C Don Croner’s World Wide Wanders

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Mongolia | Life of Zanabazar | Second Trip to Tibet

Most traditional accounts do not mention Zanabazar’s trip to Inner Mongolia to met the Dalai Lama in early 1655. Skipping over this episode, they relate instead  that in the summer of 1655 Zanabazar decided to make another trip to Tibet: “. . . I should like to accomplish my pious desire of again making obeisance to the Dalai Lama,” Zanabazar announced, “and especially to the Holy Panchen Vajradhara Lama [Panchen Lama] and hear the initiations and empowerments and so on which I meditated on before.” In preparation for the journey he decided to go into meditation for several months at his newly established retreat of Tövkhon near Erdene Zuu. In the autumn of 1655 he left for Tibet. See Zanabazar’s Second Trip to Tibet.

Also see:


See also Kindle Version


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Saturday, January 23, 2010

Mongolia | Life of Zanabazar | Chapter 5

In late 1649, the Earth Female Buffalo Year of the 11th Rabjung according to the Kalachakra Calendar, Zanabazar would have been fourteen years old, his childhood over and his adolescence about to begin. Since the age of four, when he had been named the Bogd Gegen at Shireet Tsagaan Nuur, he had been taught by the very best religious teachers available in Mongolia, but he must have been aware that if he wished to proceed further on the religious path and aspire to be a leader of Buddhism in Mongolia he would have to continue his studies in Tibet, the wellspring of Buddhism as practiced in Mongolia and the home of the Dalai Lama, the acknowledged leader of the Faith. Thus the decision was made that he should travel to Tibet and meet with the 5th Dalai Lama, Ngawang Lobsang Gyatso . . . Continued.

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Thursday, January 21, 2010

Mongolia | Life of Zanabazar | Chapter 4

Monday, August 17, 2009

Mongolia | Gandan | Dhanyakataka Stupa

Tashchoimphel Temple at Gandan
Wandered by Gandan Monastery and took a peek at the Dhanyakataka Stupa Thangka in the Tashchoimphel Temple. Although Taranatha, Zanabazar’s previous Incarnation (See Incarnations of Javzandamba), wrote extensively about the Kalachakra and translated one of the most famous guidebooks to Shambhala from Sanskrit into Tibetan, Zanabazar Himself, the First Bogd Gegen, apparently showed little if any interest in the teachings. It was the Fourth Bogd Gegeen who first introduced the Duinkhor, or Kalachakra Teachings, into Mongolia in 1801. In 1803 he made a trip to Lhasa and brought back with him a large collection statues and books, including material connected with the Kalachakra. According to ethnologist A. M. Pozdneev, “In 1806 he set up a special datsang for the school of Duinkor [Kalachakra]” and services were performed here in 1807. "In the same year 1807, the Gegen ordered a yum written in gold from Tibet . . . Moreover, being devoted to the task of developing Duinkor, the Gegen decorated the temple of Dachin-kalbain-Sume, gilding its roof, and in its courtyard he established his personal residence.”

He also reportedly commissioned a thangka showing the Dhanyakataka Stupa in southern India where by tradition Shakyamuni Buddha first taught the Kalachakra Tantra to the first King of Shambhala. This is the thangka which can now be seen in the Tashchoimphel Temple.
Thangka of the Dhanyakataka Stupa
Close-up of the thangka showing Buddha emanating as the Kalachakra Deity inside the stupa. It was in this form that he taught the Kalachakra Tantra to Suchandra, the First King of Shambhala.

By tradition the Dhanyakataka Stupa is located at Amaravati, in south India, where the Dalai Lama gave a Kalachakra Initiation in January of 2006.
Ninety-two year-old Lama Gombo (left) was kind enough to point out the Dhanyakataka Thangka to me.

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Thursday, July 16, 2009

Mongolia | Natural and Historical Monuments | Saridgiin Khiid

See a new, revised account of Saridgiin Khiid, the monastery founded by Zanabazar and intended to be the center of Buddhism in Mongolia. It was later destroyed by Zanabazar’s arch nemesis Galdan Bolshigt.
Ruins of Saridgiin Khiid

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Thursday, May 14, 2009

Russia | Kalmykia | Elista | Telo Tulku Rinpoche

The next morning I have breakfast in the hotel restaurant, which is plush with carpets and still more blonde-wooded furniture. The house breakfast is frugal however; an small omelet, some paper-thin slices of cold cuts and cheese and bread, plus an expresso cup of instant coffee. At the table next to me are four Russian businessman in suits. They order a liter and a half bottle of vodka and consume it with their breakfast. Some things in Mother Russia never change.

The night before Andzha had given me a Russian SIMMs Card for my cell phone and now he calls me. Telo Rinpoche had been in India but he had just arrived yesterday with his teacher, the head of Drepung Gomang Monastery in southern India. At noon there will be a greeting ceremony for the Drepung Tripa, the official title of the lama from India, at the big Altan Süm (Golden Temple), the Rinpoche’ headquarters here in Elista, and the Rinpoche will have a few minutes to speak to me in his office beforehand. Also the monastery’s guest apartment is now ready to be occupied and Andzha will take me there before we go to the Golden Temple.

The apartment is in Microrayon #2, about a mile from the Golden Temple. The building is a Khrushchev-era construction exactly like apartment buildings in Ulaan Baatar from the same era. The builders could have used the same blueprints. Even the doors are the same. I have lived in several of these kinds of apartment buildings in UB so I immediately feel right at home. There’s no furniture but there are a a couple of mattresses propped against one wall. I put one of these on the floor and cover it with a carpet, not a handmade silk carpet like the one I sleep on in Ulaan Baatar but a machine-made woolen carpet from Turkey, but, hey, one can’t have all the comforts of home while traveling. In a corner is a pile of blankets and pillows. The kitchen has a gas stove but there is no hot water.

From here we proceed directly to the Golden Temple. This imposing structure is the largest Buddhist temple in Europe. It was completed only in 2005.

Golden Temple

Andzha drives in the private entrance at the back of the monastery and after taking off our shoes in the first floor entry hall take an elevator to the fourth floor where the Telo Rinpoche has his residence and office. From the elevator we step into a large room which at first glance seems to contain an enormous Buddhist-oriented craps table. But no, it is in fact an immense conference table, seating twenty-four, with a mandala embedded in the middle of it.

Conference Table with Mandala in the middle

Closer view of Mandala. The bottom side of the Mandala is visible in the ceiling of the Main Hall of the Temple.
I have a sudden vision of the 25th King of Shambhala sitting here with his staff, including General Hanuman, the Final Incarnation of the Bogd Gegeen, directing the final battle against the barbarian unbelievers. Andzha adds that the main temple hall is directly below this room, and that the bottom side of the mandala, painted with the same design, can be seen in the ceiling of the hall. All the prayers offered in the main temple ascend through the mandala and concentrate themselves here in this conference room.

The Telo Tulku Rinpoche’s luxurious office, appointed like that of a now disgraced CEO of a Too-Big-to-Fail bank in the USA, is off to one side of this awe-inspiring conference room. The redolence odor of rancid butter, mutton fat, and juniper incense common to monasteries in Mongolia, some of which have not felt a broom since before the fall of the Qing Dynasty, is noticeably absent here.

Telo Tulku Rinpoche

The Telo Rinpoche, the latest in a line of incarnations going back to Mangala, one of the original disciples of the Buddha and including Tilopa, one the 84 Mahasiddis of India, and the last Diluv Khutagt of Mongolia, whose book I have mentioned, greets me warmly. He must meet the Drepung Tripa shortly but he says that afterward he will give me a guided tour of the temple. In the meantime what can he do for me? I tell him that I would like to talk to historians who might know something about Dambijantsan, who was born here in Kalmykia and whose life I am researching, and who like the Rinpoche himself is considered to be, in some circles at least, an incarnation of one the 84 Mahasiddis of India, in Dambijantsans case the mahasiddi known as Güwari. The Rinpoche summons his secretary and instructs her to call one of the local research instittutes and track down any scholars who can shed some light on the up until now shadowy existence of Dambijantsan here in Kalmykia.

Then we take the elevator down to the first floor of the temple and proceed out into the immense main hall. Telo Rinpoche goes out to front gate to meet the Drepung Tripa and I remain behind. A couple hundred people have assembled to greet Drepung Tripa, and many are buying khadags (prayer scarves) from a small shop out front to present to him. Finally a procession of monks lead by Telo Rinpoche proceeds from the front gate to the entrance of the main hall of the temple. The Drepung Tripa, who appears to be in his sixties, comes last, bestowing his blessings on all those who approach him.

Telo Tulku Rinpoche (left) leading the procession into the Temple

The Drepung Tripa blessing people outside the Temple

He is the head of Drepung Gomang Monastery in southern India, which was founded by Tibetans who fled Tibet after the Chinese invasion of 1959 and named after Drepung Monastery in Tibet. Gomang was one of the several colleges at Drepung in Lhasa and the one at which most Mongolians monks who studied in Lhasa attended. Zanabazar, the first Bogd Gegeen of Mongolia, stayed at Gomang during his visits to Mongolia.

Ruins of Gomang College at Drepung in Lhasa

Many other famous Mongolian lamas studied here, including Agvan Dorzhiev, the Buryat who eventually became a tutor to the 13th Dalai and who Accompanied the Dalai Lama to Mongolia in 1904 when the latter fled Tibet after the invasion of the Younghusband Expedition.

Agvan Dorzhiev

Dambijantsan also reportedly attended Gomang College at Drepung in Lhasa. It was here that he allegedly killed his monastic roommate after a quarrel, an act which of course ended his monastic career and put him on the path which would eventually lead him to Mongolia. As George Roerich, in his book Trails to Inmost Asia, notes, “It seems the murder was the crucial point of his life for from then on begins his life as an errant warrior monk, full of wonderful adventures, messianic prophecies, and cruel deeds.”

