Aidan Hogan

Red Robes
Red Robes wake up at 5:30 in a cold cot where their calves dangle off the edge, in a monastery
dangling off the edge of Cho Oyu, the 29,000 foot peak in the Himalayas. They pray, then review their
prayer, and then memorize prayers. From the tender age of 12 they are dedicated to his holiness, the
Dalai Lama. Their lives revolve around their religion. I am a Red Robe.
They came in dark green droves clashing with the summer snow. We had heard news of the
communist takeover of China, but the ripples we felt were few and far between. There was a civil war
and the name Mao Zedong here and there, but news in Tibet travels slow, and we did not here they
were coming until they were on our doorstep. Later we heard they marched through the east, climbing
through the hills and capturing all of our little villages along the way, until they reached Lhasa, the
heart of the country, home of his holiness. Then they reached the Himalayas, the site of my monastery.
They came under the shroud of happiness, climbing up the rock faces slowly but steadily. Now I will
repeat that news in Tibet travels slowly and when they marched in with smiles on their faces and
promises of the joy of communism we may not have noticed that they were covering up our statues and
preventing us from our usual prayers. However despite the interruption in religion I for one was
awestruck. Swept up in the cultural revolution I cheered right alongside them for the great Mao
Zedong. I ate and drank and laughed with these green clad soldiers that looked like us and talked like
us, it was so easy to view them as friends and it was not until the comradery was established that they
decided to enforce their true motives. One evening during our individual evening prayer, I heard the
doors open swiftly down my hall and our resident lama, a man of 68 was dragged by his forearms out
of his room and beaten for the crime of observing his religion. I heard his cries and the sudden
realization jolted me, these were not my brothers nor my friends, they may look like me, but they were
my enemies, and so I ran. Left, right, left, left, deeper into the recesses of our monastery. Candles
flashed by like meteors in the corners of my eyes, getting fewer and farther between as the tunnel got

darker and my breathing got heavier. Finally my brain told my legs to stop, and I caught my breath, I
sank to the familiar ground with my head buried in my hands and a lonesome tear running down my
cheek. Then I heard footsteps, slow and measured, accompanied by a whistle echoing ominously down
my tunnel, gradually coming towards me.
Now looking back I understand that my thought process was not so sound for the 5 minutes that
followed, but at the time I was completely sure of myself. I ran towards the origin of those footsteps,
each step filled with more anger. Right, left, right, right, I careened around corners and then the
whistling stopped, probably because they heard the sound of my reckless feet slapping against the cold
brick, right up until I ran into a dark green wall. Almond eyes looked down on me with a smile and a
white glove was extended to help me up. As soon as I was on my feet I started wailing on this complete
stranger, a horrific violation of the values of hopitality and kindness in Buddhism but religion was not
first on my list of priorities at the time. With angry tears blurring my vision I punched until my frail 12
year old body couldnt punch anymore, and the stranger looked down at me, with light brown eyes, and
in a slight han accent said your left needs a little work, but all in all not bad. and then he grabbed me
by the shoulders and manhandled me out of my deep dark tunnel and back into the cold Himalayan air.
He shoved me towards his shiaxiao's tent and just before he threw open the entrance, he whispered in
my ear just go with it and as we neared the foot of the Shiaxiao's seat he threw a soft left fist into my
jaw and my head snapped back with an artistic flair. They talked quickly and my ear was still ringing
from when the stranger had clipped me, so their conversation was difficult to understand, but the
incrompehensible words were made clear when I was thrown into cold dark cell with no window.
Immediately I started praying, I prayed for who knows how long but I fell asleep in the same position I
was praying in. I was violently awakened when another monk slightly older than me was thrown into
my cell, but even in the dim light I could see the bruises forming around both his eyes, I deduced he
had not encountered the same soldier I had. He grinned at me under a broken nose and extended his
hand Kunchen he said great night huh I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and replied my name's

