Mongolia | Tibet | Diluv Khutagt | Dambijantsan’s Tibet Scam

Who was Dambijantsan?

A Buddhist monk; a freedom fighter for Mongolian independence; the descendant of Amursanaa (1723–1757), the Western Mongol who led the last great uprising against the Qing Dynasty of China; the incarnation of Mahakala, the Buddhist god of war; bandit, torturer, murderer, or evil incarnate? During his lifetime no one was sure who he really was, and even today the controversy about his life continues.

Born in what is now the Republic of Kalmykia, part of the Russian Federation, Dambijantsen traveled throughout Tibet, India, and China before arriving in Mongolia in 1890 where he tossed gold coins to bystanders and announced to one and all that he had come to free Mongolia from the yoke of the Qing Dynasty of China. After disappearing almost twenty years he returned to lead the attack on Khovd City, the last Chinese outpost in Mongolia. Honored by the Eighth Bogd Gegeen, the theocratic leader of Mongolia, for his efforts in achieving Mongolian independence, he went on to establish his own mini-state in western Mongolia, which he hoped to use as a base for establishing a Mongol-led Buddhist khanate in Inner Asia. His dictatorial nature and unbridled sadism soon came to the fore and he was finally arrested and imprisoned in Russia. After the Russian Revolution he returned to Mongolia, gathered new followers around him, and established a stronghold at the nexus of old caravan routes in Gansu Province, China. He robbed caravans, grew opium, and once again dreamed of creating a new Mongolian khanate in Inner Asia. Finally the new Bolshevik government in Mongolia, fearful of his rising power, issued orders for his assassination. Dambijantsan died in 1922, but in Mongolia legends persist to this day that his spirit still rides on the wind of the Gobi and continues to haunt his former lairs.

For more on Dambijantsan see False Lama of Mongolia: The Life and Death of Dambijantsan. 

Mongolia | Örgöo | Eighth Bogd Gegeen

The last Bogd Gegeen to reign in Mongolia was the twenty-third incarnation of Javzandamba, the first of whom had been a disciple of the Buddha himself, and eighth in the line of the Bogd Gegeens of Mongolia established by Zanabazar. After the Mongolian uprising against the Qing in the mid-1750s, in which the Second Bogd Gegeen, the son of Zanabazar’s nephew, had played a role, the Qianlong Emperor had declared that henceforth all incarnations of Javsandamba must be found not in Mongolia but in Tibet, lest a Mongolian Bogd Gegeen become a rallying point for future Mongolian rebels. Thus the next six Bogd Gegeens, including the Eight, were Tibetan. The Eight was born in Lhasa in late 1869 or early 1870, the son of a wealthy official in the court of the 13th Dalai Lama. A caravan sent from Örgöö to Tibet to fetch him arrived back in the city with the little boy in tow on the morning of September 30, 1874.

In 1911, when he became the Bogd Khan, the ruler of newly independent Mongolia, he was forty-one years old. Even before his ascension to the throne of Mongolia his immense popularity had made him the de-facto leader of Mongolia. The Diluv Khutagt, who knew him personally, observed:

The reason why this Eighth Bogd had become notably more powerful and strong than previous Incarnations was, in addition to the fact that the Mongols universally, generation by generation, had believed in, honored, had faith in and reverenced each Incarnation of the Bogd as a true divinity, this Eighth Gegeen ever since childhood had been especially sharp and intelligent. Whenever in Khalkh, or in one of its districts there was any such fear or suffering as fire or flood, sickness or disaster, he knew it in advance and let it be known to give warning. In religious matters or ordinary affairs his directives were unfailingly clear and in accordance with the evidence, and when this had repeatedly become known he became famous for it and everyone had deep faith in him.

The Eighth Bogd Gegeen

Even as a young man he was regarded with awe by the Mongolian populace. The Diluv Khutagt: “At the age of eighteen, as the result of a serious illness, he lay dead . . . for three days and nights, and at the moment he stirred again there was no mark of the sickness and he was cured, and for such marvels as this the Mongols had complete faith and trust in him.” The Russian ethnologist A. M. Pozdneev, in Örgöö four years later, in 1892, observed: “Crowds of worshippers stretch toward the Khutukhu from all sides, and not only Khalkhas, but also southern Mongols as well . . . He was perhaps the only Mongolian personality known to all the generally illiterate and often apathetic Mongols throughout the land . . .”

There is no doubt he was a shrewd political operator. About the time of Pozdneev’s visit a certain Jün Van (nobleman) named Dorjpalam, from Setsen Khan Aimag to the east of Örgöö, filed several complaints again the Bogd Gegeen which were forwarded to the Manchu emperor in Beijing. The Bogd immediately answered in a missive to the Manchu representative in Örgöö:

Though I have done nothing that is damaging to the faith or the church, or that is wrong or harmful to all living beings, it has come to the point where on the word of one single man I am wrongly accused, and this because of my stupid incompetence has led to discrediting the reputation of previous generations of my incarnation. Therefore my petition is that first I should be removed as Javzandamba Khutagt, and then, if I am indicted and investigated, the faith of the Buddha in the land of Mongolia will not be belittled. It is not difficult to obtain the precise truth of this matter. All Khalkh Mongolia knows everything about all my affairs, and so if you ask the Heads of the Chuulgan [Leagues] and all the princes, they will freely explain. If the complete truth is not found in this matter, my regret will be infinite.

The Manchu emperor, faced with this ultimatum, issued a memorandum stating, “Assuage your regret and dwell in peace of mind. I have profound faith in the Khutagt.” To smooth his ruffled feathers the emperor also gifted the Bogd Gegeen “a nine-dragon canopy”—apparently a great honor—and had Dorjpalam stripped of his title. Dorjpalam eventually apologized to the Bogd, acknowledging his guilt in the matter, whereupon the Bogd successfully petitioned the emperor to have his title returned to him. According to the Diluv Khutagt:

After this the princes were overawed and afraid, and submitted in due form to any proclamation [from the Bogd]. Though here and there among the great princes and learned lamas there were one or two of doubtful faith, they were repressed by the prestige of the Bogd and since moreover all the Mongols detested such men, the result was that they could not come out into the open.

Thus the Bogd Gegeen gained the almost unqualified support of the common people, the nobles, and the lower and middle ranking monks. Only among the higher ranking monks did some objections remain, for example on the part of the Khamba Lama of Ikh Khüree, who in the heat of an argument the Bogd Gegeen had punched in the chest and whose assistant he had grabbed by the scruff of his neck and tossed out of the meeting room. Yet such men learned to keep quiet, since opponents of the Bogd Gegeen had an uncanny propensity for falling ill and dying for one reason or another.

