The marketplace of Lhasa pulsated with the vibrant energy of merchants, pilgrims, nomads, monks and musicians. Situated against the majestic backdrop of the Himalaya, it was a cultural melting pot drawing people from across the Himalayan region.
Stalls and vendors lined the narrow streets, their colourful wares – exotic spices, textiles, jewellery and precious metals – spilling onto the cobblestone pathways. Tibetan nomads in traditional attire haggled over goods and livestock alongside merchants clad in silk robes.
Amid the hustle, monks and pilgrims from distant lands mingled with traders and travellers, sharing stories and spreading news and gossip.
Suddenly, Drukpa Kunley burst into the marketplace, panting, with beads of sweat dotting his brow. The usually calm and carefree figure appeared flustered and distressed. A merchant took notice and inquired, “Drukpa Nyonpa, what is it that is chasing you or you are chasing after? You are not your usual self today.”
Drukpa Kunley stopped abruptly and said, “I’ve lost my doechag (desire or attachment) and have failed to get it back.”
“How could you possibly lose your doechag so suddenly, and who might have taken it from you?” asked the merchant.
“Nyingmapas (followers of the Nyingma school) have stolen it from me and renamed it zungma (spiritual consort), claiming it as their own,” replied Drukpa Kunley. “They now refuse to give it back.”
As Drukpa Kunley moved away, a few gomchens in a nearby stall exchanged knowing glances and remarked, “The mad Drukpa is displeased with our taking of wives.” The merchant shook his head in amazement and smiled.
A week later, Drukpa Kunley suddenly came darting across the main street of Lhasa. He gasped for breath and looked distressed. A nomad bartering cheese and butter recognized him and inquired, “Drukpa Nyonpa, what are you running away from? You appear unsettled today.”
“Nothing is pursuing me,” Drukpa Kunley replied, pausing to catch his breath. “I’m pursuing something I’ve lost.”
“What have you lost?” asked the nomad, surprised, for he knew Drukpa Kunley had no material things to lose.
“My zhedang (aversion),” said Drukpa Kunley.
“But how?”
“Gelugpas (followers of the Gelug school) have stolen it from me and renamed it tshenyi (dialectics), claiming it as their own,” said Drukpa Kunley. “They now refuse to give it back.”
The nomad was perplexed. As Drukpa Kunley walked away, he turned to a nearby monk, who happened to be from the Kagyu school, and asked innocently, “How could Gelugpas rename zhedang as tshenyi?” The monk smiled pleasantly and explained that the Drukpa madman was alluding to the Gelug school’s debating culture, which often turned rowdy and rancorous, causing aversion.
After that incident, Drukpa Kunley left Lhasa, wandering off to various corners of Tibet. He made every step count as training in mindfulness. He observed with keen interest how people practised dharma and how cultural and social habits affected authentic spiritual practice, and explored ways to preserve the primordial awareness of the mind.
Although he described his wanderings as aimless, Drukpa Kunley regarded every visit – whether to a religious site or a secular location – as a pilgrimage of sorts. With each encounter and every place he visited, he strived to deepen his self-awareness. He said mindless pilgrimages were a waste of time, believing that the merit gained from such pilgrimages was not even enough to atone for the number of insects killed beneath one’s feet.
During his travels, he made several stops at Kagyu and Sakya monasteries, keenly observing the seemingly devout practices of the resident monks. During his visits to Kagyu monasteries, he had observed monks purportedly meditating on the nature of the mind in the name of Mahamudra, only to succumb to slumber.
Upon his return to Lhasa, Drukpa Kunley hit the bustling marketplace once again, urgently looking for something he had lost. His reappearance in the market after weeks made everybody curious. As he darted through the busy streets, a curious pilgrim from Bhutan took note of his frantic pace and inquired, “What have you lost, Naljorpa? I know you have no material possessions to lose.”
‘My timug (mental stupor),” replied Drukpa Kunley.
“How could you suddenly lose your timug?” asked the pilgrim. “It’s not a tangible thing.”
“Even intangible things can be lost,” said Drukpa Kunley. “Kagyupas (followers of the Kagyu school) have stolen it from me and renamed it chagjachenpo (Mahamudra), claiming it as their own. They now refuse to give it back.”
Amused murmurs rippled through the onlookers as the pilgrim chuckled. observing the scene, a Kagyu monk approached the pilgrim, inquiring about the reason for laughter. “Drukpa Kunley alleges that his timug has been stolen by Kagyupas,” explained the pilgrim.
“This crazy Drukpa finds amusement in needling us whenever he can,” remarked the monk, turning away.
When Drukpa Kunley ventured into the marketplace the following day with an unusual sense of urgency, a vendor intercepted him and teased, “Drukpa Nyonpa, what have you lost today? Another affliction, perhaps?” onlookers gathered around Drukpa Kunley, anticipating a thought-provoking answer.
Pausing before the vendor, Drukpa Kunley replied, “Yes indeed, I’ve lost ngagyal (pride) today.”
“The thieves must be monks this time, too,” the vendor quipped.
“Yes, Sakyapas (followers of the Sakya school) have stolen it from me and renamed it lamdre (path and Fruit, the philosophical foundation of the Sakya school of Buddhism), claiming it as their own,” said Drukpa Kunley. “They now refuse to give it back.”
“How come Sakyapas?” asked the vendor.
“Because their perception of their own practice is lofty and vain, even self-defeating,” explained Drukpa Kunley.
As Drukpa Kunley turned to leave, having lost all his poisonous afflictive emotions to the monks of the four major schools of Buddhism, the marketplace of Lhasa paused for a while to reflect on his words. He then joined a group of musicians at a nearby street corner, immersing himself in the melodies of folk songs. Good music inspired in him the most authentic feelings and removed all self-doubt. It is the only enduring thing common to the disparate groups of practitioners like the enduring presence of the lofty mountains rising above Lhasa.
Excerpted with permission from Drukpa Kunley: Sacred Tales of a Bhutanese Mad Monk, Needrup Zangpo, HarperCollins India.
