summit when a blizzard hit the expedition. Expedition leader Captain Manmohan Singh Kohli of Indian Navy was forced to hide the equipment in an unmarked cave and return to save his soldiers’ lives. In May 1966, he began another expedition to retrieve the equipment. Nothing was found. Believed that it lies buried under the snow. Nanda Devi area has been closed for decades due to environmental factors. In 1967, Kohli and Co. installed an analogous device on a nearby peak of Nanda Kot (22,500 feet)! Blizzard and snowstorm left it non-functional and it had to be retrieved.

◉ Later it became primarily a RAW and IB “hit-squad”.

◉ 1975: Forbidden from being deployed within 10 km of the LAC, unless under special instructions ⇒ Because there were reports that SFF was conducting “unsanctioned” [unclear] guerrilla operations and border raids.

◉ Journalist spying case ⇒ DP registered a case under the Official Secrets Act against an Indian journalist, a Chinese woman and a Nepalese national for spying. Passing classified information to China. Special Cell of police. Passing sensitive information to Chinese intelligence. Payment made through shell companies. Mobile phones, laptops and sensitive material recovered; Confidential defence documents. Produced before a city court and sent to police custody for a week. Filed a bail application.

◉ Dear PM, next time you go for a bear hug, please remember the bear has claws also. Winnie the Pooh is surely cute and cuddly. But then in geostrategy, hugs are merely indirect ways of clawing (like Shivaji?). Beyond its fluffy cuteness and disarming smile, Winnie the Pooh is a bear after all and has claws. So inviting him for a hug (bear) is getting into self-inflicted traps, because he cannot help his claws from itching to scrape deep into the skin. The genetics of communist ideology are too overpowering in the billions of neural pathways in his brain. He has to have an enemy to survive otherwise a bear won’t be a bear after all. A brotherly bear is asking for too much. 

◉ Was in touch with a Chinese intelligence official since 2016. Was paid Rs. 40 lakh through various hawala channels and shell company transactions. Chinese intelligence official identified as Michael. He sent classified information related to Indian army deployment at the China-Bhutan-India tri-junction, including Doklam. A few weeks before the 2017 Doklam standoff, he passed information about Indian military positions, procurement and strategies on the border, military cooperation between India and Myanmar. He had a Press Information Bureau (PIB) card (issued in the 1980s and valid till Dec. 31, 2020) which he used to visit various government offices including the defence and external affairs ministries ⇒ in the guise of gathering information for his columns. His columns appeared in Mail Today, an India Today group newspaper. His contacts in the ministries. Caught on the basis of communication intercepts by the agencies. Seized his laptop, mobile, passport, bank statement, income-tax files, insurance documents. The other two people arrested were the directors of the shell companies. Between 2010 and 2014 he wrote articles for the Chinese mouthpiece Global Times ⇒ ⇒ A Chinese intelligence officer contacted him through LinkedIn and sponsored his trip to the city of Kunming. Further meetings in Laos and Maldives. Information was passed in “points format” through emails, Telegram and WhatsApp. Visited Kunming via Kathmandu again and met another spy who also acted as the GM of a Chinese media company. Offered $500 for each article on the Dalai Lama. The Chinese couple who operated the shell company made their Nepalese driver the company director. The other Chinese first came on a student visa and is now on a business visa. His wife is an Associate Professor of Physics at DU. His last tweet is vitriolic against China. [A note: Punching the wooden prayer stamps on the diseased part. This is an important part of traditional Tibetan healing practices]. 

A summer at Mcleodganj - 12

 HIS HOLINESS THE DALAI LAMA has the innocent ways of a child and wisdom of a centurion. He met the tourists at the Dalai Lama temple. People of various nationalities grouped separately sitting in the yard. He sat on a wooden chair. The spiritual king of one humanity. He visited the different groups. Shook hands, cracked jokes, smiled, laughed. With children, he stooped down, touched them in forehead to forehead, saluting the innocents in little brains. Ruffled the great Romanesque nose of a man and laughed. An Indian with a long beard found his beard being pulled so forcefully. A smile never leaves this wise face. There is always an inclination for it to change into laughter. When we laugh and smile, we are at our best. So there he is the small King of his boundaryless Kingdom, spreading the message of one humanity, love, peace, universal brotherhood. A tragic journey, starting with pain. But he has decided to go for universal gain. Long live the Dalai Lama! 

