༄༅།། ། །

The Precious Crystal of Songs in Memories of Holy Lhasa Translation: TD Gonkatsang, Oriental Institute, University of Oxford.

༄༅།། ང ང ང ། ང ང ང ། །

ང །

ང ང ། ང ། ང ཏ

ཏ ང ང །

ང ང ངང ང ། ང ། ང ང ། །

ང ང ང ང ། ང ང ང ང ང ། ང ། ང །

Although all phenomena are manifest due to causal factors,

Each and every instance, is devoid of inherent existence,

O precious Lama, teacher of the infallible law of ‘Karma’,

Pray, bless me your humble disciple, with your compassion.

Like a dazed Nomad without much learning and knowledge,

In essence, with excruciating longing for my beloved Lhasa,

The following muse gushes forth from my heart,

Pray my good friends, share with me these memories!

I miss Lhasa where

Flocks of cranes frolic in their teeming multitude

Spraying heavenwards, shimmering droplets of crystal;

Where the great Kyichu river quietly burble past,

Majestically meandering its way down from the right.

I miss Lhasa where

The undulating valleys and wide open plains

Are bedecked with a garland of green meadows and trees

Where the bright sun and the moon orbit unhindered,

Where the land is luxuriant and shimmer in glorious hues.

ང ། །

ང ང ། །

ང །

ང ། །

།

ང ང ང །

ང ང ། ང །

ང །

།

ང ། ཏ ང ང །

ང ང །

I miss Lhasa where

A period of dark foggy gloom that never seems to clear

Such as that envelope us here in depressive stupor is unknown.

I miss the pristine Lhasa of cool summers and warm winters,

Where merry people rejoice, resplendent in their festive best.

I miss Lhasa where

Fertile plains spread out like a lotus in full blossom,

Where craggy mountains bear the eight auspicious symbols,

Where the azure sky spreads out as round as a wheel,

Where the land abounds in auspicious signs and symbols.

I miss Lhasa where

Market places throng with happy, boisterous crowds,

Where nimble damsels walk with perfect poise

Where all the paragons of beauty come together,

With beaming faces adorned with winsome smiles.

I miss Lhasa where,

Occasionally, riches comparable to that of the God of Wealth

Abound - infinite in range and choice of goods imaginable.

I miss reveling in the variegated goods on display in the stores,

Circumambulating the Barkor circuit time and again.

། ངང ང ང ། ང ང །

།

ཏ །

ཏ ང ང ། ཧ ཧ ང ང །

།

།

ང ང ། ང ང ང ། །

ང ང ཏ ང ། ། ང ང ། ང ང །

I miss Lhasa where,

Unlike the frenzied haste of the good folk here,

People enjoy unhurried leisure with infinite patience;

Where people eat quietly and engage in honest labor,

Always fair and upright in all dealings and agreements.

I miss Lhasa where

In spring season flowers blossom in riotous abundance,

People in droves frequent the parks for picnics and pleasure,

Where sounds from violins, harmonicas, flutes and horns

Compete to fill the air with a cacophony of myriad tunes.

I miss Lhasa where

Trays laden with the choicest of Chinese cuisine,

Are brought with a flourish and placed on high tables,

And picking the delicacies of one’s own choice,

Guests relish every morsel with crunching delight.

I miss Lhasa where

Pretty chang-maids like the winsome Nyin-nyin Metok,

Casting coquettish glances with bright twinkling eyes,

Ply you drinks with, “Have it, Sir, Drink up, Sir”

Courteously serving, never ending rounds of drinks.

ཧ ཧ ང ང །

ང ། ། །

། ། ། །

ང ། ང ང ། །

ང ང ང །

ང ང །

། ང ། །

I miss Lhasa where

The power and glory of this holy Land of Dharma,

Reverberated across the vast horizon in ancient times;

A holy place of patronage without miserly parsimony,

Where everyone makes generous offerings and donations.

I miss Lhasa where,

Officials dressed in ample and flowing brocade costumes,

Confer and discuss all issues in depth with intelligence

Hurriedly transcribe all religious and secular edicts,

For prompt and expeditious implementation.

