My

Tibetan Childhood

w h en ice shat t e red stone

Naktsang Nulo
 translation provided by

A N G U S C A R G I L L and
S O NA M L HA M O

edited and abridged by

ANGUS CARGILL

with a foreword by

T H E 14 T H DA L A I L A M A ,
T E N Z I N G YAT S O

a foreword by

RALPH LITZINGER

and an introduction by

R O B E RT BA R N E T T
 My
Tibetan Childhood
Wh e n I c e Shat t e re d Stone

Naktsang Nulo

duke university press  Durham and London 2014

 © 201 4 Duk e Un iv e r sit y Pre s s
All rights reserved
Printed in the United States of America on acid-­free paper ∞

De sign e d b y Natalie F. Smith

T y pe set in Minion Pro b y Copperline

library of congress cataloging-­i n-­p ublication data

Naktsang Nulo.
My Tibetan childhood : when ice shattered stone / Naktsang Nulo;
translation provided by Angus Cargill and Sonam Lhamo;
edited and abridged by Angus Cargill ;
with a foreword by the 14th Dalai Lama, Tenzin Gyatso,
a foreword by Ralph Litzinger,
and an introduction by Robert Barnett
pages  cm  Includes index.
isbn 978-0-8223-5712-4 (cloth : alk. paper)
isbn 978-0-8223-5726-1 (pbk. : alk. paper)
1. Naktsang Nulo.  2. Children—China—Tibet Autonomous
Region—Biography.  3. Tibet Autonomous Region
(China)—History—1951–  i. Cargill, Angus.  ii. Title.
ds786.n327 2014  951'.5055092—dc23 [b] 2014009913

on the cover: The author and his brother in Chinese clothing

at their first government school. Courtesy of the C. V. Starr East
Asian Library, Columbia University in the City of New York.
CONTENTS

foreword
by the 14th Dalai Lama,
Tenzin Gyatso
ix

foreword
by Ralph Litzinger
xi

introduction
A Note on Context
and Significance
by Robert Barnett
xv

translators’ note
liii
 author’s preface
1
prelude
The Charnel Ground
9
one
Born on the Wide
Tibetan Grasslands
13 appendix
Guide to Abridgment
two
and Chapter Changes
A Childhood with Herdsmen,
from Original
Bandits, and Monks
269
49
glossary
three
271
By Yak Caravan to the
Holy City of Lhasa index
71 283
four
Witness to Massacre on
Our Tragic Journey through
Desolate Places
131
five
Torture and Imprisonment,
Starvation and Survival
183
 AU T HO R’ S P R E FAC E