The Eighth Bogd Gegeen's Winter Palace

There was a decidedly negative side of the Bogd Gegeen which would eventually become more and more manifest. As early as 1890, the Russian Consul in Örgöö was filing confidential dispatches to his superiors back in St. Petersburg about the Bogd Gegeen’s attempts “to free himself from the conventional restrictions prescribed for lamas and lead an independent life.” He also noted that the Bogd appeared in public while drunk and openly flirted with women, but added that most people had a very forgiving attitude toward such discretions. Pozdneev had intimations of trouble as far back as 1892. The Bogd’s face, noted the Russian traveler, was “unpleasant by virtue of some sort of childish willfulness and capricious stubbornness which is always present in it, and also from the lips, which are extraordinarily sensuous in their development.”

Other aspects of the Bogd Gegeen’s life did not appear to be in accord with his role as the Buddhist leader of Mongolia. He kept a wife, the famous beauty Dondovdulam, apparently in violation of his vows of celibacy as a Gelug monk, and when she died he took on yet another wife. He was also rumored to be involved in various homosexual liaisons, an inclination which had led to the downfall of his predecessor, the Seventh Bogd Gegeen. Pozdneev pointed out his predilection for young lamas “distinguished only their inclination and ability to carouse.” One of his male consorts had died in mysterious circumstances, according to Bazaar gossip poisoned on orders from the Bogd Gegeen himself. And there seems little doubt that he was a hard-core alcoholic. Even the Diluv Khutagt, who held the Bogd in great respect, felt compelled to comment on this:

The Bogd was very hard to do business with because he was such a fearful drinker. He would sometimes sit cross-legged for a week drinking steadily night and day. The officials attending him would be changed frequently, but he would go on drinking, never lying down to sleep and never moving except to go out to the toilet. At times he would seem to be completely unconscious, with his head lying on his chest; he would seem not to understand anything that was said to him; then he would raise his head and demand another drink, and the new drink would seem to sober him up so that he could conduct business. Even after a bout like this he would not sleep except in naps of two or three hours at a time. Yet he was a very able politician and kept control of things within the limits of his rapidly vanishing power. By 1920 he had become practically blind.

As Pozdneev noted however, “. . . the Gegen’s carousing did not in any way lessen his charm as far as the people were concerned; [they] looked upon his every eccentricity as something mysterious and tried to explain his every exploit in his favor on the basis of their sacred books . . .” (to be continued . . .)

Entrance to the Winter Palace Complex

Mongolia | Ulaan Baatar | Roerich Museum | Telo Tulku Rinpoche

Wandered by the Roerich-Shambhala Museum for the reception and talk by Telo Tulku Rinpoche, the Shadjin Lama of Kalymkia. As usual for Roerich Museum events Tout UB was in attendance.

Telo Tulku Rinpoche with Museum panjandrums Bira and Ishdorj

I had the honor of presenting to the Telo Rinpoche, the sixth Diluv Khutagt, a copy, fresh from the presses, of The Diluv Khutagt of Mongolia, the memoirs and autobiography of his previous incarnation, the Fifth Diluv Khutagt.

Diluv Khutagt’s Political Memoirs and Autobiography

I had first read the Diluv Khutagt’s book in the august environs of the Reading Room of the Library of Congress circa 1985. I had xeroxed a copy and carried it with me through all my Travels in Mongolia. I have always thought this book should be better known, and now, over two decades later, I finally had the pleasure of introducing a new edition. The Wheel of Time grinds slowly, but fine. It is now available at various outlets, including the Ikh Nomiin Delgüür, (Big Book Store) just north of the Ulaan Baatar Hotel, and the commercial scriptorium in the State Department Store.

Although the Telo Rinpoche is the sixth Diluv Khutagt his lineage goes back much further. The Fifth Diluv Khutagt comments on this in his Autobiography:

Until the fall of the Manchu dynasty, there were fourteen higher Incarnations in Outer Mongolia who, in their successive embodiments, after being recognized and installed by the Church, had to be confirmed in their incumbency by the Manchu Emperor. Of these I am one. My successive incarnations are as follows: One of the companions and disciples of Gotama Buddha was Mangala. One of his later Incarnations was Dilowa, who was so named because in his worldly occupation he was a pounder of sesamum seed to make oil. Tila is the Sanskrit of sesamum. One of his later Incarnations, in Tibet, was Milarapa. The first Incarnation of Milarapa to appear in Mongolia was Dambadorji. In the Ordos region of Inner Mongolia there are two groups of mountains, the Great and Little Arjai. In the caves in the Little Arjai, Dambadorji built his first monastery, in the period of the reign of the Ming dynasty in China (1368-1643). This monastery was destroyed by Legden Khan of the Chahar Mongols, in the time of trouble when the Ming dynasty of the Chinese was falling and the Ch’ing dynasty of the Manchus being set up. The next Incarnation of Dambadorji was Erhe Bogda Lama, who built the monastery of Banchin Jo, also in the Ordos. In the K’ang Hsi period of the Manchu dynasty (1662-1722) my incarnation was recognized, under the designation of Diluv Khutagt, by the Manchu Emperors. My present Incarnation is the fifth under this designation, and the third to appear in Outer Mongolia. While I was in the Ordos, under the designation of Erhe Bogda Lama, Narobanchin was my disciple. Later he was reincarnated in Outer Mongolia,and built the Narobanchin monastery. When in a later reincarnation I myself appeared in the same region of Outer Mongolia, the Narobanchin Khutagt invited me to share his monastery with him, and thus it has been ever since, and that is why I am the Diluv Khutagt of Narobanchin Monastery.

I was also able to present to the Rinpoche Four Books by the Roerichs which we have recently published. Saraa, Co-Publisher of The Diluv Khutagt of Mongolia and the Roerich books, shown here with the Rinpoche.

Saraa and Anzha, the Rinpoche’s factotum, who also acted as my guide when I was in Kalmykia, framing the Shambhala Thangka now on display in the museum.

All-in-all quite a lively and informative gathering. The only thing missing, as far as I was concerned, was a cameo appearance by Lady GaGa.

Russia | Kalmykia | Elista

Back in 2002 I attended the Kalachakra Initiation given by the Dalai Lama in the Austrian City of Graz, hitherto known mainly as the birthplace of numerous distinguished personages, including Archduke Franz Ferdinand II, whose assassination in 1914 touched off World War 1; Baron Ungern-Sternberg, the psychopathic warlord who in 1921 had briefly reigned in Ulaan Baatar as the uncrowned King of Mongolia; Heinrich “Seven Years in Tibet” Harrer; and Arnold “The Terminator” Swartzenegger. Over 10,000 Buddhists of various degrees of persuasion had descended on the this small Catholic-dominated town in the south of Austria to take the initiation, including a contingent of a hundred or so people from the Republic of Kalmykia, part of the Russian Federation. These Kalmyks were descendents of Western, or Oirat, Mongols, who in the early seventeenth century had migrated from what is now western Mongolia and the Chinese province of Xinjiang to the Caspian Steppe straddling the Volga River north of the Caspian Sea where they become the only Mongols to nomadize in the continent of Europe. They had brought Tibetan Buddhism with them from their homeland and after being stomped out during the Stalin-era repressions in Russia the religion was now enjoying a resurgence.

