‘Those clothes of yours are too thick,’ Gongzha said, and, without caring whether she agreed or not, he grabbed her by the waist and stripped off her long underwear.
Feng closed her eyes and held still. As skin brushed against skin, the tension returned. But, freed of her cumbersome underwear, she could feel every hair on her body dancing with pleasure in the warm water.
He laid her lightly on the water again and caressed the wound at her waist. ‘Does it still hurt?’
‘It doesn’t hurt, but it itches.’
As she watched his eyes roam over her body, she blushed even more. Things felt different tonight: the hand he laid on her waist had some kind of magic in it and his touch was like a raging fire, spreading an intense heat through every cell of her body. She closed her eyes and moved gently with the waves, her lashes trembling occasionally, betraying the turbulence in her heart.
Moonbeams pierced through the clouds and streamed down onto the lake, rendering the mist hanging over the water even more ethereal. To Gongzha, Feng seemed like a celestial maiden, like a spirit who’d just descended to earth, pure and beautiful; unsullied. His Cuomu had been like that.
Feng’s body grew warm in his embrace. She slowly lost her self-control, circled her arm around his neck and pulled him closer. Gongzha’s body was trembling with desire; he drew her to him. Her low gasps and murmurs filled his ear and he realised he wanted her, there and then.
He placed one gentle hand around her waist, letting her body move lightly in his arms, and the other on the wound at her shoulder, the only scar still faintly visible. Carefully, his exploring hand slid slowly down to her erect nipple (it was cool out there on the moonlit lake), which he covered with his warm palm, watching her eyelids flutter. She quivered and her soft lips opened slightly with nervous anticipation. Gongzha’s heart thumped. He put his arm around her under the water, gently lifted her up and pressed her into him, then he slowly covered her cold, trembling lips with his and softly kissed her.
The moonlight was like water, the mist was thick, the lake lapped gently against their entwined forms. They gazed at each other, their eyes travelling over one another’s faces.
Gongzha felt Feng’s body heating up, its gentle movements transmitting information that made his heart leap, and when he felt his own body swell suddenly, he didn’t know quite what to do.
He scooped her up and set her down on a rock by the spring. Then he lay down and stared into her eyes, and she stared back.
He kissed her eyes, her nose, her lips; he heard her happy sighs, felt her twist and gasp faintly in his embrace. Under the light of the moon, the woman on the black rock looked beautiful, so beautiful she made his heart hurt.
He gently entered her. Her light cry of pain sounded like a signal to continue, so he surged onwards, not thinking of anything else.
The moonlight was like silk, and the lake lapped gently against the rocks.
Feng endured the thrusting of the man on top of her. She forgot her pain, she forgot her body even existed; only her heart was present and it was consumed with him. In the moonlight, beside the misty spring, amid Gongzha’s growls the word ‘Cuomu’ crashed out and echoed in her ears.
She didn’t say a word.
Gongzha lifted himself off her, washed her tenderly, then walked with her to the bank, where he rubbed her all over with the scorpion antidote and wrapped her in his chuba. Feng dipped a small towel in the antidote and rubbed him all over. When she felt him becoming erect and his muscles tightening, she blushed. Although she was a mature woman, this was the first time she’d actually been with a man. Gongzha’s fingertip drifted across her face, exploring her eyes, her delicate cheeks; when it reached her soft lips, it stopped.
He gripped her by the waist again, threw the towel in her hand into the bucket, held her close, and with a look that was both dazed and tortured, said, ‘Don’t ever leave me again, woman. Don’t put me through that torment again.’
Feng bit his shoulder and tears rolled down from beneath her lashes. She didn’t know whether he was taking to her or to Cuomu. Her heart was torn, but she was also happy. At the very least, he had accepted her, and eventually he would love her as he had loved Cuomu.
Gongzha dressed quickly, picked up her windcheater and snow-trousers, pulled her by the hand and asked gently, ‘Shall we go back?’
Feng nodded and followed him like an obedient lamb.
*
Two days later, everyone in the valley stood together outside Master Zhamu’s house, staring expectantly at its tightly closed door.
Two clear bells rang out and the door creaked open. Four young monks emerged, wearing new crimson robes draped over their shoulders and carrying the traditional long horns used in Buddhist ceremonies. They stood on either side of the door. Four elders followed, carrying other ritual musical instruments; they took up position in front of the young men, obliging them to take a step back.
A ceremonial yellow parasol filled the doorway: the imperial canopy.
Young and old knelt on the ground, their foreheads pressed to the sand.
Finally, a crimson robe appeared beneath it, advancing slowly into the light until Master Zhamu was revealed. He moved with dignified majesty, his hands bearing a silk-covered tray. In the centre of the tray stood the blue-black Buddha Gongzha had brought. Samu followed behind, his expression solemn.
Generations had waited for this moment. The hope sustained by those generations was realised in that moment.
The ceremonial horns rang out and the other instruments struck up.
Everyone intoned the mantra of the Medicine Buddha together: ‘Tayata Om Bekandze Maha Bekandze Radza Samudgate Soha.’
