Tibetan spiritual leader, the Dalai Lama, is escorted into a hall by monks holding his hands at his Himalayan residence in Dharamshala, India.
Credit: Reuters Photo
‘There is a divinity that shapes our ends,’ says Hamlet in the play by Shakespeare, and the truth of this statement came alive for me a few days ago.
As a young child, I remember being fascinated by the chapter in my geography text called Tibet—the roof of the world. So much so that in 2008, I gathered my courage and my resources and made an unforgettable trip to Tibet.
The next encounter I had with Tibet was when I read the book Seven Years in Tibet by Heinrich Harrer. This story stayed with me as a moving picture of the life of the Dalai Lama and the troubling path he had to tread
as the spiritual head of the peace-loving Tibetans.
The relationship with Tibetans continued for me when I was involved with the Tibetan Government-in-exile to strengthen their school libraries. But one wish remained unfulfilled—a meeting with His Holiness, and the possibility of that happening became more and more remote as he and I both grew older.
Then suddenly a miracle started to unfold. I read in the newspaper that the Dalai Lama was moving to Bylakuppe due to the extreme cold in Dharamshala. This was the cue for me to write to my Tibetan contacts and ask if I could get an audience. I waited with what patience I could gather until the magical morning when I was asked to forward relevant documents. The suspense was as high as the roof of the world. Then the precious reply came. I was to present myself at a specified time and date and place for a blessing along with hundreds of others.
Long lines met us as we arrived at the gate of the Phuntsoling Monastery. As we entered the large area in front of the monastery and sat in chairs, the air was charged with anticipation and good humour. We had been given the number seven, and our son, who was accompanying me, whispered, “Lucky 7?” Soon our number was called, and we made our way in a solemn line towards where His Holiness was seated.
As I bowed, he held my hands in his, and I heard his aide say to him in Tibetan that I had done work for the Education Department. He nodded, smiled, and put his arm on my shoulder. As I bent my head lower, I felt his healing touch on my head. That was an endless moment when I felt nothing else but that touch. As I moved away, I found I was silently sobbing with tears flowing down my cheeks. But the aides around were no strangers to such emotions and handed me tissues! I stumbled out still overwhelmed by this divinity that had touched me. There was no sense of euphoria—just a warm glow in my heart.
Tuk Je Che, Your Holiness. Thank you.