Part 3 (1/2)

Before one scene in particular Stein displayed great interest-and not just because it was one that did have a basis in truth. It was an image Stein realized might help advance his own case. The painting showed Xuanzang on the bank of a raging river, his horse loaded with bundles of ma.n.u.scripts. A large turtle swam toward the pilgrim to help carry the precious load across. It was a reference to the twenty pony-loads of books and relics Xuanzang brought back from India to China. ”Would the pious guardian read this obvious lesson aright, and be willing to acquire spiritual merit by letting me take back to the old home of Buddhism some of the ancient ma.n.u.scripts which chance had placed in his keeping?” Stein decided not to press the point just yet. Rather, he was content that a bond had been established between himself and the abbot.

He left Chiang behind with w.a.n.g to raise again the tricky question of borrowing some of the ma.n.u.scripts the abbot had promised earlier in the day. But w.a.n.g would not commit to producing them. ”There was nothing for me but to wait,” Stein wrote.

8.

Key to the Cave Under cover of darkness, a figure quietly crept from the caves to Stein's tent beneath the fruit trees later that night. It was Chiang, and he was carrying a bundle of ma.n.u.scripts. w.a.n.g, he whispered gleefully to Stein, had just paid him a secret visit. Hidden under the priest's flowing black robe had been the first of the promised scrolls. What they were, Chiang wasn't sure. But Stein could see that the paper they were made of was old, at least as old as the roll the helpful young monk had shown him on his first visit to the caves weeks earlier. The writing was Chinese and Chiang thought the doc.u.ments might be Buddhist scriptures, but he needed time to study them. He returned to his quarters at the feet of the big Buddha and spent the night poring over them.

At daybreak, he was back at Stein's tent, barely able to contain his excitement. Colophons, or inscriptions, on the rolls showed they were Chinese versions of Buddhist texts brought from India. Moreover, they were copies from translations by the great Xuanzang himself. It was an astonis.h.i.+ng coincidence. Even the usually skeptical Chiang suggested that this was a most auspicious omen. Auspicious and convenient. Chiang hastened to w.a.n.g to plant the seeds of this ”quasi-divine” event. Had not the spirit of Xuanzang revealed the ma.n.u.script h.o.a.rd to w.a.n.g ahead of the arrival from distant India of the pilgrim's devoted ”disciple”-Stein? The untutored w.a.n.g could not possibly have known the connection these ma.n.u.scripts had with Xuanzang when he selected them from among the thousands of scrolls and delivered them to Chiang the previous night. Surely this was proof that opening the cave would have Xuanzang's blessing.

All morning, Stein kept away from w.a.n.g and the Library Cave, busying himself with photographing elsewhere. But when Chiang returned a few hours later with news that w.a.n.g had unbricked the cave's door, Stein could wait no longer. No one was about on that hot cloudless day. Even the soldiers who had tailed him all morning had disappeared for an opium-induced siesta as Stein made his way to the cave. There he found a nervous w.a.n.g. With Stein beside him, w.a.n.g opened the rough door that lay behind the dismantled wall. Stein looked on in wonder: ”The sight of the small room disclosed was one to make my eyes open wide. Heaped up in layers, but without any order, there appeared in the dim light of the priest's little lamp a solid ma.s.s of ma.n.u.script bundles rising to a height of nearly ten feet.”

He was looking at one of the great archaeological finds of all time.

There was barely room for two people to stand in the tiny room, about nine feet by nine feet, and certainly no s.p.a.ce to unroll or examine the stacked bundles. Much as Stein wanted to remove every scroll from the cramped niche to a large painted temple where he could readily study them, he knew w.a.n.g would not agree. w.a.n.g feared the consequences if a foreigner was spied examining the contents of the cave he had been ordered to keep sealed. He could lose his position and patrons if rumors spread around the oasis. He was not going to jeopardize all he had worked for. Even in the quietest times, pilgrims occasionally visited the caves to light incense, ring a bell, and pay homage before the Buddha. But the abbot did agree to remove one or two bundles at a time and allow Stein a quick look. He also agreed to let Stein use a small restored cave chapel nearby that had been fitted with a door and paper windows. Screened from prying eyes, Stein set up what he called his ”reading room.”