The Kalmyks in Graz were certainly enthusiastic, and they quickly drew attention to themselves for their total disregard for queuing, assigned seating, and other attempts to impose order by the autocratically minded organizers of the initiation. I was able to strike up conservation with several of these Kalmyks in my rudimentary Russian and went out to eat with them a few times. On the last day of the initiation three of them, one a woman in her fifties, approached me and asked a favor. It seems that they had overspent their allowances and not did not have enough money for the bus fares back to Kalmykia. Would it be possibly to lend them a few hundred Euros? Since they were clearly in distress, and in keeping with the theme of compassion being stressed in the Kalachakra teachings, I loaned them the money they needed. “When I come to Kalmykia you can pay me back,” I told them. “No problem,” they said, “we will be waiting for you.” At the time I had absolutely no plans to travel to Kalmykia but then again one never knows.

For six years I can’t say I gave the Kalmyks or the money I had loaned to them another thought. Then in the Fall of 2008 and Winter of 2009 the world-wide financial crisis struck and I myself, even in far-off Mongolia, began to feel the consequences. In addition to the world-wide systemic problems in the economy, the Mongolian tögrög took a stomach-churning fall against the dollar, wiping out any income and then some from tögrög-based accounts in Mongolia. In these troubled times my thoughts naturally turned to the money I had loaned to the Kalmyks back in 2002. Unfortunately, I did not remember the names of the people I lent the money to, nor had I found out where in Kalmykia they lived. Added to that it was quite hard for Americans to get Russian visas in Ulaan Baatar, and travel to Kalmykia, while apparently possible, was described in all available sources as problematic.

At this juncture I got a call from Ulaan Baatar-based translator, author (Fourteen Dalai Lamas: A Sacred Legacy of Reincarnation, among Many Other Titles), Dharma practitioner, tour guide, and Irrepressible Gadabout Glenn Mullin. It seemed that the Telo Tulku Rinpoche, the current incarnation of the Diluv Khutagt, one of the most prominent lamas in pre-revolutionary Mongolia, was in town and he had invited Glenn to a luncheon he was hosting. Glenn was allowed to bring one guest and wondered whether I would like to accompany him.

At the time I was living in semi-occultation in Zaisan Tolgoi, a out-lying district of Ulaan Baatar right beneath the shadow of Bogd Khan Uul, the enormous massif which overlooks the city on the south. I had no idea the Telo Tulku Rinpoche was in town, nor that he was accompanying a delegation of Kalmykian officials meeting with the President of Mongolia. I had long been aware of his previous incarnation, the Diluv Khutagt, however. The Diluv Khutagt had left Mongolia in the early 1930s to escape the repression of Buddhism and the arrest of monks which at that time was just starting to pick up steam. After various peregrinations, including a stint in Lhasa as an advisor to the 13th Dalai Lama, he migrated to America, eventually finding a home among the community of Kalmyk immigrants who after World War II had settled in New Jersey. Here he had penned two books, his Political Memoirs, and his Autobiography. These had been translated into English by Mongolist Owen Lattimore and published together in one volume in 1982. In the mid-1980s I had stumbled upon a copy of this book in the Library of Congress in Washington, and after unsuccessful attempts to buy the book returned to the library and made a zerox copy. This copy I carried with me for the next two decades and indeed I still have it. Intrigued by the life of Diluv Khutagt, in 1998 I had traveled to Gov-Altai Aimag in western Mongolia to visit the ruins of his former monastery, Narobanchin Khiid, which had been destroyed by the communists. I cannot say, however, that I was then aware that his current incarnation had been recognized, and that he was dividing his time between the United State, India, and Kalymkia.

Then in the summer of 2008 I made a pilgrimage to Otgon Tenger, one of the four sacred mountains in Mongolia which by law the President of Mongolia must visit and make an offering to at least once every four years years. I hired horses and in six days did a complete circumnavigation, or khora, in Tibetan, of the perennially snow-capped 12,811-foot peak. We visited the main ovoo of the mountain where the Diluv Khutagt had himself come to perform ceremonies in honor of Otgon Tenger, according to his autobiography, and camped that night nearby. The next morning we rode on in what was at first drizzling rain and what soon turned into a downpour. By noon it was still pouring and there was absolutely no chance of getting a fire going from dried dung—there was no firewood in the area—so we stopped at a ger inhabited a man his wife in their seventies and asked if we could make soup and tea on their stove. They readily agreed and we quickly took shelter from the rain and began preparing lunch. For an half hour or so the old couple had almost nothing to say. Then I asked if they knew about the Diluv Khutagt, who had been born in what is now Zavkhan Aimag, in which Otgon Tenger is also located. Yes, they knew about the Diluv Khutagt, even about how he had migrated to the United States. Then they mentioned that in 1991 the current incarnation of the Diluv Khutagt, the Telo Tulku Rinpoche, had made a pilgrimage to Otgon Tenger and that they had met him. Looking back, I think this is the first time I heard about Telo Tulku Rinpoche.

Now Glenn Mullin and I were going to met him in the Indian Restaurant in the Imperial Puma Hotel just off Sukhbaatar Square. The luncheon was scheduled for 1:00 but the Rinpoche was delayed first by with some lamas at Gandan Monastery then by some government panjandrums. He finally arrived at three o’clock with his sizable entourage and we all retired to one of the restaurant’s private dining rooms. The entire Indian staff of the restaurant appeared briefly to get a glimpse of the famous incarnation who had once lived and studied in India.

Speaking impressive Hindi, he quickly ordered a bevy of Indian dishes and then settled back in his chair. The first thing that struck me about the Rinpoche was his very informal manner and his pure American accent. He had been born in Philadelphia of Kalmyk immigrants and at the age of seven had gone to India to study and had eventually began a monk. While in India he was recognized by the Dalai Lama as the current incarnation of the Diluv Khutagt. He eventually gave up his vows as a monk and got married, but nevertheless he was finally recognized as the head of the Buddhist Faith in Kalymkia. He was currently in Mongolia to discuss the restoration of Narobanchin Khiid and meet with the organizers of a committee which has been set up in Mongolia to represent his interests here.

I had made another copy of Diluv Khutugt’s book from my Library of Congress copy and now presented it to the Rinpoche. He admitted that while he had glanced through the book in libraries he had never read the whole thing. I pointed out the chapter in the Diluv’s autobiography about the Notorious Ja Lama Dambijantsan, who had been born in Kalmykia and about whom I was currently doing research. Somewhat surprisingly, the Rinpoche had heard of him; in fact; he is a Dörböt, the same Kalmyk tribe to which Damijantsan belonged.

