I wonder when I will see my long parted mother and my nation again, Tibet. I remember just a vague face of my mother and the village where I grew up until I escaped to India. Right now, I am a college going girl, always waiting for an opportunity to step on my land once more.
I am the fifth child of my parents among eight siblings but whenever anyone asks me how many siblings I have I say, “One younger sister and one elder brother”. Since I haven’t ever seen some of them, I am only close to two of my siblings who share this life of exile with me. My parents decided to send me and my younger sister to India for studies accepting my uncle’s view point when I was just seven years old. I was overjoyed to hear this news as it meant I would be taken out from the Chinese-run school which I disliked and also because my parents described India as a heavenly place which, unfortunately, turned out to be the exact opposite. In Tibet, I frequently requested my father to take me out from that school as I was beaten everyday by teachers and I always had to bear the humiliation of older children in the village. The school was very far from home. We had to walk one hour every morning to reach there and another one hour to reach back in the evening. It was never easy, especially in harsh weather. Other children at home thought I was lucky, to have got such an opportunity to study but I never enjoyed that part of my life. Other than that I never really felt an improvement in myself while studying there. Therefore, I was very happy to know that I would be going to India. Now after being here in India for over 12 years I understand what a strong decision my parents had then made for us. Despite their sadness of parting from their own daughters and their financial problems, they had made the decision from their heart to bear the pain and send us to India so that we could get a better opportunity to study and see His Holiness the Dalai Lama. I had never bothered to think about the hardships of the journey when the decision was finally made. There was only the excitement of seeing the “heavenly” country, India.
I never knew that my country was invaded by Red China when I was a child growing up there. My parents had never told me and it was unbelievable when I found out only after reaching India. They had taught me to say that I was going for a pilgrimage to Lhasa, Tibet’s capital city, if anyone in my village questioned where I was going. So during the journey I often wondered why we had to hide from the Chinese. Our guide slapped me on the first night of the journey for crying, saying that the Chinese army will get to know about us. I did not understand anything and continued to cry like a seven year-old child, sometimes annoying my dad. I never once realized that being the elder one I should have helped him during our journey. This was the situation. Recollecting all this, I feel a deep sense of sympathy for my father and an intense regret for my misbehaviour but today I just feel lucky that we survived through it. The hardships that we came across during the journey almost killed us. One night, all twenty-eight of us were put in a fully-covered truck with the entire luggage. It was so packed that we hardly got any space to sit properly, it was suffocating. We travelled in that truck for a few days, I don’t recall how many exactly, till we reached the place from where we had to start walking. The first night of my journey on foot was terrible. To start with, my father had got car-sick. We told my younger sister to move first with the other people without waiting for us. We got very late while preparing to carry the luggage and we did not see the direction in which they went. We were totally unaware of where we had to go, they had already disappeared. It was very dark and we were afraid to use our torches. We thought of taking help from the truck driver who had already started moving back. Thankfully one of us noticed its brake-light. We rushed back to them to ask for help. I have no words to describe the expression I saw on my father’s face that night even though he tried very hard not to reveal it in front of me. I could see that, like me, he too was very afraid. The driver then called up our guide and he finally returned to lead us with him. He made us throw almost all the edibles and some clothes from our luggage. That night was one of the worst experiences that I had on the way. The fear of being parted from the group, from my younger sister and being in an unknown place was terrible. All kinds of horrifying thoughts came up in my mind- what if the Chinese found us, where would my father and I go if we hadn’t got together with the rest of the group, and what would have happened to my little sister! We continued our journey through the night. We were walking along a wide river and we could see the streetlights on the other side of the river. Our guide warned us that they were Chinese. We constantly walked in fear and at times our guide would tell us to hide as the torch lights of the Chinese were being directed towards us. I was tired and unable to keep up my pace with the rest of the group. I started crying and that was when our guide slapped me.
My journey on foot went on for eighteen days. I had luggage to carry on my back, a quilt and a chupa (the Tibetan traditional dress) made of wool which we used to wear while sleeping. Mostly we used to walk in the night and sleep in the day until we felt that it was safe to go. Sometimes our guide would walk a long distance ahead of the group without looking back and we ended up going in wrong routes. Almost all the time, the three of us were left behind. When I was tired I used to cry, expecting my father to carry my luggage. At times he did carry it and at other times he would carry my younger sister on the top of his own heavy luggage when she would be unable to walk. Sometimes my father would urge me to walk faster and catch up with the group so that I could request the others to wait for them. Once, I was walking with the remaining group but my father and sister had been left far behind. I begged the rest of the group to wait for them with tears in my eyes and they did. We waited for a very long time but they were nowhere to be seen. Since it was thickly forested I was afraid that they may have been attacked by wild animals. To my luck, that was not the case.
