Читать книгу The Dalai Lama’s Little Book of Inner Peace - Далай-лама XIV, Литагент HarperCollins USD, Дуглас Абрамс Арава - Страница 32

At dawn on 17 March 1959, the end was imminent. There were rumors of fresh troops arriving from China by air. For the exasperated crowd that surrounded the summer palace armed with sticks, knives, swords, and a few rifles, the Dalai Lama remained the most precious thing in the world. The crowd would stay there until the end, and would die in the hope of saving their “precious protector.”

It seemed that the situation was completely desperate. I asked for the oracle’s advice one more time. To my surprise, he cried, “Go away! Leave tonight!” Still in trance, he wrote down very clearly and in great detail which route I should take to leave the Norbulingka and reach the frontier. At that precise moment, as if to give the oracle’s instructions more weight, two heavy mortar shells were fired near the north gate of the Norbulingka. Together with my ministers, I consulted the popular leaders, who immediately offered the best cooperation.

As night fell I went to the chapel of Mahakala, my personal protective deity. I offered a kata (long white silk scarf) at the altar as a symbol of farewell and stayed a moment, praying. The main entrance opens onto some steps. I walked around the courtyard, stopping at the other end to visualize my arrival in India, and then walking back to the doorway to symbolize my return to Tibet. And then I went out into the freezing night dressed in trousers and a long black cape, my glasses tucked away in my pocket. I slung a rifle on my shoulder, and was accompanied by two guards and my chamberlain. That is how I was able to walk through the gate unchallenged, like a humble soldier. And then my journey into exile began.