By Thupten Anyetsang
My father, Tamdin Wangyal Anyetsang, along with thousands of Tibetan warriors gave up their lives as freedom fighters trying to save Tibet and its religion from the brutal invasion by communist China in the early 1950’s. They gave up their wives, children, homes and wealth and put aside their regional and tribal loyalties to join together as a nation to resist China. In 1959 when it became clear that no amount of appeasement would prevent the Chinese from forcibly absorbing Tibet into a “united” motherland, the Tibetan resistance insured that H.H. the Dalai Lama was safely brought to India. A hundred thousand Tibetan refugees who sought asylum in India, Nepal and Bhutan followed him.
While my father and his fellow freedom fighters organized a Tibetan army led by General Gompo Tashi Andrugtsang, my brother Kalsang and I were left at Sera Monastery in Lhasa. During the chaos that resulted from the Chinese shelling of the Norbu Linka and the escape of H.H. the Dalai Lama into India, my brother and I decided that we should also escape the Chinese invasion. After many hardships, we managed to journey through the mountains and arrive in India. We were then age eight and ten years old. In a refugee transit camp in Misamari, Assam. we were able to see our father for a short time. Soon we were sent to Balingpong refugee school. At that time our mother was still back at home in Kham wondering where her husband and two sons were and whether they were safe or not. Unknown to us, she had been pregnant with a son when we had left with our father to go to Lhasa. Years later we would be united with our “lost” brother, but he would never know his father, and we would never see our mother again before her death.
For years, the Chushi-Gangdruk (the Tibetan resistance army) inflicted many defeats on the People’s Liberation Army. A group of CIA case officers trained Tibetan resistance fighters as covert agents (many on American soil), and coordinated secret airdrops and support for the Chushi Gandruk freedom fighters. In 1960, they regrouped in Gantok, Sikkim and from there established themselves in Mustang, Nepal. Although the Tibetan warriors fought valiantly and scored many surprise victories against the PLA forces, the sheer numbers of Chinese swarming into Tibet made it inevitable that Tibet would lose its independence and become absorbed by China. By 1974, those fighters who were still based in Mustang had to finally give in to pressure from the Nepalese Government which was in turn being pressured by China to control their borders and pacify the resistance fighters. Some refused to surrender to the Nepalese forces and committed suicide. Others were resettled in Nepal and some few in India.
By this time, I was studying in a Tibetan school in Mussoorie, India. I was about twelve years old. I tried to find out what happened to my father who was a member of the Mustang freedom fighter group. I heard that he was dead. There were many rumors but not many facts: some said that he had died during fighting with the Chinese-some said he had expired from natural causes. I even heard that he had taken a second wife, a local woman from Mustang. I tried for forty years to get some hard facts and not just second hand rumor. Although it seemed certain that he had died, I could not shake off the dim hope that he might still be alive in some refugee settlement in Nepal.
This past October I was fortunate to be able to attend my niece’s wedding in Bhutan. On my return I took advantage of a week lay over in Nepal to do some investigation about my father. I flew to Pokhra from Kathmandu with my wife’s uncle. After a half-hour flight we landed at the Pokhra airport and took a taxi to the Glacier Hotel at lake side. From there I began looking for the office of the Khampa resettlement. I finally found the office but it was closed for the day. Outside I met an old freedom fighter and he was kind enough to show me to the leader’s home. The old man pointed out the house. It had blue curtains with the eight auspicious symbols on them. I knocked at the door and a young man opened it, saying, “Can I help you?” “I am looking for Norbu Dorjee,
the Settlement Head,” I replied. “Oh! Please come in,” the young man said and took us to a little room decorated in Tibetan traditional style. Then a tall man about 66 years of age came in and introduced himself as Norbu Dorjee. He also introduced another old man of about the same age. Suddenly I was filled with an upsurge of nostalgia and joy. I felt on the edge of tears as it was almost as if I was actually meeting my own father. I then introduced myself to them. I said,”My name is Thupten Anyetsang and I came to learn about my father who happens to be in the Mustang freedom fighters organization. His name is Tamdin Wangyal Anyetsang from Tehor Kham. I would like to know when and how and what year he passed away in Mustang. Some said he has a wife and others said she also died. I tried to find out about my father for all these years. Please, could you help me?” Norbu Dorjee said that my father’s name was very familiar but that since he was in a different department he didn’t know him personally. However, he seemed certain that both my father and his wife had passed away. There were only a few who still remained alive as most had already died in the intervening years. He said that there was another settlement called Jampaling about 30 or 40 kilometers from Pokhra and that there were a few of the old fighters still alive there and that they should definitely know something of him. I thanked him for his help and told him that I am putting together a book about how my father died for the country after giving up everything and leaving behind his loved ones. Norbu Dorjee said that if I could prove that my father was in the Mustang freedom fighters organization, then he would issue a certificate from his office authenticating it.