The Drepung Tripa

The Drepung Tripa mounts the throne in the main hall of the temple and a chanting ceremony begins. After he is served a ceremonial offering of tea and rice people line up to again receive his blessing, after which everyone receives a small portion of rice (Drepung, I might add here, means “Rice Heap”). This greeting ceremony concluded the Drepung Tripa proceeds to the Telo Rinpoche’s office on the fourth floor. The Rinpoche asks me to come with along. At this office he is greeted by a camera crew from a Russian television station. It seems they want an interview with him. “I wanted to give you a tour of the temple,” he said, “But now I must talk to these people. But the monks are going to give the Drepung Tripa a complete tour of the temple, so just tag along with them and you will see everything.” The Drepung Tripa and his group go up to the fifth floor and I follow. The public is normally not allowed above the fourth floor, since the fifth floor contains a huge suite reserved solely for the Dalai Lama should he ever visit Kalmykia again. He has not visited since the temple has been built but there are high hopes he will soon.

At the entrance to the Dalai Lama’s suite on the fifth floor a guard stops me, the only person not in monks’ robes, and says, “Sorry, the public is not allowed up here.” Like a groupie who says, ”I’m with the band,” I said, “I am with the Drepung Tripa.” The guard said, “Oh, excuse me, I am so sorry!” Putting his hand together he bowed and said, “Please, please, go in!”

Sitting Room of the Dalai Lama’s Suite

The suite is immense, with magnificent carpets and sumptuous sofas and chairs. Should the Dalai Lama feel homesick, on one wall there is a painting of the Potala, his former home in Lhasa. I have toured the Dalai Lama’s living quarters in the Potala several times and oddly enough they are preserved just the way he left them, although apparently not in anticipation of his return.

Painting of the Potala in the Dalai Lama’s Suite

On the facing wall is a painting of the Golden Temple. To one side of the sitting room is the Dalai Lama’s bedroom, complete with double bed. Instead of a chocolate, there is a prayer scarf on the pillow.

Dalai Lama’s bed: there’s no chocolate on pillow but there is a prayer scarf

Just off the bedroom is a small study and meditation niche with a mat on the floor and low table. Off to the other side of the sitting room are conference rooms and rooms for the Dalai Lama’s attendants.

Dalai Lama’s Meditation and Study Niche

The sixth floor, which is actually a walkway around the cupola at the top of the temple is also normally closed to the public but of course we get to go up for a look. From here we get a good view at the very modest city of Elista, which ends abruptly less than half a mile away, beyond which treeless steppe stretches off to the horizon. It is windy even here, and even bit cool, but the Drepung Tripa lingers, seeming to enjoy the view from all four sides of the cupola.

View of Elista from the cupola of the Temple

Another view from the cupola

The Drepung Tripa enjoying the view from the cupola

From here we descend back down to the first floor for a tour of the monastery’s Scriptorium, which in additional to a large collection of regular books and Tibetan-language sutras has high speed internet free for the public. The Drepung Tripa asks to see several Tibetan language sutras and lingers over them for awhile.

Drepung Tripa perusing tome in the Scriptorium

I cannot help noticing a display case contaiing a collection of books about the Oirat Zaya Pandita (1599–1622), whose path I keep crossing in the most unexpected places.

Namkhaijantsan (1599–1662), The Oirat Zaya Pandita

He is the inventor of the so-called Tod Bichig Script, a variation of the traditional vertical Mongolian script. While researching the dialects of western Mongolia he stayed at Tögrög Monastery in the small town of Mankhan, on the Dund Tsenger River in what is now Khovd Aimag. Dambijantsan’s camp, where in 1912 he assembled his troops for the assault on the Manchu Fortress in Khovd City, was located on the Dund Tsenger Gol not far from Mankhan. The Zaya Pandita also accompanying the little six-old prince Galdan to Lhasa in 1649 when the latter went there to become a monk. Galdan, who later renounced his vows as a monk and became the khan of the Zungarians, or Western Mongols, would launch a disastrous war against the Eastern Mongols, led by Zanabazar, the first Bogd Gegeen. Seeking protection from Galdan, Zanabazar in 1691 accepted the suzerainzy of the Qing Dynasty in China, making Mongolia a province of China and leading to the subjugation of the Eastern Mongols by the Manchus for 220 years. To free Mongolia from China became the overriding goal of the first part of Dambijantsan’s life.

From the Scriptorium we moved on to the very finely appointed museum of the monastery. Among the plethora of displays here, too numerous to detail, was another exhibit about the Zaya Pandita and also one about Agvan Dorzhiev, the enigmatic Buryat, mentioned before, who did much to revitalize Buddhism in Kalmykia at the beginning of the twentieth century. As mentioned, Dorzhiev reportedly studied with Dambijantsan at Drepung Monastery in Lhasa. Next to the Museum we peek into the lusciously appointed Conference and Film Viewing Hall.

Conference Hall

The Drepung Tripa then retired to his quarters. Andzha and I went to the monastery’s canteen for a late lunch of hearty beef and barley soup (Andzha, despite his years as a monk in India, is not a vegetarian). While we were eating he got a call from Telo Rinpoche, who said that a meeting had been set up for me tomorrow at the Kalmykian Institute of Humanistic Research. Apparently the panditas there know something about Dambijantsan.

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Wednesday, January 7, 2009

Mongolia | Life & Death of the False Lama #17

I last wrote about Dambijantsan’s 1891 Sojourn through Mongolia.

A year later, in 1892, the Russian ethnologer Pozdneev showed up at Amarbayasgalant Monastery in north-central Mongolia. Amarbayasgalant Monastery, located 137 miles northwest of Ulaan Baatar, the capital of Mongolia, had been built by order of the Qing Emperor Kangxi to house the remains of Zanabazar, the sixteenth incarnation of Javzandamba and the First Bogd Gegeen of Mongolia. Completed in 1736, during the reign of Kangxi’s grandson Qianlong, Amarbayasgalant eventually became one of the main pilgrimage destinations in Mongolia.

Amarbayasgalant Khiid

It had been damaged during the upheavals of the late 1930s, but unlike most monasteries in Mongolia it had not been totally destroyed. The outer wall of the complex and the shells of most of the temples inside the wall remained intact, and starting in 1990 an extensive restoration project was initiated by Tibetan lama Lobsang Tenzin Gyatso Pal Sangpo. The monastery was officially reopened in 1993, and in 1996 the complex was nominated by UNESCO as a World Heritage Site. Currently about sixty novices and ordained monks are in residence. The monastery now hosts a fair amount of pilgrims and sightseers from other parts of Mongolia and has became a standard stop for tourist groups headed farther west to the popular destination of Lake Khövsgöl. Still, after the sightseers and tourists have left for the day and monks have retired to their quarters the monastery grounds are often completely deserted, the silent broken only by the cooing of pigeons and the soughing of the wind through the empty courtyards.

Visitors to Amarbayasgalant in the late nineteenth century would have encountered a much different scene. Over 2000 monks were attached to the monastery, and it ranked second only to Örgöö (now Ulaan Baatar) among the most important pilgrimage sites in Mongolia, with thousands of pilgrims streaming here each year from all the aimags (provinces) of Mongolia. The so-called Imperial Temples, constructed during the reign of the Qing Dynasty emperors and enclosed by a wall measuring 680 feet by 575 feet, were flanked on either side by numerous temples built with donations from Mongolian pilgrims and well-wishers, including one temple which housed an immense statue of Maitreya, the coming Buddha, described as “sixty arm-spans” in height. All of these temples outside the Imperial Wall and the Maitreya statue were destroyed during the 1930s repressions.

Among the main attractions at Amarbayasgalant were the temples containing the sharils, or mummified remains, of Zanabazar, the First Bogd Gegeen of Mongolia, and the Fourth Bogd Gegeen, Losang Tupten Wongchuk (1775–1813). In the 1890s services were held over the remains these two Bogd Gegeens each day at five in the morning and again between eight and nine in the evening. “To officiate at these services,” noted one visitor, “five distinguished and most honored lamas are appointed in turn, whereas all the other more humble inhabitants of the monastery do not even have the right to approach these holy objects and must confine themselves to worshipping before the door of the temple in which they are.” The remains of Zanabazar and the Fourth Bogd Gegeen were removed from the temples in 1937 by communist iconoclasts and reportedly burned. The two temples which contained the sharils survived and were renovated in the 1990s.

I traveled first to Amarbayasgalant because of my interest in Zanabazar, the first of the eight Bogd Gegeens who from 1639 to 1924 performed a role in Mongolia similar to that of the Dalai and Panchen Lamas in Tibet. A distant descendant of Chingis Khan, he was the great-grandson of the Tüsheet Khan Avtai (1554–1587), ruler of the Tüsheet Khanate centered around what is now Övörkhangai Aimag in Mongolia. It was Avtai Who Met with the Third Dalai Lama in the 1580s, converted to Buddhism, and then reintroduced Buddhism into Mongolia after the long hiatus the religion had experienced after the fall of the Mongol Yüan Dynasty in 1368. Zanabazar, who at the age of four was recognized as the first Bogd Gegeen by a convocation of Mongolian nobles at Shireet Tsagaan Nuur, in modern-day Övörkhangai Aimag, traveled twice to Tibet and received teachings from both the Dalai Lama and Panchen Lama. Back in Mongolia he embarked on an ambitious monastery-building campaign, introduced new rituals, including the famous Maitreya Ceremony, now once again practiced in Mongolia (at Amarbayasgalant, among other places), and even designed new robes and hats for monks of the Gelug sect to which he belonged. A renowned polymath, Zanabazar composed hymns, studied the medicinal qualities of hot springs, and invented two new alphabets, the Quadratic Script and the Soyombo Script. The so-called head symbol of the Soyombo script is now portrayed on the Mongolian flag, Mongolian currency, and literally thousands of other places.

