to karmic retribution, never to enjoy the rays of celestial light?
As the sun sank behind the mists on the broad horizon, he allowed himself to fall asleep. Moments later he awoke to a blinding light. The sun, which had barely set, rose in the east in radiant magnificence, as if a golden wheel spun in the sky. A thunderbolt sprang from within the wheel and struck Mount Jijiedari, at the heart of Gling. The sun was high, yet the moon rose in the centre of the sky, like a silver platter. Surrounded by stars, it reflected the glow of the sun, and the bright light intensified in the sky. The steward’s younger brother, Senglon, appeared in his dream, holding a vast umbrella whose shadow covered a territory much larger than Gling, east to Mount Zhanting on the border with China, west to Mount Banghe near Dashi, south to the north of India, and north to the southern banks of the salt lakes in the country of Hor. Then a cloud drifted over, upon which rested Supreme Master Thangtong Gyalpo. He spoke to the old steward, ‘Awake! If you wish the sun to shine on Gling, listen to the tale I am about to tell you.’ Before the old steward could speak, the Supreme Master had settled on the sacred Mount Machen Bomra at the edge of the grassland to the east.
Rongtsa Khragan woke from his dream refreshed, apprehension swept away. He gave orders to welcome the Supreme Master Thangtong Gyalpo at the sacred mountain.
‘But, Steward, the Supreme Master practises Buddhism in the west.’
He had no choice but to relate what had happened: ‘I had a dream, one that has been unthinkable for three generations of Gling ancestors, and impossible for three future generations. I am not sure if we black-haired Tibetans can appreciate it. The Supreme Master appeared in my dream. We must invite him here to make it come true.’
‘Is the Supreme Master really coming?’
‘He is already here! He settled on Mount Machen Bomra. Take the finest horses and the most comfortable palanquin to greet him. Hurry!’
Then the old steward dispatched a flock of messengers to the senior, middle and junior tribes, requiring their presence at his castle on the fifteenth day of the month, when the sun and the moon appear together in the sky and the snowcapped mountains wear a golden crown.
In the meantime, Thangtong Gyalpo arrived at the steward’s castle holding a rattan cane. He began to sing. But as the fine horses and palanquins sped past him towards the mountain, he was covered with the dust they kicked up. By the time it had settled, the procession was far off in the distance, so he began to sing again, drawing the attention of the old steward.
The old steward noticed the man’s unusual appearance and saw that his rattan cane had come from a magical mountain. He went up to ask if he was Thangtong Gyalpo, the wise Supreme Master.
The Supreme Master got to his feet and turned his back to the castle, as if preparing to leave.
Instead of following him, the old steward recited an ancient song of praise:
‘The sun is an uninvited guest.
What is the point of turning if it cannot warm the lives below?
The sweet rain is an uninvited guest.
What is the point of travelling on clouds if it does not nurture the broad fields?’
The Supreme Master turned to face the old steward, who stood at the stately entrance. He laughed. ‘The time has come.’ His voice, though not loud, travelled up to the celestial court, and the Supreme Deity knew that Thosba Gawa’s destiny was upon him. He gathered the deities to give him a final blessing, which travelled into the ears of Master Lotus, who sat down to pray for Gling’s future.
In those days, the celestial court had many ways of helping mortals. The Supreme Deity said, ‘Since the Lotus sect of Buddhism has formed a karmic bond with the people of Gling, why not let Buddhism become their permanent belief?’ He called upon all the deities who held Buddhist beliefs.
Meanwhile, in the human world below, the old steward invited Thangtong Gyalpo into the castle where, in the meeting hall, he knelt reverently. ‘The Supreme Master passed through my dream world last night,’ he said, ‘so today I would ask the Supreme Master to interpret the dream for me and the suffering masses of Gling.’
Thangtong Gyalpo laughed. ‘Very well. Who is to blame for my carelessness in passing through your dream world but I? Yet, though I have some magical powers, I cannot interpret your dream when I am thirsty and my mouth is dry.’
The old steward slapped his head. ‘Bring water,’ he commanded.
Cold, pure spring water was carried to him.
‘No, milk!’ He waved his hand.
The Supreme Master sipped the sweet spring water, then gulped a bowl of milk. ‘I have journeyed far, and although I did not walk one step, my belly is empty.’
‘Another bowl of milk?’
‘No. Let us talk about your dream.’
The old steward sat at the feet of the Supreme Master and bowed his head. ‘Your humble and ignorant servant asks for enlightenment.’
The Supreme Master began:
‘Om! There is no life or death in the Dharma realm.
Ah! But I pity the masses who suffer the consequences of life and death!
Hum! I have come to interpret your wondrous dream,
So, old steward, please listen carefully!’
The sun rising above the eastern mountain in the old steward’s dream was a sign that the light of compassion and wisdom would shine brightly in Gling; the thunderbolt represented a warrior who would descend from Heaven to be born in the area under the old steward’s jurisdiction. The warrior would found a powerful country called Gling. Senglon had appeared in the dream with a vast umbrella: he would sire the warrior from Heaven. The ground shaded by the umbrella would be the territory his son would claim.
After he had listened to the Supreme Master’s interpretation, brightness replaced the cloud before the old steward’s eyes.
As they had been speaking, the leaders of all the Gling tribes and their retinues were gathering at the old steward’s castle, which rose up in the crook of a mountain range shaped like a bow. The waters of the Yarlung river surged from the north-west, then turned and passed by the crook, straight as a taut bowstring. Between the bow and the bowstring, a grassy plain was covered with flowers, and it was on this plain that the tribespeople were gathered, their horses whinnying, surrounded by pennants fluttering from tents. The people were dressed in their best. Their tents faced the river in a wide semicircle with a meeting tent in the middle that soared like the glistening peak of a snowcapped mountain, its golden dome as bright as the morning sun. Gold and silver seats were arrayed inside, the warriors’ seats draped with tiger or leopard skins.
One of the tribesmen climbed to the top of the castle and blew a conch to summon the leaders to a meeting. They took their seats in the tent. The elders, who enjoyed high prestige and commanded great respect, sat in the seats of honour, while the young and brave were below them. As the saying goes, humans have heads, necks and shoulders; oxen have horns, backs and tails; the earth has mountains, rivers and valleys.
Once they were seated, the steward began to recount for them the auspicious signs in his dream and the interpretation of the Supreme Master, Thangtong