—  on writing this small book  —

My dear readers, I am delighted to have written this small book and to have
been able to place it in your hands. I would be honored if you read it carefully
when you have the time.
In preparing this book, I wrote freely whatever I wanted to, said whatever I
wanted to say, and explained the entire story and the circumstances in which
it took place. I feel more relaxed now that I have finished writing. When I
finished the book, I examined it carefully from beginning to end. It seemed
to me that the narrative was simply the unvarnished evidence of a young
child—what he saw, what he heard, and what he thought. There was no grand
description in it or purpose behind it, or even deep analysis of individual
character. But subsequently I reflected that I was born during an exceptional
historical period. Perhaps because of my karma, or the changing times, I ex-
perienced and witnessed much suffering, and not only I but many thousands
of other people did too. Each person’s mind contains his or her own account
of these events, and each chiefdom and family will have its own long story or
legend of its ups and downs. Writing these stories in the form of a book has its
disadvantages, but if they are not preserved in print, no one in the future will
know what happened. The stories will only remain true in the mind of one
individual. If they want the next generation to know about what happened
in their lifetime, the previous generation must write down the history of that
period carefully and hand it on to the next one. This is especially important
if you want your own children to pass on your story. So, I decided that my
story could only be preserved by writing it in the form of a book; otherwise
it would not survive. These things are true for a nationality and a family, just
as they are for an individual.
If the history of the fathers and uncles is not passed on to the nephews and
sons, then the history of the family and even the nation will be lost before it is
heard. This is the importance of writing this book. Now we are getting old, so
we must write our history and that of our chiefdom, native land, and nation-
ality before we pass away. This would be an invaluable gift to bestow upon the
next generation. However we look at it, our life span is only sixty or seventy
years, and at the end of our life everything will stop, but a book written by a
man or a woman will give great benefit to many of the next generation. So my
conclusion is that knowledgeable people of the older generation should write
their account of the great events of our history without fear for their own de-
scendants or nationality, and place it in the hands of their nephews and sons.
This is a courageous and important task in my opinion.
I am not an educated man, and have seen and heard little, so I have writ-
ten only about the joys and sorrows of my own childhood. Although I have
recorded these events in detail, I am not able to educate anyone by them, but
believe that my small book can be a drop of water in the ocean of Tibetan his-
tory. Some will drink this water to slake their thirst, but I know that those who
are already nauseous may not wish to drink this dark and malodorous liquid.
Even those who have studied the great Kanjur and Tenjur1 may not feel
satisfied by the knowledge they have acquired, and such people will not value
highly the autobiography of a young child, but perhaps a few interested young-
sters, or old people with time on their hands, may wish to pass their time
with it, accompanied by a delicious pot of tea. My friend Thubten Gendun
told me this: “However fine your writing, hundreds of people will choose
to read it after it is published, while thousands will not, and if your writ-
ing is poor it will suffer the same fate.” It was these words that stimulated
me to preserve this history in the form of a book, because without publica-
tion it would lose its value. Readers will find it—first ten, then fifty, then one
hundred—and I will have fulfilled my goal in writing this book. Who knows
how many people will read this small book as years go by, into what languages
it may be translated, and what nationalities may come to know it? What tears,
happiness, and sorrow may not be aroused in Mongolian and Tibetan read-
ers? Each reader will have a different outlook—some may find in it something
related to their own life, others may find stories that they recognize from their
own knowledge of written history, and still others may simply feel sorrow or
pity for the little Naktsang boy with his joys and sorrows. Readers read the
same words, but their understanding differs, depending on their desire and

1. Canonical scriptures of Tibetan Buddhism.

2  author’s preface
inclinations. A proverb states, “If thirty people think differently, they will have
thirty different opinions about the same thing.” One reader might think, “I’m
not interested in what one silly child saw,” another, “This is contemporary
Tibetan history, so we should know about it,” a third, “Peace is clearly prefer-
able to war, disease, and hunger for any nation. Can the next generation keep
our country free from these evils?” Then more readers will join them. When
young people read this book, it will become clearer to them that “life’s joys
and sorrows have as many ups and downs as a gazelle’s horns.” We should
all be aware that, even though life has its ups and downs, we should not fear
suffering, but work to make the best of it and to preserve our humanity.
Well, everyone in the world has their own history of happiness and trag-
edy, but though many are similar, each one is different. One person may say,
“Oh, yes, this is true—I had many experiences like that,” while another of the
same nation may say, “This is just a crazy old man telling lies.” I write from
the point of view of Tibetans of my generation, many of whom had similar
experiences to mine. It seems to me that a lot of people have had similar
experiences of these negative events in our history, and that this provides
evidence that these negative events actually occurred. I faithfully recorded all
the problems that I saw exactly as I saw and heard them. I never excluded or
included anything because it suited my prejudices. These stories are an exact
reflection of what happened at the time, recorded fifty years after the events
took place. Despite the passage of fifty years, I have not granted myself the
authority to change anything in the story to suit my personal point of view.
I thought that the story would lose its meaning if I changed it, and it would
certainly not deceive future generations.
The essence of my justification is this. I wrote only the reality of what hap-
pened to the people, chiefs, and chiefdoms. Half a century has passed, and no
doubt some unintentional mistakes will have crept into my narrative for that
reason. Old men’s memories are not exact. There are many still alive who were
affected by the events described here. As they will recognize the mistakes
that I have made, I beg their forgiveness from the bottom of my heart, and I
welcome their corrections and complaints!
A proverb says, “As raising a long stick makes dogs shy away, so talking
too much makes people shy away.” As my small book has no more than a
hand’s length of meaning, it is not necessary to give it an arm’s span of talking.
Readers can decide its merits, and history will pronounce on its truthfulness.
My goal is to produce a complete picture of this history from start to finish.
May our native land and our country be free from disease, hunger, and war.
May our Tibetan nationality preserve its integrity, and may the whole world
be at peace, especially our Tibetan “land of snows.” May the whole world be
increasingly friendly, peaceful, and free from disease, famine, and conflict!