To my right was sitting a man who now introduced himself as Khongor Elbikov. His business card revealed that he was the Vice-Chairman of the Parliament of the Republic of Kalmykia. I was a bit embarrassed that I had up until now ignored this rather important personage. “I heard you mention Dambijantsan,” he said. “How do you know about him?”

I replied that I had been doing research about Dambijantsan on-and-off for several years. Were people—besides himself obviously—in Kalmykia still aware of Dambijantsan? I wondered. He said that he believed someone at one of the research institutes in Elista, the capital of Kalmykia, had done some research about Dambijantsan. I should come to Kalmykia and do some research myself, he said. I replied that I would love to, but that it was bit difficult to get a Russian visa in Ulaan Baatar. I had already been turned down three times before. “I will give you an official invitation from the Kalmykian Khural [Parliament],” he said. I don’t see how they can refuse to give you an invitation when you have an official invitation.” The Telo Tulku Rinpoche, who had apparently overheard this conversation, chimed in, “Yes, you must come visit Kalmykia We will sent you an invitation. Don’t worry about it.” Well, I thought, here is my chance to visit Kalmykia and get my money back. And as a bonus, I can delve further into the life of Dambijantsan.

In due course I received the invitation signed by an official in the Kalmykian Parliament. At the Russian Embassy the attaché studied it long and hard. It was clear he did not want to give me a visa but to refuse to honor an official invitation might have repercussions for himself. With obvious disgust, he finallty threw my application and passport into a bin on his desk and barked, “Come back in five days for your visa. Pay $170 now.” Pressing my luck, I asked, “Can I go to St. Petersburg also on this visa?” “No!” he snapped. “Your invitation specifies travel to Moscow-Volgograd-Elista on official business. You must stick to your itinerary. If you want to go to St. Petersburg you must apply for a tourist visa.”

The Aeroflot flight from Ulaan Baatar to Moscow leaves at 7:35 a.m. I hadn’t flown on Aeroflot in years, and was a bit taken by the spiffy new Airbus A320-200 they use on this flight. I flew Aeroflot back in the glory years of the late 1980s when Russian businessmen put down their tray tables the moment they sat down and got out liter bottles of vodka. A flight attendant would come through and tell everyone to put up their tray tables for take-off but of course no one paid the slightest attention to her. Now Aeroflot was just like any other airline. They did not even serve alcohol on the flight. The plane was not more than one-fourth full. I could remember when there was a waiting list of a month for the Mongolia Airlines flight to Moscow. Apparently the economic meltdown was affecting air travel.

Six and hour half hours later we were in Moscow. I was in the front of the plane and was one of the first to reach passport control. Only two windows were open and there was no one in line. A woman gave my visa a cursory glance and stamped it. Wandering out into the airport lobby I was surprised to find the place almost deserted. There was literally no more than a dozen travelers wandering around the shabby run-down premises. This was the airport of the capital of a country which once was and now again aspires to be a world power. The contrast between this and Beijing’s huge and spectacular new world-class airport is nothing less than staggering. And even Ulaan Baatar’s airport was a beehive of activity compared to this deserted place. I had read on the internet that the world financial crisis had curtailed air travel; now I was seeing the effects first-hand.

I had to transfer from the International Terminal to Domestic Terminal #2. For the four mile or so trip cab drivers wanted $60. Luckily I had lots of time, so I took the bus. The domestic terminal was small, maybe the size of the airport in a small city in the American mid-west, and even more shabbier than the international airport. The restaurants did not look appetizing. I did check out the book kiosks. There were big stacks of a book entitled Kak Perezhit Krisis (How to Survive the Crisis) with a big pile of 100 dollar bills going up in flames on the cover.

There are direct flights to Elista from Moscow three days a week, but they are on some small regional airline which does not sell tickets outside of Russia. Not wishing to waste time, in Ulaan Baatar I had bought a ticket on the one hour and forty minute Aeroflot flight to Volgograd, one hundred and eighty miles north of Elista, the capital of Kalmykia. Telo Tulku Rinpoche had said he would send a car up from Elista to Volgograd to pick me up. In addtion, the road from Volgograd to Elista goes right through the old Malo-Dörböt district where Damibjantsan was allegedly born, so I would get a chance to see this region at first-hand.

I was met at the airport by a young Kalmyk man holding a printed sign with my name on it. In all my travels in this world I have walked out into the reception hall of airports hundreds of times and seen people holding signs with the names of expected arrivals but this is the first time I ever saw anyone holding up my name. “My God,” I thought, “I have finally arrived!” I was a real traveler, with someone actually waiting for me, and not just some nameless badarchin wandering alone down the endless corridors of time and space.

This guy lead me outside to a spanking-new Toyota Corolla driven by a big hulking Kalmykian who looked like a Mongolian wrestler. Neither spoke English, and I was forced to resort to my rusty Russian. Neither seemed to understand a word of my forays into Mongolian. They did not even recognize my Mongolian for “What’s your name,” although the driver did finally recognize ner, the word for name. The Kalmykian version of the of the Mongolian language, I would quickly discover, is quite different from the Khalkh dialect spoken in Mongolia. Anyhow, speaking Russian I soon determined that the guy who had met me was named Genan and the driver’s name was Savr. Although I directed my Russian to Genan, it turned out it was the Savr who understood me best, and he often repeated what I had said for the benefit of Genan. I finally discovered that Genan was student of Buddhist philosophy and Tibetan language at the State University of Kalmykia. The Telo Rinpoche had asked him to come along with the driver to met me.

Volgograd is of course the former Stalingrad, where on the vast plains surrounding the city the Soviet Red Army had cornered the Germany army during World War II and dealt it a defeat from which Nazi Gerrmany never recovered. The name of the city has been changed but no one has been allowed to forgot what happened here. Billboards in the old—and now newly popular—Socialist Realism style proclaim the upcoming celebration of the anniversary of the Soviet victory. One large billboard announces: ”Volgograd: City of Heroes.” Apparently we missed the city center but the environs extend for miles. It took a good hour to drive through the suburbs and small villages surrounding the city. At the outskirts we stop for gas and bottled water. As we leave the gas station we pass by a dozen or so blonde-haired and heavily made-up mini-skirted tarts lined up along side the road, clearly soliciting business. “Russian girls,” mutters the driver in disgust, one of his few forays into English.

Beyond the villages lay vast cultivated fields, the horizon disappearing beyond the curvature of the earth. The road is straight, flat, and in reasonably good condition, and the lead-footed driver soon has the Corolla barreling along at ninety miles an hour. Almost imperceptibly the cultivated fields start grading into mixed farm lands and pasture until finally the countryside turns to unbroken steppe. Perhaps not by accident, the border of Kalmykia is near where the steppe take over completely. Somewhere on these monotonously flat steppes, broken only the on occasional pond or small like ringed with tall reeds, Dambijantsan was supposedly born. Apparently there are no speed limits in Kalmykia since going over ninety miles an hour we blew past several police cars without consequence.