[TUSHI]: She landed at Delhi on March 7 and inquired whether I could meet her. Went to meet her on March 9. From her hotel at Saket, she came by metro. Waited at Dr. Ambedkar Memorial near Vidhan Sabha metro station. Went to Majnu Ka Tila and had tea at a Tibetan tea house. Enjoyed a one-sided conversation over butter tea and Tibetan bread (Bale) because she is already into maun vrata to conserve her energy for Himalayan meditation. I don’t know much of sign language. So I prattled endlessly to make it sufficient for two people. She wrote messages on her Tablet, almost as questions. So I think it was more of interviews. Complimented me on my eyes. Showed her watercolour paintings on her gallery. Said that she will be preparing a sketch of me also. The next day she left for Leh to meditate for 3 months at a gompa. She will eat frugally, keep mum and meditate. Best of luck to her!

◉ The 13th Dalai Lama was a Reformer. He ordered three automobiles for himself. These were taken into pieces at the border, and the parts carried over yak backs to Lhasa; then an Indian-trained mechanic reassembled them. (2 Austins and a Dodge).

◉ Apart from the God King’s immediate family, only select nobility and high-ranking Lamas had a right to talk to him. People simply stood with bowed head when H.H. was out on ceremonies.

◉ The Regent: Tagtra Gyeltsap Rimpoche, a severe looking man of 73.

◉ Tibetan national anthem: A funny imitation of the British national anthem “God Save the Queen”. The bandmaster was trained in the Indian army. He heard it on all important ceremonies, so took it to be especially important. He imported it and set it to his brass band with Tibetan hands.

◉ Pilgrims from the remotest parts of Tibet walked to Lhasa to witness these annual religious events.

◉ The more lives of insects, birds and animals one saves, the better karma gives a higher birth after death.

◉ Criminals shown the light of day on Buddha’s death- and birthday → to seek alms and forgiveness.

◉ About 1980, monks of Tenggling tried to come to terms with the Chinese → punishment → monastery demolished and their names chucked out.

◉ In summers when springs dried up → people sought water from River Kyi-chu, flowing near Lhasa.

◉ Oracle of Gadong, the rainmaker → the rainmaker monk goes into fits of trance and his body twists around.

◉ Belief is that the protecting deity comes into the medium’s body and hears and grants the prayers.

◉ Domdens → Dissected the corpses.

◉ Two schools of medicines: one on the Chagpori, Iron Mountain; The other below in the town.

◉ Medicine students went on herb-collecting expeditions among the mountains → returned with yaks laden with herbs → taken to Tra Yerpa, a holy temple to consecrate the herbs.

◉ Healing: faith-healing → Lamas smeared holy spittle on the patients; Tsampa and holy man’s urine mixed to make a gruel → offered to the patients.

◉ SFF, FORCE 24, VIKAS or an anonymous specialist Mountain Troops: Night of August 29–30 (2020) → Chinese troops try to capture strategic heights in the southern Pangong Lake Sector. Military and Diplomatic talks continue but that is simply a mask for them to bide their time and grab more territory. The Indian side preempted their designs by holding a series of locations near Black Top, Rezang La and Reqin Pass. It allows India to dominate the area and keep an eye over the Chinese. A Tibetan soldier lost his life in a landmine blast as the Specialist Mountain troops played a key role in retaining hold over these strategic heights. The fight for an independent Tibet remains a dream, but its realistic and well-compromised practical version is to help India in its war against China. The acknowledgement of their contribution will be indirect. They will just remain Specialist Mountain troops. More than 200 Chinese troops were involved in trying to take the ridges. Volatile Finger Area on the Lake’s northern bank. [Tenzin Nyima - 53 (killed)] 

◉ Little known group of elite, high-altitude warriors.

◉ His family was handed over the coffin bearing Indian and Tibetan flags. An Indian official cautioned them against spreading information about the martyrdom. No official word from the Indian government. Generally, the martyrdom of an Indian soldier is well recognised by the grateful nation. SFF soldiers are not lucky enough to receive that. [They had fought even in 1999 Kargil war]. But a soldier’s glory is missed by them. A lawmaker from Tibetan Govt. Exile requests GoI to acknowledge their contribution for the Indian cause. Anonymity is the price they have to pay for paying for their services in return for India granting them refuge. The PM of the Tibetan government in exile: “His govt. does not comment on the SFF”. Photographs of the coffin and Tibetan Mourning rituals circulate on WhatsApp groups of Tibetan refugees at Leh [Refugee colony in Choglamsar Village of India’s Ladakhi region. [It’s not even clear whether he died in a clash or just landmine blast]. It served the Indian purpose to hide it completely or at most, a landmine blast instead of a direct fight.