author’s preface  3
 ✳

It is difficult to write history, and even more difficult to write one’s own his-
tory, especially if it incorporates the joys and sorrows of one’s own lifetime.
Some human beings experience inconceivable suffering in their lives, and
as I was born during times of great change, I experienced inconceivable suf-
fering. Sometimes I think that of all people of my age I have suffered the most,
but then again I reflect that in fact I was only one of hundreds of thousands
who suffered in this way.
It is natural to wish to be happy and to resent suffering, and there are
people who say that good and ill fortune are the result of our own actions.
This may be so, but suffering is inevitable in all our lives and must be borne
whether we like it or not.
Do we prefer to tell happy stories or those that deal with suffering? From
the stories that most people tell, it would seem that people prefer to speak
about sad things. Men worry about journeys and women worry about food,
and all humans suffer in the same way. The difference is in the way we feel
about our happiness and sadness.
Speaking about happiness in our lives makes us happy, just as speaking about
sadness makes us sad, even if in our lives the circumstances are the opposite.
Among humans, lamas, chiefs, and leaders eat yogurt, meat, butter, and
honey without needing to do any work at all. They wear silk brocade and
lambskin robes without having to do any work. They sit on carpets and have
horses to ride on their journey. There is food on the table whenever they want
to eat, and they consider themselves very happy. A nomad family living in a
black or a white tent may be fortunate in sheep, yaks, and horses. They ride
a horse as swift as a bird, and their gun fires like lightning when they go to
rob weaker chiefdoms. They hunt wild animals on the high mountains and
think they are very happy. Even a beggar with a few goats considers himself
happy when he has a bowl of tsampa with fresh butter to eat and manages to
scrounge some food for his family from other households.
Considering my own life, I have experienced many joys. Since I was a
small child I have had the opportunity to study, clothes on my back, and food
to eat. Wherever I went I had a horse to ride, and both pistol and rifle to carry
on my back. I have held high position and completed my work successfully.
I thought that my life was the happiest of all people in my position, and that
this happiness was enough for me.
What does it mean to say that one’s life is a happy one, whether it is mine
or anyone else’s? If one’s life is too full of joy, one does not recognize whether
it is happy or not. The proverb says, “If a person is too happy, he will even
sigh when he is riding his horse.” Naturally, this is true. This proverb means

4  author’s preface
that a person’s happiness is not dependent upon his worldly success but on
his mind. If the mind is right, even someone whose only possession is a bowl
of tsampa can be happy. If not, nothing can make him happy.
Life is unpredictable. While some experience happiness after great sadness,
others experience the opposite. The old proverb says, “Our happiness is inside
our robes—it is in our minds.” Every soul can tell of many joys and sorrows.
I will tell of the hardship I have experienced. In life the highest positions
are held by the lama and the chief on their thrones. In the middle come the
family men and women, and at the bottom the lowest beggars. None of them
can escape old age, sickness, and death. Of course, we all have our sadness.
Leaders suffer because of the responsibility of their position, rich people from
the instability of wealth, and poor people from lack of wealth. Beggars suffer
from not having enough food to eat. Rich people suffer from a surfeit of pos-
sessions, and poor people from a lack of them. Whatever the reason, we all
have sorrows to tell of until our life is ended as a lamp is blown out. Looking
back, my life has been a mixture of happiness and sadness, of joyful and sor-
rowful experiences. I have passed half a hundred years of life span, and if I
thought again and again of all the happiness and sadness in my life, it would
make me cry and make my heart sick.
While I was still too young to know her, my mother left for the peaceful
place and left me behind her. From the age of two my father led me with him,
and we passed our lives wandering from home to home. When I was ten my
father left for the peaceful place, regretful that he had left me behind in a
distant place. My brother was left there too, and when I think of the suffering
of our pitiful orphan lives, that is the worst part of it.
On reflection, however, it was not only us two who suffered such things.
During that time of great changes the entire land of snows experienced in-
conceivable suffering and misfortune. Many people died from war, disease,
and famine, and compared with them my sufferings were small, and I have
embarked on a happy path now. I do not regret my suffering now. A person
or nation is a happy one if it does not forget its own joys and sorrows and can
preserve them in the form of a book to pass on to the next generation. This is
a way to encourage them and give them confidence.
When I was a small child my father used to tell me, “Son of a great father,
do not let small hardships dismay you. In life you will experience as many
ups and downs as a gazelle’s horns. As you grow older you will see that your
suffering will be the same as everyone else’s.” I have never been able to forget
his words, and although I have experienced much suffering, my dear father’s
words have taken root inside me.
Joys and sorrows in life are the result of karma, and are how our life is
formed. Our life is not what we wish for as children, and every year that