As w.a.n.g busied himself inside the Library Cave, Stein looked for any hint of when it had been sealed and a clue therefore to the age of the ma.n.u.scripts hidden within. Two features drew his attention: a slab of black marble and a mural of bodhisattvas. The three-foot-wide block was originally inside the cave, but w.a.n.g had moved it to the pa.s.sageway outside. It was inscribed to the memory of a monk named Hong Bian with a date corresponding to the middle of the ninth century. This suggested the cave could not have been sealed before then. On the pa.s.sageway wall were the remains of the mural-a row of saintly bodhisattvas carrying offerings of divine food-that helped conceal the entrance to the Library Cave. Fortunately w.a.n.g's restorations had not extended to these figures. To Stein, hungry for clues, they provided more earthly nourishment. Their style suggested they were painted no later than the thirteenth century. So somewhere between the ninth century and the thirteenth, the cave had been filled, then sealed. If his deduction was right, whatever was inside the cave would be very old indeed.

Stein at first believed the cave had been filled in great confusion, and from this he formed a theory about why it was concealed. ”There can be little doubt that the fear of some destructive invasion had prompted the act,” he wrote. But he also found evidence for a conflicting theory: that the cave was no more than a storehouse for sacred material. He noted bags carefully packed with fragments of sacred writings and paintings. ”Such insignificant relics would certainly not have been collected and sewn up systematically in the commotion of a sudden emergency.”

Scholars agree the cave was plastered shut around the beginning of the eleventh century, but the reasons why remain unclear. The cave's guardians may have feared Islamic invaders from the west. The sword of Islam had already conquered Dunhuang's ally, Khotan, in 1006. Invaders did come from the north, but these were Tanguts who, as Buddhists themselves, seem an unlikely threat to Buddhist scriptures.

But there is also support for Stein's other thesis, that the cave was a storeroom or tomb for material no longer needed by local monasteries. The printed Diamond Sutra, for example, showed signs of damage and repeated repair and may simply have been judged to have reached the end of its useful life. Buddhists did not simply throw away sacred material. They buried it reverentially. Even today Buddhism has rites surrounding the disposal of spiritual writings.

The cave does not appear to have been sealed ahead of an unrecorded exodus from the sacred complex. Nearby Dunhuang was still a bustling oasis when the cave was hidden. The area had a population of about 20,000, including about 1,000 monks and nuns in more than a dozen monasteries. The caves too were thriving, with some of their most beautiful chapels still to be created. Indeed the caves continued to thrive after the arrival of Genghis Khan in the thirteenth century. Although the Mongol chief ransacked Dunhuang, he not only left the caves undamaged, his rule saw new ones commissioned. The caves were still flouris.h.i.+ng 300 years after the Library Cave was sealed. The last cave is believed to have been painted in 1357, just before the start of the Ming dynasty. Soon after, the Silk Road was abandoned, and the Caves of the Thousand Buddhas sank into a long decline.

Whatever the reason for its sealing, the Library Cave-or Cave 17 as it is prosaically known today-wasn't always used to house ma.n.u.scripts. It was initially a memorial chapel for the monk whose name was on the marble slab, Hong Bian, who died around the time the Diamond Sutra was being printed. He was an important monk-so important he had the right to wear the highly prestigious color purple. A statue of him, seated in meditation posture, was initially installed in the cave. It was placed against a wall behind which was painted a decorative scene including two attendants-one holding a staff, the other holding a fan-and a pair of trees from which hang his pilgrim's bag and water bottle. The statue was removed when the cave was filled with scrolls and has since been found to contain traces of purple silk. When and why the cave changed from being a memorial chapel to housing the scrolls remains a mystery.

