Whenever I tell a story, I always avoid the two shortcomings of exaggeration and denigration—neither adding any extra qualities that someone does not possess nor refusing to acknowledge qualities that are truly present. As I am not the type of person who remembers specific dates, don’t look for any clear chronology here.
I can, however, tell you some of the stories I have heard, many of which come from my grandmother.
As my grandmother, Könchok Paldrön, supervised the loading of her yaks for the long, hard journey from Kham to Lhasa, she was in a hurry. She was an elderly woman now, and too much time had already gone by since she had last seen her son, who was living in Central Tibet—a two-month journey. She was determined to start searching for him.
My grandmother made her feelings very clear, lamenting: “My father was Chokgyur Lingpa, the great revealer of hidden treasures,3 and no matter where he went, people gathered around him like iron filings around a magnet. During my father’s short life, his fame and glory, his influence and the number of his disciples seemed to surpass even those of the eminent Karmapa. Yet for all that, he left his body behind and me along with it.
“Then my mother and brother passed on, too. Everyone I love has abandoned me. Who could be more cheerless than a lost orphan like me? Even my youngest child, Tersey Tulku, has discarded me to stay with his illustrious master in Central Tibet. People say he is unfurling the four enlightened activities among the nobles in Lhasa.4 Even the king of Bhutan caters to him—the king gave my Tersey so many presents that fifty pack animals were needed to carry them. He nurtures a flock of eight hundred disciples—but he leaves me, his mother, all alone here in Kham.
“The travels of my father, Chokgyur Lingpa, were like a wave sweeping through the land, pulling everyone in its wake, no matter how learned or accomplished they might be. And no matter what school they belonged to, all the masters of his time received his teachings. Having witnessed such greatness, how can I be impressed by anything these days? I hear all kinds of stories about the so-called great deeds of Tersey Tulku, yet compared to the activities of his grandfather, they seem no more than foam on water.
“And now here I am, Chokgyur Lingpa’s only remaining child, all alone. Tears have flowed from my eyes day and night, so that my pillow is moist with tears. I feel that all things beautiful and positive are no more than flowers in an autumn meadow—they are splendid but don’t last long.”
What triggered my grandmother’s outburst? Uncle Tersey was extremely learned in her father’s tradition of the New Treasures, the forty thick volumes of teachings revealed by Chokgyur Lingpa. From an early age, Tersey had had many visions and received prophecies, but, being a “hidden yogi,” one who never flaunts his accomplishments or realization, he rarely spoke of them.
One day, Uncle Tersey left Kham to go on pilgrimage. A very strong man, he carried his own provisions on his back, unlike most travelers in the steep terrain of Tibet. He didn’t have a single pack animal, just two trusted attendants, each carrying a backpack of their own. They traveled everywhere, even to the holy places in India. It was during this pilgrimage that he became a disciple of the illustrious Shakya Shri.5
Word reached Kham that “the bearded Tersey Tulku was living the untroubled life of a lama-yogi,” and the stories were quite impressive. But none of this fooled my grandmother, who always responded to such news with “That too will pass!”
And she began to worry about her youngest son. “I can’t sleep as long as he is floundering about Central Tibet,” she said, “I must go fetch him. He is my youngest and the reincarnation of my brother who met an early death. Tersey has stayed in Central Tibet too long. If he won’t return to Chokgyur Lingpa’s seat to assume his responsibilities, I’ll have to go and bring him back myself!”
Since they couldn’t let their elderly mother travel the long journey to Central Tibet alone, her three eldest sons had to prepare to accompany her.
Our family eventually found Uncle Tersey at Kyipuk, where Shakya Shri had lived and taught. When they asked him to return with them to Kham, he replied, “Sure, I’ll come back, but first I must finish my pilgrimage.” Five years passed before they were all able to return home to Kham.
It was during this journey that I was born.
My grandmother was a very self-assured lady. It was from her that I heard most of the tales that I will tell here. My uncle Samten Gyatso had said several times, “Mother has so many stories to tell.” And she sure did!
This remarkable lady never forgot anything; she was able to discuss events from long ago as though they had just taken place. People often wondered how such an old lady could be so lucid. She could give a detailed explanation on any topic that piqued my curiosity, and she knew an incredible number of interesting tales.
I adored spending time with her. I was especially fond of stories about her father, Chokgyur Lingpa, many of which never found their way into his official biography.6 She accompanied her father, the tertön, on many of his journeys and saw with her own eyes what happened. She also knew many of his visionary experiences and personally witnessed many of the termas being revealed. With her virtually perfect recall, she could give an impeccable eyewitness account of the whole event. Whenever she told a story, it sounded as if she were still right there.
The Buddha’s teachings were transmitted to the people of Tibet with the patronage of an ancient lineage of kings. It is said that a semi-divine being from the Punjabi royal lineage, who had descended to live among human beings, fled north into the Himalayas. Eventually, he emerged from the high mountains and entered the Yarlung region of Tibet. The people of the area believed he was a miraculous being who had fallen from the sky, and they carried him on oxen yokes placed on their shoulders to crown him as their first monarch. For this reason he became known as King Nyatri, the “yoke-throned” king.
The first Buddhist scriptures miraculously arrived in the Land of Snow after thirty-five generations of these kings had ruled in an unbroken line from father to son. At that time, everyone was illiterate, a fact that filled the reigning king with sorrow. He prayed fervently to end his people’s ignorance. Due to the blessings of the buddhas, three scriptures of the enlightened ones fell from the sky, landing on the roof of his palace. Although no one could read them, the mere presence of these sacred texts transformed the environment so that harvests were plentiful and the evil forces in the country were somewhat pacified. It was as though the dense darkness of night had been broken by dawn’s first glimmer.
Five generations later, Songtsen Gampo took the throne and invited the first Buddhist teachers to Tibet. Through his enormous merit, he managed to acquire two of the three main statues located in the temple in Bodhgaya, the place of the Buddha’s enlightenment in India. These statues were brought to Tibet as bridal gifts from the two foreign princesses he married. One statue accompanied the daughter of the Chinese emperor, while the second statue was brought by the daughter of the king of