THE CLOISTER OF LIVING DEATH

Manawatu Times, Volume 62, Issue 34, 10 February 1937, Page 16 (Supplement)

THE CLOISTER OF LIVING DEATH

An Episode in Tibet

rj'HE HOLY CLOISTER dog, gaunt and hungry, roved endlessly about the small courtyard surrounding the cave-dwelling, writes Sven lied in in “Adventures in Tibet/’ He knew il:at there was meat behind those storo walls, but if ho is still vailing lor it, he is a singularly patient dog. Tho cave had neither windows nor doors; only a small tunnel running under the wall near the ground connect d it with the outer world. A natuial sirring bowed into its interior, providing water to the* man inured within. For inside the cave dwelt a lonely, self-imprisoned lama. No sin was he atoning, like a prisoner in a dungeon, but voluntarily he. had bidden eternal farewell to the world of man to enter this living tomb of darkness. 1 turned to ono of the men who had a- c< lnpanied me into the cloister-valley. “What is his name?’* I asked. “Ho is nameless. We only know him as Lala Itinpoche, tho holy monk.” “Whence did he come " “He was born in Ngor in Naksang.” “Has he relatives?” “Wo don’t know. His next of kin cannot know ho is here." “How long has he been imprisoned?” “Three years.” “Hbw long will he remain ” “Until he dies.” “You mean he will never see daylight again?” “No. He made a holy vow to leu Ye the cave only as a corpse.” “libw old i 3 he?” “We don’t know. He looked about 40 w’hen he came.” “But what would he do if he wore to fall ill " “He would die or perhaps become well again in the course of time." “And you never hear how ho id getting on!" “Every day they shove him ft bowl of ‘tsamba’ and perhaps some tea and butter through the tunnel. If ho were not to touch the food for six days, we would suppose him to bo dead, and we would break open the entrance to the cave." “Has this ever occurred!" “Yes. Three years ago a lama who had lived in a crypt for twelve years

But death seems in no hurry . . •

died, and fifteen yares ago there wai one who went in at the age of twenty and remained there for forty years."

“Does the monk who takes him him food never speak to him!"

“Oh no. Luma Itinpoche would bring upon himself eternal damnation if he were to exchange one word with any living man, and the three years he «pent entombed could not be put dowm to his credit."

“We are only a fow steps away. Can ho hear what we are sayingt" “No. The walls aro too thick."

When this strange man had come t* Linga in the cloister-valley of the Tibetean Sangpo three years before, he had vowed before the assembled monks to enter into the darkness of tho cave for ever. In a body they conducted him to his voluntary grave slowly, step by step, as if desiring t*. prolong his last few moments in the sun, the solemn procession marched, across the rugged hills to the chosen spot. The entrance to the cavern stood open. A few priests went m after him, spread a rag carpet on the ground, placed upon it several holy idols, murmur words of prayer, and do* parted. Goodbye to light and colour, goodbye to tLc trees and hills! Heavy blocks of stono were rolled forward and piled up with tho aid of levers. Soon every crevice, every little hoi* was filled in, and the sound of human voices died away.

For the monks who now return silent* ly to their cloister to resume theif usual occupations, this man is already dead. Only once a day they provid* him with his scanty nourishment, and for the rest, it is as if ho no longet existed. One shudders at the thought of such seemly unaccountable, and un* noceff.ary but nevertheless exalted be* haviour. Who among us w’ould care t® endure even a single hour in a dark* musty cave! But Lama Rinpocbe remains there willingly, nay, eagerly until tho day he dies. Endless night—for how should he know when the sun bursts over the horizon in all if# splqndour, bathing tho valley ih a shower of gold! Nor can be count the days. Only when summer come*, and the warmth penetrates through to him at last, h* knows that another year has passed. Day in, day out, year in, year out, he sits in his ghastly tomb rosary in his hand, telling his beads, reciting his prayers. And with the passing of time he withdraws more and more from his earthly memories. Gradually he forgets the life outside his prison, bet comes oblivious to all but his desir* for death and union with the infinite, His sojourn in the cave Incomes lot him merely a single episode, dazzling in its rapidity, like a second compared with eternal ble&Sedness.