We arrive in Elista, the capital of Kalmykia, about three hours after leaving Volgograd. The city is located in a depression in the otherwise level steppe. Its population is said to be just over 100,000. My first impression is of surprisingly clean, tidy, tree lined streets backed by modest two and three story apartment houses. Telo Tulku Rinpoche’s monastery has a guest apartment but at the moment it is unavailable, so I am taken to small three-story hotel on quiet side street lined with trees and lilac bushes in full bloom. Here a young maroon-robed monk meets us as we step into the lobby. He greets me warmly and I think I must have met him before, but I cannot remember where. When meeting people I am often overcome by the strong sensation that I already know them, even when this is clearly impossible. In this case there is an explanation; he was with Telo Tulku Rinpoche at the luncheon in Ulaan Baatar. I had not spoken to him but I must have noticed him. His name is Andzha.

The hotel, called the White Lotus (the symbol of Kalmykia), is decidedly up-scale, newly refurbished with sleek Scandinavian furniture, all blonde wood and chrome, very clean, and possessing awesome water pressure, although I must admit the same quality hotel in China would cost a half or one-third of this one and would almost invariably have internet connections and certainly a hot water kettle, neither of which this place has. And the restaurant serves only breakfast. Andzha offers to take Genan and me to dinner at a café nearby named Tsagaan Sar: “White Month” in Mongolian, one of the first touches of Mongolia I have seen here. What is called manti on the menu turns out to be the beloved Mongolian buuz—steamed meat dumplings. “Kalmyk tea” turns out to be the equally beloved suutai tsai—milk tea. By the time we finished dinner it was nine o’clock local time, one in the morning UB time; since I had already been up twenty-two hours I decided to wait until the next day before launching my quest for the people who owe me the money.

Mongolia | Autobiography of the Diluv Khutagt | Part 2

Stupas of the “Nine Famous Khutagts”—including Diluv Khutagt—in Uliastai, Zavkhan Aimag. Diluv Khutagt was born in what is now Zavkhan Aimag.

What follows is the Autobiography of the Diluv Khutagt:

Part 2

This is the story of how I became a human being as well as of how I became a lama; and so I shall first tell about the circumstances of my birth and about the poor family into which I was born, and then relate how is was that I became the Diluv Khutagt, the fifth of my incarnation since it first came to Mongolia in the reign of the Emperor K’ang Hsi [r. 1662–1723].

My grandfather’s name I do not know, but I do know that the name of my clan was Onhit and that my father was born when my grandfather was 86 years old. For this reason he was always called “Pa-shi Liu”—Chinese for “Eighty-Six.” The foreign language was used to avert bad luck. I was born when my father was 67.

I was born in western Outer Mongolia at a place called Oigon Bag, after Lake Oigon, on the south side of the mountain called Bayan Aimag, in the Banner of the Tüshee Gün in Zasagt Khan Aimag. The name of the ruling prince was Tsogtsambar. (Outer Mongolia was then divided into four aimags, or provinces). I was born in the cyclical year of the Monkey, the ninth year of the Emperor Kuang Hsü (1884) on the eighth day of the tenth moon, in the hour of the Dragon, according to the 24 divisions of the day, about sunrise. I had an elder sister and an elder brother, who were 14 and 10 years old respectively at the time of my birth. My mother was then 48.

The family into which I was born were poor sheep-herders, living in a round felt-covered tent. In the year after I was born we had only 20 sheep, four cows and two horses. Camels were very rare in that district and we had none, but we also had no yaks, which were common. The year in which I was born was a difficult one for everybody. There had been a jud (an ice frost, sheathing the grass) that winter, and the cattle had died in large numbers. We had more cattle before this bad winter. My father did all the herding. He died when he was 85. In that winter it was said that many people saw emanations of light coming out of the tent in which I was born. People thought that something mysterious must be going on, in that winter, with strange emanations of light and with a baby born to such an old man, and so I was called “The Lord of the Ice-Plague,” but my given name was Jamsranjav.

The place where I was born was about 300 miles from the large monastery of Narvanchin. In this monastery there were two Khutagt [or “Living Buddhas”]—one the Narvanchin Khutagt, the other the Diluv Khutagt. The one with the longer seniority in the monastery was the Narvanchin Gegeen, but the one with religious seniority was the Diluv. They both died the year I was born. When the emanations of light began, people began to think that the Narvanchin Gegeen had been born. The people of the monastery began to say, “Where shall we seek the Narvanchin Gegeen? And where is the Diluv Gegeen to be found?”

The Diluv Gegeen (my predecessor) died at the age of 28, in the first month of summer. He had been on a pilgrimage to the caves in the mountains called Tsogt. Some of the branches of these caves have never been entirely explored. On the way back he stopped at the town of Uliastai, where, because he was fond of liquor, he spent several nights. It happened that there was at Uliastai at the same time another important lama, known as Gün Bandid, who came from the Banner in which I was born. (A Banner was the traditional territory of a tribe. Each of the four eastern aimags contained about 20 Banners). Although this Bandid Lama had some reputation as a healer, he was also known as a drinker.

Mongols do not like to drink alone. Like Chinese and Tibetans they like to drink competitively, urging on their companions and proud if they can drink them under the table. Getting drunk is sometimes psychological. My predecessor used to drink with a high official from Zasagt Khan Aimag. Once when this official was visiting him in Uliastai they both had a long bout of drinking, and the visitor was not only not drunk but it looked as if the supply of liquor was going to give out. If the visitor had drunk his host dry and was still on his feet, my predecessor, a great drinker himself, would never have heard the last of it. He was saved by a quick thinking steward who got hold of several of the huge wicker jars lined with oiled paper in which Chinese merchants used to bring fiery grain liquor by caravan to Mongolia, and had them filled with water. They were so heavy that it took two men to carry one of them. He had several carried to a storage shed next to the room where the men were drinking. Then the visitor was invited out to look at them. They still smelled strongly of the liquor with which they had been saturated on the long caravan journey. Then the visitor was slapped on the back and jovially urged to return to the drinking bout. “Come on,” was the cry; “There’s a lot to be drunk up yet.” The psychological effect on the champion drinker was that what he had already drunk rushed to his head and from being apparently sober and on the edge of a great triumph he became so drunk that he could not go on and the Diluv Gegeen’s reputation was saved.

The Diluv and the Bandid Lama sat up drinking for three nights. Then the Bandid Lama called in the Diluv’s followers and retainers, and said, “Your master is about to depart. You must beg him not to depart.”

This caused the Diluv’s people to be very worried, and they went to him and cautioned him because they took the Bandid Lama’s words to mean that their master was near death; but the Diluv was not worried. “We will go back to Narvanchin,” he said, “and I am going to live to be 40.”

Not long after the Diluv got back to Narvanchin, he fell sick and died. It was discovered that he survived, according to his prophecy, not by 40 years, but by 40 days.

