A Land of No Return
Conversations with Tibetan Refugees in Bylakuppe 

Article & Photos by Wade P. Shepard

On the heels of their beloved Dalai Lama, tens of thousands of Tibetans abandoned their Chinese-occupied homeland and sought refuge in India in 1959. Recognizing the nature of the Chinese invasion and subsequent colonization, the Indian government, in an uncomfortable political situation, absorbed the mass migration with open arms.

Monks performing their daily debate session in the back courtyard of Tashilunpo Monastery in the Bylakuppe Refugee Camp.

A year later, it became clear that the Tibetan refugees would be residing in India for an extended period of time, and the construction of permanent facilities to accommodate them became critical. To address this need, the south Indian state of Karnataka offered 3,000 acres of jungle-land for the construction of a massive refugee camp near Bylakuppe. Thousands of Tibetans were soon sent to this location, where they carved a niche for themselves out of the wild jungle and, essentially, created a “Little Tibet” upon the humid flatlands. Now, 46 years later, the camp is home to 14,000 Tibetans spanning three generations, towering sky-high monasteries, multiple schools, flourishing agricultural fields, and a range of well-established public facilities.

All of this gives the impression that the Tibetans have created a permanent base in India; but, as the exiled Tibetans will readily say, they have not yet given up hope that their homeland will be liberated within their lifetimes. Tibet is on the minds and lips of the entire community, and, although most of the refugees have never laid eyes on their homeland’s mountainous terrain, it still lives within their hearts. 

ESTABLISHING THE REFUGEE CAMP

The Bylakuppe Tibetan refugee camp was created in the southwestern portion of Karnataka state, which is located in the far south of peninsular India—2,000 kilometers from Tibet. Initially, the fleeing Tibetans formed haphazard habitations around the Indian and Tibetan border, where they received a marginal amount of governmental support, and many refugees died as a result. This unsteady state of affairs provoked the Indian government to construct a large settlement in the far south of the country for the exiles to reside.

When I first entered Bylakuppe, my impressions were of a mixed community of ethnic Tibetans and native Indian agriculturalists living in mutual symmetry. On the ride into town I saw Tibetans in the typical garb of a contemporary Indian commoner—off-colored cotton slacks and button-down shirts—riding on motor scooters and talking shop with Indians in the dust brown streets. Bright purple-robed monks sped around in exhaust-coughing rickshaws. The shops that lined Main Street were a smorgasbord of Tibet and India. Tibetan craft markets stood eave to eave with Indian spare-part outlets; except for their obvious physiological features, the Tibetans seemed to be nearly indistinguishable from the Indians. But, as I learned more about the history of the camp, these melting-pot impressions quickly faded. 

The Golden Monastery standing proudly above Bylakkuppe as a testament of what is possible with hard work, dedication, and the steadfastness necessary to 
obtain international aid.

The official reason for the Indian government’s altruism was that it wanted to allow the struggling Tibetan population the space it needed to preserve its culture. Many Tibetans in the Bylakuppe camp agree with this story, and say they are grateful for India’s assistance. But some say there was pressure on the Indian government to control the unsettled Tibetans and move them away from the borderlands, particularly in light of their justified vendetta against the Chinese.

The Indian government initially provided the Tibetan refugees with 3,000 acres of dense jungle and farmland in southern India for the creation of a large scale settlement. The first group of 500 Tibetans to arrive in the area began clearing the jungle and constructing an infrastructure. One of the camp’s original inhabitants, Tsering Pallden, said they did this by dividing themselves into two groups: one cleared the forest while the other constructed roads. All of this work was completed using only simple hand tools and brute strength, taking a great toll on the refugees. Many of them died as a result of this toil.

Despite the dire hardships and harsh jungle climate, the Tibetan highlanders persevered and constructed one camp after another to accommodate the continuous stream of new settlers. “We made a nest in this jungle, and now it is no longer a jungle,” says the director of the camp’s refugee school, Mrs. Choni S. Tsering, who moved to the camp when she was only eight years old.     

After the land was cleared, cultivating it became another challenge. In Tibet most of the refugees were pastoral nomads who, for the most part, knew neither grain nor how to sow it. “We not only had to learn, but we also had to survive,” Mrs. Tsering says.

THRIVING IN A NEW LAND

The Tibetans acquired cultivation methods from the minority who had previously practiced agriculture in Tibet, as well as from the assistance foreign NGOs provided. The Tibetans soon molded their fields into fertile oases, which have become so profitable that laborers from the local Indian community are now regularly employed to cultivate them.