The next day I rented a car and we headed to Jampaling. We left in a heavy downpour of rain, which lasted the whole day. After an hour and a half we reached a small village. The driver stopped at the edge of the village and directed us to a stairway that led down into the valley. He said the stairway led to a suspension bridge about five hundred feet down into the valley. We were to climb up the opposite side and then walk through the forest for a few minutes and then we would come to the settlement. After taking off my shoes to better negotiate the slippery stones, I started down the stairway wondering and worrying a bit about the climb back up. The rain-swollen river gushed heavily below. I kept going as directed towards the hidden settlement. I finally reached the gate that says “Jampaling Settlement.” I walked through a couple of buildings, which seemed empty, but then a young woman came out of a newly built building. “Excuse me,” I said. “Can you lead me to those old freedom fighters?” She pointed me towards a small monastery and told me to ask for the caretaker. After walking a short distance I met the caretaker and he took us to a man whose name is very familiar to me. He said he is Choeden Gyatso from Tehor, Kham. I introduced myself to him. “I am Thupten Anyetsang, one of the three sons of Tamdin Wangyal Anyetsang. Do you recall him from Mustang? I heard that he passed away and also that he left behind a wife who also passed away. I also have two sons born in America and my younger brother Pachen Tashi Gyatso has two daughters and one son who are living in Nepal.”
Choeden Gyatso recalled my father easily and extolled his character and manner saying that everyone looked up to him for advice and that he always got along well with everyone and never refused if someone asked for his help. He said my father passed away around 1972. But he said that his wife is still alive in this Jampaling settlement and so is one of his roommates. The wife’s name is Damshoe Dolma and the roommate’s name is Nyima Dhondup from Nachukha. He said he would send someone to get them. Then he made us tea. He is about 73 years old.
I sat drinking my teas and thinking. All these years I had heard rumors that there was a wife from Mustang but that she had also passed away. Now Choeden Gyatso has confirmed her existence and even said that she is alive and well! Although I have known all these years that my father was dead, at this moment I can almost believe that he has somehow survived and might at any minute walk in through the door. After eating some momo and drinking some tea we were visited by an old lady and an old man. They were quite shocked when I explained that I was Tamdin Wangyal’s second son. Damchoe Dolma said that in 1974 when the Mustang freedom fighters were resettled in Pokhra, she went to see H.H. the Dalai Lama in Dharamsala and made inquiry about Tamdin Wangyal’s sons but was unable to make a connection. I hugged her and told her that I had heard about her but that everyone I talked to said that she had passed away. I hugged her again and said, ”Now that I have found you it is just like finding my own mother! I am going to keep in touch with you.” I told them how much I respected them and all the sacrifices they made trying to save our country and religion from China. Sitting there with people who had known and loved my father as I had, I could almost feel the presence of my father as if his spirit had been drawn there by the memories of those who knew him. I had come looking for traces of my father and some facts concerning the time and place of his death. But the human connection I had felt through his survivors was immediate and palpable. I felt as if I had actually met my father. I gave a few thousand rupees to my newly found stepmother. I also left some contributions for the old fighters who still remain alive with Norbu Dorjee. He promised to issue me a certificate. It would be good to have an official document that commemorated the sacrifice my father made in dedication to the cause of liberating Tibet.
I dedicate this article to the Tibetan freedom fighters of Mustang group who truly sacrificed their lives for a free Tibet.
