All language subtitles for The.Nightingale.Of.Tibet.2013.720p.WEBRip.x264.AAC-[YTS.MX]

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- I have a name and
a face that few recognize.

I prefer it that way.

And I have a history with Tibet.

Years ago, I was in prison
there called Drapchi.

I was accused of spying
by the ruling government.

For 12 years, I lived in
that bleakest of jails.

A place of horror and violence.

But I survived.

I survived, perhaps, because
my will to live was strong.

But in my heart, I know I
survived because of her.

Yiga.

It was a night I shall never forget.

I was in despair.

And I was about to put a
dull razor across my wrists.

Just then, through the ancient stone walls

on that moonlit night, as clear
as light, I heard her voice.

I heard her sing a magnificent song.

- She had been
mercilessly beaten that night

for singing aloud.

I found out about her the next day.

I was told that she was
a famous opera singer.

She was in transit to be
taken to a secret cell.

I thanked her.

Wished her well.

Prayed for her release.

Hoped she would make it.

- In the furthest
regions of China,

inhabited by the country's
Tibetan minority,

a full uprising is underway.

- Trapped there by the
military police and army.

- The locals assume
their spiritual leader--

- But behind these cloudless seas,

there's the Indian-based
Tibetan government-in-exile.

- State-run media
have blamed the Dalai Lama--

- Witnesses are taking
shocking and extreme force.

One comments he seen the
most number of suicides.

Hard to imagine the desperation...

- In Tibet, in my country, we pray.

My people have lived so
high up in the world,

close to the heavens.

We are spiritual by birth.

For centuries, we have
been people of prayer.

Full of the belief that
compassion is the key

to infinite knowledge.

- Pull over, huh?

Kathmandu, three people.

Three.

Three people.

- Is this okay, here?

It's Kathmandu.

Pull over.

You'll be okay here, huh?

She's in search of
something to hold on to.

For at this moment, she has nothing.

Owns nothing.

But she is alive,

and she knows that's all
that matters for now.

She has escaped, survived.

She walks the streets, lost,

yet with a strange sense of belonging.

At this point, only her instincts work.

She's receptive, observant, careful.

She knows her life depends on it.

She allows herself to think that perhaps,

the worst is over.

This new, noisy, strange
world elicits no fear

compared to where she has been.

She is infinitely patient, measured,

rekindling the fire
within bit by tiny bit.

Connecting, touching, feeling again.

The fears return often,
always unannounced.

They linger, creep in, confuse, disturb.

But she battles on in her stubborn way.

Often, she loses.

But sometimes...

Sometimes, she has her way.

- Things changed.

Seasons came and went.

And Yiga found contentment.

Perhaps even happiness.

Just as her teacher had said,

Yiga needed to let go of her
past and embrace the present.

- In March, 2008,
mass riots devastated Lhasa,

and spread to other areas.

Tibet was in the grip
of horrific destruction.

And Tibetans inside were on the edge.

- Hey!

Hey!

- What?
- Remember me?

- Oh, so scared...

Oh.
- On the border?

What's your name?

- Yiga.

- Yiga?
- Yes.

- I went to Tibet and I got this.

- Oh!

You brought this from Tibet?
- Yeah.

- It doesn't sound that good.

- Doesn't sound very
good with me playing it either

but, I thought maybe we could--

- It's a little untuned.
- Yes.

- This thing, you have to tune this.

- Do you know how to play this?

- Yes.
- You can help me?

- But we can't hear anything here.

- There's this place down here--

- Yes?

- Which is a tea shop.

And you can see the whole of Kathmandu.

So where did you learn
to speak English then?

- Oh.

In Tibet.

- In Tibet?
- Yes.

I used to have private teacher.

A lady from France.

She used to teach me English.

- Okay, so you had a French teacher.

- Yes.

- It reminds me that I
had a clarinet teacher,

who taught me how to play the flute.

- Oh, that's strange.

- So--

- Still he taught you?
- It's very strange.

He taught me, but he
couldn't play the flute.

He just sort of told me how to.

- That's very strange.
- It's kind of weird, but--

- And did it worked out?

- It worked out, yes, so I can play flute.

- So you're a musician?

- Yes.

When I was in England,

I used to play in

rock bands.

- So you're a rocker?

- I used to be a rocker.

Now I'm a free spirit
in Kathmandu, you know?

- Oh!

But you used to play
guitar and sing together?

- I can do that.

So what about you?

- Me?

I used to an opera singer.

- Wow!

- Tibetan opera singer.

- Sounds much more
impressive than a rocker.

- Well, it's very different
than Western style of singing,

of course.

- I'd love to hear you sing.

- Well, I am doing some
recordings in Kathmandu.

So if it comes well, then
you can listen later, maybe.

