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2025年10月6日 星期一

世界屋脊屬於我們,而非皇帝的陰影


世界屋脊屬於我們,而非皇帝的陰影

我的名字不會被歷史銘記。我只是這片高聳、狂風呼嘯之地的一個尋常人——一個牧民、一個朝聖者,一個靈魂被稀薄空氣、崎嶇山岩和拉薩神聖之心所定義的無數生靈之一。我不關心遙遠北京的政治;我的世界就在這裡,在經幡與雪山之間。

對於京城的那些人來說,我們「名義上處於中國的控制之下」。但對我們而言,真正管用的規矩,是第十三世達賴喇嘛的教諭。自他掌權以來,我們看到他致力於從那個羸弱的中國皇權體系中,重新確立我們西藏的自治權。他們的官員通常很疏遠,他們的權威大多只是一個陰影,正如他們自己承認的那樣,他們的控制力微不足道。

我們的戰鬥並非與他們而起,而是來自南方,當英國及其印度士兵穿過則里拉山口進入高原之時。英國人害怕俄羅斯的宏大戰略,害怕一場「大博弈」正在我們的聖地展開。然而,當他們來時,我們並沒有將其視為對清朝領土的進攻。我們將其視為一支來奪取西藏的軍隊。

我們拿起手邊的武器:中世紀的兵器、刀劍、弓箭和火繩槍。武僧和被徵召入伍的農民們一起,帶著神聖的護身符來抵禦子彈,深信虔誠可以對抗他們現代化的工業武器馬克沁機槍。最終在古魯等地發生的屠殺,是一場悲劇,是我們民族為家園自由而付出的血的代價。

當這支外國縱隊最終抵達禁城拉薩時,一件奇怪而又發人深省的事情發生了。我們站在街上,看著勝利的英國軍隊和隨行的幾位中國官員。我們帶著平靜而深沉的漠然看著他們。他們自己的領導人榮赫鵬後來說,我們「似乎根本不在乎他們是否在場」。

這種漠然,就是對我是否屬於清朝中國這個問題的真正答案。我的忠誠屬於布達拉宮、屬於佛法,屬於我腳下的這片土地。中國的旗幟也許會在條約中飄揚,但普通藏人的心靈,卻是遠離北京的另一個世界。我們的自治權可能受到英國人的挑戰,名義上可能被中國人所主張,但在我們的心中,這片世界屋脊只屬於那些在此生活和死去的人們。


The Roof of the World Belongs to Us, Not to the Emperor's Shadow

 The Roof of the World Belongs to Us, Not to the Emperor's Shadow

My name is not one that history will remember. I am a common man of this high, wind-swept land—a herder, a pilgrim, one of the countless souls whose life is defined by the thin air, the jagged rock, and the sacred heart of Lhasa. I do not concern myself with the politics of distant Beijing; my world is here, between the prayer flags and the snow-capped passes.

For the men in the imperial city, we are "nominally under the control of China." But for us, the rule that matters is the one of the 13th Dalai Lama. Since he took the reins, we have seen him work to reassert our own Tibetan autonomy from that weak Chinese imperial regime. Their officials are often distant, their authority mostly a shadow, and their control, as they themselves admit, is little.

Our fight came not with them, but from the south, when the British and their Indian soldiers marched across the Jellup Pass into the plateau. The British feared a Russian grand strategy, a 'Great Game' being played on our sacred soil. Yet, when they came, we did not see them as an attack on the Qing Empire’s holdings. We saw them as an army coming to seize Tibet.

We took up what we had: medieval weapons, swords, bows, and matchlock muskets. The warrior monks joined the peasants pressed into service, armed with sacred charms to ward off bullets, believing that devotion could stand against their modern, industrial Maxim machine guns. The resulting slaughter at places like Guruwas a tragedy, a sacrifice of our people's lifeblood for the freedom of our home.

When the foreign column finally reached the Forbidden City of Lhasa, a strange and revealing thing happened. We stood in the streets and watched the victorious British troops and the few Chinese officials who accompanied them. We watched with quiet, profound indifference. Their own leader, Younghusband, would later write that we "did not seem to care at Tuppent Dam whether we were there or not."

That indifference is the true answer to whether I belong to Qing China. My loyalty is to the Potala, to the Dharma, and to the earth under my feet. The Chinese flag may fly in a treaty, but the heart of the common Tibetan is a world away from Beijing. Our autonomy may be challenged by the British and nominally claimed by the Chinese, but in our minds, the Roof of the World belongs only to those who live and die upon it.