Women of Courage... Ani Pachen, 1950 Tibet

reality check | finding resilience in troubled times

Women of Courage…ANI PACHEN, 1950 Tibet

Short Story Adapted by Deb Rodney From “Sorrow Mountain” by Ani Patchen and Adelaide Donnelley

I

was seventeen when I stood on the roof of our four-story house and threatened to jump. In my stomach a frightened bird fluttered.

Om Mani Peme Hum. The nature of mind is clear light, and our experience in the world only passing waves on its surface.

If my father’s servant, Tashi didn’t take me to the monastery to escape marriage to a man I didn’t know, I would fly off the roof.

So, on horseback, he and I secretly escaped into the Tibetan wilderness. That night as I tried to sleep, the icy wind cracked against the stones and whistled over the barren ground. I thought I heard the call of a leopard and I took my knife out of its leather holder. I moved the cold prayer beads through my fingers until I fell asleep.

Om Mani Peme Hum. Om Mani Peme Hum.

When I woke up, eight of my father’s men were standing over me. Tupten, with his fox-skin hat low on his brow said, “Your father misses you and has been sick with worry because there are wild animals and bandits here. He said there is no need to run away. He will break the marriage contract and you will be free to live as you want.”

My name is Lemdha Ani Pachen, chieftainess of Lemdha born in 1933, the female Water-Bird year. The time when my country was at the roof of the world, a place where the great spirits lived. I was my father’s only child. He was Chieftain elder and Lama of the Lemdha clan.

Having escaped marriage, I was studying with Gyalsay Rinpoche at the Tromkhog monastery when the Chinese invaded Tibet, and began moving ever closer to my village.

His holiness, the 14th Dalai Lama had been enthroned. Six months later he was forced to sign an agreement turning over Tibet’s policy-making to the Chinese. In exchange the Chinese promised

to recognize His Holiness’s authority and respect Tibet’s religion and culture. They put words, like honey on a sharp knife.

My father organized a group of trusted advisors and invited me to their talks. We heard reports of children being stolen and taken to China. There were confrontations, arrests and executions. The world I had been seeing with my innocent eyes was fleeting like lightning. Like dew.

My father gave me a rifle and showed me how to shoot it. “Hold steady…don’t breathe. Now fire!” he said. I squeezed the trigger as tightly as I could. Bang! The rifle recoiled and a pain like the kick of a horse struck my chest, but I hit the target. “You’ve got it,” my father said. “But if that were a Chinese would you dare to kill him?”

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Would I dare? The words rumbled through my mind like thunder.

Om Mani Peme Hum. Om Mani Peme Hum. Keep your mind clear, radiant and aware in each moment.

One day, a man came rushing into our meeting screaming, “The monastery at Lithang has been bombed!” He was half crying and half talking. My father led him to a chair and put his hands on the young man’s shoulders.

“Tell us,” my father said in a steady voice.

“The air was filled with thunder,” the frightened man said. “Then out of the sky came something we’d never seen before. Flying machines, with wings like birds, swooped down. Buildings exploded with people screaming inside. Men, women, children…4000 of them were killed.” Except for the man’s weeping the room was silent.

Om Mani Peme Hum. Om Mani Peme Hum. Blessed Rinpoche, look with love, mercy, and compassion upon the beings without refuge or protection. Guide them to freedom.

After that, our meetings happened more frequently and I sat beside my father. I noticed the men watching me with a mixture of disbelief and dismay as if their meetings were no place for a woman. Their reactions didn’t bother me for I had no desire to be there and would have preferred to be in the chapel praying or reading spiritual texts in my room.

Then as my father was planning the destruction of a large Chinese arsenal in the north, he became ill and died suddenly. Heartbroken, I realized he had been preparing me to take over for him. I was completely overwhelmed with grief. How would I know what to do?

Om Mani Peme Hum. Om Mani Peme Hum. Blessed Dorjee Phurba protect us. May the doctrine of the Buddha be everlasting. May I be guided on this path.

I asked the Lama Ratri what I should do. He gave me a hundred blessing strings and hundred small packets with pieces of my father’s hair and clothes. He told me that under my father’s leadership, our tribe was the best organized in all of Gonjo and it needed a new leader.

“The Buddhist Dharma is facing extinction,” he said.

Survival of the teaching! A new sense of purpose filled me. If I can contribute something to protect the great teachings of Buddha, I thought, I will do whatever is asked. Even kill.

I called a meeting and waited to see if the men would come. When they did, I felt reassured. One of them reported that the Chinese were blasting roads through the mountains toward Gonjo. “Once the road is finished Chinese tanks and supplies will come,” he said. “We have to stop them.”

I stood up and spoke. “I will go to each house as my father planned, gather the men and make sure each has a suitable horse and a usable weapon. We will train together and I will lead them.”

I, who had been instructed not to kill a spider or an ant, became a Buddhist warrior that day. My dream of a life devoted to meditation and prayer was no longer possible and I set about making preparations for war.

Our battles on horseback, we were no match for the demonic war machinery of the Chinese. I was captured and spent 21 long years in prison.

When I was finally released, His Holiness the Dalai Lama said to me, “You have seen Tibet’s tragedy. You have lived its suffering. You must tell your story so others will know.”

So, I tell it here.

Om Mani Peme Hum. Om Mani Peme Hum. I go to the Buddha for refuge, I go to the Dharma for refuge, I go to the Sangha for refuge!