Love In No Man's Land

by Duo Ji Zhuo Ga

7

  Zhuo Mai was now the grassland’s most popular guest. People went to see him for ailments as minor as a headache or a warm forehead. They even took their livestock to him if a yak or a sheep wasn’t producing offspring. When it was discovered that Zhuo Mai was single, unmarried women from near and far began coming to the lake for any reason or none. It was well known that Han men were capable, didn’t hit their wives, and would help with the housework. On top of that, Zhuo Mai was a doctor and a cultured man, and he spoke Tibetan. All this made him quite different from the rough, heroic men of the grassland, and so it would have been strange if the women hadn’t tried to snatch him up.

  Zhuo Mai greeted everyone with a smile. As for the cow-ghost snake-spirit Zhaduo, whose tent was set apart from the rest, the doctor visited him often and stayed for hours; no one knew what they talked about. Because of this, the herders no longer avoided Zhaduo; they even nodded when they ran into him.

  One day at around noon, when Cuomu hadn’t seen her uncle come out to collect yak pats all morning, she went to his tent. When she saw that he was sleeping, she called softly to him, and then tried again. Zhaduo woke up and struggled to sit up but did not have the strength.

  ‘What’s the matter? Are you sick? Uncle!’ Cuomu hurried over to help him up. When she felt how hot his hand was, she was frightened.

  ‘I’m going to go, Cuomu.’ Zhaduo leant back against the cushion, gasping for breath, his face flushed. ‘It looks like I won’t be able to wait for Gongzha. You tell him, tell him… he must… he must find… find Kaguo, and make the Buddha’s… Buddha’s light… shine once… once more… on Cuoe… Cuoe Grass… Grassland!’

  Cuomu had no idea what her uncle’s words meant, but she nodded anyway. ‘Don’t talk any more – I’m going to get Ama and Aba.’

  She hurried out of the tent and raced home to call her parents, then she found Shida and urged him to go to the army base and get Dr Zhuo.

  The evening clouds were already stained red by the time Zhuo Mai arrived. Shida helped him carry his medical bag and the two of them went straight to Zhaduo’s tent. Cuomu was sitting by the bed. When she saw them come in, she quickly stood up and got out of the way.

  Dr Zhuo nodded to everyone, then took out his stethoscope and put it inside Zhaduo’s robe. He listened for a while, then put it away, his face solemn.

  ‘How is he?’ Baila asked in a small voice, stepping forward with a face full of worry.

  ‘His body was already weak. And now that it has to fight off a cold as well, I’m afraid…’ Dr Zhuo turned away. He couldn’t bear to say the words. This benevolent old man was one of the few learned people he’d met on the grassland and the knowledge of Tibetan medicine that Zhaduo had shared with him had introduced him to a new world.

  Just then, Zhaduo opened his eyes, their expression clear. He signalled for Cuomu to help him sit up and Baila quickly got a pillow for him to lean on. ‘You all go out for a bit,’ he gasped. ‘There are some things I’d like to say to Dr Zhuo and Cuomu.’ Despite his wheezing, his words were clear.

  Pulling his woman with him, Danzeng went out with Shida.

  Zhaduo watched them go, then turned to look at Zhuo Mai, still gasping. ‘Remember, you must pick the snow lotuses of Chanaluo Snow Mountain only when Rigel rises. If you go earlier or later, it won’t have the right medicinal effect. And when you pick them, you must always leave one for the Mountain Spirit.’

  ‘Alright.’ Zhuo Mai nodded. ‘Rest assured, I will remember.’

  ‘You must wait for Gongzha to come back to get the notes on the Four Medical Tantras. Don’t try and do it by yourself – it’s too dangerous. There’s one last antidote I haven’t completed and I’ve heard that the herb can be found on Tajiapu Snow Mountain in the No Man’s Land area of Shuanghu. You can ask Gongzha to take you.’

  ‘Alright.’ Zhuo Mai squeezed his hand, nodding thoughtfully.

  ‘Don’t… don’t let it be forgotten.’ Perhaps because he had spoken too much, the old man began gasping again.

  ‘You can rest easy. I will of course follow your instructions, and your knowledge of Tibetan medicine will be passed down on the grassland.’

  Zhaduo looked into his eyes and gave a relieved smile. He instinctively trusted Dr Zhuo. Though they were of different ethnicities, faiths and generations, the two men understood each other; the geography was irrelevant.