author’s preface  5
passes brings more hardship. It is pointless to hold out unrealistic hopes for
our lives when we are younger.
When I was a small child, I heard people say, “If I eat droma with butter I
don’t want any more, but if I drink watery cheese soup I want more.” Human
life is as unpredictable as this—happiness and sadness follow each other as the
years go by. Each person’s happiness and sadness are different from another’s.
When I was young, my uncle Jakho said, “We cannot know the course of
human life. Even though one person desires happiness, joy and sorrow are
stronger, and will come whether he desires it or not.” I have always remem-
bered this, and thought that it must be true, because I have experienced this
in my own lifetime.
It makes no difference whether your status in life is high or low, rich or
poor, male or female, young or old. From youth until old age, sickness, fam-
ine, misfortune, and many other things influence our happiness and unhappi-
ness. Life has to be lived whatever our feelings may be. We must work for our
food and clothes. We are never free until we die and leave our lives behind,
and even then the lord of death places the yoke on our neck and drags us
away, leaving us to wander in search of our next life without being able to
control our destiny.
Everyone’s life is different, and mine is not the same as that of anyone else.
The proverb says that everyone is happy or sad in a different way, and when
I was young I experienced the life of a wandering orphan, and suffering that
scarcely anyone else of my age can possibly have experienced.
I have emerged from my trials without losing the ability to feel, and my
life was saved from among the many who died. I have recorded exactly what
happened to me in my childhood in the hope that young people can learn that
a human life can experience such great ups and downs, and that they should
not make useless wishes for their lives. They will meet many difficulties on
their way through life, and cope with them through personal ability and hard
work. The proverb says, “Without hard work you cannot eat good food,” and
this teaches us that a happy life does not come free. They will experience
danger and misfortune, but they must not be afraid because this will not kill
them. They should try their best to find a way though their problems, and
know that no one will make you happy but yourself. The most important
thing is to walk forward with one’s own personal ability. If this brief history
can make people think in this way, then it will have been successful.
History is a factual record of the past, the exact circumstances of the time.
It is not something that can be fabricated in accordance with contemporary
desires, preferences, or policy. Everything that I wrote in this small book was
as my eyes saw it or my hands touched it, and I wrote nothing that did not
exist or that did not happen.

6  author’s preface
 These things happened fifty years ago. Anyone of my age knows clearly
what happened at that time. Undoubtedly they have stories of their own to
tell, things they saw with their own eyes and touched with their own hands.
We are the people of the “time of great changes.” Will young people believe
that the stories in this book are true? They will have heard stories like this
from their family and relatives but never have seen what happened. They
know nothing of this era in history because no detailed account of it can be
found in any history book. At that time of revolution the earth and the sky
were turned upside down. Nowadays young people living comfortable lives
cannot believe that these things took place.
If the next generation considers that I am an old man, near to death, who
has no reason to tell stupid or untruthful things, and no reason to deceive the
generations that follow me, then they will find my history credible.