Shortage of food was also a big problem since we were not able to carry much. We would beg for food while crossing any settlement on the way. One day all our food really did finish. We were unsure of how to continue our journey without getting something to eat. Then we met a shepherd and requested him to sell us a sheep and asked him to kill it. I saw him killing the sheep in front of my eyes. It was terrifying but there was no choice for me, either I had to eat it or die of starvation.
Eighteen days’ journey on foot was not easy. There was endless trouble. One of the biggest problems was when we were to cross a huge pass covered by snow. The snow was knee-deep. I do not recall the exact name of the pass but they called it Gya-la (gya means hundred, la means pass) and literaly it means a hundred passes. We were shocked when our guide pointed to Gya-la telling us that we had to cross it. We thought he was lying. People started walking and as usual the three of us were left behind again but we could see the direction they walked in. My sister and I were extremely tired and sometimes my father would pull us with each of his hands. At that time I earnestly tried being brave to walk faster but my sister was unable to move on. She cried badly. I tried to help her and convinced her to walk faster. Yet she kept crying. Then my father yelled, “Wangmo, ignore her! Leave her there! We will go!” I was so scared that my father would actually leave her there and I started to cry but it was just to scare her so she could try to be braver. Finally, with all these unbearable hardships we crossed the mountain. However it was not the end. Our guide told us we were to cross a very big river but no one really took it seriously. Some adults joked that they could just throw our children like stones to the other side. It was very deep and wide. The water level reached up to the shoulders of the adults. One might think that I am exaggerating but it is true. We started to cross it early in the morning as once the sun would shine, the ice would start melting and it could get deeper. My father crossed it twice, once for his own luggage and the other for mine. My sister was carried by one of our friends in the group, but I was left. With sunshine the river started getting deeper. All the other people had crossed except one of my friends and me. My father and his mother begged other people in the group for help with the promise of paying them money later according to their demand. They did not ignore the appeal. Some people tried to cross but they couldn’t take us and apologised to my father and his mother. My friend’s mother went to search for a bridge while my father made sure that we would not try to cross it. She came back in vain. I was on one side while my father and sister were on the other side of the river. It was the same for my friend - his mother and younger sister were on the opposite side. People started moving. Only the six of us were left. I started crying, calling for my father, and both my father and sister began to cry. We were helpless. It was the hardest part of our journey. I can never forget how my father assured me that he would not leave us saying “Don’t try to cross. You two remain there and I will come to take you in sometime”. He was crying and screaming these words. Then my father went to take help from our guide. He also took my sister with him. After sometime, only my father was coming towards us and he again said the same thing. He said that he would come to take us later and we should not try to cross ourselves. Then he went back. My friend and I were there for the whole day eating ice to fill our empty stomachs and crying in between. Once we decided to cross it holding our hands together but we didn’t. If we would have tried to cross then we would be gone. We wouldn’t have survived and I wouldn’t be here to share my story. Only death would have been the result of my parents’ proposal of sending us to India. Also, I would have never known the truth that the Red Chinese had invaded my nation. So fortunately, we didn’t cross it. After one day, the guide along with five or six people came to take us. They were using a rope. One end of the rope was firmly bound around the waist of our guide who carried me on his neck and the other end was held by some people at the other side so that if there was any danger they could at least save our guide who still had to continue guiding the group. They could drag him by pulling the rope. Thankfully, all of us safely reached the other side. The same process followed for my friend.
After eighteen days we finally reached Nepal. Although, the three of us (my father, sister and me) were safe, yet one of the persons in the group had to cut her foot after reaching Nepal. It was due to frost bite, a common problem for travellers coming from Tibet to Nepal. Even after my experiences, I have heard many more sad stories. When I listen to their hurdles during the journey I feel like mine was nothing, and I often feel lucky. I feel luckier that I had survived and reached safely. When we stepped on this new soil, we assumed it was India, the place which my parents had described to me as “heavenly” and I was surprised. I witnessed the exact opposite of what they had told me. I later came to know the truth that it was not India but Nepal. We stayed there at the Nepal Reception Centre for one month and then they sent us to India. India seemed exactly like Nepal. I did not find much of a difference. After a few days at the Reception centre in Dharamsala, Himachal Pradesh, I was sent to the Tibetan Children’s Village School in Suja, Himachal Pradesh. I finally got separated from my dad when I was sent to school. I already realised that I would not be happy without the care of my parents. I cried and cried during that departure realising that I had not shed even a single tear when I left my mother and my home in Tibet, a child of seven years, innocently excited to see India.