  After resting a moment, Zhaduo raised his head again and saw that Cuomo was crying as she sat to one side. ‘Cuomu, my good child, don’t be upset. Everyone has to leave sometime; whether they leave early or late is of no consequence. I’m going on ahead and I’ll be waiting for you in Shambhala. When Gongzha comes back, you must tell him from me that he has to find Kaguo; then he’ll know where the Buddha is. He must invite the Buddha back and make the Buddha’s light shine on the grassland again.’

  ‘Alright, Uncle. You can go in peace.’ Cuomu nodded, even though she was heartbroken. Her face was wet with tears.

  ‘You’ve chosen well – Gongzha is a good boy,’ Zhaduo said. He tried to raise his hand and caress her, but he lacked the strength. ‘Go and call your parents.’

  Cuomu wiped away her tears with the back of her hand. Lifting the tent flap, she called out to her parents, who were standing a little way off.

  Danzeng and Baila hurried in and stood by the bed. Zhaduo lifted his head and laughed warmly. It was as if he was back in his dim temple hall, a single ray of light shining through the window, incense drifting, sutras being chanted, the compassionate eyes of the Buddha behind him, and believers gazing up reverently in front of him. He was going home, finally going home. The place that the Buddha longed for, that was his real home, the resting place for his soul.

  ‘Baila,’ he called softly, just as he used to when he and his beloved sister were young and he’d nudge her awake. They had loved each other so much then. His little sister had never wanted to leave her brother’s side, and he had always watched out for her. Later, when he’d been identified as the reincarnation of a living Buddha and had become an exalted disciple of the Buddha, respected by all, she’d had to make an appointment just to see him. There were no more warm, loving looks – in the temple hall there was only reverence. When you were a disciple of the Buddha, you could decide nothing yourself. He didn’t blame his sister; everything in this life was the fruit of seeds planted in a past life. ‘I am going. You must take care. Don’t be too wilful; listen to your man; look after the household.’

  ‘Oh, Brother…’ Baila was suddenly overcome with sadness. All the love she’d once had for her brother flooded back into her heart. Their parents had died when she was young and it was her brother who’d brought her up and found a man to support her tent. How was it that when the communists arrived, she’d drawn a clear line between herself and her own brother? She should not have allowed her heart to be clouded, should not have denied her own family and stopped caring about him. ‘Please forgive me. I was wrong, Brother. Don’t abandon me! Aba and Ama didn’t want me – do you not want me either?’

  ‘Baila…’ Zhaduo stroked his sister’s cheek, tears streaking his face. He was no longer the living Buddha; he was just a simple herder, unable to forget his family before he went, unwilling to leave them behind and go. ‘Sister, you must look after your health. There are some things you need to be more relaxed about – try not to lose your temper so often. Trust your man; he is an eagle of our grassland and no matter how high eagles fly, they will always return to the eyrie at sunset.’

  ‘Brother, Brother…’ Baila buried her face in the bed and sobbed so hard she could barely catch her breath.

  As he stroked his sister’s greying hair, Zhaduo’s tears also fell one after the other. After a while, he raised his head and, looking at Danzeng, called out, ‘Dear Danzeng…’

  Danzeng bent down and forced a whisper of a smile to his mouth. ‘Yes, Brother?’

  ‘My sister is wilful. I did not teach her well when she was younger – you must forgive me.’
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br />   ‘Baila is very capable, she looks after the household very well. Brother, go in peace.’

  Zhaduo nodded. A compassionate smile spread across his face. He did not speak again. His gaze passed beyond the tent flap to the sky beyond. It was as if he’d returned to that blustery, snowy night many moons ago when he was a young man. Back then, he’d been wandering in the wilds of No Man’s Land, in Shuanghu, with no idea where he was going. Green eyes had glittered in the distance, but he hadn’t been afraid. He’d picked his way through the unfamiliar territory calmly and cautiously. He remembered thinking that if he were to fall, he might never return to the grassland. But he wasn’t worried; if the Buddha had arranged things that way, there must have been a reason for it. In which case, he was ready to let the new life begin, and when he reincarnated, he hoped he would have more time to study and more opportunity to help people in distress. These thoughts had occupied him as he wandered, until his body had no more strength. Two crimson-robed figures had appeared on the snowy ground before him. The shade of red had given him hope for his new life. And then he’d woken to find himself floating in a warm lake, naked like a newborn infant. As he bathed in the white mist, the concerned eyes of those crimson figures, half hidden, half visible, had made him feel safe and full of joy. He’d thought he was in Shambhala.

