THE CLOISTER OF THE LIVING DEATH

Evening Post, Volume CXXIII, Issue 49, 27 February 1937, Page 26

THE CLOISTER OF THE LIVING DEATH

The Holy Cloister dog, gaunt and hungry, roved endlessly about th 2 small courtyard surrounding the cavedwelling (writes Sven Hedin, in "Adventures in Tibet") says "Public Opinion." He knew that there was meat behind those stone walls, but if he is still waiting for it he is a singularly patient dog. The cave had neither windows nor doors; only a small tunnel running under the wall near thy ground connected it with the1 outer world. A natural spring flowed into its interior, providing water to the man immured within. 3%r inside the cave dwelt a lonely, self-imprisoned lama. No sin was ha 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. I turned to one of- the men who had accompanied me into the cloister valley. "Wtat is his name?" I asked. "He is nameless, We only know him as Lama Rinpoche, the holy j monk." "Whence did he come?" "He was born in Ngor, in Naksang." "Has he relatives?" "We don't know. His next of kin cannot know he is here." "How long has he been imprisoned?" "Three years." "How. long will he remain?" "Until he dies."' ' "You: mean he will never see daylight again?". "No. He made r. holy vow to leave the cave only.as a corpse." "How old. is he?" "We don't know. He looked about forty when he came." ■ "But what would he do if he. were to fall ill?" \ " "He would die or perhaps become well again in the course of time." "And you never hear how he is getting on?" • "Every day they shove him a bowl of 'tasamba' and perhaps some tea and butter through the tunnel. If he were not to touch the food for six days we would suppose him to be dead, and we would break open the entrance to the cave." "Has this ever occurred?" "Yes. Tli.re.fe years ago a lama who had lived in a'crypt for twelve years died, and fifteen years ago there was one who went in at the age of twenty and remained there for forty years." "Does the monk who takes hi\\ his food never speak to him?" "Oh, -no! Lama Rinpoche would bring upon himself eternal damnation if he were to exchange one word with

any living man, and the three years he spent entombed could not be put down to his credit." • "We are only a few steps away. Can he hear what we are saying?" "No. The walls are too thick." When this strange man had come to Linga in the cloister valley of the Tibetan Sangpo three years before h.; had vowed before the assembled monks to enter into the darkness of the cave x'or ever. In a .body they conducted him to his voluntary grave slowly, step by step, as if desiring to 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 in after him, spread a rag carpet on the ground, placed upon it several holy idols, murmured words of prayer, and departed. Goodbye to light and colour, good-bye to the trees and hills! Heavy blocks of stone were roiled forward and pileo up with the aid of levers. Soon every crevice, every little hole was filled in. and the sound of human voices died away.

For the monks who now return silently to their cloister to resume their usual occupations, this iwl~ is already dead. Only once.a day they provide him with his scanty nourishment, and for the. rest it is as if he no longer existed. One shudders at the thought of such seemingly unaccountable and unnecessary, but nevertheless exalted, behaviour. Who among us would care to endure even a single hour in a dark, musty cave? But Lama' Rinpoche remains there willingly—nay, eagerly—until the day he dies. Endless night—for-how should he know when the sun bursts over the horizon in all its splendour, bathing the valley in a shower of gold. Nor can he count the days. -Only when summer comes and the warmth ■ penetrates through to him' at last he knows that another year has passed.

Day in, day out, year ir.. year out, he sits in his ghastly tomb, rosary in his hand, telling his beads, reciting his prayers. And with the passing o£ time he withdraws more and more from his earthly memories. Graduall> he forgets the life outside his prison, becomes oblivious to all but his desire for death and union with the In finite. His sojourn in the cave becomes for him merely a single episode, dazzling in its rapidity, like * second compared with eternal blessed-1 ness. ' But death seems in no hurry. . .