— my biography —

I was born on the fifteenth day of the eighth Tibetan month in the Earth Mar-
mot year of the sixteenth rabshung 2 into Naktsang Dradel’s family in Madey
Chugama chiefdom, Machu County, Ganlho Prefecture, Gansu Province. When
I was a child, I visited many great monasteries on pilgrimage such as Sera,
Drepung, and Ganden in Lhasa with my father. In November 1959 I entered
Chumarleb Nationalities Middle School, Chumarleb, Jyekundo (Yushu) Prefec-
ture, Tsongun (Qinghai) Province, graduating in 1964 from Jyekundo Normal
School. In 1965 I entered Tsongun Nationalities University, and in October 1965
I became a teacher in Chumarleb County Primary School in Jyekundo Prefec-
ture. In 1967 I moved to Wargon Primary School, also in Jyekundo Prefecture.
In 1971 I became a police officer in Wargon town. In 1979 I became the deputy
chief judge in Chumarleb County prison. In 1984 I became deputy leader of the
county court office and studied in the Communist Party school at the prefec-
tural and provincial level before and after this appointment. I achieved distinc-
tion in the study of political science and law for cadres at provincial and central
Party schools and in 1987 became deputy leader of Chumarleb County. In 1990
I was transferred to the Central People’s Prison in Jyekundo Prefecture. In 1993
I retired and a few years later contacted both reincarnate and ordinary lamas,
foreign well-­wishers, and others, and with the particular help of Gungtang
Denpi Wangchuk of Labrang Monastery, Gansu Province, I collected enough
money to build a Buddhist institute in Chumarleb County. I also constructed
buildings for four large prayer wheels and five small prayer wheels containing
transcriptions of the Kanjur, Tenjur, Mani, the Tibetan Book of the Dead, the

2. The sixty-­year cycle of the Tibetan calendar.

author’s preface  7
One Hundred Sanskrit Scriptures, and other works. They stand to promote the
fulfillment of devotees’ wishes. I frequently assisted the prefectural high school,
Tibetan county middle school, and Chugama primary school financially.
Now I am the director of the Qinghai nationalities folk culture research
team. I am a son of the Tibetan people. If something is for the benefit of the
Tibetan people, I will do it to the best of my ability, and continue to work to
the best of my abilities.

8  author’s preface
 P R E LU D E
The Charnel Ground

It was hot at noon that day. We were making our way wearily across a river
when we heard guns firing repeatedly from up ahead. We had no idea what
was going on, but we were all frightened. Everyone dismounted except for
me. Some Tibetan gazelles, startled when they saw us, sprinted to the top of a
mountain. I rode over and looked down to the road beneath. It was a Chinese
military column, so long that you couldn’t see the beginning or end of it. They
were on horseback.
“Father, it’s the Chinese army!” I called. “Over there!”
“Here we’ll be face-­to-­face with them,” Father said. “There’s no way out.
Quickly—into that ravine!” Everybody rushed into a small ravine near the
road, leading their horses. Maybe the Three Precious Jewels protected us.
We were in a bend of the ravine, and even though we could see the road,
they couldn’t see us. The gazelles that had run away looked down at us from
the mountainside above. Father, Tenzin, and Lochu squatted closest to the
road with guns at the ready, watching the troops moving past. We hid behind
them, holding our horses. We could hear the Chinese talking and hear the
hoofbeats of their horses as clearly as if they were beside us. We just sat still,
so silently that we could hear the sound of our own hearts beating. The Chi-
nese had some Tibetan yak drovers with them, and we could overhear their
conversation clearly, too. Suddenly, two of our monastery horses broke free
and cantered out of the ravine and up the mountain. We tried to grab them,
but there was nothing to hold them back with. Father waved his hand to tell
us to keep still and leave them be.
Then one of the Tibetans in the military column spoke.
“What beautiful horses,” he said, “I wonder where they came from?” They
kept talking about it, but nobody came out of the column to drive the horses
away. We had no idea what they would do, and stayed frozen where we were.
We heard troops continue to march past, and more Chinese speech that we
did not understand. Father and the others moved back toward the road, sig-
naling us to stay where we were. Suddenly we heard two gunshots, “Pag-­shar,
pag-­shar!” Our horses shied, afraid, but we held on to them tightly. Some of
the monks began praying. “The Protector bear witness,” they muttered, and
“Gungtang Jampeyang bear witness,” and many other prayers.
Then I remembered the gazelles on the mountain above us and realized
that the troops had been shooting at them. They missed, but if they had hit
one, it would have gone badly for us. No wonder the monks were scared. They
thought the Chinese were firing at us.
“There were five hundred soldiers in that column,” my father said.
“The Three Precious Jewels protected us today and prevented them from
seeing us,” someone said.
“The deities of this place protected us,” others said. Our terror at meeting
the Chinese army for the first time had subsided.
We continued along the road, but now no one spoke. We weren’t ready to
talk about the fear and sadness we all felt after seeing so many civilians and
monasteries destroyed in the past few days.
“If we meet the Chinese troops,” I asked my brother, Jabey, “will they mur-
der us like they did the people on the grassland?”
“We can flee to the mountains,” he replied. “They can’t destroy us so easily
there.”
“If they are going to kill us, there’s no reason to travel so far every day,” I
said. But the monk Monlam snapped at me: “Don’t say such unlucky things!”
“Stop talking—we’ve got to catch up,” Jabey said. I still felt I was right,
though.
We crossed a river. A large flock of vultures was circling in the sky ahead
of us.
“Hey, Lochu,” Father said, “why are there so many vultures over there? It’s
not a good sign. We should go and have a look. You others follow us slowly.”
They went ahead to check it out. As we rode along the river, we began to smell
something rotten. It got worse and worse, and then we saw the cause. Dogs
were wandering around, eating the corpses of dead sheep and yaks, and the
bodies of dead men lay scattered on both sides of the river. They were naked
and dark blue. When we rode away from the river toward a cliff, we kept
finding more dead people, young and old, lying on the ground.
“Om mani padme hum,”1 we all prayed and chanted.

