there studied under the most learned masters all the mysteries of the faith, and had returned to Tibet filled with pride over his knowledge. Travelling to Lhasa with his master, they reached the middle of the desert called Palmoi-paltang, when Milarapa, who knew of the conceit of his disciple and wished to teach him a lesson, ordered him to fetch him a pair of yak horns lying near by. But Ra-chung-pa said to himself, "The master wants everything he sees. Sometimes he is as fretful as an old dog, at others as full of childish fancies as an old man in his dotage. Of what possible use can the horns be to him; he can neither use them for food, drink, nor clothing?" Then he asked the sage what he proposed doing with them. "Though it is not possible to say what may occur," replied Milarapa, "they will certainly be of use some time or other;" and he picked them up himself and carried them along.
After a while a violent hailstorm overtook the travellers, and there was not so much as a rat-hole in which they could find shelter. Ra-chung-pa covered his head with his gown, and sat on the ground till the storm had passed by. When he searched for the lama, he could see him nowhere; but he heard a voice, and, looking about, lo! there was Milarapa seated inside one of the horns. "If the son is the equal of the father, then," said the saint, "let him seat himself inside the other horn;" but it was too small to even serve Ra-chung-pa for a hat. Then Milarapa came out of the horn, and Ra-chung-pa carried them to Lhasa, and presented them to the Jo-vo.[1]
After visiting all the ground floor we climbed up to the second and third stories, where we were shown a number of other images, among which I noticed that of Paldan lhamo. By the time we had seen all the images we had exhausted our supply of butter, for Pador had put a little in every lamp lighted that day in the chapels. Those before the image of the Jo-vo were of gold, and each must have held ten or twelve pounds of butter.
By the time we reached our lodgings I was completely worn out, and passed the rest of the day in my rooms or on the housetop, the
- ↑ Though I have not a copy of Milarapa's 'Lu bum' with me, I feel sure that this anecdote is taken from it.—(W. R.)
The two principal works ascribed to him are an autobiography, or 'Nam-tar,' and a collection of tracts called 'Lu bum,' or "the myriad songs." They are still among the most popular books in Tibet. See Nineteenth Century, Oct., 1899, pp. 613–632.—(W. R.)