As w.a.n.g brought the first of the bundles to Stein's ”reading room,” the explorer's excitement mounted. They were Chinese sutras, neatly rolled, about a foot high and some more than thirty feet long. The thick paper rolls, enclosed in protective cotton wrappers, even retained their yellow dye despite signs of having been much handled. The strong paper was astonis.h.i.+ngly well preserved. Other scrolls had lost their wrappers and were fastened with rough cords, but even these were undamaged. The dry desert air, the darkness within the cave and even the insulating sand had all combined to provide a perfect tomb in which they had lain undisturbed for centuries.

”No place could have been better adapted for preserving such relics than a chamber carved in the live rock of these absolutely barren hills and completely shut off from any moisture that the atmosphere of this desert valley ever contained,” Stein wrote. ”Enclosed by thick rock everywhere, except for the narrow walled-up entrance, and that, too, covered up by drift-sand for centuries, the air within the small chapel could have undergone but slight changes of temperature. Not in the driest soil could the relics of a ruined site have been so completely protected from injury as they had been here.”

With the doc.u.ments finally in their hands, exactly what they were looking at was hard to say. Chiang had no understanding of Buddhist literature and Stein, to his immense frustration and regret, could not read Chinese. Not that they had time for more than a cursory look. Chiang's attempt to make a rough list of the findings was soon abandoned as w.a.n.g, having overcome his initial reluctance, began dragging out bundle after bundle from the cave. ”It would have required a whole staff of learned scribes to deal properly with such a deluge,” Stein wrote. As w.a.n.g clambered across the cave's mountain of doc.u.ments to remove bundles, Stein feared the priest would be buried under an avalanche of tumbling ma.n.u.scripts.

Each bundle contained about ten rolls, mostly Chinese scrolls. But there were also doc.u.ments in Tibetan, Sanskrit, Uyghur, and Sogdian. Soon w.a.n.g began hauling not just paper scrolls but delicate paintings on silk and linen. He brought huge silk banners of graceful Buddhas and bodhisattvas that appeared to have once hung from temple entrances. To Stein's surprise, w.a.n.g apparently attached little value to the exquisite silks. The abbot had even used some of them as padding to level the floor of the cave. w.a.n.g kept bringing more and more bundles of the painted silks and other written material. Stein suspected they were a smokescreen to divert his attention from the sacred Chinese sutras.

By the end of the first day, Stein set aside the most promising ma.n.u.scripts and paintings for what he euphemistically called ”further study.” These were the rolls he desperately wanted to acquire. w.a.n.g had already given away some ma.n.u.scripts to curry favor with local officials. Stein feared the rest of the precious h.o.a.rd would similarly dribble away and be lost to scholars.h.i.+p forever.

It was almost dark when Stein and Chiang emerged from the makes.h.i.+ft reading room with w.a.n.g. The three tired men stood on the loggia with its image of Xuanzang bringing sacred ma.n.u.scripts from India. This was not the time to raise directly the question of selling the h.o.a.rd, but there could be no more ideal backdrop for Stein to drop hints that would subtly reinforce the omens. He again invoked Xuanzang, whose guidance had surely led him to this magnificent hidden store of sacred relics-some of which may even have been the result of the ancient pilgrim's journey-within a temple tended by so devoted an admirer.

Chiang remained behind with w.a.n.g to press the point. Surely continued confinement in a sealed cave was not the reason the great Xuanzang had led the abbot-and Stein-to this precious Buddhist lore, Chiang argued. And given that w.a.n.g could not study the works himself, it would be an act of great religious merit to allow Stein, Xuanzang's great devotee, to make them available for the benefit of Buddhist scholars in that great ”temple of learning in Ta-Ying-kuo”-England. And, Chiang hinted, it would be an act of merit that would be supported by a generous donation of silver to a.s.sist his restorations.

