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

him to perform a divination. Entering a deep state of concentration while repeating a mantra, the mendicant thumbed his prayer beads.
    “There is nothing to be done immediately, but once the boy has recovered from the fever, he must be sent to study the Dharma.”
    The mendicant took out his quill pen and ink and wrote a quotation of the Buddha:
    We are what we think.
    All that we are arises with our thoughts.
    With our thoughts we make the world.
    Speak or act with an impure mind
    And trouble will follow you,
    As the wheel follows the ox that draws the cart.
    We are what we think.
    All that we are arises with our thoughts.
    With our thoughts we make the world.
    Speak or act with a pure mind
    And happiness will follow you
    As your shadow, unshakable.
    “Take heed of cause and effect, Mother Drolma,” the mendicant said. “Your son is ill because of handling rifles and weapons of violence. Instead, send him to train in the tradition of Padmasambhava.” Drolma returned but was afraid to tell Dargye of the mendicant’s message.
    Sonam Gyalpo yearned to return to Pema Dündul. He wept continuously while recuperating, not because of the physical malady, but because he was disheartened by the future his father was arranging for him. It took more than two months for Sonam Gyalpo to regain his strength.
    When he had fully recovered, Dargye announced it was time that Sonam Gyalpo toughen up. Dargye knew a shady character in Tromge village with whom his son could apprentice. He wanted Sonam Gyalpo to spend a season running roughshod away from Nyarong on the Tromthar Plateau. Sonam Gyalpo and his mother dared not disobey Dargye’s stubborn directive.
    Sonam Gyalpo was comfortable traveling by horseback and sleeping under the stars on the windy plains of Tromthar. Yet, as soon as he met the group, who were nothing more than bandits, Sonam Gyalpo knew that he was on the wrong path. They told Sonam Gyalpo of the loot they would haul in with their mule-train robberies, of yak rustling, of stolen steeds, and of the women they would bed after small-town raids.
    How can I rob, rape, and steal from innocent people and still pray for their well-being? he thought.
    That first night, as he lay near the embers of the campfire, anger toward his father burned inside the boy’s heart. Trapped, Sonam Gyalpo finally fell asleep. Early the next morning, Sonam Gyalpo rode with the nine ruffians to take up positions spying down into a narrow canyon; the passage was used by travelers en route to Derge. The leader of the posse insisted that as a rite of passage, the newest among them take the first shot at the next caravan.
    “No one is to shoot until I fire,” Sonam Gyalpo said reluctantly, scared to defy the leader’s orders.
    As a caravan wove its way in single file through the canyon, Sonam Gyalpo followed one of the riders with the bead of his rifle sight. Just before he squeezed the trigger, whack! Sonam Gyalpo’s head whipped back. As he rolled over with blood on his hands, the sound of his rifle crashing into the canyon alerted the caravan, which hightailed it out of sight.
    “What the hell are you doing? You’ve squandered our position, you little runt!” yelled the bandits’ leader.
    “He just punched me in the face,” Sonam Gyalpo shot back, blood running from his nose. “Padmasambhava came out of the barrel of my gun! He said, ‘Until now you still haven’t awakened your potential for enlightenment! You still behave like this?’ And then he punched me!”
    The robbers shuddered to think that Padmasambhava was watching their unrighteous behavior. Frightened that the Great Guru might turn his wrath upon them, the group rode back to town. While passing along a ridge, one of the bandits saw an elderly monk-pilgrim in the distance.
    “He must have some roasted barley flour, and I’m starving,” one of the bandits said while kicking his horse to quicken the pace.
    “Maybe he’ll have some silver pieces he gathered from Tromge