The Bandid Lama, who had gone home in the meantime, lived near the place where I was born, 300 miles, or three day’s ride on fast horses, from the Narvanchin monastery; but the morning the Diluv died he got up and said to his attendants, “The Diluv has arrived,” and went into his prayer-tent to welcome him. Word was sent to Narvanchin immediately that the Diluv’s spirit had come into the district of the Bandid Lama. This was just before I was born.

Messengers were sent to all the other Living Buddhas to ask help in finding the new Diluv. Some recommended the best direction in which to search by the casting of dice, some by a system of divination based on the rosary of 108 prayer beads and some by contemplation and inspiration. Sorcerers called “Choijin” were also consulted, who speak when inspired, and after recovery do not remember what they have said. In this way the direction of search was determined, and with it a list of about 40 children born shortly after the Diluv’s death in circumstances thought to be miraculous. The list came from the monasteries of the region. Sometimes an investigator is sent out to corroborate such a list, sometimes it is merely accepted and left unquestioned.

The people of Narvanchin monastery considered the list over a period of about three years, during which it was narrowed down by a process of elimination by the drawing and casting of lots; but according to the regulations of the time the naming of the new Living Buddha had finally to be done by the Manchu Emperor at Peking, to whom a final list was submitted.

At this time I was between two and three years old. I liked to play by sitting astride the fence of the corral and pretending to ride horse-back. Then I would say, “I am going back to Zavkhan Tsagaan Tokhoi.” My parents asked their neighbors, who asked other people, but no one had ever heard of such a place. There is such a place, however. It is a big hollow near the Zavkhan River and near the caravan road from China to Uliastai. Many people used to camp here in the autumn. The hollow is about five miles across and holds pasturage for 5,000 horses and 10,000 sheep.

At this time there was a man called Gonchig, who was the stepfather of the incarnation of the Diluv who had just died. As there was some talk that I might be the new incarnation, Gonchig came to visit my family and to enquire. On the day he came, but before he had arrived, I was heard to say, “A man is coming today from my home.”

I personally can remember Gonchig’s arrival, and that he was a thin man with a thin wispy mustache, wearing a fur-lined vest over his gown. He had two attendants with him, one his familiar servant, the other an official guide. Seeing this man, I thought of him as someone I knew very well. I approached Gonchig and he took me on his lap, as he sat cross-legged in the tent. My mother started to pour tea for the three visitors and Gonchig took from the breast of his gown a small silver-lined bowl from which to drink. “Why, that’s my bowl!” I said. Gonchig wept. Picking me up, he placed me on a small stool on the carpet before the family altar at the back of the tent, where I liked to sit. It was only a common little wooden stool with all the paint worn off, but I have always kept it. Gonchig prostrated himself before me and bowed three times. He gave me a khadag and the little silver-lined bowl, filled with raisins from Sinkiang. I had this bowl up until the time I left Outer Mongolia, when I left it at the monastery. It had belonged to my predecessor.

The word quickly got round that I had recognized my predecessor’s step-father and his drinking-bowl, and with it the rumor spread that I was the new Diluv. I do not remember the things that happened between Gonchig’s visit and the time I went to the Monastery, but it was in this time that I was confirmed by the Emperor at Peking.

The monastery took me when I was five years old. It was in the third month of spring (about April), when the ground was still lightly covered with snow. When the monastery envoys arrived, they made their camp next to my father’s, and I remember that my mother was very busy preparing their welcome. During the daytime I would play about the camp of the envoys, but at night I would cry and ask to return to my mother’s tent. Sometimes I wanted to go with them. sometimes I didn’t.

I do not remember exactly what happened in the ceremonies of invitation that preceded my departure, except that part of it was the placing of an amulet around my neck and that one of the local officials got very drunk. When I left the whole family came along, bringing all their cattle and possessions with them, even the family dogs. Later they settled near the monastery. I made my trip in a camel cart.

It was the first month of summer when we reached the monastery, and I was greeted outside its precincts with such ceremonies as are made for high lamas. Omens were consulted to determine the best day for my entry. I know now what these ceremonies consist of, of course; but I do not remember the actual event.

Shortly after my arrival came the ceremony called Mandal, which in the Narvanchin monastery was held on the fifteenth day of the sixth lunar month, very close to the time of the big Summer Festival. (Elsewhere Mandal occurs at different times; at Khüree [Urga] it comes in the autumn.) I remember the horse races and the great excitement of the occasion.

When I was first taken to the monastery and my family was camped near by, naturally I wanted to return to my family. The monks gently restrained me and soon I became used to seeing my parents less and less and accustomed to being in the monastery. The family stayed rather close to the monastery in summer and moved somewhat farther away to winter quarters.

I began to learn Tibetan immediately and at the age of five I could recognize the Tibetan letters. At six, with no feeling of hard work, I had committed to memory 3,000 sholog of text, (a sholog is about 36 words so this would be roughly 108,000 words), and at seven I could translate most of this into Mongol. From the time I was six years old I began to attend religious ceremonies, to memorize the proper forms of prayer, and to have religious instruction, and by the time I was 12 I could translate scriptures from Tibetan into Mongol and from Mongol into Tibetan, although I had no speaking knowledge of Tibetan, which was only a written language to me. Of course knowledge of the meaning of religion came to me only gradually, partly through having texts explained to me by a tutor . . . to be continued . . .

Mongolia | Autobiography of the Diluv Khutagt | Part 1

Diluv Khutagt (1884–1965)

Been reading the Autobiography of the Diluv Khutagt. Here is the Foreword to his autobiography:

Reincarnation = the Vehicle and the Passenger

Religion is not limited to knowledge of the scriptures. A man may be immensely learned, and still lacking in buyan (punya), or religious merit. Conversely, an ignorant and humble man may be deeply religious. It is here that time, circumstance, and transmigration interact. A man in unfavorable circumstances may still be carried forward on the religious path by the merit of his previous incarnations in various forms, just as a man in apparently favorable circumstances may be held back by lack of merit in previous lives.

Moreover there is an interaction between the individual, the community, and indeed the whole universe of living, sentient beings. This helps us to understand the changes and differences between saintly incarnations, whom you Westerners call Living Buddhas. When the Chinese began to use the expression Huo Fo, literally Living Buddha, they must have been trying to make a crude distinction between an image or statue of Buddha and a human reincarnation. Our Mongol term is khuvilgaan, from a root meaning “to change, to transform”, and so to be reincarnated; but this, of course, is also a translation that does not carry over the full inner meanings of the original Tibetan and Sanskrit terms.

Putting it very roughly to give a general idea to people who have not studied Buddhism, there are two classes of khuvilgaan or reincarnation. Those of the higher class, to which I belong, are reincarnations of Buddha. This does not mean that Buddha is divided up, with one part of Buddha manifest in one reincarnation, and one in another. Buddha is indivisible and pervasive. The fact of several reincarnations of Buddha does not diminish the unity or totality of Buddha.