Among his many accomplishments, however, Zanabazar is probably best remembered for his Incomparable Bronze Statues. “During his lifetime," notes a modern-day art historian, he was the greatest Buddhist sculptor in Asia.” His bronze statues of White Tara, Green Tara, Sitasamvara, the Five Transcendent Buddhas—Akshobhya, Vairocana, Amitabha, Amogghasiddhi, and Ratnasambhava—and others are now the centerpieces of several museums in Ulaan Baatar. Although few if any privately owned Zanabazar statues have come up for sale recently, so-called School of Zanabazar statues—made by artists emulating the style of Zanabazar—have recently been featured at high-profile art sales in New York City. Some of School of Zanabazar pieces at these sales sold for several hundred thousands of dollars. Zanabazar’s own works must be considered “priceless.”

As we have seen, however, it was Zanabazar who in 1691, after the invasion of Khalkh Mongolia by Galdan Boshigt, had capitulated to the Qing, resulting in the loss of Mongolian independence and making Mongolia a province of China. Resentment against the Qing Dynasty was running high when Podzneev visited Amarbayasgalant in 1892. Podzneev, the son of an archpriest in the Russian city of Orel, had studied at the School of Oriental Languages at the University of St. Petersburg and in 1876 had embarked to Mongolia with the famous Russian explorer G. N. Potanin on a three-year expedition sponsored by the Imperial Russian Geographic Society. After returning to Russia he continued to hone his fluency in Chinese, Manchu, and Mongolian and was eventually appointed a professor at the University of St. Petersburg. In 1892 the Russian Foreign Ministry commissioned him to make what turned out to be a thirteen-month expedition in what is now the country of Mongolia and the Chinese province of Inner Mongolia. On June 27, 1892, accompanied by his wife, a scholarly assistant, and various factotums, he crossed the Russian-Mongolian border at the trading post of Khyakta, and on June 2 he arrived at Amarbayasgalant Monastery.

An indefatigable researcher, he immediately began interviewing people and perusing written documents. He first met with the two head lamas of the monastery. He found them “very learned about Buddhism,” but “ignorant, not only of the history of their own country, but even of their own monastery.” Interviewing two elderly monks, Podzneev asked them how many temples were located within the original imperial wall. The monks had no idea, even though they had lived at the monastery for over forty years. “Just think how many years we have lived here but yet do not know; I guess we don’t have to!” one of the monks ingenuously explained. In talking to other monks Podzneev was struck by the level of animosity expressed against both the Qing government and the Mongolia noblemen who sided with the Qing. “The majority of them complained bitterly about the impoverished condition of the Khalkha,” he noted, “and did not attempt to hide it, expressing their dissatisfaction with the Chinese government and its extortions.” During the winter of 1891–1892 the Mongolian countryside had experienced extreme cold and disastrous zuds, ice or snow storms which prevent animals from grazing, and large numbers of livestock had died. Many herders who kept livestock for the monastery were impoverished, but despite this the Qing government had levied some 14,400 horses to replenish the herds of the Emperor which had been decimated by an epidemic. Resentment against this requisition was still running rampant when Podzneev visited Amarbayasgalant.

One evening Podzneev was visited in his quarters by the secretary of the monastery administration, a man named Yondon, who turned out to be “an elegant or rather cultivated, or at least experienced lama,” in Podzneev’s words, who had earlier served in the administration of a monastery in Örgöö (Ulaan Baatar) and who had been at Amarbayasgalant for the last seven years. The conversation soon turned to Dambijantsan. He had heard about Dambijantsan’s claim that he would soon return with army to overthrow the Qing. Pozdneev:
Yondon bicheechi [bicheech = writer or scribe) . . . earnestly begged me not to conceal anything from him but to tell him even in confidence where or not I had seen any such troops on the march or at least where or not I had heard that they were getting ready for a campaign. I answered the bicheechi that I had heard nothing of the sort . . . from a further chat it became quite clear to me that he and all other Mongols believe implicitedly to this day in the real existence of this son of Amursana and in the veracity of all that he said, and, as an irrefutable argument to the truth of both of these things, they point out that this lama possessed a cap to which a golden ochir was affixed instead of a button.
The wearing of badges of rank like a “golden ochir’ were regulated by the strict protocol of the Qing Dynasty and there were severe penalties for their unauthorized use. The implication was that if Dambijantsan possessed such a badge he must have been an important person, and that whatever he claimed must be true. “I, of course,” Podzneev wrote, “could not throw doubt on such an argument . . .” He continued:
From certain details of this story I guessed that the Mongol was talking about a certain charlatan, a Russian Kalmyk from the Little Dörbet ulus of the Astrakhan gouvernment, who, upon his arrival in Urga had been arrested by the Urga consulate and after interrrogation had been sent under guard back across the Russian border.
This was probably the first written account of Dambijantsan—but it was intended for a mainly scholarly audience of ethnologists, historians, and linguists—it makes for pretty heavy going when read just as a travel account—and thus unlike Beasts, Men and Gods never reached a wide audience (it was not translated and published in an English-language edition until 1971). It was perhaps fitting that the first account of him was made by Podzneev at Amarbayasgant, the burial place of Zanabazar, because Dambijantsan would devote the better part of his life to undoing what Zanabazar had done. It is also of interest that by 1892 Dambijantsan was already reputed to be a “charlatan,” as Podzneev calls him, a impostor and con-man who was not in fact a lama or a legitimate freedom-fighter, and did not possess the powers, either spiritual or political, which he laid claim to. It was this reputation which would earn him the moniker “False Lama.”

Podzneev concludes his remarks about Dambijantsan:
. . . one question still puzzled me, namely, to what did Dambi Jantsan owe his success, and, by turning the conversation gradually to this subject, I soon convinced myself that the basic cause for this was the tacit discontent and at times even hatred of the people for their government and an eager, if only passive, desire to rid themselves of the oppression with which the Chinese have surrounded the lives of the Mongols. To my surprise, I learned in this connection that the people are even discontented with their own Mongol princes, many of whom, I was told, become infected with the Chinese way of thinking during their trips to court, gravitate toward China, plunder their people, and, a most terrible thing to a Mongol, even offer offense to the faith.
It was this anger and hatred against the Chinese and Manchus that Dambijantsan hoped to mobilize in his struggle for Mongolian independence. His ultimate political goal, it was said, was to turn back the clock to the time of Galdan Bolshigt, before Zanabazar had ceded control of Mongolia to the Qing, and recreate a new Mongolian khanate. Only when this became impossible did he turn to a life of banditry and establish around himself not a khanate but a cult in which he could give free rein to his sadistic impulses. Inside of Dambijantsan were two entities struggling for control of his existence: the Ja Lama—Buddhist practitioner and freedom fighter—and the False Lama: con-man, bandit, torturer, and murderer. In the end the False Lama would win.

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Monday, December 22, 2008

Mongolia | Life & Death of the False Lama #12

I have already written about Amarsanaa’s Rise to Power and the deteriorating situation in Khalkh Mongolia. Events soon turned for the worse. The country had been stripped of the able-bodied men who had been sent to fight in Zungaria and impoverished by the huge amounts of horses, meat, butter and other supplies that had been requisitioned for the Qing armies. Then in the winter of 1755–56 disastrous zuds, winter ice and snow storms which prevent livestock from grazing, had hit, impoverishing many herdsmen, and on top of this a small-pox epidemic had broken out. Morale was at an all-time low when word came that in Zungaria Amarsanaa had raised the banner of revolt against the Qing Dynasty. Disaffected elements among the Khalkh Mongols soon followed his example.

Amarsanaa had apparently laid the groundwork for this uprising while in Mongolia helping to organize the Northern Route Army, further evidence that he had planned in advance to defect from his Qing overlords once Davatsi had been defeated. He had met with Khan Chingünjav and a nobleman named Rinchindorj and attempted to coordinate uprisings against the Qing in both Zungaria and Khalkh Mongolia. The Khalkh side of the plot was soon exposed and orders were issued for the arrest of the conspirators. Chingünjav escaped but several others were seized. The rebels were taken to Beijing where they were tortured and then publicly executed. To further drive his point home, Qianlong had both the Second Bogd Gegeen and the Tüsheet Khan brought to Beijing to witness the executions. The Second Bogd Gegeen (1724–1757), son of Dondovdorj, himself the son of Zanabazar’s nephew, was forced to watch his own brother die at the hand of Qing executioners.

Qianlong had meant to impress upon the Mongolians the price to be paid for rebellion against the Qing and thus ensure their good behavior, but his actions had an entirely opposite effect. Word of the executions soon reached Mongolia, along with the rumor that the Qing intended to imprison the Bogd Gegeen in China, and in response still more insurrections broke out. Qianlong had to dispatch the Bogd Gegeen and the Tüsheet Khan back to Mongolia with orders that they to quell the disturbances, but already events had overtaken them.

In the summer of 1756 Chingünjav sent a letter to Qianlong formally renouncing his allegiance to the Qing Dynasty. With a initial army of about 2,000 men he set up headquarters near Lake Khövsgöl, near the Russian border in what is now Khövsgöl Aimag, and from there appealed to other Mongols khans to join his revolt. He also sought aid the Russians, apparently promising to switch allegiance from the Qing Dynasty to the Russian Czar in exchange for help in ousting the Qing from Mongolia. Initially there were uprisings all over Mongolia and numerous Qing outposts and post stations were overrun. Flush with early successes Chingünjav attempted to organize a convocation of Mongol noblemen in Örgöö where Mongolian independence would be declared. But soon the reality of what they were doing began to sink in, and many noblemen got cold feet. The Qianlong emperor was still capable of sending enormous armies, now equipped with muskets and cannon, to Mongolia to put down the insurrectionists, and many nobleman had become quite comfortable with the perks they were receiving from the Qing government.

