My Son Dhama
I want to tell you about my son Dhama and the top of the world. Yes, I’m talking about Tibet. One of the most beautiful countries in the world. Dhama was the bravest of all my children. But it wasn’t always that way. When he was young, he was more of a rebel than a hero. He was the black sheep of the family. His mother was Matuma, a woman I had met while climbing Mt. Everest. She was one of the local porters. When our eyes met, I knew Matuma was the woman for me. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I looked at her and winked.
“Kum ah bantah varha suma,” she said. I smiled.
“OK, let’s go,” I replied. Six months later, we were married. Not long afer that, Dhama was born. I don’t know where Dhama got it from. His mother was laid back. Marrying her had really mellowed me out too. We were a relaxed, easygoing couple. But Dhama was wild. When he was just 10 years old, he would lock himself in his room and turn the stereo up full blast. He loved heavy metal. When he was 14, he started boozing it up with his friends on a hill top outside of Lhasa. Then he started taking drugs. He went on a real binge. He even began sniffing glue. He became an airhead. It was imposible to talk to him. He kept getting worse and worse. When he was 16, his best friend who had a lot of money, gave him a motorcycle. Dhama loved to race. He would drive like crazy. One of his friends bit the dust in a motorcycle accident, but he continued to play chicken every chance he could get, especially with Chinese military trucks. One day he came home bleeding. I was going to go to a movie that had been a hit a few years ago, but I stayed home to bandage his wounds instead.
“Did you have another motorcycle accident?” I asked.
“Not this time Dad,” he said. “I got beat up by some Chinese kids after I beat one of them in a race. But don’t worry Dad, I got a few good punches in too. One guy will probably even end up in the hospital.”
“Dhama, don’t you know how dangerous it is to get in trouble with those military brats? If you keep this up, you could end up in jail or even worse.”
“I know Dad. I guess I’m just killing time. It’s boring around here.”
“If you kill any more time, you’re going to burn yourself out,” I said. “You call racing and getting into fights killing time?”
“I know, I know. All right already, I don’t need another lecture. I know you wish I could be a jock like Sampa. Dad, I’m not like Sampa. I can’t stand sports.
“Sampa used to be your best friend.”
“That bastard? Are you kidding? I bet you think he’s the perfect son. Don’t you know he’s the local loan shark? Why do you think he has so much money? He scams the tourists too.”
“Yeah? I’ve heard rumors but I don’t believe any of that crap. His mother tells me he’s a good boy.”
“That bitch? Look father, I’m not stupid. I know Sampa’s mother’s name is Muna. She’s an M woman. I heard that she invited you up last night for a nightcap.”
“That’s true Dhama. But if you were eavesdropping, then you would also know that I told her no.”
“No, I wasn’t even around. But mom told me about it. Dad, I know you can’t resist M women. It’s only a matter of time before you go all the way.”
“Dhama! How dare you talk to your father like that!”
“OK, OK, I don’t want to make a big scene. Just give me some dough and I’m out of here.” I gave Dhama some money. I don’t know why. I guess I wasn’t a very good father. He always got what he wanted from me. Dhama took the money, grabbed some munchies from the cupboard and took off. Dhama didn’t come home that night. I didn’t worry because he would often stay out all night. I thought he would be OK. Man, was I wrong.
The next morning the police came to the house and told me he was in jail and facing the death penalty for treason. I couldn’t believe it. But it was true. A neighbor who had witnessed what happpened, told me the story.
“Dhama was just bumming around the neighborhood like he usually did. But then he ran across a group of Buddhist nuns lighting a PRC flag in front of the Potala Palace. There were at least 12 nuns, maybe more. After they lit the flag, they raised a banner with a picture of the Dalai Lama on it. When they heard the PRC soldiers approaching, they ran. But the soldiers were too fast for them. They didn’t have a chance. Suddenly, your son Dhama shouted as loud as he could, “Long live the Dalai Lama! Independence for Tibet!” When the soldiers saw him, he gave them the finger and took off running in the opposite direction of the nuns. He wanted to tie up the soldiers long enough for the nuns to get away. It worked! All of the nuns escaped. But they got Dhama. Your son is a hero. He sacrificed himself for those nuns. Long after his death, people will remember his name.”
Long after his death? I couldn’t believe it! My son was going to be executed! I ran all the way to Lhasa prison. At first, the guards wouldn’t even let me in. But when I told them I was Dhama’s father, they checked with their superiors and opened the gates. Two guards led me to his cell. Dhama looked terrible. I could hardly recognize him. The Chinese had tortured him. He was staring at the wall. He was really out of it.
“What happened?” I asked. “Why did those bastards do this to you?”
“They wanted me to rat on those nuns,” he said. “But I refused to do it.”
“Why did you do it?” I asked.
“Why?” Dhama looked at me. A tired smile crossed his face. “Sometimes you just have to react,” he said. “I’m not a hero. I just did what I had to do.”
“I’m proud of you son,” I said.
“Time’s up,” said one of the guards. The guards led me out and told me that the execution was scheduled for the next day at 10am.
I couldn’t sleep. I stayed up all night thinking about Dhama. The next morning I walked to the execution grounds. The sky was a beautiful blue. There was a pleasant wind blowing. I realized Dhama’s death would come and go, and time would drift on as if he had never lived. But maybe not. Maybe someday during another time, in another country, I would tell others his story. Maybe they would understand. Maybe they would wake up and realize what China is doing to Tibet. Maybe my son’s death would not be in vain. Maybe……
When I arrived at the execution grounds, I woke up from my daydreams and watched as Dhama was led outside and made to kneel down. The Chinese guard asked if he had any last words.
“No, just get it over with,” he said. But then, right before the gun was fired, right before I saw my son murdered in front of me, he did have some last words.
“Free Tibet!!!!!!!!! Long live the Dalai Lama!!!!!” he screamed. The scream died with my son as he fell to the ground and blood flowed from the hole in his head. But his words seemed to echo on long after his death. His words would be remembered by all who had witnessed his execution. Instead of a deterrent, he was an inspiration to everyone there. The Chinese were pissed. The whole execution had backfired.
On my way home, I met Muna.
“Your wife has been arrested,” she said. “When the police came to the house with the bill for the bullet, she spit in their faces. They are looking for you now too. You can’t go home. You have to escape. My son and I are leaving tonight. You have to go with us,” said Muna.
“I’m not a coward,” I replied. “I’m not going to run away. This is where my family is. This is where I belong. I don’t care what happens.”
“But you have to come with us,” Muna said. “Please! Don’t say no! Come with us. It’s too late to save your family. Save yourself!” Muna dropped her purse. I watched her bend down to pick it up. My eyes felt like they were glued to her chest. I couldn’t look away. An electric shock ran through my body. Muna stood up and smiled. “Please come,” she said.
What could I do? I said yes. What else could I say? She was an M woman. I followed her and her son across the Himalayas and into India.