- That'd be amazing.
- Yes.

- So good.

Such a good view here, huh?

So...

So which direction is Tibet?

- It's over there.

- Yiga?

- Yes?

- I wanted to ask you When
I met you at the border,

what were you doing coming across and,

do you travel a lot that way or...

- Sorry, I got some
unfinished rituals to do.

Right now I must go to Boudha.

Thank you for the tea.

- And so they swapped
stories and philosophies.

And each found in the
other an unlikely friend.

"How odd", she had thought,

"That he looks for answers outside.

"Maybe he'll find himself on Freak Street.

"Maybe in India.

"Maybe in the jungles of Vietnam.

"But", she had told him over and over,

"The answers lie within.

"Salvation must be earned.

"Bit by tiny bit.

"Step by tiny step."

- Hi.
- Hi!

Yiga, it's you!

- Yes.
- Who's this?

- My Lama brother.

- What he's saying?

- He said you are going
in the opposite direction.

- All right.

- See, everyone is going this way.

- All right, what's wrong with that?

- As you see, we
Buddhists, we go this way.

Clockwise.

- Right.

So I've got to do,

I've got to do the same
thing as everyone else?

- Yes, yes.

Our traditional way is
to go this way always.

Never other way around.

- Right.
- Yes.

- And do you,

do you both think this all, this works?

- He says, of course.

- Is there something
specific that you're,

you come here for, to
get peace of mind for?

- She was watched, marked.

As a cause of insecurity and
concern to the authorities,

from the day she resisted
a cultural makeover.

The day she refused to stop singing.

She was a threat because of her music.

A medium considered both
potent and dangerous.

Hers was a voice that could
take the hidden stories of Tibet

to the world at large.

- The gunshot that
killed my spiritual teacher

killed a part of me as well.

It wasn't the first.

And unfortunately shan't be the last.

There were others.

Many of them were either
kidnapped like I was,

or else snatched during the midnight raids

that had become so common across Tibet,

like some cruel echo from Nazi Germany.

The main Drapchi Prison in Lhasa

used to be a peaceful monastery.

And they turned it into this
horrid place of torture,

where under the guise of a prison,

crimes against Tibetans
would go unnoticed.

This is where I got the first
taste of what it feels like

to be physically broken down.

Some people they keep in the main prison.

But there are also
remote underground cells,

for those who won't break down so easily.

Their methods of torture are brutal.

Inhuman.

And very effective.

It would have been much easier for them

to have just shot me or the others.

It didn't make sense.

Slowly I realized that
what they actually planned

was far worse than I had imagined.

Months passed and I was
still breathing in and out

in a rhythm I could no longer understand,

or even really care about.

I had good days where everything
was too clear and too real.

But mostly, I had terrible insane days.

Hatred and fear burning me away inside,

wasting what God had given me.

I wrote songs in my head.

But they weren't songs of hope or of joy.

They were songs of violence and hate.

On my better days, I would
sometimes think of my friends

who had disappeared.

Now seen only on missing person posters,

used to get international
attention or sympathy.

Perhaps, the people who
did this meant well.

All I knew was, they couldn't help me.

- And then one day just like that,

I discovered a hollow tile.

In that instant, my
life changed completely.

And I started to plan for my escape.

To run away.

To be free.

My life had purpose again.

I discovered the melting
snow and begun to feel

the warmth of freedom stir inside me.

To the southwest was Nepal.

I'll try to reach there.

It is not the easiest route.

But it is the shortest.

Or at least, it is the one I knew about,

had heard of or had sense of.

In the silence of my prison,

I had often thought about, who
I was, what I was here for?

Would I survive?

I wanted to sing again.

I needed to sing.

Would I ever get out of here?

- I was not afraid of mountains.

Their spirits would guide me.

I was not afraid of hunger or thirst.

My father once told me,

"What doesn't kill you,
only makes you stronger."

My body was weak, but idea
of freedom gave me strength.

But it was my mind I
had to be careful about.

It was there that I
must not let fear enter.

For if that happened, all would be lost.

Shen often told us that
there were soldiers

everywhere outside, guarding the house.

They lurked behind the boulders,
and near the tree line.

And had orders to shoot anyone
who dared to step outside.

There were prisoners before
me who tried escaping.

But none of them were ever heard of again.

The doubts and fears
were slowly killing me.

I was terrified.

But eventually, I did manage
to stop thinking about

what could go wrong.

Then, it was time.

Old Gonpo had been watching
me plan and prepare

for weeks now.

He was the only one I
would say goodbye to.

- And I suddenly realized

he did hear and he did speak.

But only when he chose to.

That was his middle path.

I was free of fear.

No soldiers sprung out of
the bushes and shot me down.