Most crucially, the Second Bogd Gegeen refused to support the insurrection. To isolate even further the Bogd Gegeen from the rebels a detachment of Qing troops put him under virtual house arrest. As Russian diplomat who was negotiating with the rebels at the time put it, “Where the Jebsundamba Khutukhtu is, there is Mongolia, and where Mongolia is, there, too, is the Jebsundamba Khutukhtu.” Without the support of the Bogd Gegeen the revolt was doomed.

Malcontent Mongols at the time may have muttered, “Of course the Bogd Gegeen supports the Qing; his mother was a Manchu.” The Manchus were of course the founders of the Qing Dynasty, and the grumblers would have been referring to Khichenguy Amarlinguy, a.k.a. The Peaceful Princess, who according to some accounts was the Manchu Emperor Kangxi’s own daughter (he had a lot and it was not doubt hard to keep track) and thus Qianglong’s great-aunt, or according to other versions a daughter of a first degree Qing prince. It can be said for sure that she was Qing nobility. The dates are muddled, but apparently Kangxi gave Khichenguy Amarlinguy in marriage to Zanabazar’s nephew Dondovdorj in 1697.

Dondovdorj became the Tüsheet Khan upon the death of his father Chakhuundorj, Zanabazar’s brother. He was a gay-blade who liked women and booze and even wrote poetry, perhaps a suitable occupation for a scribbling hanger-on in an khan’s entourage but hardly suitable for a khan himself. After various indiscretions involving the wives of other Mongolian noblemen—there is no word of scraps with other poets—he was finally forced to step down as Tüsheet Khan, yielding the throne to a relative. But he was not without his martial qualities and he went on to distinguish himself on the battlefield against the Zungarian Mongols lead by Galdan Bolshigt’s nephew Tsevan Ravdan. When Kangxi died in 1722 Zanabazar traveled from Mongolia to Beijing to pay his respects. In his entourage was Dondovdorj, his earlier indiscretions forgiven or forgotten.

While in Beijing, Zanabazar, divining which way the wind was blowing in post-Kangxi China and sensing his own mortality, issued some instructions on how to find his reincarnation. Dondovdorj should take as a wife, Zanabazar hinted, a Mongolian woman born in the year of the monkey or chicken and have a son by her. The boy would be the 17th incarnation of Javzandamba, just as Zanabazar was the 16th.

Dondovdorj rushed straight back to Mongolia, apparently with Khichenguy Amarlinguy in tow (and perhaps with another Manchu wife he had picked up on this trip) and married a Mongolian woman named Tsagaan-Dara-Bayartu who had been born in the year of the monkey. Zanabazar died under cloudy circumstances in Beijing in 1723. In 1724, “at daybreak on the first day of the middle of the spring moon in the Wood Dragon Year” a son was born to Dondovdorj. This boy, Luvsundandidomne, became the Second Bogd Gegeen.

Most sources say Dondovdorj’s Mongolian wife Tsagaan-Dara-Bayartu was the mother of the Second Bogd Gegeen. Yet there are legends which persist down to this day that the boy’s mother was in fact Khichenguy Amarlinguy. There are any number of variants to this tale, but one maintains that both Khichenguy Amarlinguy and Tsagaan-Dara-Bayartu had a baby around this time and that the babies were switched in their cradles so that the Manchu princess’s baby could be recognized as Bogd Gegeen. A thangka now in the Zanabazar Art Museum in Ulaan Baatar shows a woman who some monks identify as Khichenguy Amarlinguy holding the baby Bogd. This thangka, they now claim, was produced to memorialize the true story of the Bogd Gegeen’s antecedents.

In any case, Khichenguy Amarlinguy came to love her adopted country. She considered herself a Mongolian and stated that he want to be buried in Mongolia: “It is not necessary to take my corpse back to China. I became a Mongol person because of being the wife of a Mongol. It is thus necessary to bury me in Mongolia.” Her wishes were honored and after she died a temple to house her remains was built near the headwaters of a tributary of the Terelj River about thirty-six miles north of Ulaan Baatar. In the mid-nineteen thirties her tomb was dug up by thieves looking for gold statues and other valuables believed to be buried with her. Her body was burned and the exposed ashes eventually blew away. The temple, known as Günjin Süm, or the Temple of the Peaceful Princess, was heavily damaged, but the ruins have became a popular pilgrim and tourist destination.

With support among the Mongol nobility having faded away, and the Bogd Gegeen uncooperative, Chingünjav’s revolt failed and he himself attempted to escape to Russia. North of Lake Khövsgöl he and his party stopped to camp, believing they were safely across Russian border A detachment of Qing troops caught up with the party early in January of 1757 and claiming that they was still on Mongolian territory seized Chingünjav and his sons. They were taken to Beijing and subjected to torture. According to legends now retold in Mongolia, large coins with a square hole in the middle were heated until they were red-hot and then placed on Chingünjav’s back. When his seared flesh rose up through the holes in the coins it was slashed off with a razor. After these excruciating tortures he was executed in March 2, 1757.

Monument erected by Chingünjav in the Khoogiin River Valley, Khövsgöl Aimag. The exact purpose of this monument is unknown.
Chingünjav remains a hero to this day among many Mongolians for his for his ultimately quixotic stand against the Qing. At least he had stood up to the oppressors, unlike other Mongolian noblemen who were more interested in saving their Qing-granted titles and perquisites. When I was researching my book on Zanabazar, the first Bogd Gegeen of Mongolia, I was told by numerous informants that Galdan Bolshigt, the Oirat, and Chingünjav, the Khalkh, were true warriors who had fought for Mongolia while others, for instance Zanabazar himself and his relative the Second Bogd Gegeen, were wimps who had only caved in to the Qing.

A monument north of Lake Khövsgöl now marks the spot where Chingünjav was arrested. The monument is now on Mongolian territory, but local people still claim that back then it was Russian territory and thus Chingünjav had been illegally seized. There is also now a street in Ulaan Baatar named after Chingünjav. But while Galdan Bolshigt has had a brand of vodka named after him—the ultimate accolade in modern-day Mongolia—to my knowledge Chingünjav has not yet been accorded this honor.

As for the Second Bogd Gegeen, he died in late 1757 at the age of thirty-three, apparently while still under house arrest. Although in the final showdown he had sided with the Qing, or at the very least simply refused to encourage the insurrectionists, he may still have incurred the displeasure of Qianlong. There are persistence rumors that he was assassinated by Qianlong’s order. Maybe Qianlong got the idea from his father Yongzheng, who according to legend had Zanabazar, the First Bogd Gegeen, assassinated at the Yellow Temple in Beijing in 1723. In case Qianlong’s displeasure with the Second Bogd Gegeen would have lasting consequences. Not wanting any more Mongolian Bogd Gegeens becoming possible rallying points for Mongolian rebels, he declared that henceforth all incarnations of Javsandamba must be found not in Mongolia but in Tibet. All subsequent Bogd Gegeens, including the current one, now living in India, have been Tibetans.

While he was putting down the rebels in Mongolia Qianlong had by no means ignored the situation in Zungaria. By November of 1756 he had amassed an immense army of some 400,000 men and sent it west to finally, at long last, once and for all, deal with the incurably rebellious Amarsanaa and the Zungarians. He had also found an unlikely ally in his battle against the Zungarians—Kelsang Gyatso, the Seventh Dalai Lama of Tibet. According to one historian, “[Qianlong] asked him to use his religious influence among the Oirats to rouse them to the Chinese cause and to forsake Amarsanaa. This the Dalai Lama willingly did. He asked the Oirats to stay loyal to the Chinese as part of their religious duties.” This was quite a turnaround from the days of the 5th Dalai Lama, who had been put on the throne of Tibet by the Oirat chieftain Güüsh Khan, and who had whole-heartedly backed his one-time disciple Galdan Bolshigt, ruler of the Zungarian Empire (it was the Great 5th, it will be remembered who gave Galdan his title of Bolshigt, or Khan by Divine Grace). First the Second Bogd Gegeen had refused to back the Khalkh rebels against the Qing, and now the Dalai Lama was throwing his support to the Qing against the Zungarians. Those who were reading the tea leaves of Inner Asian destiny must have divined that the days of independent Mongol states were very quickly coming to an end.

The huge Qing army had no trouble seizing Ili and had soon subduing most of the Oirats, except of course for Amarsanaa. With a mere 2500 soldiers he left made a last-ditch stand against a detachment of the Qing soldiers, holding them at bay for seventeen days. Then around the end of June the ever-elusive Amarsanaa simply disappeared. Not until November 1st of 1757 did the Qing authorities find out that he had absconded to Russia.

It turned out that after disappearing from Zungaria Amarsanaa had fled west with about of 4000 followers, many of them woman and children. His father-in-law and erstwhile protector Sultan Ablai of the Kazakh Middle Horde had himself just recognized the authority of the Qing Dynasty and was under strict orders not to aide Amarsanaa. He could expect to find no quarter there. Instead he fled to Russia, where he sought asylum at the fortress of Semipalatsinsk. The Czar himself, not wanting any trouble with the Qing, declared that Amarsanaa could stay in Russia only if he settled in Kalymkia, far to the west, and agreed not to mount any further campaigns in Zungaria. But then Amarsanaa fell ill to small pox, the scourge of the nomads. He was transferred to Tobolsk, in western Siberia, and there the great warrior transmigrated on September 21, 1757, finally laid low not by the might of the Qing Empire but by a virus. He was only thirty-five at the time, but no one could say that his short life had been uneventful. He had stood up time and time again to the greatest power in East Asia and in the end had eluded capture. He would never be paraded as a prisoner before the jeering throngs in Beijing like Davatsi, or tortured to death like Chingünjav. He would became a fitting exemplar for Dambijantsan, the Dörböt from the Caspian Steppe who had his own grudge against the Qing.