I miss Lhasa where,

The State laws are a balance of stricture and leniency,

Where cases adjudged are as true as Brahma’s axis line,

Where, false charges and excuses have no scope of prevailing,

Where each is judged on the basis of one’s own actions.

I miss Lhasa where

Officials in brocade gowns with tassels and cup-pouches,

And shady Mongolian hats, look bright as the rainbow,

Rushing about with Sog-jil ear-rings dangling aflutter

While attentive personal attendants gather and wait.

ང ། ། ། །

ང །

ང ང ། ང །

ང །

ང ། ང ང ང ང ང །

ང ང ང ཏ ། ང །

ང ང

ང ། ང ང ང ། །

I miss Lhasa where

A thousand melodious tunes echo in music parlors

And haunting voices captivate and overwhelm me;

Where gentle touches with soft hands evoke utter bliss;

The gathering place of a bevy of beauties.

I miss Lhasa where,

From time to time, masked dances, traditional opera

And such other graceful performing arts attract crowds

Each event attracting the involved gaze of all spectators;

Where such occasions of festivities and worship abound.

I miss Lhasa where,

In narrow alleyways and labyrinthine byways,

Even the disabled, the unsighted and old destitute beggars,

Inebriated senseless whether by sweet or sour chang,

Straggling merrily to nowhere and sleeping anywhere.

Pray, listen to more of what I miss about Lhasa,

Physicians on whom we rely for our good health,

Dear friends for whom we bear affection and love,

Kind and loving parents who make our homes cozy,

I miss Lhasa for all of them

།

། ང ཏ ། །

། ང ང །

ང ང ། ང ཏ ང །

ང ། ང ། ང །

ང ང ། ། ང ང ། །

I miss Lhasa where,

Amidst rows of flickering butter-lamps and myriad offerings

Reside the two Jowo images of the Buddha in all their glory,

With reverential silence devotees go to receive blessings,

As they murmur prayers fervently for divine blessings.

I miss Lhasa where,

Mountain passes, the abode of peaceful and wrathful deities,

Reverberate with earth shaking ‘Ki Ki So So’ invocations

As people string and hoist prayer-flags of all descriptions,

And smoke from incense offerings billow heavenwards.

I miss Lhasa where

Devotees visiting and exploring the fabulous Potala Palace,

Upon seeing the holy chambers replete with precious artifacts,

Are moved to tears of utter faith and devotion

As pearls of tear drops roll down uncontrollably.

I miss Lhasa where,

All the great and good Lamas seated on elevated thrones

Profess profound Mahayana teachings as profuse as rainfall,

To large gatherings of devotees with folded hands

Listening with contemplative silence in dusty courtyards.

ང

ང ང ། ང ང ། ང ང ང ང །

།

ཏ ང ། ཊ ཊ ང ། ང ང །

ང ། ང ང ། །

ང །

།

། ང ང ང ། ང །

I miss Lhasa where

Fathers, mothers and elderly folk in their multitude,

On tottering legs barely able to keep them steady,

With backs bent, prostrate and amble along the holy ‘Ling-kor’,

Crowding the narrow dusty path of the pilgrims.

I miss Lhasa where

Priests rattle the damarus and clash the cymbals,

Spray heavenwards sweet scented petals and various grains

While chanting mantras like “Hum, Hum, Phat, Phat”

To banish afar hordes of quivering malevolent spirits.

I miss Lhasa where,

Large and small Mani prayer wheels in their thousands,

When turned around for the benefit of sentient beings,

Their chimes seem to beckon, “Come, Come” to pilgrims,

As they whirr round and round in never ending cycles.

I miss Lhasa where

Monks and lay people, enriched with faith and spiritual wealth,

Outside spacious monastic compounds and porticos

On well-worn slabs of stones or smooth wooden planks,

Glide back and forth in prostration to accumulate merit.

