well many months before. The crisis itself now confirmed the portents. Once freed from the political constraints which had bound them for nine years, the 40,000 orso PLA troops occupying Lhasa would undoubtedly unleash a devastating reprisal.
In an attempt to avert the confrontation, the Dalai Lama urged the large crowd still before the Norbulingka to disperse. In addition, he sought to buy time, replying encouragingly to three letters sent over the next six days by General Dan Guansan. In them, the general offered protection from what he termed the “reactionary clique” surrounding the palace. He also pressed his request for the Dalai Lama to come to the PLA headquarters. Replying to the first note, Tenzin Gyatso maintained that under the pretext of protecting him, those outside the Norbulingka were actually endangering his safety. In his next response he said that he had ordered the “immediate dissolution” of the “illegal people’s conference”; in the last, that he was attempting to separate the “progressive people” from “those opposing the revolution,” at which point he would, under protection of the former, make his way secretly to Chinese headquarters. Five days were thus gained, yet no appreciable slackening of tension occurred. Early on March 16, after seventeen pieces of artillery had been trained on the major strong points in and outside the city, a final letter from the general arrived, accompanied, in the same envelope, by one from Ngabo. The latter plainly conveyed the PLA’s true intentions. It entreated the Dalai Lama to take up a secure position inside the yellow wall—safe from the “evil reactionaries”—and to notify the general of his location, so that, as the letter ominously promised, “this building will not be damaged.” Whether or not Tenzin Gyatso complied, it was now clear, the PLA intended to shell the Jewel Park.
On March 15, a platoon of Chinese soldiers suddenly appeared within fifty yards of the Norbulingka’s long southern wall. Hundreds of Tibetan troops ran to their positions and took aim. “They were so close we could see their faces,” recollected Ngari Rinpoché, who, against his mother’s orders, manned the defense. “Everyone held their breath waiting for the first shot to be fired, but they just kept marching. It was only a reconnaissance mission to draw out our numbers.” Shortly afterwards, Dr. Tenzin Choedrak, the Dalai Lama’s personal physician, arrived in the Jewel Park with news from Lhasa. On the morning of March 12, he informed the Dalai Lama’s mother, the women of the city—young girls and grandmothers alike—had massed at the foot of the Potala. Following the meeting, they had taken to the streets around the Barkhor or marketplace, daring the Chinese to open fire on them and shouting, “From now on Tibet is independent.” In a more sober step their leaders had requested the Indian consulate—unsuccessfully—to assist in restraining the Chinese. “I knew this year would bring trouble,” commented Dr. Choedrak, concluding histidings with a nod to Ngari Rinpoché. “On the very morning of New Year’s Day, I remember you set off a firecracker in the house and let out a loud war cry. When children are playing at war, it’s a sure sign the adults will be fighting soon.”
Two days later, at four o’clock in the afternoon of March 17, the first shots were fired. While the Dalai Lama and his Cabinet sat in session inside the Chensel Phodrang, one of his predecessor’s palaces, two mortar shells shattered the tranquillity of the inner garden. One fell in a marsh outside the northern wall, the other in a pond not far from the residence. Inexplicably, none followed. Yet this first bombardment yielded a swift result. One of the Kalons or Cabinet ministers raced to the Norbulingka’s front gate to restrain the volunteer guard from attacking PLA positions at a nearby transport center, the rest, consulting with the Dalai Lama, took the
In an attempt to avert the confrontation, the Dalai Lama urged the large crowd still before the Norbulingka to disperse. In addition, he sought to buy time, replying encouragingly to three letters sent over the next six days by General Dan Guansan. In them, the general offered protection from what he termed the “reactionary clique” surrounding the palace. He also pressed his request for the Dalai Lama to come to the PLA headquarters. Replying to the first note, Tenzin Gyatso maintained that under the pretext of protecting him, those outside the Norbulingka were actually endangering his safety. In his next response he said that he had ordered the “immediate dissolution” of the “illegal people’s conference”; in the last, that he was attempting to separate the “progressive people” from “those opposing the revolution,” at which point he would, under protection of the former, make his way secretly to Chinese headquarters. Five days were thus gained, yet no appreciable slackening of tension occurred. Early on March 16, after seventeen pieces of artillery had been trained on the major strong points in and outside the city, a final letter from the general arrived, accompanied, in the same envelope, by one from Ngabo. The latter plainly conveyed the PLA’s true intentions. It entreated the Dalai Lama to take up a secure position inside the yellow wall—safe from the “evil reactionaries”—and to notify the general of his location, so that, as the letter ominously promised, “this building will not be damaged.” Whether or not Tenzin Gyatso complied, it was now clear, the PLA intended to shell the Jewel Park.
On March 15, a platoon of Chinese soldiers suddenly appeared within fifty yards of the Norbulingka’s long southern wall. Hundreds of Tibetan troops ran to their positions and took aim. “They were so close we could see their faces,” recollected Ngari Rinpoché, who, against his mother’s orders, manned the defense. “Everyone held their breath waiting for the first shot to be fired, but they just kept marching. It was only a reconnaissance mission to draw out our numbers.” Shortly afterwards, Dr. Tenzin Choedrak, the Dalai Lama’s personal physician, arrived in the Jewel Park with news from Lhasa. On the morning of March 12, he informed the Dalai Lama’s mother, the women of the city—young girls and grandmothers alike—had massed at the foot of the Potala. Following the meeting, they had taken to the streets around the Barkhor or marketplace, daring the Chinese to open fire on them and shouting, “From now on Tibet is independent.” In a more sober step their leaders had requested the Indian consulate—unsuccessfully—to assist in restraining the Chinese. “I knew this year would bring trouble,” commented Dr. Choedrak, concluding histidings with a nod to Ngari Rinpoché. “On the very morning of New Year’s Day, I remember you set off a firecracker in the house and let out a loud war cry. When children are playing at war, it’s a sure sign the adults will be fighting soon.”
Two days later, at four o’clock in the afternoon of March 17, the first shots were fired. While the Dalai Lama and his Cabinet sat in session inside the Chensel Phodrang, one of his predecessor’s palaces, two mortar shells shattered the tranquillity of the inner garden. One fell in a marsh outside the northern wall, the other in a pond not far from the residence. Inexplicably, none followed. Yet this first bombardment yielded a swift result. One of the Kalons or Cabinet ministers raced to the Norbulingka’s front gate to restrain the volunteer guard from attacking PLA positions at a nearby transport center, the rest, consulting with the Dalai Lama, took the
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