Memories of the Lama Temple in Beijing.

Memories from Lama Temple in Beijing.

April 2010.

I fell for Chinese temples in that first year in China — my first year in Asia — when everything about them felt fresh, fascinating, and almost magical. The riot of colours, the intricate art, the manicured gardens, the sudden hush of hidden courtyards, and that drifting perfume of incense all pulled me in.

Much like the fondness I would later develop for churches, I could never stroll past a Beijing temple without being drawn inside. Some of these visits I’ll save for my eventual Beijing roundup. However, for now one stands apart — a place that deserves its own moment in the sun. Step forward: the Lama Temple.

Cover photo courtesy of xiquinhosilva.

The temple rises from Yonghehong Street in Beijing’s northeast-central Dongcheng district, a landmark so celebrated it even lends its name to the local subway stop. One sunny afternoon, I surfaced from that very station, brimming with anticipation to see what is hailed as the largest and most important Tibetan Buddhist temple outside Tibet itself.

The large square opposite the temple’s main gates — and indeed the warren of side streets fanning out around it — buzzed with life that afternoon. Visitors drifted up and down the long, tree-lined approach. At one corner, I lingered to watch an orange seller banter with a customer as he tipped a heap of juicy beauties onto the scales.

Memories of the Lama Temple in Beijing.

Elsewhere, I sneakily captured a fortune teller chatting with some passing locals. As I would later learn, it’s a common business to find in and around China’s ancient temples. This dude’s name, written on the signage, was/is Master Juehuai from Mount Wutai, who apparently specialised in “marriage and career” readings. No, I wasn’t tempted.

There was also a fiercely contested card game, and one that had attracted quite the crowd of excited onlookers. Locals also come here to play chess (xiangqi) and mahjong, both staples of any temple visit wherever you might find yourself in China.

Moreover, construction sites dotted the neighbourhood, the air carrying the clatter of hammers and the smell of fresh paint. Dongcheng was deep in the throes of gentrification, with a new shop or guesthouse seemingly springing up on every corner.

Inside the temple complex itself, it was every bit as crowded as I’d expected. And no wonder, with such fabulous and fascinating history. The story begins in 1694 when Emperor Kangxi of the Qing Dynasty announced its inception as a court residence for his son, Prince Yin Zhen (who later became emperor himself).

The Kangxi Emperor.

Back in those days the joint was known as the Prince Yong Mansion. As the home of one of Kangxi’s favourite sons, the lavish grounds became an important venue for court gatherings, banquets and political networking.

Even in those early days there were plenty of Tibetan Buddhist elements in the design, including red walls, yellow accents, gold and bronze roof ornaments, upturned tiered eaves and gilded finials. A sign that the emperor was sympathetic to Tibetan Buddhism.

Photo tourtest of Rolf Müller.

I imagine the prince thought he was going to be emperor a lot sooner than it actually happened. But daddy stayed on the throne for over sixty years (!) before the prince finally ascended in 1722. Known as the Yongzheng Emperor, one of his first moves was to convert the compound into an even grander imperial palace.

Unfortunately, Yongzheng didn’t enjoy his father’s longevity, passing away suddenly in 1735 aged just 56. While nobody knows for sure what precisely befell him, most historians accept that he was assassinated.

One particularly juicy theory was that a granddaughter of the literary Liuliang family poisoned him. An act of revenge, apparently, after the emperor executed several of her loved ones for so-called literary crimes against the Qing government.

Memories of the Lama Temple in Beijing.

Yongzheng’s successor was Emperor Qianlong, who transformed the compound into a Tibetan Buddhist monastery in 1744. Within months the emperor had invited monks from Tibet and Mongolia to come and help establish a prestigious school of Buddhism.

As a result, its status blossomed throughout the 18th and 19th centuries, all the while helping to maintain Qing influences in Mongolia and Tibet. Clever, clever.

Between 1899 and 1901 the temple managed to survive numerous attacks during the bloody Boxer Rebellion. This was no small feat, as rebellious militias succeeded in destroying many of Beijing’s most revered temples and monasteries.

Its eventual decline took place between the 1940s, 50s and 60s. Although the temple remained active following the founding of the People’s Republic of China, the number of resident monks dwindled. What’s more, it only survived The Cultural Revolution after Premier Zhou Enlai stepped in to grant the temple special military protection.

All but abandoned by the start of the 1980s, the Lama Temple opened to the public as a site of historical and cultural importance. And so it remains to this day, with a number of monks (approximately 70) still taking up residence. That day, as I explored the grounds, I had to take care not to get in the way of the steady stream of visitors who had come to pray and light & plant incense sticks.

A Busy April Afternoon.

It was moving to observe these age-old traditions. All around me visitors approached the large bronze incense burners, sticks in hand. Traditionally, one takes three sticks which represent the Buddha, the Dharma (teachings), and the Sangha (monastic community).

They lit their sticks from the furnace’s open flame. Once the tips glowed red and smoke had begun to rise, many began gently waving their sticks in oder to encourage an even burn. One curious point is that the sticks should never be blown out by breath, an act that is considered impure.

Still holding their sticks, worshippers then find the nearest hall or favoured Buddha statue. Bowing three times, they silently recite a prayer or mantra.

Finally, comes the planting of the incense in the sand-filled troughs of the burners. The rising smoke is seen as carrying the prayer from the devotee to the buddhas and bodhisattvas, bridging the human and spiritual realms.

Memories of the Lama Temple in Beijing.

It wasn’t easy getting anywhere near most of the statues that day. Eventually though, I managed to get a good look at this confrontational dude, a Tibetan Buddhist guardian deity and lord of war called Begtse. With his bright blue body, fierce expression, flaming red hair and bared fangs, he protects Buddhist teachings from malevolent forces.

Elsewhere, it was fun to take part in the latest good luck / good wealth superstition that was already becoming familiar to me wherever I went in Beijing. At the Forbidden City such fortune was granted by touching one of the ancient water vats. Here, it was all about throwing a coin at an incense burner. A bit like chucking a coin down a wishing well.

The Chinese simply can’t get enough of these kinds of sights. Thus there is an additional chance for extra good luck and financial fortune by paying to ring one of the temple’s 18th century bronze bells. Engraved with sutra texts and auspicious patterns, the sound (they say) can purify the mind, ward off evil and carry prayers to the right ears. Every January meanwhile, during Chinese New Year, the temple’s resident monks line up to ring the bell one by one, an event that brings huge crowds.

Good Luck and Great Fortune. Again.

Before leaving, I made sure to check the small ancient art exhibition in the Pavilion of Ten Thousand Happinesses. Home to all manner of spectacular carved buddhas and deities, I stopped to photograph two golden statuettes that caught my eye. First, say hi to Vajrapani, the Buddha’s protector and guide in Mahayana Buddhism.

And, last but not least, this limb-blessed deity goes by Yamantaka. In Vajrayana Buddhism he is the destroyer of death, and represents the overcoming of (death, obviously) as well as ignorance.

Lama Temple opens daily from 09:00-16:00, with entrance tickets priced at 25RMB (£2.60/€3/$3.50). The best way to get there is by subway. The nearest station is Yonghegong on lines 2 and 5. Jump off at Exit C, it’s about a five minute walk from there.

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