The Lama and the Key

Back in his little valley after several years of study, Yoseb Gergan revelled again in the quietness and beauty of the mountains.

Wangchung, dressed in his great Tibetan cloak and colourful boots, met Yoseb upon his return.

"Greetings, Wangchung. The years have been kind to you.

"And to you also, Yoseb. Welcome home. There is to be a great feast tonight to honour your return. Now we will see life in the valley again!"

Yoseb looked at the familiar sights - thc home, the temple, the thatched cottages, all still there as he had known them. But the years had brought subtle changes. It was more than the thickening moss on the south of the houses or the little trees that had grown taller with the years. There seemed to be an undefinable loneliness over the valley, as though the heart no longer lived.

The impression lasted only a moment. It was quickly dispelled by the exuberant welcome he received from his old friends and servants. Everyone talked at once. Yoseb felt his heart drawn to his people, and he determined he would never forsake the valley again. First he would settle down; then, when his estate was in order, he would resume translation of the Bible.

Soon after the death of his father, his mother had also died, leaving him sole heir to the family fortune. He returned home as master of a prosperous estate. Why not settle down and enjoy life for a few years? he wondered. Surely the Lord would understand that he must take time to arrange the affairs of his estate. Later he would take up the Bible translation work. Yet had not God called him to a specific task? His estate had been managed well while he was away, and he could continue as its owner. The battle raged on in Yoseb's mind.

His missionary friends had long since left the valley and moved to Leh, to the northwest in Kashmir, where they established a small Tibetan church. Over the years they had continued to work on the translation of the New Testament, but their efforts met with little success. Reports about the Gospel of John, translated at such a cost of time and effort, were most discouraging. Particularly in the east and at Darjeeling no one appeared satisfied with the Gospel. Few could understand classical Tibetan, and the actual translation was not clear. The missionaries urged Yoseb to come to Leh, pastor the Tibetan church, and help with the Bible translation. This decision he now faced: Should he stay in the Luba Valley or go to Leh?

One night Yoseb dreamed. He saw a mule caravan laden with goods coming over the pass into the valley. He could hear the mule bells ringing in the clear air, and the shouts of the muleteers. To Yoseb's amazement they unloaded the mules at his door. What a treasure they carried - jade ornaments from China; priceless wood carvings from Nepal; woven wool mats from the Chumbi Valley of Tibet; costly garments and other exotic treasures. The leader of the caravan waved his hand, exclaiming, "These are your treasures, master, and more are yet to come."

Yoseb suddenly recognised these as his own men. A mule had moved close and was breathing down his neck, so he instinctively reached out his hand to push the mule away. His hand grasped the swinging shutter over his couch, through which the morning air was blowing.

The movement woke him completely, but so vivid was the dream that he could hardly believe it was only a dream. What did it mean? As a Tibetan he believed every dream has a message, but what was the message in this one?

As he lay thinking it through he fell asleep and dreamed again. A few Tibetans sat in a humble church listening as the minister read from a great volume spread out on the desk. Leaning closer, Yoseb was amazed to see that it was a Tibetan Bible. The pages were written in letters of fire. The man preaching seemed shadowy and indistinct, but the voice was his own! Looking around, he saw the little group listening with close attention. Now the voice spoke again: "Which way will you choose, my friends? One way offers wealth and luxury, but no hope of eternal life. The other is hard, but leads at last to a golden city with joys for evermore."

Yoseb awoke from his dream and pondered the message. God had spoken - of that he had no doubt. Slipping to his knees, he asked God to forgive him for his covetous spirit. Life in the valley would lead to great riches, but that was not the way God wanted him to go. As soon as possible he would leave all this behind and join the struggling band in Leh.

He divided the great estate among the servants who had cared for it through the years. When all was settled he rode out of the valley headed for Leh, leaving his old life forever. He crossed a broken, twisted landscape, forded foaming mountain streams, climbed over steep passes. Occasionally the torrents were "bridged" by structures that required a keen eye and strong nerves to negotiate. Many were no more than two hand-woven ropes of cane planked over at intervals by boards of doubtful integrity. These structures tended to gyrate when the traveller reached the most vulnerable spot in the centre, threatening to throw him headlong into the foaming river below. Still more terrifying were the chasms crossed by a flying-fox apparatus. The traveller sat on a sliding block that shot down the dipping rope at a frightening speed till stopped by the ascending rope on the other side. From there he hauled himself hand over hand up the steep rope onto the opposite cliff. The mules and loads were strapped in turn to the ingenious contraption and laboriously hauled the last few yards to safety.

In spite of the difficulty of the journey, the scenery lifted his spirits to God, who he felt was leading him forward. Only a great and powerful God could create these magnificent hills and clothe them in such white beauty. Yoseb took in the scene with mixed feelings. Beyond those crags lay some 3,000,000 souls to whom Jesus was unknown. If only he could cross those mountains and share his Saviour with the people! But this would have to wait. The lamas and monks would never allow it. In God's good time the door would open, and the Bible would be the wedge.

The missionaries warmly welcomed Yoseb Gergan. "God be praised! How good you look! We have waited long for this day." Dr. Heyde held Yoseb's hand warmly between his. "We feared you might decide to stay in your lovely valley."

"That was a great temptation, my friends," Yoseb admitted. "Only your prayers have helped me give up my valley to work with you here. I can never thank you enough for all you've done for me."

"You have nothing to thank me for, Yoseb. God has been with you and has led you back to us. If only our old friend Pagel could be here to see this day, he would share our joy. But God has called him to his rest. I have prayed that I might live to see this day and God has been good to me. As you see, the years have taken their toll, and I can no longer carry the burden of the work."