The native Indian populous of Bylakuppe, who themselves were highly impoverished, resented the fact that the Tibetan refugees were provided with such amenities from the Indian government and international community. Essentially, the handouts given to the fleeing Tibetans allowed them to achieve a much higher living standard within a single generation than the Indian population had ever known in millennia of agricultural toil. This seeming inequality fueled violent conflicts between the local Indians and Tibetans during the initial stages of the Tibetans’ settlement.

According to a Tibetan community leader, this strife has since lessened and the refugees and Indians now live in harmony. “We go to their celebrations and they come to ours,” he says. Yet doubts remain as to how harmonious this apparent symbiosis between the well-off foreigners and the impoverished locals could possibly be.

A SCHOOL FOR HOPE

In spite of the turmoil from the Tibetan’s resettlement, the Bylakuppe camp’s educational facilities stand as a beacon of the possibilities that accompany hard work, cultural dedication, and the necessary steadfastness to obtain international aid. At the Save Our Souls (S.O.S.) school, which serves as a boarding house and

Students of the Save Our Souls (S.O.S.) school in Bylakuppe.

educational facility for orphaned and refugee Tibetan children, supplies are plentiful (they even have a computer room that most secondary schools in the United States would envy). Everything is neatly organized, and the children seem healthy and happy.

Mrs. Tsering says that only around 55 percent of the students at the S.O.S. school still have parents, and they all either reside in Tibet or are scattered throughout various localities in India. The children were sent to this school so they would have better opportunities.        

The educational instruction at the S.O.S. refugee school was modeled off the traditional Tibetan system, and songs, art, and activities are the main teaching methods. Tibetan culture is also emphasized in the schooling system. “They have a lot to learn about the motherland,” said Mrs. Tsering, “and it is our job to teach them.”

During my time there, I observed a class in session and found a large group of refugee kindergartners sitting in a circle, belting out a beautiful traditional Tibetan folk song. I stood there nearly speechless for a few moments before asking the schoolteacher what the lyrics meant. She smiled and translated the song as, “The Dalai Lama is flying on a plane. Now he is riding in a car….” They were not the lyrics I was expecting, but a smile crept over my face nonetheless.

After leaving the classroom, I went for a walk around the school yard with Mrs. Tsering and we happened to pass a few classrooms when the lunch bell rang. A mob of Tibetan youths in pastel blue uniforms were interested in the tattoos that completely covered my arms and hands. I encouraged their curiosity and knelt down in the middle of the crowd so that they could get a better look.

DREAMING OF THEIR RETURN MIGRATION

As I walked down the roads of the Bylakuppe settlement and through the little paths of its villages, I got the impression that these Tibetan refugees have formed a utopia in the dawn of their dislocation. Yet no matter how idyllic this scene seemed, Mrs. Tsering told me they would gladly leave it all to rot for the chance to reclaim their homeland. As she explains, “Anybody would love to be in their own country; anybody would love to be with their own mother.”

This sentiment seemed pervasive throughout the camp; all bearings pointed north in preparation for the great return migration. This has always been the plan, and its reverberations have been carried through three generations.

When I was sitting in the home of Mr. Tsering Pallden, who was one of the original members of the settlement, he told me with sad, old eyes that all he wanted to do was to return to Tibet before he died. But he cannot. None of the refugees can. Chinese emigrants have saturated Tibet, and Tibetans are now a minority in their own country. The once forbidden holy city of Lhasa is now a tourist carnival, and the Chinese still rule with violent supremacy.

I also couldn’t help but question the refugees’ determination to return to Tibet. They seem to live a life in India that is far more comfortable, luxurious, and prominent than the people of Tibet have ever lived. There is a constant stream of foreign aid coming in, and most families have at least one living member in and sending money from Western countries. The refugees are well off in India, but this does not seem to have any effect on their emotional attachment to the ideal of their motherland. “We are always dreaming of our return to Tibet,” Mrs. Tsering says. But, for the refugees, Tibet is, for now, only a distant dream.      

Wade P. Shepard is a senior at Global College, Long Island University, which is a four-year accredited study abroad college where he studies Cultural Anthropology and Ethnographic Journalism. During his international studies, Shepard lived in a monastery in Tibet, studied traditional tattooing in Japan, stayed in the home of wood carvers in Rajasthan, and climbed mountains in China. He first visited India in 2005 and then returned a year later to study at Global College’s South Asia Center, from where he had the opportunity to visit the Bylakuppe Tibetan Refugee camp. Read about the rest of his travels at http://vagabondjourney.com.