། ། ང ། །

།

ང ། ཝ ང ། །

།

ང ང ཏ ། ང ང ང ང །

།

ང ། ང །

། །

I miss Lhasa where

People from all directions converge for religious offerings

The ocean of merit accumulated by these vast gatherings

Cannot be spilled even if shaken like an overflowing cauldron,

As their collective merit swirl and bless the holy city.

I miss Lhasa where

Recognizing the rarity of attaining rebirth as a human-being,

And the changeability, impermanence and fleeting nature of life,

People, empathizing with the acute suffering of lower realms,

Strive to attain the incomparable bliss of enlightenment.

I miss Lhasa where,

A host of Lamas and Dakinis, as a matter of fact

Dwell in the holy valleys, as multitudinous as the clouds,

Guide and help people like me and others with slender karma,

To be speedily set on the path of liberation.

I miss Lhasa where,

The pure and altruistic minded, renouncing families,

Without hesitation or worldly attachment, get ordained,

With their dark hair shorn and donning maroon robes,

Join the community of orange and yellow-robed Sangha.

། ། ། ང ང །

། ང །

ང ། ང ང །

ང ། ང ང ང ། ང ང ། །

ང ང ། ང ། ང ང ང ། ང ང །

I miss Lhasa where

After years of contemplation on the Dharma teachings,

And ochre-clad Geshes debating in open courtyards,

Refute and posit one’s views with dramatic clappings,

And all doubts are dispelled to the satisfaction of all.

I miss Lhasa where,

Learned monks steeped in the tradition of Sutras and Tantras,

Seated neatly in rows and in one, well-synchronized tune,

Recite Buddhist prayer texts in sonorous tones,

The mere hearing of which prevent rebirth in the lower realms.

I miss Lhasa where

In some peaceful hermitages in the surrounding hills,

Adepts have the power to cure you of physical ailments,

Despite the depression, tiredness or belligerence of some,

Nurture all alike with compassion and equipose.

I miss Lhasa where

Because worldly pleasures that distract and tempt

Practice of the holy Dharma becomes sporadic at best.

Yet, disgust with Samsara, desire for renunciation, compassion

and such thoughts

Are generated naturally, slowly but truly.

ང ང ། ། ང ང ། ང །

ང ང ། ང །

ཝ ཝ ང ང ང ང ང ། ང ང ང །

ང ། ང ང །

ང ། །

ང ། ང ང ང །

ང ། ང །

I miss Lhasa where,

Conjectures, superstitions and imaginations,

The infinite range of ephemeral conceptions

Each, through simultaneity of awareness and emptiness

Is unraveled as it is in the great space of reality.

I miss Lhasa where,

The dualistic perception of ego clinging,

Being laid dormant in the space of non-fixation,

Everything is seen vividly as being inherently empty-forms,

Even the reverberating echoes are noting but that.

I miss Lhasa where

Even I, like a deluded house rooster on a high pedestal,

With my two wings of altruism and self-interest

Waving and fluttering, call out in a dignified voice

Until my voice becomes weak and hoarse.

I miss Lhasa where

The ten moral virtues and happiness prevail,

Though not the birthplace of this ignoramus,

But being cast there by the force of Karma,

Images of this Central place pervade my memory.

། །

། ཏ ཏ ང །

ང ། ང ང ང ། ང ང ། ཏ །

ང ང །

། ། ང ང །

ང ང །

ང ། ང ། ང ང ང །

Recapitulating each and every facet of Lhasa,

Involuntarily, I find myself staring at its horizon,

Beady-eyed, and from the depths of my throat,

Watch me sing these nostalgic tunes of longing.

Given that the one and only Avaloketisvara,

Is also resident here far away from Tibet these days,

And since Lhasa must decidedly feel bereft and forlorn,

O Friends, repose your faith and trust in Him, here.

Surrounded by hordes of aggressive Chinese forces

Taxed body and mind with unjust orders to do this and that

And facing execution for the slightest error in addressing,

It’s impossible at present, to wish for a return to Lhasa.