"You will not leave us then, honourable father?" Yoseb gazed anxiously at his friend, aged and stooped from years of toil.

"No, Yoseb, I will not leave you. I have decided to stay here until the Master calls me to lay down the task. My only home is in the glory land."

The two men moved around the mission compound, meeting the personnel of the Tibetan mission.

"Yoseb, you must meet Dr. H. A. Francke, our chief translator." Dr. Heyde paused before a room where a scholar sat surrounded by piles of manuscripts. Seeing the two men at the door, he sprang up and came to them.

"So this is Yoseb? How much I have heard about you and your burden for your people in Tibet. Dr. Heyde never tires of telling me what a brilliant scholar you are. Welcome to Leh!"

Yoseb knew instantly that he and Dr. Francke would be good friends. The man had a warm smile and friendly eyes that showed genuine pleasure at meeting the newcomer.

"Dr. Francke is one of the world's leading authorities on Oriental languages," said Dr. Heyde. "Already he has become an expert in Tibetan. You will get along famously with him, I am sure."

"Now, doctor, not too much back scratching please! Yoseb will get the idea that we have all the answers, but you know how difficult our task is."

The little Tibetan church welcomed their new pastor. Here was someone they could talk to in their own tongue.

"You see, Yoseb, there is plenty to do here," remarked Dr. Heyde.

"There is more than I expected. First of all I want to read the manuscript of the Bible and see how the work is progressing."

Dr Francke and Yoseb sat down to check over the translation work. "You see, Yoseb, we have here the Gospel of John that your old friends prepared. This translation was never a success. It does not give the true meaning to the Scriptures. Later Dr Jaeschke came and spent some years trying to revise the translation. But his death stopped further effort."

"Yes, I have heard about Dr. Jaesclike. Did he ever find the key to the translation?"

"No, I don't think so. Our work so far has not been very successful. I have been working on a complete revision of the New Testament. The first translation made at Kyelang did not turn out well, as you know. The classical Tibetan is difficult to translate, yet we seem to have nothing better to try. I want you to take my revision, read it carefully, and tell me frankly what you think of it."

As Yoseb read the manuscript, he agreed that this was still not what they needed. Clearer than the earlier translation, it was still defective, though Dr Francke had tried so hard to put the gospel story in clear Tibetan. If he had failed, what could Yoseb do more? Falling on his knees, he pleaded with God to give him wisdom.

For weeks the men toiled together, with mounting frustration. Early one morning Yoseb set out on a long walk to visit some Tibetans in a valley north of Leh. By mid-morning the heat had become intense, and the panting hiker sought a place where he could rest in the shade. Ahead he saw a little Tibetan temple with a stone seat against one wall. Thankfully he sank down on the seat and idly listened to the monk inside as he chanted and turned the great prayer drum almost twice the height of a man.

Suddenly Yoseb sat up eagerly as the meaning of the lama's words registered on his mind. Could it be true? The lama was reciting from some ancient book that seemed to contain the very phrases the translators had searched for. Rushing into the temple, Yoseb begged to see this strange book.

"Walk softly before the gods, my son," the monk admonished. "Haste and passion are the sins of youth, but the flesh must be subdued."

"My apologies, honourable one, but I would see the book from which you read."

Reverently the old lama lifted the faded pages for Yoseb to see. "You ask whence comes this book? Only the gods know. My father read from this book, and his father before him. It was written by the gods themselves."

Yoseb smiled to himself but did not dispute the origin of the book. Sitting down, he began to read the tattered pages. As he read, his excitement grew. The book told of ancient wars of the gods, with a backdrop of superstition. But the language, written in a dialect almost forgotten, amazed Yoseb. He saw at once that this language was the key for which they had searched. Here was the word for "God" which they had so diligently sought, a good word for "prayer," and other difficult phrases. The language, much simpler than the classical Tibetan, could be adapted so that the modern Tibetan would understand it clearly - even the simple people of the hills.

But how could he secure this book so that he and Dr Francke could study it more carefully? Never would the lama sell his holy books. Yoseb knew better than to offer money; instead he must appeal to the old man's heart.

"My friend, never have I heard sweeter language than this. Today my soul has been mightily stirred by this book of yours."

The old lama nodded quietly. "I can see the stirring of your soul as you have read the pages. It is good. The wheel of life turns on, and brings every man to his destiny. Today the gods desired that you should hear these words."

"Honourable one, I serve the great God of heaven whose name is written in these pages. Never have I seen this before. What merit would be yours if you would allow me to share these words with my friends. Will you let me take this book and read it to them? In a few days I will bring it again."

Eagerly he watched and silently prayed, as the old man pondered the strange request.

The lama looked long at the book before replying. "Never have I allowed another to touch that book. It has been a treasure carefully guarded. No stranger could ever take my book - and yet, somehow I feel you ought to have it. I do not know why I do this, but I want you to take the book and share it with others. Soon my spirit will escape from this shell and there is no one to take these books from me. Take it, my son, and may the gods be with you."

He gathered the worn pages and tied them between their leather covers. Handing it to Yoseb, he again entreated him to care for the old book.

Yoseb could scarcely refrain from shouting for joy. This was far more than he had ever hoped for. The book was his to keep. "Tutiche [Thank you]! The book will be carefully guarded. And may the great God of heaven remember your gift."

Forgetting his trip to the hills, Yoseb rushed back to share the book with Dr Francke.

"This is wonderful, Yoseb." Dr Francke read slowly from the faded pages. "God has led you to find this book. We must start today to rewrite the New Testament. With our new key we shall bring the people God's Word in the Tibetan language."