Fearless in Tibet: The Life of the Mystic Terton Sogyal Read Online Free PDF

to pack the gunpowder, aim, and reload. Sonam Gyalpo quickly gained a marksman’s skill, hitting any target his father set up in the spruce and juniper forests. Yet when Dargye spotted deer or mountain sheep for Sonam Gyalpo to shoot, he would miss the mark.
    “Whenever I aim at the pheasant, Father, I only see dakinis in the sights,” Sonam Gyalpo said. “They are waving scarves. Sometimes all I see down the barrel of the gun are mantras standing on end.”
    Dargye spat, shaking his head incredulously.
    The dakinis were assisting Sonam Gyalpo, urging him toward his spiritual path.
    One day, as they rode past Deer Horn Junction, they could see the temple where the master Nyala Pema Dündul lived.
    “Father, let’s go see the precious lama.”
    “There’s no time. We gotta get back before sundown.”
    “Come on, just a quick visit for a blessing. He is our buddha!”
    Dargye and Sonam Gyalpo left the horses to graze and walked to the temple that was perched on the side of the mountain. They entered Pema Dündul’s room, where he sat in a wooden meditation box no bigger than four feet square. When he was not camping under the stars, he sat in such meditation boxes in an upright posture throughout the day and night.
    Pema Dündul invited Sonam Gyalpo to approach. The aging lama pulled a small piece of golden parchment from his prayer book. Dargye spied the leaf-like paper.
    “Do you know what this means?” Pema Dündul said, pointing to a foreign script written on the parchment.
    “That is the letter for earth ,” Sonam Gyalpo said.
    Sonam Gyalpo recognized the letters to be of a script known as lantsha , often used to write Sanskrit mantras in Tibet. Dargye wondered how his son was privy to such knowledge. Pema Dündul nodded approvingly, feeling this was an early sign that the boy would develop spiritually to reign supreme throughout the land of Tibet. The lama blessed Sonam Gyalpo, gave him a piece of rock candy, and sent him out the door to retrieve the horses. Then Pema Dündul turned to Dargye to remind him that his son was an incarnate lama and that he should be sent for religious training.
    “I’ll think about it,” Dargye lied, and walked out of the room.
    As they were riding home, a small herd of musk deer was feeding in a field near their home. Dargye told Sonam Gyalpo to bag one of the larger bucks. The boy bent down on one knee and took aim.
    Smack! Sonam Gyalpo’s head snapped back.
    “Padmasambhava just punched me!” the boy said, dropping his gun and holding his eye.
    Dargye shook his head, disgusted.
    “Get back on your horse, then.”
    When they arrived home, Sonam Gyalpo rushed to his friend’s house to tell them he had met Pema Dündul and to share the sweets. Dargye sulked in the corner of the smoky kitchen, chewing on a piece of jerky as Drolma made cabbage soup. He told Drolma of their son’s matchlock musket target practice and how Sonam Gyalpo hit any target—any target that was not alive. He took a swig of barley beer.
    “He claims to see dakinis and Padmasambhava. Foolish kid.”
    As Drolma stoked the earthen stove, she hid her pleasure that her son’s spiritual capacity was emerging. She had always sensed a special quality in Sonam Gyalpo, though she never mentioned her intuition to her husband. Trying to calm Dargye, Drolma asked what had happened when they visited Kalzang Temple. She hoped that Dargye would not speak ill of Pema Dündul.
    “Typical.” Dargye smirked. “That old lama said that our boy should go to a monastery. We can’t afford that. We need the boy to work the yaks here. Besides, he’ll stop seeing those damn dakinis and be a good shot in no time.” Dargye still chose not to tell his wife that Pema Dündul had recognized their boy as an incarnate lama and had offered to teach him.
    That night Sonam Gyalpo was struck with a high fever. Dargye nursed a jug of homebrew as Drolma left the house to consult a mendicant camping near the Nyachu River. She asked