Chiang's powers of persuasion worked more quickly than he or Stein had dared hope. Around midnight, when Stein was about to retire to bed, he again heard footsteps outside his tent. Again it was Chiang, who had come to ensure the coast was clear. He returned a short time later carrying all the bundles Stein had set aside earlier in the day. w.a.n.g had agreed to allow the removal of the material-provided no one other than the three men knew. While Stein was on Chinese soil, he must not breathe a word about their dealings. This was hardly an onerous condition for a man such as Stein, who by nature kept his own counsel. And it was in his own interest; he might want to acquire more ma.n.u.scripts.

The abbot could not risk being seen outside his quarters at night, so Chiang offered to fetch the material. For the next seven nights, Chiang's slight figure crept along the river bank to Stein's camp. He struggled under the weight of increasingly heavy loads made up of the most promising bundles set aside each day in the reading room. The days were spent hastily examining scrolls and silks. Stein was elated and oppressed by the volume of material that kept emerging from what he termed the ”black hole,” constantly anxious that w.a.n.g might change his mind.

Should we have time to eat our way through this mountain of ancient paper with any thoroughness? Would not the timorous priest, swayed by his worldly fears and possible spiritual scruples, be moved to close down his sh.e.l.l before I had been able to extract any of the pearls? There were reasons urging us to work with all possible energy and speed, and others rendering it advisable to display studied insouciance and calm a.s.surance.

He could rarely do more than glimpse at what he called this ”embarras des richesses.” But somewhere among the cave's vast contents was a well-preserved scroll, fully intact with an elaborate image of a disciple kneeling before the Buddha. Unlike most of the other doc.u.ments, this wasn't handwritten but had been printed with a block of wood. Unfurled, it spanned nearly sixteen and a half feet and contained a Chinese date equating to 868. It was the Diamond Sutra, the world's earliest dated printed book.

Strolls at dusk up the valley with Dash trotting alongside were Stein's only relief from full days in the reading room that segued into long evenings writing up notes, letters, reports-and awaiting the late-night arrival of Chiang and the ma.n.u.scripts. On his return from one such evening walk Stein was overjoyed to discover t.u.r.di, the dak runner, had arrived with two huge bags of mail, having made another epic journey: 1,400 miles from Khotan in thirty-nine days. It was the first mail Stein had received since February. Although some of the letters from Europe were already five months old, he sat up until after midnight poring over 170 letters. He was quick to write back to Allen to tell him of his ”harvest, rich beyond expectations,” but urged him to keep the news to Stein's inner circle. Even amid what would be the greatest success of his life, he had pragmatic worries and was mindful that he lacked the money to ensure his continued explorations. Like w.a.n.g, he would have to continue to rattle the begging bowl. ”Independence, the only protection against needless struggles & bureaucratic wisdom, is still far off; for I cannot claim a pension until 8 years hence (even allowing for furlough) and not until about the same date can I hope for my savings to increase sufficiently to a.s.sure to me that freedom for travel etc, which I am eager to enjoy still while life lasts.”

Thrilling as the days were, the work was exhausting. The long hours, his anxieties about Abbot w.a.n.g and a recurrent bout of malaria were taking their toll. He confided to his diary: ”Very tired with low fever.”

A week later, Stein's heart sank when he arrived early one morning at his reading room. The scrolls had vanished. Just when he had finally convinced w.a.n.g to empty the Library Cave, the rolls, which had been carefully piled outside the cave, had disappeared overnight. Chiang had not carried them away in the night, so what had happened? The answer, he soon learned, was that w.a.n.g had s.h.i.+fted them back into their ”gloomy prison of centuries.”

Perhaps Stein should not have been surprised. w.a.n.g had appeared increasingly nervous during the previous couple of days, not least over the possible loss of the Chinese sutras. Relations had become strained, even as the tricky question of the size of the ”donation” to the temple became more pressing. w.a.n.g had been allowed little opportunity to think as he had emptied the cave over the past week. ”He had already been gradually led from one concession to another, and we took care not to leave him much time for reflection,” Stein wrote.