1. This prayer is often referred to in shorthand as mani.

10  prelude
 I prayed from my heart because I was unable to speak—I could not chant
with my mouth. By this time I had lost my fear of dead bodies. Farther on
there were many dead children lying alone, and mothers and children still
holding each other in death. In that area I counted twenty-­six or twenty-­seven
corpses. One could see, by looking at their hair and size, that most of them
were women and children. I thought, “I am not afraid. Even if I am killed, I
won’t have fear or regret.”
We climbed higher up the side of the mountain, which had an upper and
a lower ledge. On the lower was a group of tents, many of which had fallen
over. Several had bullet holes through the cloth. Father and Lochu were sitting
on the higher shelf.
“Oh, the Protector bear witness!” we all said when we reached them, so
great was our shock. Here, the ground was completely covered by the corpses
of men, women, monks, yaks, and horses. Some horses had been hobbled
close to the tent door and shot. Riding yaks and dzo had also been tied up
with ropes and killed. Wherever I looked, there was death. Then, I couldn’t
look any more and turned my gaze away, up the mountain. I tried to block it
out of my mind because my heart was getting more and more anxious, and
my feelings were so strong. I got on the horse and rode away without looking
back.
“By the look of their clothes and hats,” my father said, “they were pilgrims
from our chiefdom who were on their way back from Lhasa, and the Chinese
troops massacred them all.” Lochu and I found a lot of machine gun bullet
cases higher up the mountain.
“I wish it was the Chinese who were dead,” Lochu burst out. “Why did they
do this? Is there any way these people could have fought back?”
“According to their clothes they came from Lhade or Modma chiefdoms,”
Tenzin said. “It’s a tragedy that they ran into these Chinese devils.”
“I want to beat them,” Molam said. “How did they have the heart to kill
children? They are absolutely evil.”
“It happened this morning,” Father said. “The Chinese soldiers killed
people and animals together, young and old together. They didn’t make any
distinction between them. From the way they are lying, most of these people
were probably killed while washing their faces in the river. None of them had
a chance.”
“If I meet the Chinese troops again,” Tenzin said, “I will take revenge on
them, even if they kill me.”
“It’s easy to kill or be killed at a time like this,” Father said. “The time is not
right yet for revenge. It’s more important to get these children safely to Lhasa.
First the monks will say prayers for all the fallen people, but then we must

the charnel ground  11

leave quickly.” The monks chanted their rituals, while Lochu and I went up
the mountain on lookout. I looked down from the ridge. The bodies of people
and animals were strewn everywhere among the tents, a few of which were
still standing. Stray dogs fed from the corpses, and vultures circled overhead.
I had no desire to look, but I did look, and many strange feelings came into
my heart. I thought, “The Three Precious Jewels bear witness! Where can we
escape to? When I am free, I will never move from that spot again.”

12  prelude