Earlier, the Russians had misled Qing officials about Amarsanaa’s whereabouts, claiming that while escaping from Zungaria he had drown trying to cross the Irtysh River. The river was diligently dredged for a month but no body was found. Finally apprized of Amarsanaa’s death in Russia, Qianlong demanded that the Russian officials return his body to China so that he could make sure the surly insurgent was truly dead. “The state only needs to capture Amursana. When he has died, and his body is retrieved, the entire Zunghar affair can be called a success,” pronounced Qianlong. The Russians, who did not want to be seen as caving in to Qianlong’s demands, refused to hand other the body. Instead they offered to take it to Selenginsk, in Siberia, just north of the Russian-Mongolian border, and allow Qing officials to examine it there. Qianlong became virtually unhinged by his failure to get his hands on Amarsanaa alive or dead. Throwing a furious fit, he halted all trade between China and Russia through Mongolia and even threatened to send an army north into Siberia to smote the insolent Russians. This threat was taken quite seriously. A fortress wall was built on the exposed side of Irkutsk, then the capital of Eastern Siberia, located at the confluence of the Irkutsk and Angara rivers below Lake Baikal, in anticipation of a Qing attack. The wall is long gone, but its former path is now taken by one of Irkutsk’s main streets. By March of 1758 Qianlong had cooled down. The more diplomatic-minded members of his court finally arranged for a delegation of Manchus, Chinese, and Mongols to go to Selenginsk and examine the body. They determined that is was indeed the earthly coil of Amarsanaa. The question of Amarsanaa was settled, but the Oirats of Zungaria who had revolted time and time again against the Qing were just beginning to receive their chastisement.

Qianlong’s retaliation against the Oirats was an early precursor to what is now called ethnic cleansing. For two years Qing soldiers tracked down Oirat men, women, and child and killed them, burned all gers they found, and seized Oirat livestock. Figures vary, but according to some sources from 500,00 to 600,000 people died in this holocaust. Some may have succumbed to illnesses like small pox which swept through the decimated population. Others managed to escape to Russia, where they were granted asylum. Again figures vary, but in the end maybe ten percent of the original Oirat population survived in Zungaria after the onslaught. One historian puts it succinctly, “As a political entity the Zunghar khanate went out of existence forever.”

Huge swaths of Inner Asia steppe had been depopulated by the decimation of the Zungarian people. Some areas were given to faithful Qing subjects from Mongolia and Manchuria. Ironically, many of the Kalmyks who took part in the Great Exodus of 1771 from the Caspian Steppe back to China also ended up on the lands vacated by the extermination of their relatives, the Oirats.

Although Amarsanaa may have lived on in the minds of many of the surviving Oirats as a hero he was eventually portrayed as an arch-villain even among Eastern Mongols, some of whom had for a brief moment in time joined up with him in revolt against the Qing. Dharmatala, the Mongolian author of the above-mentioned Rosary of White Lotuses, first published in 1889, refers to Amarsanaa a “man of evil.” Although a Mongolian, Dharmatala was loyal to the Qing Dynasty—or at least was not going to say anything bad about the Qing in print—which then ruled Mongolia, and could be expected to take the Qing line regarding the Oirats. Thus he was just echoing Qianlong on Amarsanaa. According to Dharmatala, in his Rosary of White Lotuses, the emperor had proclaimed:
There will be no more disturbances in this land [Zungaria], and all its nobles and commoners are to remember to keep the path of peace. The deeds of that evil man [Amarsanaa] destroyed the kingdom and made it desolate. If even his bare name be mentioned—him who caused so much harm to so many—it will bring no good, and therefore his name is not to be uttered ever again.
Not content with just degrading Amarsanaa, Dharmatala assigns mystical powers to Qianlong:
In the old days there were no rains in Hothon [roughly the old territory of Zungarians, especially the Zungarian Basin], but after the Emperor [Qianlong] entered the country he issued the following order to the Nagas:
“From now on, all the rains, storms, thunders etc. [in Zungaria] must follow the patterns of my own country!” Thus the land became indistingable from China; the whole Hothon resounded in fear and wonder!
Nagas, it should be pointed out, are serpent-like being who in Buddhist mythology rule the underworld and watery realms, thus influencing the weather. Thus Qianlong had come to rule not only the territory of Hothon—Zungaria—but also the realms of mythical beings! And twenty-first century travelers to China’s western-most province of Xinjiang, part of which is made up of Dharmatala’s “Hothon,” might well agree that it is now largely indistinguishable from the rest of China.

A whole welter of myth later grew up around Amarsanaa and his exploits. Indeed, some suggested that he had never in fact died, but had somehow discovered the secret of immortality and was living in a cave in Russia waiting for the right moment to return and lead a new struggle for Mongolian independence. He had also been granted magical powers. Using the traditional abilities of Oirat shamans, he could call down rain and snow storms to impede his enemies and summon a rainbow to hang his deel and other gear on. Buddhists believed he was an incarnation of Mahakala, the fierce warrior Bodhisattva. He himself had supposedly prophesied that he would return to Zungaria in 120 years to avenge the destruction of the Zungarians. According to this prophesy, ten years before his return “water would flow in the deserts northeast of Khobdo [Khovd], and grass and trees would return. Four years before his return, a light gray horse would appear that would ride around the region and lead the Oirat people away.”

Amarsanaa himself did not reappear 120 years after he left, but In 1890, 133 years after his death, Dambijantsan did materialize in Zungaria claiming to be his descendant, and in 1911, 154 years after Amarsanaa’s death, Dambijantsan Would Suddenly Appear in Khovd, where he would lead many Oirats into his idealized realm, the basis for what he hoped would be a new Zungarian state.

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Friday, December 12, 2008

Mongolia | The Life & Death of the False Lama #11

Earlier I elaborated on the Fall of Galdan Bolshigt.

With the elimination of Galdan Boshigt and the expulsion of the Zungarians from Khalkh Mongolia Zanabazar and his Khalkh followers were free to return to their homelands. The Zungarian state was by no means crushed however. His nephew Tsevang Ravdan (r. 1697–1627) quickly seized the reins of the Zungarian realm and rallied the Oirats of the Zungarian Basin to his banner. This new Zungarian state stretched from Hami in the east, on the current-day boundary of Xinjiang and Gansu, the Seven Rivers Region in the West, and including the old realms of Uighuristan, Kashgaria and the Ili Basin. Like so many Inner Asian chieftains before him Tsevang Ravdan set up his headquarters in the Ili River Valley, probably near Kulja.

The aging Kangxi emperor was for the moment content to consolidate his gains among the eastern Mongols in Khalkh Mongolia, the current-day country of Mongolia, and did not immediately take up the struggle against the Zungarians in the west. But his ultimate goal was to “exterminate (jiaome)” the Zungarians, to “wipe out the evil so as to have eternal peace.” In 1715 a Qing army moved beyond the western garrison city of Jiayuguan, at the Westernmost Extension of the Great Wall, and occupied Hami, then ruled by a Moslem beg. Moving on from Hami, the Qing generals hoped to set up a garrison at Barköl, on the northside of the Tian Shan, which could be used as a springboard for further advances into the Zungarian Basin. They also advanced along the southern flanks of the Tian Shan, and by 1718 had occupied Turpan, where the ruins of the Han and Tang dynasty cities of Gaochang and Jiaohe could be still be seen, reminders of former Chinese occupation of the area (major tourist attractions, they can be there today). The now emboldened generals envisioned marching on Ravdan’s headquarters in the Ili Basin far to the west, but for the time being were content to seize in Urumqi, a city just north of a major pass through the Tian Shan and the current-day capital of Xinjiang Province. And they were soon forced to abandon Urumqi and retreat back eastward.

This first attempt to wipe out the Zungarians and add their domains to the Qing Empire ended with the Kangxi emperor’s death in 1722. His son and successor, the Yongzheng emperor, was at first more interesting in consolidating his shaky hold on the throne than engaging in risky military adventures in far-off Zungaria. In 1724 he signed a peace treaty with Tsevang Ravdan which temporarily halted hostilities, and Tsevang Ravdan’s own death in 1727 resulted in another stalemate. His successor, Galdan Tsering (r. 1727–1745) soon fell out with the Yongzheng emperor. All other Mongols had capitulated to the Qing, Yongzheng pointed out to Galdan Tsering’s envoys, only the Zungarians refused to submit. His own father had defeated Galdan Bolshigt but had failed to bring the Zungarians to heel. As historian Frank Perdue points out:
the Qing goal of universal peace among humans led the Qing to endorse elimination of those humans who obstinately refused to knuckle under to the view. Humans who chose to resist the Qing terms remained human, but they had to pay the costs of their choice: “righteous extermination” (zhengjiao), designed to return the world to a rational order.
In the summer of 1729 two expeditionary forces, the West Route Army with 26,500 men and North Route army set out from Bejing with the ultimate goal of converging on the Zungarian headquarter in the Ili Valley. Not until 1731 did the West Route Army retake Urumqi, still 400 miles short of the Ili Valley. Meanwhile the North Route Army had proceeded to Khovd, in current-day Khovd Aimag in Mongolia, where they began construction of a fortress. In July of 1731 the Qing army numbered some 20,000 soldiers marched from Khovd westward towards the Zungarian Basin and the Ili River Valley beyond. The Zungarians had been tracking their advance, however, and prepared a surprise. At Khoton Lake, in current-day Bayan-Olgii Aimag, the Qing army was ambushed and nearly annihilated; only 2,000 survivors made it back to Khovd. The Qing general in charge of this debacle, Furdan, was then ordered to start construction of what was to be a huge fortress at Khovd. Intended to measure some 4.3 miles in circumference, with walls 16.5 feet high, the fortress was to eventually house a garrison of 16,000 men. Eventually this ambitious plan was abandoned, but a more modest fortress was established at Khovd. The reader should be alerted that in 1912, after the Qing Dynasty collapsed, Dambijantsan would play the leading role in Dislodging the Qing Holdouts here and demolishing the fortress.

