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 She Still Lives: A Novel of Tibet Book Excerpt —
An Exciting New Novel Set in a Future Tibet

by Bill Magee

"Dr. Magee has written an original and compelling book about a future female Dalai Lama and a man whose love for her is inspiring and transcendent. The action is suspenseful and the characters are intensely human. She Still Lives is both a grippingly entertaining novel and an indictment of the false gods of war, a reminder that love and non-violence are more powerful forces than tyranny and oppression."--Jeffrey Hopkins, author

She Still Lives: A Novel of Tibet is an action-love story set in a fictional Tibet of the future. The beginning of the next century is a pivotal time for the Land of Snows. A nascent freedom movement has been crushed by the Communists. Tara Gyatso, beloved Dalai Lama, and her advisor Mila Lakpa have been imprisoned.

Many years later Mila Lakpa emerges from jail. He is an aged remnant of his former self, but rallies for a final act of rebellion. The Chinese believe he poses no danger to the State. For all Mila knows, they may be right.

What if a future Dalai Lama were a woman? She Still Lives takes us on a fascinating, mind-bending journey—literary, fun, educational, and a great read. Here's a brief excerpt:

Beijing Releases Five

Beijing, January 12, 2114 (Xinhua). Department of Public Security officials today announced plans to parole five persons currently serving prison terms for their roles in the Tibetan nation­alist up­rising of 2099. Mila Lakpa, Puntsok Denpa, Jamyang Tashi, Basang Uri Garma, and Kunchok Gunru, all of New Tibet City, were convicted of conspiring with Tara Gyatso, the Seven­teenth Dalai Lama, to create an independent Lamaist state. "The men will be released during the coming year," said Chu Si-Chuan, spokesman for the Depart­ment of Public Security. "However, there is no plan to release the Dalai Lama at this time. She is a long-time stubborn secessionist who has tried to split her Chinese motherland."

Within a few hours Mila came to the edge of the forest. He stood at an artificial tree line beneath which the forest had been sawn down. A hundred meters of stumps led to a tall chain-link fence topped with razor wire, securing the perimeter. Beyond that fence was a run for the military dogs, their genetically altered vision well adapted to hunting in darkness. Finally, far below, stadium light­ing illuminat­ed the prison's inner defenses, administrative com­pound, cellblocks, and yards. According to the map device, the Dalai Lama's cell was somewhere between two thousand and twenty-one hundred yards from here—depending on where she was held within the walls of the prison.

Mila retreated back into the trees until he came to a sheltered bowl of fallen rocks. Mila sat on a flat rock and composed his thoughts. He felt tired, but it was necessary now to write a letter; a letter he had been contemplating as he walked. There was moon­light, there was paper, there was a biro pen. Everything he needed was right there in his tunic.

Mila began writing, using a shorthand kyuk script familiar to Tara Gyatso but unlikely to be decipherable if discovered by a passing soldier. He wrote:

To Kundun, Seventeenth Dalai Lama—

Mila paused, licked the nib of his pen, and thought a moment, looking very much the schoolboy.

My dearest Tara,

If you are reading this letter then my plan has worked. Sitting here above Narkang prison, I have managed to snatch you out through the walls, past the guards, over the wire to this rocky place, my dearest friend, where you sit reading this letter. Also, of course, the reverse has happened. It is now my own unworthy consciousness that inhabits your form. I hope you will forgive me for liberating you in this unorthodox way, without your prior knowledge and consent. I could think of no other method.

Forgive me also for not having taken better care of this body I leave here to you. Rather stupidly, I lost its right arm—an accident in the woods. I don't miss it much, but now I wish I had been more careful. Please think of this body as a durable beast. Do not pamper it; it is used to hard work.

Here Mila paused and massaged his left temple with his five fingers, as though a sudden pain had come to him. Then he wrote again:

Look carefully through the pockets of the clothes you are wearing. You will find some items to help you escape back into the hills. In particular, I have left you with a map device. The password is "Jimmy." I have entered the coordinates of a place called Freetown. There you will meet patriots who will aid our cause. They will know you on sight. Ask for one named Jam­yang.

In prison I will pretend to be Tara Gyatso as long as I can. You will need some time to organize your plans. Of course, the Tibetans must know your identity. From Freetown the word will spread. Even if they suspect me I will tell them nothing—at least for a while. They will not believe in the possibility of transposing two minds—not at first!

Mila paused in his furious scribbling and looked around the sky. The sky was dark, and the moon was low in the west. Soon the heavens would show the violet light of dawn. He wrote one more line:

My dearest Tara, you have been very patient for fifteen years. Forgive me for taking such a terribly long time. I am coming for you tonight.

P.S.—Please do not concern yourself about me. I am used to prison life and I will make out fine.

Mila folded his letter and slid it into the breast of his tunic. He arranged his bundles carefully beside his seat and opened the leather bag containing the polished skull. He detached the skull's cup and set it aside. He pulled his beads from the skull where they lay coiled like a serpent. They rattled across the cold bone. Starlight filled the empty blue space inside the skull. Mila began chanting the familiar ritual. Mila closed his eyes...

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More about the author . . .

Bill Magee has a doctorage in Tibetan Buddhism from the University of Virginia. He has published books and articles on Tibetan language and philosophy. He lives in Charlottesville, Virginia, and Taiwan.


Bill Magee