To the explorer, it seemed w.a.n.g had been overcome by scruples and baulked. Stein described the abbot's mood as ”sullen” when he encountered him that morning. All of this may well be true, but only Stein's version of the events survives. Given the timing of the priest's behavior, he might not have been as naive and credulous as Stein portrays him. w.a.n.g's action came at a crucial stage. A couple of days earlier, the priest had raised the issue of money and seemed keen to resolve the matter. But then Stein deliberately strung out the negotiations so he could see the entire contents of the emptied cave. It may be that w.a.n.g recognized Stein's delay for what it was and opted to force a resolution. If so, w.a.n.g was far more adept at negotiating than Stein realized. With the glittering prize seemingly within the explorer's grasp, he found it s.n.a.t.c.hed away. It is easy to imagine the effect of such a move: it would increase the treasure's desirability, elevate anxiety about losing it forever and possibly raise the price. They are tactics familiar to any experienced negotiator. The natural response would be to close the deal as soon as possible.

Which appears to be exactly what happened. Within hours of Stein discovering the scrolls had been locked away, he and w.a.n.g agreed on a price and on what Stein could take. w.a.n.g felt sufficiently satisfied with the deal that he not only let Stein take all the material previously removed to his camp, but also agreed to part with further bundles of Chinese and Tibetan rolls. ”Transaction settled by 11:30 a.m. to mutual satisfaction,” Stein noted in his diary on May 29, 1907.

He would not give w.a.n.g time to change his mind. The extra rolls needed to be moved quickly and the job was too big for Chiang alone. Stein conscripted two of his most trusted men, Ibrahim Beg and pony man Tila Bai, to undertake the nightly trip to the caves. They transferred scrolls and silks by the sackful from the temple to Stein's camp.

The deal done, w.a.n.g was eager to resume the begging tour he had delayed when Stein arrived at the caves. Nervous, but relieved to have completed the difficult negotiation, w.a.n.g left for Dunhuang. He may have wanted to ensure that no word of their transaction had spread among his patrons in the oasis. He returned to the caves a week later sufficiently confident that their secret was safe, and sold Stein additional ma.n.u.scripts.

For four horseshoes of silver, Stein acquired treasures beyond his dreams. He knew they were a bargain: ”I secured as much as he possibly dared to give,-& for a sum which will make our friends at the [British Museum] chuckle,” he wrote candidly to his friend Fred Andrews, whom he also urged to secrecy. ”It would be a mistake to let the news get about, & I must ask you & all other friends who may see this, for discretion.” A pittance it may have been to Stein, but perhaps w.a.n.g chuckled too. He had obtained money to restore his beloved caves and he now knew he had a valuable resource, one he would tap as other foreigners arrived in the months and years that followed.

Much as Stein might have wished to empty the Library Cave of all its scrolls and silks, he knew if he left Dunhuang with such a vast amount of material, it would not go undetected. Questions were being asked about what he was up to during his long visit at the Caves of the Thousand Buddhas. It is one reason why Stein commissioned a clay statue of Xuanzang for a cave temple. A Dunhuang sculptor produced what Stein regarded as an ”artistic eyesore,” but the statue helped allay suspicions. w.a.n.g, who saw the statue as evidence of a shared reverence for their mutual patron saint, was at pains to spread word of this commission during his trip into Dunhuang.

There were other reasons that would hasten Stein's departure. A diphtheria epidemic was rife in Dunhuang, and it came close enough to Stein and his men that a young local boy who kept a watch on his camp died of the illness. In addition, civil unrest over taxation was brewing in the oasis.

But his haul needed to be packed with great care and spirited away from Dunhuang without attracting attention. Stein knew that suddenly placing a large order for packing cases would cause alarm. Once again, he had thought ahead. Antic.i.p.ating such a problem, he had bought some empty cases early on and secured others in discreet installments. He filled seven cases with ma.n.u.scripts and a further five with paintings, embroideries, and other material. His camels were brought back from their grazing and five carts drawn by three horses each arrived from Dunhuang. On the morning of June 14 the caravan left the caves and he said farewell to w.a.n.g. ”We parted in fullest amity,” Stein wrote. It would not be his last dealing with the pious Abbot w.a.n.g.