No one saw me or followed me.

It was all a cruel game
that they played on us.

I saw it all now.

Shen had lied to us.

There were no soldiers with
guns guarding that house.

But we had believed him.

And he had used our own fears
to keep us caged like animals.

I had stopped thinking.

I was in the middle of nowhere.

But I knew, if I just kept going,

I would find help, sooner or later.

I had to get to the border.

It might take me months on foot.

But somehow, I would get there.

So I just kept going.

I just kept moving.

Always moving.

Further and further and further
and further and further...

And suddenly, I was in the
lap of my beloved mountains,

under the protection of my gods.

Well, the past is just a
dream, so don't worry about it.

Just nothing than a dream, the past.

I want to give you this.

This is for you, one of my tracks.

- Thank you so much.

- You are welcome.
- It's pretty good.

- Yeah.

- She moves further away now.

Far away from all the familiar sounds

and smells of the East.

Leaving on a secure unlisted flight.

She, and others like her,
away from the persecution

they can still face if caught.

But she leaves behind a piece of her soul.

A slice of her healing process.

A tantalizing hope of a kinder world.

For every person who has found something,

or is on the verge,

one still seeking will be left behind.

Yiga rested in India for a few weeks,

and was joined by other
Tibetans en route to Europe.

All of them were from Lhasa.

All were to remain in exile.

Tashi!

Have you seen Yiga?

- She's gone.

- And so, Yiga did let
go of her past, and present.

It was September When Yiga finally left

for an uncertain future.

Leaving behind her a precious gift;

A relationship that was to
remain, for her, impossible.

- Like Tibet loves
us, we love our country.

But we have a strong spirit.

- I attended many of her concerts.

I often thought of meeting her.

But for all these years,
something held me back.

But that was then.

A Tibetan cafe in Paris was
to be our meeting place.

And all we spoke about was hope.

Do you still have hope?

- There is a saying in Tibetan.

"Tragedy must be utilized
as a source of strength."

We believe in karma.

What goes around, comes back.

And everything changes.

Nothing is forever.

We don't hate our enemies.

Just because we want to be ourself.

To speak our own language.

To have our own books.

To sing our own songs.

Tibetan people pay...

Too high a price.

Too high.

When you see suffering close to you,

only then you know what is real suffering.

Monasteries are surrounded
by army and police.

Cities are surrounded by them.

They will mark you and then
they'll come to get you

in the night.

How can you hurt each other?

Especially for no reason.

If the Dalai Lama will
not teach, who will teach?

To feel compassionate towards
each other and to everything?

We don't have to wait until
all the people self-immolate.

- And you still have hope?

- Yes, I do.

It might take time, but
we don't have the luxury

of giving up hope.

One day, Tibet will be free.

- She believes with
her formidable conviction

that her cries will not always fall short.

The frequent periods of utter despair,

no match against her quiet inner strength.

She wants, needs even, to forgive.

But not forget.

Never that.

It is that need that helps
keeps her music alive.

The passion she feels,

combined with the
compassion she practices,

the truth she seeks,
it's beyond any reproach.

I don't believe I'll ever meet her again.

But I will always follow
her in the shadows.

That is my way.

As she walks that tenuous path of hope.

She travels the world.

Her voice carries within it

the surreal sounds of her home country.

The whispering high winds.

The murmuring still waters.

The fluttering of a million prayer flags.

She holds on to her roots and values

with a steely determination.

She prays.

As she prays, even for
those who are unaware

of the future they are
creating for themselves.

Often, she looks back at her life.

She tries to unlock the
mysteries of her turbulent past.

She wonders about divine intervention.

She gives thanks for the
teacher who invoked hope in her,

beyond even his own death.

- Why did my master ask me to visit

that particular place if I needed help?

How often did little Tashi
repeat my master's exact words?

How did I miss that playful,
broken-toothed smile?

That level of wisdom in one so young?

Did I listen to him carefully?

Or was I too busy being free to care?

Why haven't I thought of all this before?

- Maybe my gods
were watching over me,

giving me strength.

Maybe they watch over all of us.

Don't they?

- As long as wise
spirits live, Tibet will live.

As soon as the wise spirits deem it fit,

Tibet too will be free.

I believe in that future.

My songs will celebrate that future,

where my people will live free

in the land of their ancestors.

- Drapchi continues to
be Tibet's most feared prison.

It houses nearly 500 prisoners,

in conditions I can only
describe as inhumane.

Most of them, political prisoners.

All of them Tibetan.

The spirit of her voice still
echoes within its walls.

She still prays for them.

- And Yiga sings.

Her songs are her strength
and her reason to be.

Her songs are testament to
her struggle to live free.

Some voices can never be silenced.

Hers is one of them.