May I be able to,

Towards the end of this short human life, immediately

Exchange worldly pursuits for some quiet hermitage,

Where, with quivering eyes in peaceful contemplation,

Resume the practice of Dharma long neglected.

ང ང ང ང ། ། ང །

ང

ང ང ང ། ང །

ཧ ཧ །

ང ང །

།།

For many aeons, time and again giving us birth as mothers,

All sentient beings, innumerable as the vast sky,

Without exception, to the pure land of eternal bliss,

May I become the agent to deliver them speedily.

In these many colloquialism, this old man of yours,

Lacking both innate and learned powers of scholarship

Penned these random feelings and thoughts, reading which,

A few wry smiles, I naturally anticipate.

End of Memories of Lhasa by Miwang Shelkar Lingpa.

May it be auspicious!

༄༅།། ༧ ང ༧ ང ང ༩ ང ང ༧ ང ང ང ། །

A Song of Lhasa Memories & A Poem in Alphabetical Order composed

by H.E Shelkar Lingpa at Darjeeling in 1911 on the occasion of HH

the 13th Dalai Lama's forced sojourn in India.

(Third Revised Edition)

Printed and published by G. Tharchin at the Tibet Mirror Press,

Kalimpong. 1965 Price:0.50 paisa

The Precious Crystal of Songs in Memories of Holy Lhasa

Translation: TD Gonkatsang, Oriental Institute, University of Oxford.

Although all phenomena are manifest due to causal factors,

Each and every instance, is devoid of inherent existence,

O precious Lama, teacher of the infallible law of ‘Karma’,

Pray, bless me your humble disciple, with your compassion.

Like a dazed Nomad without much learning and knowledge,

In essence, with excruciating longing for my beloved Lhasa,

The following muse gushes forth from my heart,

Pray my good friends, share with me these memories!

I miss Lhasa where

Flocks of cranes frolic in their teeming multitude

Spraying heavenwards, shimmering droplets of crystal;

Where the great Kyichu river quietly burble past,

Majestically meandering its way down from the right.

I miss Lhasa where

The undulating valleys and wide open plains

Are bedecked with a garland of green meadows and trees

Where the bright sun and the moon orbit unhindered,

Where the land is luxuriant and shimmer in glorious hues.

I miss Lhasa where

A period of dark foggy gloom that never seems to clear

Such as that envelope us here in depressive stupor is unknown.

I miss the pristine Lhasa of cool summers and warm winters,

Where merry people rejoice, resplendent in their festive best.

I miss Lhasa where

Fertile plains spread out like a lotus in full blossom,

Where craggy mountains bear the eight auspicious symbols,

Where the azure sky spreads out as round as a wheel,

Where the land abounds in auspicious signs and symbols.

I miss Lhasa where

Market places throng with happy, boisterous crowds,

Where nimble damsels walk with perfect poise

Where all the paragons of beauty come together,

With beaming faces adorned with winsome smiles.

I miss Lhasa where,

Occasionally, riches comparable to that of the God of Wealth

Abound - infinite in range and choice of goods imaginable.

I miss reveling in the variegated goods on display in the stores,

Circumambulating the Barkor circuit time and again.

I miss Lhasa where,

Unlike the frenzied haste of the good folk here,

People enjoy unhurried leisure with infinite patience;

Where people eat quietly and engage in honest labor,

Always fair and upright in all dealings and agreements.

I miss Lhasa where

In spring season flowers blossom in riotous abundance,

People in droves frequent the parks for picnics and pleasure,

Where sounds from violins, harmonicas, flutes and horns

Compete to fill the air with a cacophony of myriad tunes.

I miss Lhasa where

Trays laden with the choicest of Chinese cuisine,

Are brought with a flourish and placed on high tables,

And picking the delicacies of one’s own choice,

Guests relish every morsel with crunching delight.

I miss Lhasa where

Pretty chang-maids like the winsome Nyin-nyin Metok,

Casting coquettish glances with bright twinkling eyes,

Ply you drinks with, “Have it, Sir, Drink up, Sir”

Courteously serving, never ending rounds of drinks.

