The play glorified renunciation and non-resistance to evil. Again and again it stressed the prospect of getting happiness as a reward for renunciation. The hero of the play (I use the word in a technical sense, for a pitiful hero he was for that matter) was out to discard his personality in order to get happiness. Why do people seek an unselfish conception of life? Is it because we have so much love and sympathy with the troubles of others that we begin to be ashamed of our selfishness which causes so much suffering ? Or is it because we want happiness in exchange for a non-egocentrical conception of life ?
In the play performed in the monastery the motive of the hero was the latter and not the former. He wanted bliss as a reward for discarding his personality. The play started with an exceedingly long monologue on the evils of existence. I quote from memory. The taking down of notes while I travelled in disguise in Tibet was most difficult and only possible on rare occasions. The hero in the play dwelt at great length on the various evils of existence. He seemed to lose sight of the many things which make life worth living and which are partly even within the reach of people not specially favoured by fortune, such as love, friendship, enthusiasm, beauty of nature, etc.
"Life is bad," he mused,
"Life is suffering and pain only.
"Nothing is real.
"Everything is unreal.
"Annihilation is the goal."
I looked at beautiful Dolma. I looked at the sun generously filling with his radiant light the courtyard of the monastery, and wondered whether the poor hero realized what dreadful blasphemy he was uttering. What! The Creator should have made this wonderful universe—full of suffering, true, but also full of enjoyment, the suffering preventing enjoyment from becoming monotonous—for the purpose that His creatures should realize that existence was an evil and that their supreme goal was to escape from it. I compared the poor hero in the Tibetan play with the glorious figure of Hamlet, who intensely feels the dreadful tragedy of being only a man and nothing but man. Being a genius and capable of the most intense feelings, Hamlet suffers infinitely more than the Tibetan hero, but nevertheless he has the courage and nobility of character to face his troubles as a creature without any thought of escape or "salvation".
The hero was married and had children. He worked to feed his family. He was attacked by a swarm of mosquitoes. The lamas had a strange stage trick to represent an enormous swarm of mosquitoes. I wondered how it was done, but it looked very genuine. The hero gave his life-blood to the mosquitoes ! "The dear little ones," he said, "let them have a good meal. I have to feed my family, but the family and the mosquitoes are the same thing." Having fed so many mosquitoes, the hero was taken i l l and the play went on, describing his sufferings and the sufferings of his family brought about by his inability to work. Just when their food supply was running out, rats put in an appearance in their house. The part of rats was played by Tibetan children who wore masks and neatly carried their long tails under their arms. The hero said : *
"Eat, little rats, eat, eat, eat,
"Feed your little bodies, grey brothers.
"Eat, grey brothers, eat, eat, eat.
"Our food is yours, grey brothers.
"Eat, little rats, eat, eat, eat."
I quote these passages from memory, but should like to add that the text of the dialogues and monologues was much longer, and much more elaborate. The rats ate the food of the semi-starved family and became more and more numerous. A scene came in now in which the hero exalted the happiness of giving away everything. "If the rats eat the first half of my meal, I give them the second half," he exclaimed, in what a heretical spectator might have called a fit of religious hysteria. He did not seem to consider what his own children thought of it, but this seemed to be of less importance to him than the well-being of the rats. A l l the above had lasted more than two hours, but the play went on uninterruptedly—the Tibetan crowds following it with breathless suspense. Some people had their mouths wide open, while others shed tears, and not a whisper could be heard. In the following scene the rats had become fourfold in number. All the food was eaten. The hero and his children were seated in the centre and a few dozen rats walked round them in circles which were becoming smaller and smaller.
"Kyir, kyir.* We are hungry. Round, round,
round. There is nothing to eat, kyir, kyir, kyir"
came the chorus of the rats. The hero started a long monologue full of pity for the rats. The religious gentleman seemed to have forgotten all about the hunger of his own children. Suddenly the rats seized one of the children and carried the little one outside in order to devour it. The hero was unperturbed. He started a lofty monologue about the joy of sacrificing one's own children and the glory of union of all creatures. At that moment a Tibetan youngster stifled a laugh. The public was aghast and there were loud shouts of protest. The sinner was instantly escorted * "Round, round." out by a few lamas and the play went on. It was some time before a few old ladies had got over their indignation. Dolma told me in whispers that she could not remember having seen a play where the "religious" tendency had been so apparent as in the present one. The amusement of the Tibetan youngster had greatly upset the lamas. Dolma said that it was probable they would quickly cancel a few of the remaining scenes which were "most religious", as the play seemed to be too strong for the younger generation. "Have you ever seen so highly religious a play ?" she asked in a low voice. "No," I said. I am sure I told the truth when I said that. The monologue of the hero, which had been interrupted by the outbreak of the youngster, continued interminably. He envied his child, he declared, because it had for a short while at least made its escape from this world of suffering. He seemed to imply that death was a very cheerful and enviable process. After finishing his monologue, the hero was distinctly pleased. So were the rats. And the religious play went on.
[...]
She asked me whether I considered the attitude of the hero in the play a proper one for a really religious person. "No , " I answered. "Shall man be selfish, then ?" she asked. "Is it wrong to try to be good ?" "No, but it is wrong to try to be like God." "But God is good. Trying to be like God leads to goodness." "The creature must not overstep its limits," I said, "by trying to be like God. If he does so, he acts like the angels who revolted against the Creator. There are two different types of impersonality— namely, Be-ing and Be-ness.* The former is an attribute of the creature, the latter an attribute of the Creator. Be-ness is absolute impersonality where all division between the " I " and the "non-I" ceases. It is beyond the reach of the creature. "What happens to a man who wants to attain this state ?" asked Dolma. "He commits the greatest and most deadly sin against the Creator."
, because I wanted to share the same story, but couldn't remember the specifics and where did I read it from. Spending time searching the net also didn't yield any results. It was a bit frustrating, actually. But awesome that you remembered. 