Meanwhile the Western Route Army had been driven out of Urumqi by the Zungarians and chased the whole way back to Barkol. The news of this defeat coupling with the disaster at Kholon Lake thoroughly demoralized the not-too-stable-to-begin-with Yongzheng. He sued for peace and sent ministers to the Zungarians to negotiate a boundary between their two realms. Galdan Tsering wanted the border drawn along the western end the Khangai Mountains, which would have put most of modern-day western Mongolia, including Khovd, where the still extant ruins of the Khovd fortress are located, in the Zungarian sphere. Yongzheng favored the Mongol-Altai and Gov-Altai Mountains as the border, very roughly the current-day boundary between Mongolia and China. No agreement was reached, but Galdan Tsering dispatched a transmigrated before any further settlement could be reached. He alone had spent upward to 60 mllion taels of silver (2,280 tons) in his campaigns against the Zungarians and had failed to subdue or eliminate them. It would be left to his successor, the Qianlong emperor, to finally extinquish the Zungarian state and virtually exterminate the Zungarian people.

For the next fifteen years or so an uneasy peace reigned between the Qing and the Zungarians. In 1739 a truce was signed and formal trade relations agreed upon. Commerce soon thrived, with Inner Asian Moslems acting as middlemen in caravan traffic which revitalized the ancient Silk Road routes. But the lull in tensions did not lessen the basic antagonism between the two culture, as Frank Perdue points out,
Peace with the Zunghars did not genuinely soften Qing altitudes. The Qing regarded these barbarians as greedy, violent, and untrustworthy. The Qing believed, however, that the emperor’s grace would soften them to they would accommodate to imperial dominion. Barbarians by nature had ‘insatiable desire’ and ‘shameless greed’ but by controlling their actions and “cherishing’ them, the Qing could tame them. Tying the Zungar elites to the interior with trading links would make them less inclined to attack the frontier.
Galdan Tsering transmigrated in 1745. The ensuing succession struggles shattered whatever unity the Zungarians enjoyed among themselves and left the door open for Qing intervention. Out of the chaos which ensued would rise Amarsanaa, of whom Dambijantsan would eventually claim to be a descendant and/or an incarnation. All the various strands of Oirat-Zungarian history, including their struggles against the various Chinese dynasties down through the ages, would come together in Amarsanaa, only to be torn asunder when the Zungarian State was extinguished forever. For a brief moment in time Dambijantsan would try to reunite them in his own person.

Amarsanaa was a son of a Khoit nobleman. The Khoit were a minor tribe subordinate to the Dörböts (Dambijantsan’s tribe), themselves subordinate to the Zungars (or Choros), who under Khara Khula had claimed control over the Oirats as a whole. The rise of the Zungars to prominence in the Oirat confederation is one reason, as we have seen, that some Dörböts choose to emigrate to the Caspian Steppes, where they became part of the larger grouping known as Kalmyks. Thus by claiming to be an incarnation of Amarsanaa Dambijantsan was realigning himself with the Oirats who had remained behind in Inner Asia.

Amarsanaa mother’s was Boitalak, the daughter of Tsevang Ravdan, who as we have seen had became taishi (chieftain) of the Zungars after the death of his uncle Galdan Bolshigt in 1697. Boitalak had earlier, in 1714, married Danjung, the eldest son of Lazang Khan, himself the grandson of Güüsh Khan, who had put the Dalai Lama on the throne of Tibet in 1642. After Danjung was killed in Tibet around 1717, Boitalak married a taishi from the Khoit tribe and Amarsanaa, born in 1723, was the fruit of this coupling. The Qing emperor Qianlong would later maliciously suggest that Amarsanaa was conceived before Boitalak’s second marriage and thus being illegitimate could not himself claim to be taishi of the Khoits. Qianlong was certainly not an unbiased observer, and most historians have dismissed this slur.

Amarsanaa

Amarsanaa would have been twenty-two when Galdan Tseren, the ruler of the Zungarians, transmigrated in the early fall of 1745. In his will Galdan Tseren passed over his oldest son, nineteen year-old Lama Darja—who was considered illegitimate by some—and named his second son, fourteen year-old Tsewang Dorji Namjal as his successor. The boy soon revealed himself to be a notorious n’er-do-well. Damchø Gyatsho Dharmatala, in his Rosary of White Lotuses, Being a Clear Account of How the Precious Teachings of Buddha Appeared in the Great Hor Country, a monumental nineteenth-century history of Buddhism in Mongolia, states that Tsewang Dorji Namjal’s “favorite ways were to roam around in the villages, drinking chang [barley beer], seducing girls and indulging in carnal pleasures.” Even the staid, sober-minded author of that Tsewang Dorji Namjal’s entry in the encyclopedic Eminent Chinese of the Ch’ing Period points out that he was “more interested in killing dogs than attending to affairs of state.” Finally fed up by his antics, in 1750 a group of noblemen led by his older brother Lama Darja seized him, put out his eyes, and sent him to Aksu, on the northern edge of the Tarim Basin in what is now Xinjiang, where he was held captive and eventually executed.

Lama Darja became the new Zungarian taishi. His new position was precarious; the Oirats nobles despised him because of his low birth—his mother had apparently been a commoner with whom Galdan Tseren had coupled with only briefly. Soon a plot was spawned to depose him and place his remaining younger brother, perhaps nine years old at the time, on the throne. Davatsi (a.k.a., Dawaci), the leader of the conspirators was the grandson of the famous—in Tibet notorious—Tseren Dondub, a general who under the command of Tsevang Ravdan invaded Tibet in 1717 and trashed numerous Red Hat (Nyingma) monasteries, including Dorje Drak and Mindroling. When I visited Dorje Drak, on the north side of the Tsangpo River, between Chitishö and Dranang, in 2003, the monks there were still grousing about this Oirat incursion, even though the monastery which had been rebuilt after its destruction by Tseren Dondub was in turn destroyed by the Red Guards in the late 1960s. The current monastery was rebuilt yet again after that.

The plots was soon revealed and Lama Darja and Davatsi came to blows. Davatsi was quickly defeated and with only about a dozen followers—among them Amarsanaa—fled westward to the Kazakh steppes, where they found refuge among the Kazakh Middle Horde led by Sultan Ablai. The Sultan, perceiving that a civil war between the two Zungarian factions would inevitably weaken the khanate, and thus be to the advantage of the Kazakhs, encouraged the two rebels, even giving Amarsanaa one of his daughters as a wife. The emboldened Amarsanaa soon snuck back to the Tarbagatai Mountain region north of Ili where his tribe the Khoit were living and managed to round up an army of a thousand men. This force, along with some Kazakh troops sent along by the Sultan to aid the rebellion, marched on Kulja, in the Ili River Valley, where Lama Darja was holed up, caught him by surprise, and on January 13, 1752, dispatched him to the Heavenly Fields. Lama Darja’s little brother, in whose name the banner of revolt had been raised, was now bypassed, and Davatsi himself—who was after all a direct descendant of great Baatar Khongtaiji, founder of the Zungarian State—assumed the title of taishi of the Zungars.

Davatsi, however, proved to “a drunken and incompetent ruler,” as one commentator has described him, and he and Amarsanaa soon fell out. There were rumors that Amarsanaa demanded that he and Davatsi divide the rule of the Zungarians between them, a proposal which Davatsi flatly rejected. Davatsi was the descendant of the great Baatar Khongtaiji; Amarsanaa the son of a minor Khoit nobleman. There was no question of them sharing power as equals. Very quickly the two became deadly enemies. In 1754 Amarsanaa, along with a following of some five thousand soldiers and 20,000 women and children, broke away from the Zungarians under Davatsi and fled to Khovd, in current-day western Mongolia, where as mentioned the Qing had established a fortress. Here he struck what one historian terms his “fateful Faustian bargain.” He now swore allegiance to the Qing emperor, just has Zanabazar had done in 1691. In return the Qing would assist him in seizing control of the Zungarian state and recognize him as sole ruler of the Zungarians, with the Qing as suzerains. Forgotten, as least for the time being, was the traditional enmity between the Zungarians and the Qing. It was the Qing under emperor Kangxi who of course had hounded to his death the greatest Zungarian khan of all, Galdan Bolshigt. In light of later events, it would appear that Amarsanaa was just biding his time, using the Qing for protection against Davatsi, until he could himself return to Zungaria and seize control of the khanate. For the moment however Amarsanaa played his role as a devoted Qing subject. With the ostensibly loyal Amarsanaa now in his pocket Qianlong saw at long last a way of finally ridding himself of the Zungars and extending the Qing empire westward into what is now the province of Xinjiang. He, the loyal grandson, would complete the task began by Kangxi and Yongzheng and finally subdue the Zungars, the last large group of nomads on China’s borders still maintaining their independence. Ironically, a Oirat, Amarsanaa, was the key to his plans.

To further solidify Amarsanaa’s new-found loyalty to the Qing the emperor Qianlong granted him and his followers land along the Orkhon River, in current day Övörkhangai Aimag, then invited him down to Beijing, where he was declared a prince of the first degree. Then in 1755 Qianlong appointed him as assistant commander of the so-called Northern Route Army, under the overall command of Bandi, an Eastern Mongol of Chingis Khan’s own Borjid clan who had held numerous important posts in the Qing administration. The army, which numbered about 100,000, was made up in large part of Khalkh Mongolians, and the Khalkh had to furnish most of the horses, food, and other supplies for the force. This was the army which would be sent to subdue the Zungarians. Thus Qianlong was using the Eastern Mongols to rid himself of the Western Mongols.

