The Karmapa Waited
We arrived at Gyuto to find the wide steps leading to the monastery covered as if in vermillion from the robes worn by the seated Tibetan monks. At 3 pm the winter sun bore down with some intensity, and many of the monks used the 8 x 10 photos of the Karmapa handed out by the march’s organizers to shield their faces. The crowd of Tibetans, around 3000 monks and laypeople, had marched all day from the hills of McLeod Ganj to the valley around Gyuto in a rare gesture of political unhappiness. Their spiritual leader, the Karmapa, had been branded a spy by the Indian press. This was felt to be unbearable, we were told, and enough of an outrage for someone to organize a march.
Though small compared to many other Tibetan monasteries, Gyuto is blessed by its location at the foothill of the Himalayas, and their snow-capped mass loomed over the scene. All eyes were on the top of the stairs, where the Karmapa was expected to appear. Indian army personnel in khakis, knit sweaters and berets were also scattered throughout the crowd, looking bored but wary. A few media crews were parked on the edges of the scene, black tripods tangling with the lengthening shadows. One or two speakers spoke, each briefly and carefully, including one longhaired Tibetan organizer who appealed, in English, for understanding from the Indian neighbors among whom the Tibetans in exile have lived for the past fifty years. There was no anger, only patience, and as political rallies go this one was tame.
Our group of six visitors shuffled through the crowd and stood silently to the side of the podium. We had just flown up from Delhi that morning, after a one-night layover on our way from Hong Kong. In addition to myself, my wife and 19-year-old son, we travelled with two of my wife’s friends. One of them, Dr. Ho, is a long-term devotee of the Karmapa and visits Dharamsala whenever she can free herself from her job as a doctor of Chinese medicine.
“He’s going to speak,” Dr Ho whispered. A short, fifty-odd year old woman, she wore a perpetual smile. Never one to get bogged down in practical issues, she seemed to give her energy to spirituality alone. Perhaps because of this her face beamed in expectation.
Finally a train of unsmiling senior monks walked in and arranged themselves at the top of the stairs. The Karmapa appeared and took his seat on a balcony overlooking the crowd. A young man in his late twenties with heavy-set features, he kept his eyes downcast. He chanted into the microphone in a deep baritone, and the crowd went silent. After a few prayers he spoke, in Tibetan, and within five minutes had stood again and walked back to his quarters. There was no applause. As the senior incarnation in the Karmapa Kagyu lineage, the Karmapa’s every word is revered, every appearance a blessing sufficient unto itself.
The solemnity belied the seriousness of the moment, however. What we had stumbled into was the high point in a dramatic episode involving the Karmapa’s finances. A few of his lieutenants had several days earlier been arrested at a roadblock and found with cash, including foreign currencies. They explained it was for a down payment on a land purchase for the Karmapa. Police later raided the Karmapa’s offices in Gyuto. More cash was confiscated. Computers were taken away. And the Indian press, always eager to fan the flames, any flames, went into overdrive. The Karmapa, some said, was a suspect individual working in league with China, a spy.
Our group had come to visit Dharamsala expressly to see the Karmapa. Individual and group meetings can normally be arranged during most mornings if he is in residence. Unaware of the larger drama, we had come for the usual reasons: to receive the Karmapa’s blessings, ask for his advice, and make donations. Yet for Dr. Ho the large-scale drama we found related directly to our visit.
“Do you know why the Karmapa did not come out immediately?” she asked me. We knew the crowd had in fact been kept waiting for an hour or so.
“No, why not?” I asked.
She smiled at me. “Of course, he was waiting for us to arrive. He knew we were on our way. He was waiting,” she said, with all the assurance of one who is rooted firmly in truth.
I nodded. And somewhere inside, I too began to take the possibility seriously. He could have known about us, right? He could have been watching us during meditation. Yes, of course he could have. Why not? Everything is relevant when you are seeking.