I miss Lhasa where

The power and glory of this holy Land of Dharma,

Reverberated across the vast horizon in ancient times;

A holy place of patronage without miserly parsimony,

Where everyone makes generous offerings and donations.

I miss Lhasa where,

Officials dressed in ample and flowing brocade costumes,

Confer and discuss all issues in depth with intelligence

Hurriedly transcribe all religious and secular edicts,

For prompt and expeditious implementation.

I miss Lhasa where,

The State laws are a balance of stricture and leniency,

Where cases adjudged are as true as Brahma’s axis line,

Where, false charges and excuses have no scope of prevailing,

Where each is judged on the basis of one’s own actions.

I miss Lhasa where

Officials in brocade gowns with tassels and cup-pouches,

And shady Mongolian hats, look bright as the rainbow,

Rushing about with Sogjil ear-rings dangling aflutter

While attentive personal attendants gather and wait.

I miss Lhasa where

A thousand melodious tunes echo in music parlors

And haunting voices captivate and overwhelm me;

Where gentle touches with soft hands evoke utter bliss;

The gathering place of a bevy of beauties.

I miss Lhasa where,

From time to time, masked dances, traditional opera

And such other graceful performing arts attract crowds

Each event attracting the involved gaze of all spectators;

Where such occasions of festivities and worship abound.

I miss Lhasa where,

In narrow alleyways and labyrinthine byways,

Even the disabled, the unsighted and old destitute beggars,

Inebriated senseless whether by sweet or sour chang,

Straggling merrily to nowhere and sleeping anywhere.

Pray, listen to more of what I miss about Lhasa,

Physicians on whom we rely for our good health,

Dear friends for whom we bear affection and love,

Kind and loving parents who make our homes cozy,

I miss Lhasa for all of them

I miss Lhasa where,

Amidst rows of flickering butter-lamps and myriad offerings

Reside the two Jowo images of the Buddha in all their glory,

With reverential silence devotees go to receive blessings,

As they murmur prayers fervently for divine blessings.

I miss Lhasa where,

Mountain passes, the abode of peaceful and wrathful deities,

Reverberate with earth shaking ‘Ki Ki So So’ invocations

As people string and hoist prayer-flags of all descriptions,

And smoke from incense offerings billow heavenwards.

I miss Lhasa where

Devotees visiting and exploring the fabulous Potala Palace,

Upon seeing the holy chambers replete with precious artifacts,

Are moved to tears of utter faith and devotion

As pearls of tear drops roll down uncontrollably.

I miss Lhasa where,

All the great and good Lamas seated on elevated thrones

Profess profound Mahayana teachings as profuse as rainfall,

To large gatherings of devotees with folded hands

Listening with contemplative silence in dusty courtyards.

I miss Lhasa where

Fathers, mothers and elderly folk in their multitude,

On tottering legs barely able to keep them steady,

With backs bent, prostrate and amble along the holy ‘Ling-kor’,

Crowding the narrow dusty path of the pilgrims.

I miss Lhasa where

Priests rattle the damarus and clash the cymbals,

Spray heavenwards sweet scented petals and various grains

While chanting mantras like “Hum, Hum, Phat, Phat”

To banish afar hordes of quivering malevolent spirits.

I miss Lhasa where,

Large and small Mani prayer wheels in their thousands,

When turned around for the benefit of sentient beings,

Their chimes seem to beckon, “Come, Come” to pilgrims,

As they whirr round and round in never ending cycles.

I miss Lhasa where

Monks and lay people, enriched with faith and spiritual wealth,

Outside spacious monastic compounds and porticos

On well-worn slabs of stones or smooth wooden planks,

Glide back and forth in prostration to accumulate merit.

I miss Lhasa where

People from all directions converge for religious offerings

The ocean of merit accumulated by these vast gatherings

Cannot be spilled even if shaken like an overflowing cauldron,

As their collective merit swirl and bless the holy city.