The Northern Route Army left Uliastai, then one of the Qing headquarters in Mongolia (capital of current-day Zavkhan Aimag), in March of 1755. Around the same time the Western Route Army, also numbering about 100,000 and under the command of General Yung-ch’ang, left from Barköl. The two armies linked up at Amarsanaa’s own base of Bortala (Mongolian bor = tan; tal = steppe), the grasslands ramping up from the Zungarian Basin to the eastern side of the the Borohogo Shan, in June of 1755. From there they crossed the Borohogo Shan and marched on Kulja in the Ili Basin, the headquarters of Davatsi. “They met little or no resistance and took Ili without fighting. Most Sungars [sic] simply surrendered,” concludes one historian. Davatsi and a band of followers fled southwest to Gedengshan, 110 miles from from Ili, where on July 2 they were finally cornered and defeated by Qing troops. Davatsi himself escaped over the Tian Shan Mountains and hid out for a while in Kashgar, on the western edge of the Tarim Basin. The Moslem beg of Kashgar, divining which way the wind was blowing and not wishing to alienate the Qing, seized Davatsi and turned him over to Amarsanaa in July of 1755.

That should have been the end of the Zungar taishi. Qianlong, however, realizing that he had a valuable pawn on his hands, had Davatsi brought to Beijing where he was ceremoniously paraded as a captive. Then Qianlong granted him a princedom of the first degree and a mansion in Kalgan (current-day Zhangjaikhou), on the edge Mongolian Plateau north of Beijing, to reside in. Despite his title and comfortable accommodations he was now of course totally powerless. Free to devote himself to his favorite pastime, drinking, he died four years later, in 1759, but his descendants were honored with the rank of hereditary prince of the fourth degree.

Qianlong, meanwhile, had ordered up special ceremonies in the Monasteries of Dolonnuur to celebrate his victory over the Zungarians. His elation was premature. Amarsanaa, it turned out, was not playing the role Qianlong had designed for him. Qianlong had insinuated that after Davatsi had been defeated each of the Oirat tribes would be allowing to live on their traditional lands under a ruler appointed by the Qing emperor. Amarsanaa, in reward for his part in defeating Davatsi, was appointed ruler of the Khoits, answerable of course to the Qing emperor. But now suddenly Amarsanaa revealed his much greater ambitions. Why should he now be satisfied with ruling only the Khoits, a minor tribe in the Oirat confederation? He had helped the Qing defeat the Zungars, who had previously been the dominant power among the Oirats of the Zungarian State, so why shouldn’t he be the new ruler of the all of the Oirat tribes, including the Zungars? Making no secret of his ambitions he told Bandi, the commander of the Northern Route, to inform Qianlong in Beijing that he demanded to be made overall khan of the Oirats. To make his point clear, he refused to use the official seal given him by Qianlong, and instead appropriated the seal of his father-in-law Galdan Tseren, the “the last officially recognized lead of all the Zunghars.” Apprized of Amarsanaa’s presumptuous demands, on August 20,1755 Qianlong ordered that be seized and brought to Beijing. Amarsanaa was taken into custody, but on September 24, 1755, he escaped first to the Irtysh River Valley and then to the Kazakh Steppes, where he sought refuge with his father-in-law Sultan Ablai.

Believing that the Zungarians had finally been conquered, and that Amarsanaa himself, in exile in the Kazakh steppe, no longer posed a threat, Qianlong ordered most of the 200,000-man Qing army, which was costing a fortune to maintain in Zungaria, back to China, leaving only a small detachment with General Bandi. But Qianlong had seriously under-estimated Amarsanaa’s resilience. From his bolt hole in the Kazakh steppe he snuck back into Zungaria, rallied the Oirat princes to his side, and incited a general rebellion. The small Qing detachment left behind in Zungaria proved to be no match for the newly reunited Oirats under Amarsanaa. On October 4, 1755, acknowledging his hopeless position, Bandi, commander of the Qing troops, committed suicide. Amarsanaa took control of Ili and laid claim to all of Zungaria. Very quickly he had realized his dream of being the independent ruler of the Oirats. On February 17, 1756 his followers named him the new Zungarian Khan. By late 1756 he had managed to retake Ili. Qianlong must have been beside himself; twice he thought the Zungarians had been defeated; and each time they had managed to regroup and defy Qing authority. And now not only was Zungaria in revolt, but Mongolians in Mongolia itself, Qing territory since 1691, were now opening opposing the Qing . . .

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Friday, November 21, 2008

Mongolia | Life & Death of the False Lama #7

I wrote earlier about the circumstances leading up to Dambijantsan’s Enrollment in a Monastery in Dolonnuur.

The beginnings of Dambijantsan’s monastic career at Dolonnuur are unclear. He may have taken the preliminary vow known as Rabjun, which is given to young boys when they first enter a monastery. In addition to learning to read and write Mongolian, he probably began to study at least written Tibetan, since at that time most Buddhist texts were in the Tibetan language, and he would have received lessons in elementary Buddhism teachings, including the doctrines of the Gelug, or Yellow Hat, sect, one of the four main divisions of Tibetan Buddhism and the one to which the Dalai Lama belonged.

From his fellow Mongolian students, many of them from Khalkh Mongolia, the young boy who had been born in Russia may have imbibed the anti-Manchu sentiment then growing among a people ever-increasingly impoverished by their Qing masters. And perhaps he even got a sense that all was not well in the Qing Dynasty itself, then still reeling from the disastrous Second Opium War of 1856–60. In 1860, the year Dambijantsan was born, British and French forces had entered Bejing and sacked the Summer Palace, then forced on the Qing government to sign the so-called Peking Convention, which opened several Chinese ports to foreign trade, gave foreigners the right to travel in the interior of China, allowed Christian missionaries into the country, and, perhaps most importantly, legalized the importation of opium, the mainstay of British trade at the time. It was a blow from which the Qing Dynasty would never really recover. The emperor Xianfeng, totally mortified by China’s defeat in the Opium War and the onerous settlement forced on him by the foreign powers, died a broken man a year later at the age of twenty-nine. One of his concubines would lead a coup état and subsequently rule China for the next forty-seven years as the Empress Dowager Cixi, overseeing the slow but inexorable decline leading to the final extinguishment of the Qing Dynasty. When the Qing Dynasty finally did fall, in 1911–12, Dambijantsan would be in western Mongolian, leading the fight for Mongolian independence.

Maisky and George Roerich both allude to Dambijantsan’s youthful soujourn in Dolonuur but give no details. According to one of his Russian biographers he excelled in his studies and was soon marked out for advancement in the lamaistic community. Talented and ambitious young monks were inevitably drawn to Lhasa, the wellspring and lodestone of Tibetan Buddhism, so it is not surprising that Dambijantsan would have set his sights on the Tibetan capital. There was a problem, however. Although a Kalmyk, he was apparently a Russian citizen, and most foreigners, including even Buddhists from Russia, were not allowed into Tibet. The earlier fraternal ties the Kalmyks had enjoyed with Tibet had ended at least a hundred years ago. But as a Mongolian-speaking Kalmyk studying in Doloonuur he might well have been able to pass himself off as a Khalkh from Mongolia. As such he would have been allowed to travel to Tibet and enroll in a monastery there. As we shall see, he would not have been the only Russian citizen to attempt this ploy. Dambijantsan’s propensity for assumed false identities might well have begun at this point.

In any event, we soon find Dambijantsan in Lhasa, the capital of Tibet and home of the Dalai Lama, enrolled in the Drepung Monastery, one of the “Great Three” monasteries of Tibet, along with Sera and Gandan. Drepung (literally “rice heap”) Monastery had been founded in 1416 by Jamyang Chöje Tashi Pelden (“Dashi-baldan“ in Mongolian accounts), born in Tibet near Samye Monastery, and a close disciple of Tsongkhapa, the founder of the Gelug sect. He was believed to be the Eleventh Appearance of Javzanbamba, the line of incarnations of which Zanabazar, the First Bogd Gegeen of Mongolia, was the sixteenth. In addition to Drepung, he established more than one hundred other monasteries, retreat centers, and hermitages all over Tibet.

Drepung, located at the base of Gambo Utse Mountain about five miles west of the Potala, was once reputed to be the largest Buddhist monastery in the world, with as many as 8,000 monks in residence. The second, third and fourth Dalai Lamas lived at Drepung—this was before the completion of the Potala, later the residence of the Dalai Lamas—and their bodies were emtombed here. Zanabazar, the First Bogd Gegeen of Mongolia stayed at Drepung during his visits to Tibet in the years 1649–51 and 1655–56. Drepung was divided into colleges (dratsangs) which specialized in a particular teaching or hosted monks from some specific area in the Buddhist world. One college, for example, hosted monks from Kham, in eastern Tibet. Gomang College was famous for its Mongolian monks, and it was here that Dambijantsan gravitated.

Drepung in general was renowned as an institute of higher learning, with many monks studying for fifteen or twenty year to achieve the Buddhist equivalent of a doctorate degree. Any monk aspiring to reach the pinnacle of Buddhist teachings could fulfill his ambitions here. According to George Roerich, Dambijantsan spent “many years” at Drepung. Unfortunately we do not know who his teachers were, what specific teachings he specialized in, or what initiations he might have taken. His years at Gomang College were not wasted, however. “People who knew him well,” according to Roerich, “affirm that his knowledge of Buddhist metaphysics and secret Tantric teachings was unusually vast and it seems he enjoyed a high reputation among the high lamas of Mongolia.”

Later in life Dambijantsan would claim that the met the great Buryat-Mongol Lama Agvan Dorzhiev while in Tibet. He did not relate when and where they met, but they both would have been at Drepung Monastery at about the same time, and it is quite possible they crossed paths at Gomang College, the traditional haunt of Mongolian monks in Lhasa. If their paths did not cross they certainly moved in parallel directions. Both were of Mongols born in Russia; both would study in Tibet, both would enter the political realm—Dorzhieff in Tibet and Dambijantsan in Mongolia; both would dream of estabishing a Buddhist-oriented realm on Inner Asia; and both were men who assumed very public roles but whose lives were always surrounded in mystery.

