CRY FREEDOM: (From top)Tibetan activists at a protest rally; the Dalai Lama; and Tibetan Youth Congress President Kalsang Phuntsok Godrukpa

The two little words emblazoned on the white clock say it all. “Free Tibet,” the clock proclaims, ticking away furiously. And for that, if the Dalai Lama — the spiritual and political head of the Tibetan people — has to be questioned, so be it.

Mounted on the wall of the Tibetan Youth Congress president’s office in Dharamsala, the clock’s red-lettered slogan also reflects what the largest political organisation of the Tibetans in exile seeks — independence from Chinese occupation. And to achieve this, says Tibetan Youth Congress president Kalsang Phuntsok Godrukpa, it is now prepared to give the Dalai Lama’s long-standing policy of non-violence the go-by. “There is nothing wrong in killing a terrorist to save 500 innocent lives. So I won’t rule out the use of violence to achieve our goal in the future,” he says.

The words sound ominous in the quiet of Dharamsala, the Himalayan seat of the Dalai Lama-led Tibetan government in exile in Himachal Pradesh. But more than that, they reveal a deep fissure in the Tibetan movement.

Differences have surfaced between the Dalai Lama and a significant section of Tibetans over how the Tibetan movement has to be fought and whether its ultimate goal should be independence or autonomy. While the Dalai Lama wants autonomy for Tibet in a non-violent struggle, Godrukpa, who leads the 30,000-strong Tibetan Youth Congress, calls for freedom “at whatever cost and in whatever manner possible”.

In some unmistakable ways, the mood is hardening in Tibetan society — and not without reason. After years of waiting to return to their homeland, Tibetans, who live in India as refugees with no passports or voting rights, are bitter and frustrated. The most restless, of course, are the Tibetan youth who were born in India but still have no state to call their own. Many of them are now openly questioning the wisdom and efficacy of the “middle of the road” policy pursued by the Dalai Lama, the guru of the six million Tibetans in and outside Tibet. “We have waited for far too long for the issue to be resolved peacefully. Now is the time to do things differently,” says Sonam Dorjee, a youth activist.

To be sure, the reigning mantra in Dharamsala is still peace and non-violence, and Tenzin Gyatso — the 14th Dalai Lama — is the undisputed leader of the Tibetans. And yet a whiff of militancy is in the air. A recent interview aired by a television channel in which the Dalai Lama accepted Chinese sovereignty over Tibet has upset many Tibetans. “I honestly don’t know what he meant,” Godrukpa says.

Not surprisingly, the Nobel peace laureate feels disturbed, his aides say. “His Holiness is an apostle of world peace and he has already made it clear that he will step down as leader of the Tibetan movement the day it turns violent,” says Chhime R. Chhoekyapa, joint secretary of the Dalai Lama’s office.

But increasingly, many Tibetans have started questioning the direction of the Tibetan struggle. Lhashang Tsering, a former guerrilla activist who now runs a bookshop in Dharamsala, calls the Dalai Lama’s stated “middle-way” approach flawed. “Why would the Chinese give us autonomy when you are not pressurising them in any way,” asks the 55-year-old former president of the Tibetan Youth Congress. Tsering says China will never leave Tibet unless Tibetans “make it expensive” for them to stay on. “Look at what’s happening in Iraq today and how the mighty American forces are looking for ways to get out of that country,” he says, calling for guerrilla tactics to “disrupt and destroy” the Chinese infrastructure in Tibet.

Not everyone agrees, though. Many Tibetans, in fact, fear that any acts of violence will lead to Chinese reprisals. “They would crush us, kill thousands of Tibetans in Tibet if we resorted to violence,” Chhoekyapa says. “It will be completely counterproductive.”

Some stress the Tibetan cause is sure to lose international support if it turns militant. “We definitely don’t want to be branded as terrorists,” says Dolma Gyari, deputy speaker of the Tibetan Parliament in exile.

In any case, if there is anyone who has brought the Tibetan issue under the international spotlight it’s none other than the Dalai Lama, who escaped to India in 1959 with some 80,000 Tibetans after the Chinese Army crushed an uprising in the Tibetan capital, Lhasa. Ever since, he has relentlessly pursued the Tibetan cause at international forums. On his appeals, the UN general assembly adopted three resolutions in 1959, 1961 and 1965 in favour of the Tibetans. “The middle-way approach of His Holiness has helped us establish contacts with the Chinese and our delegations have been visiting China for talks over the last few years,” says Thubten Samphel, secretary of the Tibetan administration’s department of information and international relations.

Tibetan leaders, however, acknowledge that patience is wearing thin, with no solution to the issue in sight. “I understand the frustrations of the Tibetan youth. They are growing impatient as there has been an inordinate delay in resolving the issue by the Chinese,” deputy speaker Gyari says. Yet militancy is no solution, she holds. “It’s easy to talk of independence living in democratic India, but how are we going to ensure the safety of the Tibetans in Tibet once trouble breaks out,” Gyari asks.

As the Tibetan community debates the “best” way out of the Chinese snare, concern is mounting over the fate of the country. B. Tsering, president of the Tibetan Women’s Association, formed in Lhasa in 1959 to challenge the Chinese occupation and now a successful non governmental organisation for Tibetan women, says they are “committed” to the Dalai Lama’s middle-way approach and would be satisfied with autonomy. “But our members are getting increasingly restless that China is not responding to his proposals in a positive way. I don’t know how long we will be able to maintain our position on the middle-way approach,” she says.

Meanwhile, Tibetan refugees continue to pour into Dharamsala. Among the new arrivals at the “reception centre,” run by the Tibetan administration in the heart of the town, is 34-year-old Gyamtso. He is from Kham province. He wanted to become a lama (monk), but local Chinese authorities asked him to sign a form disowning the Dalai Lama and accepting the Chinese-appointed Panchen Lama as his leader. He refused and eventually escaped to India via Nepal to join a monastery. “If we don’t fight them, they won’t go from Tibet. But it’s not easy. They are everywhere and have guns,” he says, leaning forward. Others clustered around him in the 75-bed dormitory in the reception centre nod in agreement. Reception centre director Dorjee says they register up to 3,000 refugees every year from Tibet.

“Many of them lose their toes and fingers in frost bite as they cross the mountain passes in winter to avoid detection by Chinese guards,” the Tibetan official says.

Chanya Tsering, a would-be monk from Tibet, now dressed in jeans and a baseball cap, says achieving independence is almost impossible as the Chinese are “extremely powerful.” But former political prisoner Phuntsok Wangchuk, who was picked up as a student and jailed for five years in Lhasa for distributing pro-independence leaflets in 1994, will hear none of it. After he refused to salute the Chinese flag in jail and attempted a jail break, he says he was “hung on the wall like Jesus Christ” and beaten senseless.

After his return from hospital, he was put in a dark, solitary cell, where he tried to commit suicide by swallowing injection needles a fellow prisoner had provided him with. After escaping into India after his release in 2000, he now walks with a limp.

“Independence, independence, independence,” Wangchuk, 33, says thrice when asked what he wants. He has no clock on his wall proclaiming a “free” Tibet. He doesn’t need one.