untying his shoes

untying his shoes,

crossing red socks under red robes,

grinning at the crowd

This is the Dalai Lama's last appearance in Chicago before flying back to India. The large public audiences have left, the formal topics have concluded. This afternoon session is for Theosophical Society member's only, an informal question and answer session. We're gathered in the front rows of the Harris Theater. The Dalai Lama appears and sits down in a wide, low seat on stage. He unties his shoes, crosses his legs and tucks his feet in red socks under his red robes. His right arm is bare. He puts the palms of his big hands together in greeting and grins at us. His expressions and gestures are all so natural, unassuming, friendly. He laughs a lot. After several questions, a man in the back asks whether he remembers his flight into exile. He sits up straighter. "March 17," he begins. "When you have a great fear, you remember every detail." On March 10, 1959, the Chinese sent troops to his summer palace in Llasa, inviting him to their camp just across the river to talk. There was fear among the Tibetans that the Chinese would try to abduct the 23-year-old Dalai Lama, who became political leader of Tibet in 1950 at the time of the Chinese invasion. The Tibetans staged demonstrations, crying, "The Chinese must go! Leave Tibet to the Tibetans!" He says, "I told them to go home, but they wanted to protect me." His aides heard three mortar shells and urged him to leave at once. "I was the one who had to make the decision to flee. I hoped that things would settle down after I left. It was 10 pm. I dressed as a common soldier carrying a rifle. I took off my glasses." He demonstrates by taking off his familiar glasses to show us that he would not be recognizable without them. He left the palace as if taking a stroll, shadowed by bodyguards. "The rifle got heavier and heavier," he recalls. "We could see the Chinese soldiers on the other side of the river. We rode horses and they were . . . " Turning to his Tibetan monk interpreter, he asks for a word. "Trotting, they were making noise and we were afraid the Chinese would hear and shoot us." But they managed to cross the Kyichu River to the protection of the Khampa guerrillas. Then another decision had to be made. Where to go? Two days after his flight, the Chinese discovered he was missing and were searching for him with planes and 50,000 troops. At first he thought to stay somewhere in Tibet, but arrow messages arrived with the news that the Chinese had dropped bombs on the Norbulingka palace, sealed the passes to Sikkim and cut the bridges to Bhutan. The only escape route left was through the mountains to India. He sent a delegation ahead to ask for asylum and was relieved when the Indians gave them permission to enter. Almost two weeks later, they arrived at the Foothills border post and entered India. He has not set foot in his homeland since. "Many years later a Chinese official asked why I say that I am a son of India. I told him two reasons. After 50 years of eating Indian rice," he says, patting his arm, "my body is Indian. And India is my spiritual heritage because Buddhism was brought to Tibet by Indian gurus." Then he adds, "For a thousand years India has integrated many religions. In India, people of different faiths live together in harmony."