China would go even a step further in allaying the issue. They won’t acknowledge that they are Tibetan fighting for India, but it highlights the Tibetan issue. [It was in fact a tiny battle between a company of SFF and 200 Chinese soldiers and the SFF beat them, losing one soldier and one other commando getting seriously injured.] [SONAM LING Settlement in Ladakh]. Director of settlement — Tsetan Wangchuk. Nyima Tenzin — Company Commander. Company in SFF’s 7th battalion. Action — Taking the eastern side of the Pangong Lake. 7th Battalion, Establishment 22 or Vikas battalion. Survived by his wife and three sons. Both India and China avoided giving details of the confrontation. CHINA: “As to the relationship between the exiled Tibetans and the Indian army, I am also curious.”

◉ Highland warriors are familiar with the terrain along Ladakh-Tibet border region.

◉ China has claimed thousands of Tibetan youths in TAR joined PLA during the current military standoff with India.

◉ Former Army Chief Ved Prakash Malik has tweeted about the bravery of Vikas Battalions during the Kargil War.

◉ Establishment 22 is under the administrative control of the Indian intelligence establishment. During covert operations, it’s placed under the army’s command.

◉ Tenzin Lodhen — 24-year-old SFF soldier injured in the operation

◉ Mortal remains wrapped in tricolour and Tibetan snow-lion flag (banned by China but icon of exiled Tibetans’ struggle).

◉ Now the SFF falls under the purview of the Cabinet Secretariat, where it is headed by an officer of the Cabinet Secretariat (who is an army officer of the rank of Major General).

◉ Function under the operational control of army during operations.

◉ Women soldiers, too, form a part of SFF units and perform specialised tasks.

◉ 1971, operation Blue Star, Kargil War, counter-insurgency operations ⇒ details are classified.

◉ Operation Eagle in Chittagong Hill Tracts to neutralise Pakistan Army positions and help the Indian Army move ahead. Airlifted into operational areas ⇒ infiltrated behind enemy lines ⇒ destroyed lines of communications.

⇒ Prevented the escape of Pakistani Army personnel from Bangladesh to Burma. [Around 3000 of them took part in the operations.]

◉ Indo-China border is a twisted series of loops defined by each other’s line of perception. The area between these lines turns into a kind of no-man’s land, a buffer zone. The Indian patrols going towards the Chinese side to the limits of their perception line. The Chinese do the same towards the Indian side. The zone stretches for a few kilometres. For example, it’s 8 km between Finger 4 and Finger 8 in the northern Pangong Lake area. At many points the Chinese have intruded into the patrol area and set up permanent military facilities. Fearing the same in southern Pangong Lake area, the Indian army occupied strategic heights running 4.5 km into the mutual patrol areas on the night of August 29-30. There were intelligence reports that the Chinese would occupy these strategic heights. The SFF warriors beat them to the posts and held them. The Chinese troops made a hasty retreat. It gives the Tibetan community in India a reason to cheer in being part of the struggle against China.

Tibetan notes - 13

 LHASA during the 1940s [CHAGPORI HILL — on which stood the famous school of medicine. Drepung monastery — housing 10000 monks. Nechung monastery — home of the greatest mystery of Tibet, here oracles take place to guide

the govt. Outside the city, a stone wall flanked the road and behind it lay the God-King’s summer palace; further were the pastures and willows where the Dalai Lama’s horses grazed. — British Legation situated just outside the town, surrounded by willow trees. — A gate crowned with three chortens, spanning the gap between two hills, formed city entrance. — Ku-ngo (Highness); Mr. Thangme — Nyenchen thanglha range — Respect for guest was shown by the value and beauty of tea service. — Nobleman with a golden amulet in pigtail. — Newspapers from India reached Lhasa a fortnight after publication. — Army chief: General Kunsangtse — Presenting white silk scarves on being granted an audience (mark of respect). — Amdo in Chinghai (Dalai Lama’s birthplace) — In Tibet the Dalai Lama was addressed as Gyalpo Rimpoche (Precious King); His own family addressed Him as “Kundun”, meaning “Presence”. — Currency: a hundred-sang note — Tibet and Tibetans were never in a hurry — Provision stores had Scotch whisky, Australian butter and American corned beef. What we hadn’t the greed and restlessness. — Common people wore Nambu, cloth made of pure home-woven wool, either white (poor people) or dyed mauve with a mixture of indigo and rhubarb. — Office of British Legation — Wireless operator. Radio telephone with India. — Post — Carried by runners working in relays of four miles each; roads have rest huts wherein the relays wait to take up the post from the previous runner; they carry a spear with bells on it. — Lingkhor — Five-mile pilgrims’ road going around Lhasa. — Beards in Tibet a rarity. — Scriptural prophesy — a great power from the north would overrun Tibet, destroy religion and rule the world. — Lhasa had just one basketball court. Earlier there was football stadium. It hailed during a match and the game stopped on the grounds of God’s displeasure.