  Was he going back there now? Would he return to the warm lake of No Man’s Land, to sit by the side of the lamas and listen to their teachings? Would he be able to practise reverently with no concern for worldly matters and live his days in peace? As these thoughts came to Zhaduo, he smiled contentedly and his soul slowly left the grassland.

  In keeping with the traditions of Tibetan Buddhism, as the reincarnation of a living Buddha, Zhaduo should have been given a stupa burial or been cremated. But on the grassland the coals of the Cultural Revolution still glowed here and there, so the herders could only take him to the sky-burial altar and let the vultures dispose of his flesh.

  *

  Danzeng’s tent stopped all forms of entertainment. They did not wash their faces, comb their hair, sing or dance. The encampment cancelled all its festivals, because one of their elders had passed on. All the anger that had been present before his death vanished with the dead man, dissipating like smoke.

  It wasn’t until the winter of the following year that Gongzha heard that the man he cherished was dead. The night of his return, he went to Cuoe Temple, and as he stood outside the tightly sealed wooden door, two lines of tears rolled slowly down his face.

  Gongzha was not easily moved. He’d started burying his feelings deep in his heart when his father died and he’d had to take on the role of head of the household. Life was tough for grassland men and they couldn’t afford to be too emotional. Where Lunzhu had been Gongzha’s instructor in how to live day to day, Zhaduo had been his instructor in how to be an adult. His father taught him to hunt, taught him the essential skills for surviving on the grassland. Zhaduo taught him how to be a person, how to respect and value all living beings. The departure of the old man plunged Gongzha’s heart into darkness; he felt like a man walking along a night-time road with a lamp that had suddenly been extinguished.

  The light of the moon was desolate. The ground was bare, save for Gongzha’s long, unmoving shadow.

  On Gongzha’s second day of leave, Cuomu took advantage of her mother having gone to the pasture and sneaked off to meet him in a mountain valley deep in the grassland. When she saw her man standing waiting at the mouth of the valley, her heart began to pound. She gave a savage crack of the whip and her horse flew towards him.

  When she reached him, she rolled straight off the horse and into her man’s arms.

  ‘Cuomu, my snow lotus!’ Gongzha murmured quietly. He hugged Cuomu’s feverish body, gazed at her slightly trembling lips and could not resist kissing them.

  Cuomu hung onto his neck, greedily devouring him with her lips, wanting to be part of him, wanting to be one with him.

  The golden plain stretched to the edge of the sky, so far you could not see its end. The two snow mountains on either side glistened with a silvery light and their silver peaks seemed to pierce the curved dome of the heavens. The day was extraordinarily blue, like an enormous piece of jade without a single blemish, and the clouds were as white as the lambskin hat on a girl’s head, tumbling across the blue curtain in irregular curls.

  The two young people rolled together on the thick, soft grass as the sun’s rays shone warmly down. Their desire for each other was urgent and all-consuming, as if they’d been separated by many worlds and had at last found each other again.

  Gongzha held his beloved woman. He slowly pulled down her fur-lined robe and admired the curves of her gleaming body as, little by little, they were revealed in the sunlight. He caressed her, covering every centimetre of her with kisses.

  ‘My woman!’ He laid his body over hers, tasting her lips, biting her earlobes and nipples. Watching the woman he loved sigh happily beneath his caresses, his heart soared and his happiness knew no bounds. He gripped her waist more tightly, brought the two of them together and slowly began to take her. He wanted to show her how much longing had accumulated, he wanted to slowly enter her heart, he wanted to become a part of her and gradually dissolve into her.

  ‘Gongzha, I missed you so much, did you know that? I missed you every day and every night…’ Cuomu circled her arm around his neck and gazed tenderly into his eyes.

  ‘I missed you too, my woman!’ Looking at her blushing cheeks, Gongzha felt as if his chest would burst. He could not control his body any longer; he only wanted her more deeply.

  In the same way, the snow mountains and the plains have been together day and night for thousands of years. In the same way, the beach and the lake have lived out their days together and will never part.

