A few years after the Chinese invasion, news went around of a coming boon to humankind: something called a “cultural revolution.” This deceit was what the hordes of liars who followed the invading soldiers propagated. Sure enough, when the wave of the Cultural Revolution swept over our country, enormous changes occurred: our monasteries were destroyed and all our literature was reduced to ashes.
Wangchok Dorje’s writings were probably destroyed, as most Buddhist scriptures were thrown into the flames. The Chinese communists were so menacing that they were able to coerce the villagers to gather all their books and toss them into a big fire. Then the occupation officials announced, “From this moment onward, if we find a single book in your house, the owner will be hanged. Each volume of scripture shall cost one life.”
At that, many frightened people threw their precious books into the rivers. But some were buried in the ground with the hope that they would one day be retrieved—but when they were later dug up unfortunately they had rotted away. Still, our country is so huge that I wonder if some won’t eventually turn up.69 In fact, one very beautiful text that Wangchok Dorje wrote when he was only sixteen, called Inexhaustible Garland of Lightning, did survive; we still use it daily in our monasteries. How wonderful it would be if even just a few more like that have survived.
Tsewang Norbu’s mother was Old Khyentse’s niece.70 The Lotus-Born master had also foretold that this consort would give birth to a reincarnation of Yudra Nyingpo.71
Since the Three Sections was the heart essence of Vairotsana, it was entrusted to his foremost disciple in Kham, Yudra Nyingpo. That is also why Yudra Nyingpo’s reincarnation, Tsewang Norbu, had to be the first to receive the empowerment. As Padmasambhava’s prophecies tend to be very precise, it was even predicted in the terma itself that “within one to three years he should be given this terma.”72
Tsewang Norbu was quite humble; he once told Samten Gyatso, “I’m nothing special, not at all. I don’t have any great qualities, not a single one, except for one thing: even though I was just six months old at the time, I clearly remember receiving the Three Sections from the two great treasure masters.” As a matter of fact, the Three Sections had just then been revealed.73
Twenty-five people were present at this event, including Khyentse and Karmey Khenpo. The moment the terma was revealed Chokgyur Lingpa called out to the child’s mother, “Bring the kid here!”
She brought the baby over, wrapped in blankets, and sitting on a tray of woven reeds covered with a layer of dried sheep droppings and then with a couple of layers of cloth. This was all in typical Khampa style for an infant, leaving the child free to pee whenever need be.
Tsewang Norbu sat right between Khyentse and Chokling while he received the empowerment. Chokgyur Lingpa first conferred the empowerment on the baby and only then upon Khyentse. But because of the command that this empowerment only be given one on one, no one else received it—not even Kongtrul. That is also why the many lineages for the Three Sections all went through Tsewang Norbu. Later on, he came to be the one who did the most to ensure the propagation of Chokgyur Lingpa’s termas.74
Until Tsewang Norbu was about a year old, an eagle perched on the roof of his parents’ house every single day. Later, the great Khyentse said this was the Eagle-Winged Goddess who guards the Three Sections.
Like his siblings, Tsewang Norbu was a disciple of the great Paltrul. Once in Kham, he had gone up on the mountainside near Paltrul’s encampment to spend ten days in a cave. As he didn’t intend to stay long, he only took a small bag of tsampa with him.
One night, there was a heavy snowfall and he was snowed in. The snow kept falling and falling. He failed to return; after a couple of months, word spread in Paltrul’s camp that Tsewang Norbu must have passed away. Finally, his death was taken for granted, and virtuous actions were done in his name, including the traditional burnt offerings of food to nurture the spirit of the deceased.
Six months later, the snow finally thawed. One day, someone let out a scream: Tsewang Norbu’s corpse was walking into camp! People began scattering right and left to get out of its way, afraid of being touched by the rolang, a Tibetan-style zombie.
“Don’t worry, it’s just me!” Tsewang tried to assure them.
Finally, after things settled down, someone had the chance to ask, “How is it you didn’t starve to death?”
“Why would I starve to death?” he replied, “When I was thirsty I ate snow and when hungry I ate from my bag of tsampa. You don’t starve if you have provisions.”
Later he explained that he had survived on a mere spoonful of tsampa a day. In other words, he wouldn’t admit to a thing. The truth was he had attained mastery in yoga, including full control over the subtle channels and energies, and so he probably spent most of the time in samadhi.75
He also mentioned one interesting point, “It seems there is good reason to burn offerings of tsampa and other foodstuffs during the seven weeks after someone’s demise. I personally found it quite helpful as I felt neither hungry nor cold during those forty-nine days. Even inside my cave I could sometimes smell the smoke from the offerings being made for me at the monastery.”
Tsewang Norbu was also extremely learned—the equal of Karmey Khenpo. He claimed that his scholarship was merely due to spending his early years with the great Khyentse. As Tsewang Norbu was Old Khyentse’s grandnephew, he could easily spend long periods of time with the master. So Tsewang Norbu received most of his early teachings at the feet of Khyentse.
“Staying with Khyentse when I was young made me a wealthy man—rich with teachings,” he would say. “Old Khyentse didn’t teach much during the day; he preferred just to relax with his disciples. At best, you might be able to ask a question or two during the day. But when evening fell and everyone heard the ring of the bell, they would gather at his hermitage. The empowerment began during the night.
“An hour or so before dawn, he would say, ‘Now it’s time for the old man to get some sleep. You better go and do the same.’ Only then would all of us disciples leave his room.”
Tsewang Norbu was eccentric and, like many a yogi, spontaneous and direct. One distinctive peculiarity of his was never to do what a dignitary or high lama told him to. For instance, not even Khakyab Dorje, the fifteenth Karmapa, had been able to force Tsewang Norbu to give him the transmissions for the New Treasures.
The Karmapa’s attendant and close disciple Jampal Tsultrim was an important teacher in his own right, as well as one of the chief disciples of the Karmapa. So Karmapa chose him to go to Lhasa, to try his best to compel Tsewang Norbu to give the sought-after empowerments.
“Since you’re the son of Chokgyur Lingpa, the Karmapa is sending you this white scarf and telling you to give him the transmissions,” he said.
“No way!” Tsewang Norbu replied, “Do you want a dog to put a paw on a human’s head? You’re talking nonsense. Don’t even bring it up, you little monk.”76 Thus, he compared the Karmapa to a mere human being and himself to a dog—and even called this important and famous lama “little monk.” In short, Tsewang Norbu couldn’t be coerced by anyone.
Jampal Tsultrim later said he had “never met anyone as stubborn as Tsewang Norbu. Karmapa is Avalokiteshvara in the flesh, so who wouldn’t