— Small stone towers → incense burning — Weather-maker Lamas who assuaged nature. — Game of Mah-jong (जुआ): It was so rampant and population so addicted to it that it was banned. Mah-jong sets confiscated. — Chargé d’affaires of the British Legation at Lhasa       afternoon. — Sandstorms in summers in early. — Tibetans → Childish humour and prone to laugh.

— Barkhor: Business centre in Lhasa. — No house had more than two storeys. — Butter lamps & petroleum pressure lamps. — Oboes, tubas and kettle drums. — Magic medicine made from butter figurines carried in the New Year procession. — Ceremonial flagposts made of tree trunks. People tied ropes around their waist and dragged along ground → primitive — Stone Obelisk dating to 763 A.D. → Tibetan army marched to the Chinese capital and dictated a peace treaty and exacted an annual tribute of 50,000 bales of silk. — The huge flagstaff (70 ft. high) broke. The flag of printed prayers fell upon new year spectators crushed → evil omen → prophesied a black future for the country → natural calamities to war with China.

— Population Tibet: 3.5 million. — The only iron bridge in Tibet was built in India and carried piece by piece by yaks and coolies to set it up. — A Tibetan monthly journal published at Kalimpong in India and carried over yaks; a few hundred subscribers; Tibetologues — Presenting white scarves. — Felt mat; Yak-hair tent. — Although belonging to the same race, Tibetans stand out from the Chinese. Unlike the Chinese they are not prominently slit-eyed. They are more relaxed robust with jovial faces. — Chinese settlers in Lhasa were merchants and enjoyed opium-smoking, on which there was no restriction as such. — During the new year celebrations, the monks took charge of administration and imposed puritanical laws very strictly. — Tibetan national obsession: snuff-taking. Individuals concoct their own snuff mixtures. They greeted each other by offering each other a pinch of snuff (exchange from each others box). Snuff box made of yak-horn and jade. — Stout Nepalese in Lhasa. Under an old treaty, they were exempted from taxation; prosperous merchants in Barkhor. — Fishing was prohibited in Lhasa. The Gurkhas would break the law; get reprimanded; the punishing officials themselves gobbling down a plate of fish clandestinely. Fishing was permitted legally only in the desert region across which the Tsangpo river flowed. No agriculture, no pasture → fishing allowed → but the inhabitants were looked down upon as inferior. — Muslim immigrants in Lhasa (from India). Had a mosque. Freedom of religion; they could marry Tibetan women, but the wives were forbidden from converting to Islam. — There were Ladakhis, Bhutanese, Mongolians, Sikkimese, Kazakhs. — Hui-Huis — Chinese Muslims from the province of Kuku-Nor. They operated slaughterhouses in a special quarter outside the city. — During religious ceremonies, the sight of the God King was sufficient to make the populace forget all hassles of life.

— Nobility was under the control of monks. (MONKS) 

— Personal servants and immediate entourage of the Dalai Lama comprised monks of the TSEDRUNGS monastic order. Chamberlains, tutors, personal guards came from this order. They were stationed in the eastern wing of the Potala palace. Their teachers drew lineage from the reputed cloister of MÖNDROLING, specialising in Tibetan calligraphy and grammar. The strength of the Tsedrung order was 175 maximum. — These monastic officials controlled a major portion of the administrative system (dual control) and counterpoised the power of the nobility. — A normal air of merriment. — Dalai Lama’s summer palace at Norbulingka. — In summer, peach trees in full blossom. — During the change of seasons, on the basis of omen interpretations, an official date was fixed when the monks and nobility changed the dress for the coming season. — Marvellous procession of the Dalai Lama to his summer palace. (2 miles between Potala and Norbulingka palaces.) — The Potala Palace’s imposing exterior, but its austere, gloomy interiors.