Bodhisatvas are Souls that, by accumulation of buyan or merit could become Buddha, but elect to remain in the material world, contributing to the acquisition of buyan by all Souls until all souls become Buddha.

Now we come to the process of reincarnation. Here I think it will help laymen to understand if I say that on one hand there is the Soul, and on the other the body, which is like a vehicle in which a man travels. This helps to explain many mysteries. The body is material, and is bound up with the material world. That is why a reincarnation can act very differently in the different bodies in which it is reincarnated. It is as if a man should say, “this time I will take an express train, going straight to Washington and stopping nowhere;” but on the next journey he may say “I will take a slow train that stops at many places, or I may take a side trip.”

As an example, the body of my last incarnation was a worldly person who drank, but the body of my incarnation before that was a learned and pious lama who was everywhere revered and invited far and wide to visit monasteries and Banners and Aimags, because of the religious benefit of his presence. In the lives of human generations we must always remember the interaction between the individual and the totality of the community. We may also live in times that appear on the surface to be good and happy, but materialism, ignorance, and error are accumulating below the surface and will break out later. It may be that in my incarnation of two generations ago, when religious merit was accumulating elsewhere, partly because of the visits and prayers of my incarnation of that time, ignorance and error were accumulating in the monastery territory itself, and there, as far as our mortal eyes can see, the vehicle of my next incarnation was inferior to the one that had gone just before.

We must remember that illusion, the distortion of our understanding by material things, is always about us. To speak of “good” and “bad” incarnations is a very gross way of speaking. There are manifestations within manifestations. Take another example. In the time of my learned and pious incarnation of two generations ago, the body of the Diluv Khutagt was much senior in years to that of his parallel incarnation, the Narvanchin Khutagt. From the time he was about 16, this Narvanchin showed no inclination for the clerical life. (Eventually he lived like a layman, taking a wife and having children. He was even very fond of hunting, which means the taking of life, which is a breaking of one of the fundamental vows of a lama. There was much concern about his manner of life, not only among the clergy but among the laity.) The Diluv Khutagt counselled that, in order to bring the Narvanchin Khutagt back to the religious life, he should be sent to study in one of the great monasteries in Amdo [the part of Tibet included in the Kokonor territory, now the province of Chinghai], such as Kumbum. As the Diluv stood to the Narvanchin in the relation of teacher to disciple, this advice was authoritative. The Diluv began a religious ceremony of several days of prayer to confirm the decision; but immediately there broke out a deadly epidemic of stomach sickness. The Narvanchin had left the monastery territory and was living in Sain Noyon Khan Aimag, but when he heard of the epidemic he returned to the monastery. All that he did was to slaughter oxen and invite everybody to feast on beef—hardly a religious approach to the exorcising of sickness; yet everybody who ate of the beef was cured and the epidemic was at an end.

Moreover, the Sain Noyon Khan, the senior prince of Sain Noyon Khan Aimag1 in secular matters, had approved of the decision to send the Narvanchin to Amdo. He was in Uliastai at the time. When the epidemic (perhaps it was cholera) had ceased in the monastery territory, the Narvanchin announced that he would go to Uliastai. No sooner had he reached the town than both the Sain Noyon Khan and his princess were stricken by the dreaded sickness. The Narvanchin announced that he would hold the religious ceremony called Sor, in which there is a burnt offering of food: a sort of pyramid, moulded out of flour with water or butter, and sometimes with small pieces of raw meat stuck into it, is placed on the fire. The Sain Noyon Khan was unable to attend, because of his sickness. “That’s all right,” said the Narvanchin. “We’ll have you lifted up, so you can see it from afar.” So they lifted him up.

But then there was another strange thing. The priest who carried out the Sor ritual should carefully prepare himself, trying to purify himself of all material desires and lusts. But the Narvanchin said to the Sain Noyon Khan, “I can’t carry out this ceremony unless I get good and drunk.” The Sain Noyon Khan was sick, and could not but consent. So the Narvanchin, after drinking heavily, carried out the ceremony—and immediately the Sain Noyon Khan and his princess recovered.

Indeed, the Narvanchin of that incarnation, for all his worldly life, had the healing touch and worked wonders. He could use gun-magic, a kind of magic that I will mention later, and he could cure madness. He once cured a woman who was violently and uncontrollably mad. It took a number of men to drag her before him, but when he spoke to her, firmly but kindly, the madness was exorcised.

So we are made aware that there are mysterious things. In that generation the Diluv Khutagt was incarnated in a body that was of pious learning and pure life, and the Narvanchin in a body that led a profligate life; yet it was the Narvanchin who worked the wonders, and it was the Narvanchin’s decision not to go to Amdo that prevailed over the Diluv’s counsel that he ought to go to Amdo; and the fact that the epidemic broke out when the Diluv prayed, and was stilled by the Narvanchin, left no doubt about the matter.

Of myself in this incarnation I will say only this: I am not a man of great learning. On this journey through life my course has been in the main one of religion manifested in action, rather than in learning; and moreover the time in which this journey has been made has been one of great wars and much violence and evil.

Mongolia | Kalmykia | Kalmyks | Dambijantsan

Who was Dambijantsan?

A Buddhist monk; a freedom fighter for Mongolian independence; the descendant of Amursanaa (1723–1757), the Western Mongol who led the last great uprising against the Qing Dynasty of China; the incarnation of Mahakala, the Buddhist god of war; bandit, torturer, murderer, or evil incarnate? During his lifetime no one was sure who he really was, and even today the controversy about his life continues.

Born in what is now the Republic of Kalmykia, part of the Russian Federation, Dambijantsen traveled throughout Tibet, India, and China before arriving in Mongolia in 1890 where he tossed gold coins to bystanders and announced to one and all that he had come to free Mongolia from the yoke of the Qing Dynasty of China. After disappearing almost twenty years he returned to lead the attack on Khovd City, the last Chinese outpost in Mongolia. Honored by the Eighth Bogd Gegeen, the theocratic leader of Mongolia, for his efforts in achieving Mongolian independence, he went on to establish his own mini-state in western Mongolia, which he hoped to use as a base for establishing a Mongol-led Buddhist khanate in Inner Asia. His dictatorial nature and unbridled sadism soon came to the fore and he was finally arrested and imprisoned in Russia. After the Russian Revolution he returned to Mongolia, gathered new followers around him, and established a stronghold at the nexus of old caravan routes in Gansu Province, China. He robbed caravans, grew opium, and once again dreamed of creating a new Mongolian khanate in Inner Asia. Finally the new Bolshevik government in Mongolia, fearful of his rising power, issued orders for his assassination. Dambijantsan died in 1922, but in Mongolia legends persist to this day that his spirit still rides on the wind of the Gobi and continues to haunt his former lairs.

For more on Dambijantsan see False Lama of Mongolia: The Life and Death of Dambijantsan. 

