“This big guy comes here every day to kill the poor fish. Let’s hit him on the head with a stone to teach him a lesson. Keep quiet now . . .”
They snuck closer—but just when they were about to throw the stone, Tsewang Norbu gave a loud cough, almost as though in warning. They immediately recognized who it was and fled in all directions.
“If he hadn’t coughed, I would surely have hit him right in the neck,” my father later said. “I was that wild. If it hadn’t been for Tsewang Norbu’s clairvoyance, I would have been responsible for hitting him with a stone! How would I have lived with that?”
A lot of what we now call Chokgyur Lingpa’s termas actually appeared through the combined efforts of Khyentse, Kongtrul and the tertön himself. They passed a lot of transmissions among themselves, but all these streams merged in Tsewang Norbu.
Once Khyentse and Kongtrul were requested to confer the empowerments for the Treasury of Precious Termas at Riwoche monastery, in the Chamdo province between Lhasa and Kham. Riwoche was a major center for the Dharma, so this was no small occasion.
“The Treasury is the quintessence of all the terma revelations of the hundred major tertöns,” the lamas at Riwoche repeatedly insisted. “We must receive this transmission.”
When told that Khyentse couldn’t come, they asked Kongtrul instead. But both Khyentse and Kongtrul were too old at this point. So the two masters discussed the invitation with each other and agreed to send Tsewang Norbu as their substitute.81
Tsewang Norbu went to Riwoche and transmitted the entire Treasury of Precious Termas. At the end, he continued right on transmitting all the New Treasures. The two reincarnations of Chokgyur Lingpa—Tsikey Chokling and Neten Chokling—both attended, as did Samten Gyatso and Uncle Tersey.
One of the last empowerments was for the Three Sections of the Great Perfection. Prior to conferring it, Tsewang Norbu said, “The Three Sections cannot be given in public nor even in small, private groups. There is a strict command of secrecy, the breaking of which will have severe consequences—as dangerous as picking something from inside the mouth of a poisonous viper. I can only give it to one of you at a time.”
He then made each of them hold on to his shawl and swear an oath, telling them, “You must only pass this sacred teaching on as a lineage restricted to a single recipient at a time!”
Tsewang Norbu also told the lamas, “After my death, people will search for my reincarnation. It may happen that someone will try to pin my name onto some unfortunate bardo spirit who has been floundering around and has just managed to come into a human body for the first time in a long while. Doing so will ensure his rebirth in the lower realms with no chance of escape. Don’t search for my tulku!
“If my next incarnation does serve Chokgyur Lingpa’s teachings, he will do so either directly or indirectly. You should definitely not try to find him! Take hold of my shawl and promise me that, all four of you!” He emphatically prohibited any recognition of his tulku, and so the four of them had no choice but to swear not to look for one after his death.
None of his main disciples dared to try to find him. I have heard that there have been some attempts lately to find a present incarnation, but thinking of that oath, I personally wouldn’t dare to ask any master for his location.
When he died, Tsewang Norbu was staying in Nyemo in the district of Tsang, to the west of Lhasa. I believe he was in his sixties. Just before his death, he told his attendant, “The main seat of my brother and me was Tsikey monastery. Send all my possessions there together with this note. And while you are at it, you might as well take along any bones from my cremated body.
“I have managed to compile a complete set of the New Treasures, so do not let anyone pilfer from it. My father’s reincarnation, as well as my brother’s rebirth, both live at Tsikey—you must hand-deliver this collection directly to them. And this note is my final will and testament. I do not have a single word to add besides what is written here, except that you must spread the word that ‘Tsewang Norbu died like an old dog in a village called Nyemo.’ Promise me that this is what you will answer if anyone should ask about me. Spread this message far and wide to all the lamas back in Kham.”
Tsewang Norbu’s personal copies of the New Treasures, his icons and his implements for empowerments were all kept at Tsikey until the Cultural Revolution.
Those who were present at his cremation were amazed to see a ray of rainbow-colored light extending from the funeral pyre to a point distant in the sky. I don’t remember if there were any relic pills in his ashes, but I heard that some of his bones were filled with sindhura powder—I’m not sure anyone would call that “dying like an old dog.”
My grandmother, Könchok Paldrön, was an unusually gifted person, very talented and wise. In our region, women were rarely educated as well as she was. It was hard to find anyone so accomplished in so many ways.
Grandmother knew all the chants and melodies as well as the correct use of ritual implements, having learned them directly from the tertön himself, who often received these melodies in his visions. If it weren’t for her, the authentic tunes and procedures of our lineage would have been lost. She even knew the special ways of blowing the gyaling trumpets. Grandmother was extremely skilled at using the gyaling and everyone at Tsikey who was learning to play it would ask for her critique.
She also transmitted the complex mudras for each of the hundred peaceful and wrathful deities, and the rituals connected to them, which she had learned at Mindrolling monastery according to the thousand-year-old oral tradition. Her grasp of ritual tunes and the use of musical instruments remains the backbone of the New Treasures to this day.
Grandmother was also a respected herbal doctor who dispensed medicine to patients every day. She was an astrologer as well and an expert in several painting styles.82 She was extraordinary.
Grandmother overcame any and all disadvantages of being a woman in our male-dominated Khampa culture. She was so impressive that there were no other women like her around where I grew up.
My first strong memories of my grandmother go back to when I was around seven years old, and she was staying at our family home, the Tsangsar mansion. I went to see her almost every day during those three years. My face must have had a darker, bluish tinge in those days for she nicknamed me Blue Face. She nicknamed my older half-brother Penjik, Pale Face, because of his light complexion.
Later, Grandmother moved to a small nearby chapel for a year and then farther away to lofty Fortress Peak, where she spent three years with her son Samten Gyatso. During that time, I wasn’t able to see her much, since I had gone to stay with my father at his retreat place, Dechen Ling, which was two days’ journey on horseback. She was very generous, always giving me gifts like dried apricots, small bags and other things. She also taught me proper table manners and how to behave in the company of others.
My father was the only son to produce grandchildren and, as I seemed to be her favorite, she lavished me with affection. She would regularly keep me with her to chat and would often share her tsampa with me—passing me small morsels that I would sit and wait for, then happily gobble up. She loved me as though I were her own child.
There