STOLL/Proposal for What is the nature of freedom ©2006. smkstoll@yahoo.com
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Long before it reached Tibet, this tradition, initially a humanitarian gesture, began
teaching millions of people to panhandle. I remember riding through the Great Thar Desert in
Rajasthan, India, when a kid spied my foreign-white skin glinting in the sun. He ran a
kilometer barefoot through the thorny desert to the road, and then padded alongside me for
another kilometer as I struggled against a hill and the wind. "Hellomoneyschoolpen," he
chanted in increasing decibels. He was a muscular lad wearing colorful clothes and large,
dangling, gold earrings. Clearly he wasn't in desperate straits, and pens were never required
for school enrollment in India. He ran with one hand on my panniers as if to threaten to
overturn or drag me to a halt. When I escaped his grasp as the hill declined, he hurled insults
and rocks after me. He was just like the dirty, mangy, wild monkeys of India that people have
cajoled out of the jungles with sweets. When the monkeys don't get what they want -- what
they feel the world owes them -- they sneak into your room and steal a kilogram of peanut
brittle and then sit on your bicycle and snarl at you and threaten to give you a thrashing.
Give a man a fish and feed him for a day; teach a man to fish and feed him for life -- this
ancient Chinese proverb is both my philosophy and Edwin's, and soon to be the Tibetan
Shepherd's.
The Tibetan is approximately our age, in his early thirties, though wizened by the sun and
tooth decay. Still he is a handsome fellow with a broad face, strong cheekbones and golden
skin. He has long hair, braided with colored string and wrapped around his head framing his
face -- the traditional style for men and women. "Hello. Pen?" he parrots.
"Hello. Sheep?" says Edwin.
"Hello. Coca-Cola?" I say, thinking he will know this word and realize his absurd
demand.
The shepherd points to Edwin's pen and then to himself.
Edwin points to a sheep and then himself. "You want a pen. I want a sheep. We all want
something, but you have to work for it, mate." Although neither or Edwin or the shepherd
speak the same language, Edwin's voice is soothing and fills the gaps. "Baa. Baa," he bleats
to clarify his intent.
The shepherd looks confused, so I point from the sheep to Edwin, then from the pen to
the shepherd. Grasping the idea, he imitates me and we all nod in agreement. The shepherd
walks to his flock and deftly scoops a lamb from her mother.
"What are you going to do with a lamb?" I ask.