Chodak, hows the other guy? he smiled not even a scratch. He was 3 years above me I learned and
that was why we had never met, even though we had lived in the same monastery, we were in none of
the same classes. Our get to know you session was cut short by our savior, the stranger that I had
wailed upon earlier in the evening opened the door and glanced at me and Kunchen for a long second
before urgently rushing us outside of our cell, he handed us both a candle and jogged away with a
frightened expression on his face as he motioned for us to follow. Kunchen and I looked at eachother in
surprise, but ran to catch up before he had the chance to change his mind. He stopped at the gates of
our monastery handed us each a bottle of water and some tsampa, run towards the mountains, dont go
back down to Tibet. Go south till you reach Nepal, the soldiers wont follow you, but the mountains will
eat you alive, find Rohtang pass, it is just east of here, but hurry, winter is coming he looked us both in
the eye you are just kids, too young for this he smiled sadly, nodded a farewell, and jogged back to
his post. Our eyes followed him but he never turned back, and the adventure began.
It was still fall, the freezes of winter had not caught up with us yet but the cold was
overwhelming, Kunchen's peach fuzz mustache had bits of frost clinging to it, and each morning I
vainly checked my upper lip, and underarms for signs of peach fuzz to no avail. To this day I am
convinced that the cold postponed my puberty, which was very frustrating when you had Kunchen to
compare yourself too, but in the midst of my nonexistent mustache the temperatures were falling and
with each unefficient day of trudging through the deep snow, and navigating a rocky mountainside our
hopes were getting dimmer. Finally we found Rohtang pass, our salvation, but to rest your hopes on
that kind of pass is foolhardy at best. It is a steep incline for two days and then you wind your way
around more significant peaks for 4 days until you are actually in Nepal. But Kunchen and I, we were
young and invincible and thought that the worst had already come. We camped for a night at the mouth
of a pass, and though we had eachother, we had grown tired of eachothers company and were desperate
for some other sign of life, that wish would not be granted for two weeks. The next day, grumbling
about our makeshift beds in the convenient rock crevasse we set about tackling the Rohtang pass that lit

the way toward our freedom, but within two hours our legs were made of lead, and perserverance was
not the most welcome prospect, but we trudged on, our minds steeled towards the idea of freedom, as
we imagined communist dogs nipping at our heels. This kept up for two whole days, manuevering
unsteady rocks, soft snow, shallow snow, deep snow, from morning until dawn, taking only a break to
drink or to eat. When we reached the eve of our second day, we found a crevasse and settled in for the
night, gathering sticks and lighting a small insignificant fire with the candles and matches the stranger
had provided us but then the wind started howling, stirring up the snow and extinguishing our fire with
an errant gust. The temperature dropped and me and kunchen huddled in our insufficient robes with our
teeth chattering and our bodies shivering, for hours on end. The wind kept us up the whole night and I
couldnt feel my toes but they had turned slightly blue. When our first taste of Winter finally subsided,
Kunchen and I proceeded with more urgency than we had had before. Now it was not the Communist
dogs that frightened us, but the cold tendrils of winter that threatened to freeze us solid that kept our
pace quick. By that time we had reached the peaks of our pass and were halfway through rohtang pass,
but we were making good time. We had come upon a dead yak fortunately and had some extra food
supplies to sustain us for quite a while barring any major setbacks, but major setbacks were in our
future. This time we had just began our daily trek before the winds and freezing cold descended upon
us with the swiftness and ruthlessness of the night, but it was not dark, it was a whiteout, the worst kind
of blizzards where you are as good as blind. Kunchen and I sprinted for cover holding hands like little
girls in the blinding storm but then somehow we got twisted around in the blinding white and a strong
gust ripped his hand from mine. I had lost Kunchen in the middle of a white out on top of the tallest
mountain range in the world. I forged on until my clumsy hands found the hard rock face of a cave and
safety, I collapsed in its warm clutches and slept until the evening of the next day. The snow had
subsided but Kunchen was gone and I was alone with three days left on the pass but the worst was over.
I plodded along unenthusiastically for the next two days without incident, just a survival machine, with
Red Robes and leathery skin, until I spotted my first nepalese, I collapsed in a combination of

exhaustion and elation, and I sank to my knees in the bright sun and the shallow snow before I blacked
out and they carried me into their houses. I awoke to a morning light on some day unbeknownst to me
and glanced out my square window into the winter sun and saw a figure emerge, with an expression
older than that of a fifteen year old, but a familiar peach fuzz mustache with bits of frost clinging to it.

mEndnotes
1. Cho Oyu mountain is a mountain bordering Nepal and Tibet on the Himalayan mountain range
in Southern Tibet
2. Dalai Lama is the leader of Religion in Tibet and is the Incarnation of Guatama Buddha and is
treated so since he is discovered no matter the age.
3. Lamas are secondary and less important incarnations and are born into smaller roles in
government and religion
4. Rohtang pass is a real frequently used pass through the Himalayas
5. shiaxiaong is the chinese word for major in the Peoples Lberation Army
6. Red Robes are the traditional dress of the monks in the Tibetan Monasteries
7. Dark green uniforms and white gloves are the uniforms of the Peoples Liberation Army
8. The Cultural Revolution was the movement of Youth In china who supported communism
9. Mao Zedong was the communist leader of China and led them through the Great Leap Forward
and won the Chinese civil war