The Dalai Lama’s Little Book of Inner Peace. Литагент HarperCollins USD

      Contrary to what people might imagine, the role of an oracle is not confined to predicting the future. They are approached as protectors and healers, and their primary mission is to help people to practice the Dharma, that is, the Buddha’s teachings. In the past, Tibet had hundreds of oracles. Many have disappeared, but the most important ones, those used by the government, are still there.

      For many centuries, the Dalai Lama and the government have consulted the Nechung oracle. I myself consult it several times a year. And if I continue to consult it, that is because many of the answers it has given me have proved correct. That does not mean that I only follow what the oracle says; far from it. I ask the oracle’s advice just as much as I ask advice from my Cabinet or my own conscience. You could say that the Kashag (the ministerial Cabinet) is my Lower House, and the gods are my Upper House. Whenever I am faced with a question that relates to the country as a whole, it seems quite natural to me that I should put the question to both these houses.

       1950: the Chinese invade Tibet

      I cannot remember any particular difficulties in childhood, but certainly the hardest thing was to take on full responsibility for my role. In 1950, I was 15 years old. Chinese communists had in some ways already encroached on Tibetan territory before that, but it was in 1950 that they actually invaded. The responsibility of government filled me with anxiety. I had not completed my religious education, I knew nothing about the world, and had no experience of politics.

      

      At that time, the world was focusing on Korea, where an international army was trying to quell the conflict. Similar events in far-off Tibet passed by unnoticed. On 7 November 1950, I sent an Appeal to the UN on behalf of the Tibetan National Assembly. It was never answered.

      

      The situation continued to worsen, so the question arose about my coming of age. Opinions differed, so the authorities decided to consult the oracle. Tension was at its height when the Nechung oracle moved to where I was sitting and placed a kata (a white silk scarf, traditionally given as a greeting) on my knees. The kata was inscribed with the words, “His time has come.” I was only 16, and found myself leading a nation of six million Tibetans faced with imminent war. It was an impossible situation, but I had to do everything in my power to avert disaster.

      I decided, with the agreement of the religious authorities and of the Kashag, to send delegations abroad, visiting the United States, Great Britain, Nepal, but also China. Their aim was to negotiate a Chinese withdrawal. The only delegation that actually arrived was the one sent to China. All the others were refused an audience. This was a cruel disappointment. Had the Americans changed their minds about our status? I remember my sadness when I realized what this meant: Tibet would have to face the power of communist China all alone.

       On the road from Lhasa to Peking

      The Chinese proposed that the Tibetan government should send a number of officials to China so that they could see with their own eyes just how wonderful life was in the glorious motherland. Soon afterwards, in early 1954, I myself was invited to visit China, and to meet President Mao. The people of Lhasa were very unwilling that I should go. They were afraid I might never be allowed to come back, or even that there might be an attempt on my life. But I had no fear. So I left, accompanied by some 500 people including my family, my two preceptors, and the Kashag. The journey to Peking is 3,000 miles.

      

      In 1954, there were no transport links between the two countries. For our first staging post I had chosen Ganden Monastery, about 37 miles outside Lhasa, which I was really keen to visit and where I spent several days. As I was about to leave, I was surprised to notice that, without any possible doubt, a buffalo-headed statue representing a deity that protects Tibet had moved. The first time I had seen it, it was looking quite submissively down at the ground, and now its head was facing east with a very ferocious expression. Similarly, I learned once I was in exile that at the time I left the country, one of the walls in Ganden Monastery turned the color of blood.

       The Panchen Lama

      Like the Dalai Lamas, the Panchen Lamas are high incarnates. The Panchen Lama is a spiritual leader, second only to the Dalai Lama in religious authority. They never held any secular authority.

      

      The Panchen Lama joined us at Sian. He was 16 years old and had grown up in an almost hopelessly complicated situation. There had been a rift between our two immediate predecessors. The previous panchen lama had spent part of his life in a frontier region under Chinese control and had died there. The Chinese had presented a candidate from the territory they ruled, while two candidates had been discovered in Tibet itself. Negotiations took place, but gradually the Chinese candidate came to be accepted as the true incarnation. He was then 11 or 12 years old.

      

      Of course, the whole of his education and training was subject to Chinese influence, first under Chang Kai-shek and then under the Communists. It has certainly been an advantage to them to have a Tibetan religious leader in whose name they can make their proclamations. If he and his followers had been able to support the Tibetan cause, Tibet’s disaster might have been less complete. But the Panchen Lama cannot be personally blamed. No boy who grew up under such concentrated, constant foreign influence could possibly retain his own free will.

       Meeting President Mao

      During my first visit to China, we were welcomed by the Prime Minister and the Vice President of the Popular Republic, Chou En-lai and Chu Te. Both were very cordial. Two or three days later, if my memory serves me right, I met President Mao for the first time. It was a public meeting. Our hosts were extremely strict about etiquette. Their anxiety was contagious, and soon we were all panicking. However, President Mao himself seemed relaxed and completely at ease. His appearance gave no sign of his intellectual power. And yet, when we shook hands, I sensed that he had tremendous magnetism. Not only was he cordial, but remarkably spontaneous.

      

      We met at least a dozen times. I found him very impressive. Just physically, he was extraordinary. He had a dark complexion, but at the same time his skin was shiny. His hands were equally shiny and I immediately noticed how beautiful they were – perfect fingers, and an exquisite thumb. He was slow in his movements, and slower still in speech. He was sparing of words, and spoke in short sentences, each full of meaning and usually clear and precise. The way he was dressed contrasted with his behavior: all his clothes appeared threadbare. His dress differed from that of the common Chinese people only by being of a slightly different shade of blue. His whole bearing breathed a natural authority, and his very presence imposed respect.

      

      Apart from Mao, I would meet regularly with Chou En-lai and Liu Shao-chi. While Liu was calm and serious, Chou was extremely polite, courteous, and suave; so extremely polite, in fact, as to make one wonder whether he could be trusted. I realized he was very clever and shrewd.

       Khrushchev, Bulganin, and Pandit Nehru

      During the celebrations for the Chinese National Day, I had the privilege to meet Khrushchev and Bulganin. They did not leave much of an impression on me. In any case, much less so than Pandit Nehru who came to Peking while I was there. From a distance he seemed very affable, easily finding something to say to everyone. But when it was my turn to shake his hand, he grew rigid. He was speechless and gazed into the distance. I was very disappointed, because I would have liked to ask him whether there was anything India could do to help Tibet.

       Marxism