You should know that all of the teachings I give to you are a raft.

Verse 6, The Diamond Sutra

9.

The Hidden Gem Beneath a jeweled canopy in a leafy garden, the Buddha sits cross-legged on his lotus throne. Monks and bodhisattvas surround him. At his feet kneels an elderly barefoot disciple named Subhuti, his black slippers neatly beside him on a prayer mat. Subhuti's palms are together in supplication and he directs a reverential gaze toward the Enlightened One in a quest for answers to life's greatest questions. That image forms the frontispiece of the Diamond Sutra discovered in the Library Cave. At the opposite end of the scroll is the answer to a different question: how do we know the age of this singular doc.u.ment? There, a brief note reveals the answer: on the thirteenth day of the fourth moon of the ninth year of the Xiantong era. On the Chinese calendar, this corresponds to May 11, 868. It is this colophon which has established the Diamond Sutra's unique claim: that this complete scroll is the oldest dated printed book in the world. It was created 600 years before Gutenberg got ink on his fingers. And it was made of a material-paper-that in 868 was unknown in the West.

The scroll is sixteen feet five inches long and eleven inches high, and explicitly says it was produced to be given away for free. It is woodblock printed, so it is possible hundreds of copies were made, although this is the only one known to have survived. As well as the date, the colophon tells who commissioned the sutra and why. It reads: ”Reverently made for universal distribution by w.a.n.g Jie on behalf of his two parents.” Who this devoted son was, no one knows. He was probably wealthy to have commissioned the creation of a scroll with such an intricate frontispiece. But we do know he had it made as an act of merit, a good deed.

Between the ends of the famous scroll is one of Buddhism's most popular and revered teachings. It begins, as sutras typically do, with the phrase ”thus I have heard.” These are the words of the disciple Ananda, who is said to have memorized the Buddha's every teaching. The sutra then tells the circ.u.mstances in which the sermon was delivered. It relates how one morning, before noon, the Buddha put on his monk's robe, picked up his bowl and went into the nearby city of Sravasti to beg from house to house for his food.

The Buddha returned to the Jetavana Vihara where he lived with 1,250 monks. The Buddha ate the food he had been given, put away his bowl, washed his feet and sat down. A number of monks approached him and sat at his side. Among them was the Venerable Subhuti, and the sutra unfolds as a dialogue between the two. Subhuti is said to have been the nephew of Sudatta, the wealthy layman who covered Prince Jeta's park with gold to create the garden in which they sat. Although an intelligent young man, Subhuti had a temper so furious he was shunned by those who knew him. He cursed humans and animals alike. Even the Buddha is said to have told him that his short temper was written on his face. After hearing the Buddha's teachings, Subhuti was transformed; he developed a calm mind and became a prominent disciple.

In the sutra, Subhuti asks the Buddha questions about the practice of generosity, about enlightenment, and about how to be rid of attachment, the cause of all suffering. Subhuti wants to know whether, 500 years on, anyone will understand and practice the Buddha's teachings and is rea.s.sured they will. On contemplating the answers the Buddha gives him, Subhuti is moved to tears. Subhuti also asks what this teaching should be called. This is often translated as the Diamond Cutter or the Diamond That Cuts Through Illusion. The Buddha, too, asks questions of Subhuti that test how well his disciple has understood their conversation.

The Buddha is said to have first taught the Diamond Sutra toward the end of his life, and it is considered a distillation of earlier teachings. At its core, the sutra is about the nature of reality, how things actually exist. Nothing is what it seems, he says. When stripped of our illusions, we realize everything, including ourselves, is constantly changing and that nothing exists independently. When we look at a book, for example, we typically think it has never been anything else. But a book, even one as enduring as Stein's copy of the Diamond Sutra, was once just blank paper. Before then, it was a tree, a sapling, and a tiny seed that fell from another tree and so on. The implications of seeing the world in this way are far-reaching. The failure to do so leads ultimately to suffering.