close their announcement in response to the blood

evening wind.
The five monks, thin and blood-stained, were thrown
roughly to their knees. One, with his left eyeball right
out of its socket, and dangling on his cheek, was well
known to me, he had been an acolyte when I was a lama.
The sullen crowd grew silent and still as a Russian-made
"jeep" came racing along the road from a building labeled
"Department of Tibetan Administration". All was silent
and tense as the car circled the crowd and came to a stop
about twenty feet behind the truck.
Guards sprang to attention, and an autocratic Chinese
stepped arrogantly from the car. A soldier hurried up to
him unreeling wire as he walked. Facing the autocratic
Chinese, the soldier saluted and held up a microphone. The
Governor, or Administrator, or whatever he styled himself,
looked disdainfully round before speaking into the instru-
ment. "You have been brought here," he said, "to witness
the execution of these five reactionary and subversive
monks. No one shall stand in the way of the glorious
Chinese people under the able chairmanship of Comrade
Mao." He turned away, and the loudspeakers on the top
of the truck clicked into silence. The Governor motioned
to a soldier with a long, curved sword. He moved to the first
prisoner kneeling bound before him. For a moment he stood
with his legs apart, testing the edge of his sword with t


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