Look behind the curtains of late nineteenth-early twentieth century Russo-Tibeto-Mongolian affairs and you are more than likely to find there, directing the hesitant actors, prompting the tongue-tied, and ready to stride on stage himself whenever necessary, the enigmatic figure of the always-present but paradoxically ever-elusive Dorzhiev, or Ngawang Losang, as he was known in Tibetan. Dorzhiev was born in the valley of the Uda River, which flows into the Selenga River at the city of Ulaan Ude (in Dorzhiev’s time, Verkhneudinsk) in the current autonomous republic of Buryatia in the Wood Tiger Year of the 14th sixty-year cycle of the Kalachakra calendar (1854 according to the Gregorian calendar). A precocious student with obvious linguistic talents he soon excelled in Russian—his native language was Buryat—and, oddly enough for the time and place, French. He showed an early interest in Buddhism and quickly added Tibetan, the language of most religious texts, to his resumé. At the age of thirteen he received an Amitayus Long-Life Empowerment from a local lama, who also advised him to go to Tibet for further studies.

Tibet, however, was far off; and Dorzhiev’s means were limited. Örgöö, in Mongolia, was much closer, and it was there that Dorzhiev went a year later, in 1868. He took the precepts of an upsaka, or religious layman, restraining himself from killing, stealing, lying, irresponsible sexual activity, and the use of intoxicants. Apparently at this point he was not totally convinced of his religious vocation and not yet ready to become a fully ordained monk. Instead he soon married a woman named Kholintsog and may have fathered a child—coitus in the married state not being considered irresponsible sexual activity. He quickly discovered that “the household life, both in this and future births, is like sinking into a swamp of misery.” After consulting with his teacher, the revered Mongolian lama Penchen Chomphel, he decided to advance a further step on the path of his religious vocation by taking the vows of a celibate layman, or ubashi. At this point wife and purported child disappear from his curriculum vitae, never to be heard from again.

Agvan Dorzhiev

For the really serious student of Buddhism there was only one ultimate destination—Lhasa, the lodestar of Inner Asian Buddhists. Dambijantsan himself had reached this conclusion. Dorzhiev was nothing if not ambitious and he soon trained his sights on the Tibetan capital, where he hoped to eventually acquire the degree of geshé, the Buddhist equivalent of a doctorate. But here we get the first whiff of intrigue that was to hover like a miasma around Dorzhiev for the rest of his life. Historian of Russian and Tibetan relations Alexandre Andreyev has speculated that even at this early date Dorzhiev may have working for Russian intelligences services. Documents in the archives of the Imperial Russian Geographical Society propose “sending one or more Buryat Buddhists to Lhasa . . . with a Mongolian mission which was to bring back to Urga a new incarnation of the recently deceased Khutukhtu.” The Buryats were to concern themselves with “intelligence gathering.”

According to one source Dorzhief and Penchen Chomphel left Mongolia for Lhasa in the winter of 1873. They may well have been accompanying the caravan sent to bring back the little Tibetan boy, a relative of the Dalai Lama, who had determined to be the 8th Bogd Gegeen. As mentioned, all Europeans and citizens of the Russia empire were still strictly barred from entering Tibet at this time, and Dorzhiev, although a Buryat and a Buddhist, was still a citizen of Russia. Thus he went along on the caravan disguised as a Khalkh Mongol attendant to Penchen Chomphel. This was quite a dangerous undertaking for the Buryat. If exposed he would have been subjected to severe punishments, perhaps even ending up in a Tibetan dungeon. Any Tibetan who aided him risked having his property confiscated, or might have even be sewed up in a leather bag and thrown into the Tsangpo River to drown, the fate of Lama Senchen, the Shigatse monk who in the early 1880s had befriended the Indian pundit Chandra Das, who was in the pay of the British.

In Lhasa Dorzhiev found temporary refuge at Gomang College in Drepung Monastery. Here he could blend in with Mongolian monks who would be unlikely to expose him even if they know his true status. We cannot say for sure if Dambijantsan was there at the time. If our chronology is correct he entered the monastery at Dolonnuur around 1867 but we do not know how long he studied there before moving on to Drepung in Tibet. If they were both at Drepung at they had one thing in common; as Russian citizens they were both in Tibet illegally. Dambijantsan, perhaps already at this time a master of assumed identities, did not seem to have a problem, but word seems to have leaked about Dorzhiev’s true origins. His position precarious and running low on funds, he decided to forgo for the moment his dream of pursuing Buddhist studies in Lhasa and instead return to Örgöö. Here the record is clearer; he and Penchen Chomphel did accompany the caravan bringing the little four-year-old 8th Bogd Gegeen to Mongolia.

The Tibetan monk Luvsanchoijinimadanzinbanchug (1870–1924) was the twenty-third incarnation of Javsandamba and eighth in the line of Bogd Gegeens of Mongolia established by Zanabazar. He would witness the fall of the Qing Dynasty and oversee the rise of an independent state of Mongolia; in additional to his role as head of Buddhism in Mongolia he would eventually be crowned king of Mongolia; and he would live to see his power usurped by the Bolshevik communists who had seized control of the country in 1922. As his life was inextricably intertwined with that of Dambijantsan’s we will have more to say about him later.

By the time Dorzhiev returned to Örgöö he had decided on his religious vocation. At the age of twenty-one he was given full ordination as a monk by Penchen Chomphel and began studies with a number of other venerable monks who initiated him into various tantric practices, including the sadhana of Vajrabhairava, which would become his life-long practice. He also studied at monasteries at Wutai Shan in Shanxi Province, China, a mountain (actually a cluster of five peaks) dedicated to Manjushri, the Bodhisattva of Wisdom. He had not given up his dreams of continuing his studies in Lhasa, however. Informed by knowledgeable lamas at Wutai Shan that the obstacles he had previously faced could be overcome by generous offerings to monasteries and officials in Lhasa, he returned to Buryatia and managed to solicit a considerable amount of alms from his fellow countrymen, duly impressed as they were by the energetic and charismatic monk who already seemed destined for greater things. Part of this booty was given to Dzasak Rinpoche, a high-ranking lama at Wutai Shan. This worthy, who apparently had good connections in Tibet, smooth the way for Dorzhiev’s trip back to Lhasa and even determined an auspicious time for him to leave on his journey.

The twenty-six year old Dorzhiev arrived back in the Tibetan capital in 1880. Upon his arrival he made generous offerings to the Big Three monasteries of Sera, and Gandan, and Drepung, with an extra and especially munificent donation to Gomang College at Drepung. “By this means,” relates his biographer, “which may not exactly have been bribery, but something very much like it, the earnest and energetic young Buryat was able ‘to create favourable conditions for my studies’”. The matter of his Russian citizenship was for the time being forgotten.

Dorzhiev’s subsequent career at Lhasa was nothing short of meteoric. He studied with some of the most distinguished lamas in Tibet and in 1888, just eight years after his arrival in Lhasa, he was awarded the Buddhist equivalent of a doctorate, passing the exams with the highest honors. Normally it took fifteen or twenty year to earn such a degee. “It is . . . a little puzzling how he managed to complete the course so quickly,” observes his biographer, “for there is usually a waiting list and ample funds are necessary to pass the final hurdles. Everything points to Dorzhiev having an influential patron and sponsor. Perhaps money was reaching him from Russia—and perhaps from high places in Russia. Naturally he is reticent about anything of this kind.” He immediately began instructing Mongolian and Buryat students in Buddhistic logic and metaphysic and soon became “a recognized member of the monastic elite.”

All this would pale in comparison to his next assignment. That same year, 1888, he was appointed as tutor of the-then twelve-year old Thirteenth Dalai Lama. For the next ten years he was the Dalai Lama’ ‘inseparable eattendant,” himself instructing the Dalai Lama on a near-daily basis and present when other lamas gave him initiations into the highest teachings of Vajrayana Buddhism. He would also eventually rank as the Dalai Lama’s closest political advisor. The fact that he was a Russian citizen had been forgiven but not forgotten. Some in the Dalai Lama’s entourage were appalled that a foreigner should have became the religious leader’s right hand man, and they intrigued to have him dismissed and thrown out of Tibet. But he had the support of the Dalai Lama himself and all their objections were in vain. The Buryat monk who had first slunk into Lhasa in disguise had become one of the most powerful men in the country.

Indeed, to this day Dorzhiev has not been forgotten at Drepung Monastery. When questioning monks there in 2001 about Zanabazar, the First Bogd Gegeen of Mongolia, I described him as “a famous Mongolian lama who had once studied at Drepung.” The monk I was talking to at first thought I was referring to “Ngawang Losang, the Mongolian monk from Russia.” This was of course Dorzhiev. (It turned out he also knew about Zanabazar, and was even aware that the Ninth Bogd Gegeen is now living in India.)

Much of Dorzhiev’s subsequent career lies outside the scope of our narrative. Suffice it to add here that he became the leader of the pro-Russian faction in the Tibetan court, and the British would use his Great Game intrigues with Russia, intended as they were to bring Tibet into the Russian sphere of influence, to justify their 1904 invasion of Tibet by the Younghusband Expedition. The Dalai Lama, accompanied by Dorzhiev, would flee Tibet in advance of the British invasion and eventually turn up in Örgöö, now Ulaan Baatar, the capital of Mongolia. And we will see that in addition to their probable encounter at Drepung, Dorzhiev is linked with Dambijantsan several more times, so we might well have to return to his story later on.

Given his apparent talents, Dambijantsan, like Dorzheiv, might have gone to beome a teacher himself at Drepung or some other monastery and eventually become a high-ranking lama in the Buddhist hierarchy. It was not to be. According to Roerich, “From his youth, he manifested an ambitous, impetuous, and cruel character.” This aspect of his character now came to the fore. “It is generally said,” continues Roerich, “that he killed his roommate in the monastery because of a dispute and had to flee Llhasa in order to escape from the stern monastic law. This fact is generally known in Tibet and Mongolia.”

Obviously any advancement in the monastic world was now impossible. A new stage of Dambijantsan’s life was about to begin. As Roerich notes, “It seems the murder was the crucial point of his life for from then on begins his life as an errant warrior monk, full of wonderful adventures, messianic prophecies, and cruel deeds.”

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