Mongolia | Current Diluv Khutagt #2

For more on the current Diluv Khutagt, a.k.a. Telo Tulku Rinpoche, see Trials of Telo Rinpoche:

Telo Rinpoche, a.k.a. Eddie Ombadykow, is a 21-year-old [in 1994] American whose favourite band is The Smashing Pumpkins. He is also a Buddhist monk who was brought up in a Tibetan monastery in India and recognized by His Holiness the Dalai Lama as a high reincarnate lama. Now, he finds himself in his ancestral homeland, Kalmykia, a remote Buddhist republic in southern Russia, where he is revered by the people as their spiritual leader and charged with the responsibility of reviving Buddhism. The Trials of Telo Rinpoche is the poignant story of his efforts to come to terms with his own unusual destiny while struggling to fulfill the expectations thrust upon him by his family and by the people of Kalmykia who see him as their Messiah.

Current Diluv Khutagt with 14th Dalai Lama

Current Diluv Khutagt with some Rockers in Kalmykia

Mongolia | The Current Diluv Khutagt

Popped by the Puma Imperial Hotel just off Sükhebaatar Square to see the current incarnation of the Diluv Khutagt. He and his entourage eventually appeared and we retired to a private dining room of the Delhi Darbar Indian Restaurant in the first floor of the hotel to have lunch and chew the fat.

Previous Diluv Khutagt (1884–1965)

The previous incarnation of the Diluv Khutagt was the head of Narobanchin Monastery on the border between Zavkhan and Gov-Altai Aimags.

Ruins of Narobanchin Khiid

He certainly had a distinguished pedigree. According to tradition the first incarnation of his line had been a disciple of the Buddha himself. A later incarnation in Tibet had been the famous Milarepa (c.1052–1135), author of the classic Hundred Thousand Songs of Milarepa.


Still more incarnations turned up on the Ordos Desert in what is now China. The previous Diluv Khutagt was the third incarnation to be born in Mongolia and one of the fourteen incarnations in Mongolia officially recognized the Qing Dynasty. He eventually fell afoul of the new communist government and fled to China. After a stint in Tibet as adviser to the Dalai Lama he emigrated to the United States, where in ended up in New Jersey, of all places. In collaboration with Mongolist Owen Lattimore he then wrote his “Political Memoirs” and “Autobiography,” both of which were combined in one volume entitled The Diluv Khutagt: Memoirs and Autobiography of a Mongol Buddhist Reincarnation in Religion and Revolution. Back in the 1980s I had made a zerox of the copy of this book in the Library of Congress in Washington (the Diluv’s original handwritten manucript of the book is also in the Archives of the Library of Congress).

Both sections of the book contain information about the Avenger Lama Dambijantsan, but the “Autobiography” has an entire chapter devoted to him—the only individual to merit such attention. The Diluv was six years old when he first met Dambijantsan, would encounter him many times in later life, and was eventually involved in the plot to assassinate him. Of the few Mongolians who left written accounts of Dambijantsan the Diluv Khutagt probably knew him best. For more information see Ferdinand Ossendowski Meets the Tushegoun Lama.

This is one of the rarest of all English-language books about Mongolia. It was the only one of Lattimore’s books which could not be located for the Recent Lattimore Conference here in the Big Buuz. Bizarrely, Professor Bira, who was one of the prime movers of the conference, had a copy in his personal library but being temporarily in his absent-minded professor mode had forgotten all about it. Later he remembered and told Glenn Mullin and through the latter’s good offices I was able to borrow the copy. So when Glenn and I finally met up with the current Diluv Khutagt we were able to show him an original copy of the book about his previous incarnation and provide him with a zerox copy. He had of course heard of the book and had apparently glanced through a copy in a library somewhere but never had an opportunity to read the whole thing.

Current Diluv Khutagt

The current Diluv was born in Philadephia, PA in 1972. He was the child of Kalmyk Immigrants who had settled in the United States after World War II. He is a Dörböt, a sub-division of the Kalmyks, and incidentally the same tribe to which Dambijantsan belonged. As a boy he became a monk and studied in a monastery in South India from the age of seven to twenty-one. Eventually he was recognized as the reincarnation of the Diluv Khutagt by the 14th Dalai Lama himself. As I understand it he then decided that he could accomplish more outside of a monastic environment and is now no longer an ordained monk. He himself referred to the years he spent in a monastery as “the years of confusion.” He is now the head of Buddhism in Kalmykia, where he lives full-time, although he remains an American citizen. He is currently becoming more and more involved in promoting Buddhism in Mongolia and the main reason for his visit now is to discuss upcoming projects.

One idea which has been moted is the restoration of the Diluv Khutagt’s former monastery, Narobanchin Khiid. The current Diluv stated rather forcefully that if the plan was simply to restore and open another monastery in Mongolia then he was not in favor. In his opinion there are already enough monasteries and temples in Mongolia. Instead he favors restoring perhaps one temple and then building facilities for orphans and the elderly who have no other place to live.

As for more immediate projects, he wants to bring some Tsam Dancers from a monastery in India for a tour of Mongolia; organize for this summer a music festival featuring Buddhist-oriented performers, promote the study of traditional Mongolian medicine and especially how it can be integrated with modern medical practices; and organize a conference, hopefully to be held this year, in the theme of Buddhism and its relationship to modern scientific theory. This latter subject is of course a Hot Topic in the United States and other Western countries and the Diluv would like to attract some of the leading lights in the field here to Mongolia. Glenn Mullin, who knows many of the main players in this scene, graciously offered his assistance in luring them to Mongolia.

Sitting to my right at the lunch was Khongor Badmaevich, the Vice-Chairman of the People’s Parliament of the Republic of Kalmykia. He is a Torgut, one of the other ethnic groups which make up the Kalmyk people. Somewhat to my surprize he seemed quite familiar with the life of Dambijantsan. He claims that several scholars have recently done work on the life of the Ja Lama. He even asked if I was a disciple of the Ja Lama! I said no, I am approaching his life strictly from an historical point-of-view.

Finally S. Tsendendamba, the Religious Policy Advisor to the President of Mongolia, made a cameo appearance, offered the Diluv Khutagt a khadak, promised all possible asssistance, etc. The Diluv Khutagt said to him, “As you know, I was recognized by the Dalai Lama as the current incarnation of the Diluv Khutagt. With this position comes a lot of responsibility. If I do not fulfill my duty to further Buddhism in Mongolia then I will gladly cut off my head and offer it to you!” Hopefully this will not be necessary.

Out in the lobby Glenn Mullin and I were cornered by a journalist from Kalmykia who was accompanying the Diluv’s party. He quickly zeroed in on the subject of Dambijantsan and questioned me quite closely on the subject for half an hour or so. It never ceases to amaze me how interested people are in the Ja Lama. The source of this fascination is the real mystery about Dambijantsan.