  Later, as Cuomu lay in his embrace, her calves poking out, her wheat-coloured skin gleaming like butter in the sunlight, she remembered what Zhaduo had told her. ‘Uncle said I had to make you go and find Kaguo. He said she will take you to the Buddha, and then Buddha’s light can shine on the grassland once more.’

  ‘Strange!’ Gongzha looked towards the snow mountain’s peak, his brow furrowed. ‘How are Kaguo and your uncle connected?’

  ‘I don’t know. He just said I was to tell you that. Have you heard of Mount Tajiapu in No Man’s Land?’

  ‘I know it – it’s by Shuanghu. I’ve been hunting there before. What about it?’

  ‘When Uncle was young he often went to Mount Tajiapu to pick herbs. He said Tajiapu and our Chanaluo are a pair of lovers.’

  ‘A pair of lovers? Like us?’ Gongzha kissed her, his eyes smiling.

  Cuomu raised her head and gazed at him, full of feeling. Gongzha dipped his head again, pressing her pink lips to his, and they were lost once more in their passion.

  After some time, Gongzha finally released her. ‘You were saying that Tajiapu and our Chanaluo are a pair of lovers?’ he murmured, his forehead resting on hers.

  ‘Uncle said so. He said that in the time of King Gesar, Tajiapu was a handsome young man and Chanaluo was a beautiful young woman. They both lived in No Man’s Land. Chanaluo’s father didn’t want her to marry Tajiapu and quietly betrothed her to a sorcerer and arranged that they be married the next day. When Chanaluo found out, she ran away in the night and eloped with Tajiapu to Shuanghu Grassland. The sorcerer caught up with them and turned Tajiapu into a mountain and dragged poor Chanaluo back. When they got to Cuoe Grassland, Chanaluo said that she wanted to rest for a bit. Then, when the sorcerer wasn’t looking, she drank some poison she’d prepared and turned herself into a mountain – Chanaluo Mountain. Uncle said Tajiapu and Chanaluo once had hearts that beat, but that they didn’t have hearts any more, he didn’t know why, only cavities where the hearts should have been.’

  ‘Cavities?’

  ‘Yes, that’s what Uncle said. He also said that Kaguo was once King Gesar’s favourite steed, and she helped King Gesar beat the demons. The Buddha
gave Kaguo the heart cavities of Tajiapu and Chanaluo to live in.’

  ‘Kaguo lives in the heart cavities of Tajiapu and Chanaluo?’

  ‘Yes.’ Cuomu patted Gongzha’s thoughtful face. ‘It’s a good story, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, yes…’ Gongzha said absently. Looking at Chanaluo’s cloud-draped peak under the blue sky, he muttered to himself, ‘Heart cavity?’

  ‘What is it?’ Cuomu sat up and put her red silk dress back on, and then her fur-lined robe. Leaning on him, she rearranged her long and now rather dishevelled plaits.

  ‘Nothing. When did Uncle tell you this story?’ Gongzha also stood up and put on his clothes.

  ‘A couple of days before he died. He told me I had to tell you.’ Cuomu tilted her head and looked at him. ‘He said you liked hearing King Gesar’s stories.’

  Seeing her smiling face, Gongzha went over and held her waist from behind, resting his chin on her head. ‘Uncle really was a strange man. But since he wanted me to find Kaguo, I’ll go and find her. It’s just that it’s such a huge area – who knows where Kaguo is?’

  ‘Let’s talk about it once you’ve left the army. Are you coming back to the grassland or not?’

  ‘Of course I’m coming back. Isn’t my snow lotus here? What is it – are you desperate to give me a son?’ Gongzha could not resist kissing her again and laughing softly.

  ‘Fuck you. If you want a son, you have to come back first!’

  ‘Well, you never know…’ Gongzha circled around her, inspecting her willowy waist. ‘Maybe you’ll have one after today!’

  ‘You…!’ Cuomu turned away, looked down and blushed.

  ‘Lots of the grassland girls your age are already mothers. That’s my fault. Will you wait a little longer for me? My senior officer says there’ll be jobs in our area for those of us who leave next year. Don’t worry, I promise I’ll come back and marry you.’

  ‘Mmm,’ Cuomu said, with a lowered head and the voice of a mosquito.

  Gongzha drew her into his arms again.