I miss Lhasa where

Recognizing the rarity of attaining rebirth as a human-being,

And the changeability, impermanence and fleeting nature of life,

People, empathizing with the acute suffering of lower realms,

Strive to attain the incomparable bliss of enlightenment.

I miss Lhasa where,

A host of Lamas and Dakinis, as a matter of fact

Dwell in the holy valleys, as multitudinous as the clouds,

Guide and help people like me and others with slender karma,

To be speedily set on the path of liberation.

I miss Lhasa where,

The pure and altruistic minded, renouncing families,

Without hesitation or worldly attachment, get ordained,

With their dark hair shorn and donning maroon robes,

Join the community of orange and yellow-robed Sangha.

I miss Lhasa where

After years of contemplation on the Dharma teachings,

And ochre-clad Geshes debating in open courtyards,

Refute and posit one’s views with dramatic claps,

And all doubts are dispelled to the satisfaction of all.

I miss Lhasa where,

Learned monks steeped in the tradition of Sutras and Tantras,

Seated neatly in rows and in one, well-synchronized tune,

Recite Buddhist prayer texts in sonorous tones,

The mere hearing of which prevent rebirth in the lower realms.

I miss Lhasa where

In some peaceful hermitages in the surrounding hills,

Adepts have the power to cure you of physical ailments,

Despite the depression, tiredness or belligerence of some,

Nurture all alike with compassion and equanimity.

I miss Lhasa where

Because worldly pleasures that distract and tempt

Practice of the holy Dharma becomes sporadic at best.

Yet, disgust with Samsara, desire for renunciation, compassion and such thoughts

Are generated naturally, slowly but truly.

I miss Lhasa where,

Conjectures, superstitions and imaginations,

The infinite range of ephemeral conceptions

Each, through simultaneity of awareness and emptiness

Is unraveled as it is in the great space of reality.

I miss Lhasa where,

The dualistic perception of ego clinging,

Being laid dormant in the space of non-fixation,

Everything is seen vividly as being inherently empty-forms,

Even the reverberating echoes are noting but that.

I miss Lhasa where

Even I, like a deluded house rooster on a high pedestal,

With my two wings of altruism and self-interest

Waving and fluttering, call out in a dignified voice

Until my voice becomes weak and hoarse.

I miss Lhasa where

The ten moral virtues and happiness prevail,

Though not the birthplace of this ignoramus,

But being cast there by the force of Karma,

Images of this Central place pervade my memory.

Recapitulating each and every facet of Lhasa,

Involuntarily, I find myself staring at its horizon,

Beady-eyed, and from the depths of my throat,

Watch me sing these nostalgic tunes of longing.

Given that the one and only Avaloketisvara,

Is also resident here far away from Tibet these days,

And since Lhasa must decidedly feel bereft and forlorn,

O Friends, repose your faith and trust in Him, here.

Surrounded by hordes of aggressive Chinese forces

Taxed body and mind with unjust orders to do this and that

And facing execution for the slightest error in addressing,

It’s impossible at present, to wish for a return to Lhasa.

May I be able to,

Towards the end of this short human life, immediately

Exchange worldly pursuits for some quiet hermitage,

Where, with quivering eyes in peaceful contemplation,

Resume the practice of Dharma long neglected.

For many aeons, time and again giving us birth as mothers,

All sentient beings, innumerable as the vast sky,

Without exception, to the pure land of eternal bliss,

May I become the agent to deliver them speedily.

In these many colloquialism, this old man of yours,

Lacking both innate and learned powers of scholarship

Penned these random feelings and thoughts, reading which,

A few wry smiles, I naturally anticipate.

End of Memories of Lhasa by Miwang Shelkar Lingpa. May it be auspicious!

A Song of Lhasa Memories & A Poem in Alphabetical Order composed by H.E Shelkar Lingpa at Darjeeling in

1911 on the occasion of HH the 13th Dalai Lama's forced sojourn in India.(Third Revised Edition) Printed

and published by G. Tharchin at the Tibet Mirror Press, Kalimpong. 1965 Price:0.50 paisa