The horns cleared the way, the canopy began to move, and Master Zhamu bore the Medicine Buddha along the mountain path. Samu followed, drawing Gongzha in with one hand and Feng with the other. Everyone else came on behind, fervently reciting scriptures. Their prayer wheels flashed as they spun in the sunlight.
The lone stone building on the mountaintop dazzled with its white walls and crimson edging. Its courtyard had been repaired, the weeds pulled and the broken rocks removed. The once desolate place, abandoned to the mice and unvisited in years, was now so clean, it made people nod approvingly.
The vermillion door adorned with a white ¤ slowly opened to reveal delicately crafted banners hanging from the ceiling. Butter lamps along the walls emitted a wavering light.
Master Zhamu entered the hall to the solemn lowing of the long horns. His attendants took away the tray and Zhamu lifted the Medicine Buddha high with both hands. He bowed, kept his arms raised, stepped forward quickly, still bowing, and placed the Buddha on a white jade throne; then he stepped back three paces. En masse, the assembled crowd brought their hands together in supplication and touched them to the crowns of their heads, then to their foreheads, then to their hearts; then then prostrated themselves flat on the ground.
Gongzha and Feng did likewise, with sincerity, prostrating themselves five times. This was a physical ceremony, but it was also a baptism for the spirit: pressing heart and body to the ground, lifting your thoughts to the sky, forgetting the world and yourself.
When they had completed all the rites, Master Zhamu turned round to face the crowd. Holding a long khata in his outstretched arms, he bowed deeply to Gongzha and hung the ceremonial scarf around his neck. Then he held Gongzha’s face in his hands and pressed his forehead to Gongzha’s. ‘Thank you, my child. May the Buddha bless you with peace and health. Tashi delek.’
Gongzha brought his palms together and bowed deeply in return.
The monks unfurled a crimson cape and draped it over Zhamu; on the back was printed a white ¤. With their support, Zhamu ascended the glinting, gold-plated throne in the centre of the hall and sat down cross-legged upon it. He looked around at the crowd, composed himself, rang the bell softly, and prepared to lead his people into communion with the Buddha.
Gongzha quietly ushered Feng out of the hall, and the
y sat down together on a rock on the edge of the cliff. As they stared down from their vantage point, they could see the mysterious ¤ on many doors, windows and prayer flags, and even on the stones and incense burners by the side of the path.
Feng pointed to the ¤ on the rock next to them. ‘Did you notice, Zhamu’s cape had the same symbol.’
‘I did. I’d never heard of the Medicine Buddha having a connection with that symbol before. Shall we ask Samu about it if we get the chance?’
Feng nodded and slipped her hand into Gongzha’s. Gongzha squeezed it and turned to look back towards the hall. He didn’t have a clear view of what was going on inside, but he could hear the recitations. Wave after wave of intoned scriptures rolled out, accompanied by the rhythmic ringing out of the instruments. This was a truly pure environment; his spirit had been cleansed.
The recitations stopped suddenly and four monks took tea into the prayer hall. A while later, Samu emerged along with some disciples carrying a teapot and bowls. When he saw Gongzha and Feng, he came over, beaming, poured some tea and offered it to them in the formal way, with both hands. Gongzha and Feng jumped down from the rock, accepted the tea and drank deeply. The disciples refilled the tea bowls and set them down on the rock.
‘Teacher Samu, we… we… have something…’ Gongzha put his palms together and looked at Samu. He wanted to ask him about the story of the ¤, but he didn’t know how to begin. When he’d first arrived there with Feng, seeking their help, Samu had warned them not to wander around and not to tell anyone about the valley. The reason he’d said that was because he didn’t want outsiders intruding on them. Gongzha worried that by asking Samu he might be breaking a taboo, which would not be good.
‘Did you want to ask about this symbol?’ Samu pointed unconcernedly at the marking on the rock.
Gongzha nodded.
‘It’s a long story!’ Samu glanced up at the sky, saw that the sun hadn’t yet reached the tops of the mountains and thought the ceremony in the temple had ended rather prematurely. The story of their valley had indeed once been highly secret, but now that the Medicine Buddha had returned, the long-held taboo no longer pertained. ‘Come with me.’
Gongzha and Feng looked at one another and followed him down the mountain.
When the three of them reached Samu’s small house, Samu sat cross-legged on a cushion and motioned for Gongzha and Feng to do the same.
‘We are the descendants of Nacangdeba. Legend has it that the first clan elder of the Nacangdeba was abandoned by his parents and raised by bears. That bear, which must be the ancestor of your Kaguo, had a white circle on its forehead, and that circle became the symbol of the Nacangdeba. As for the battle with the Jialong, although it seemed like the Jialong won, in truth, no one won. You’ve been to the cave on Mount Chanaluo and you know that the Nacangdeba warriors killed themselves because they had no food or water and refused to become slaves. But actually, one person survived, and that person was the clan elder’s son, Cinuo. He was only twelve at the time, but he joined the soldiers nonetheless. When the others were preparing to end their lives, he happened to be elsewhere, playing with two bear cubs. He lost track of time – he was still a child, after all, and children always love to play. He only discovered the tragedy in the cave when he came back for food. He was terrified. He didn’t dare go down the mountain on his own, so he stayed in the cave, surviving on the mother bear’s milk and the leftover tsampa. After a couple of months, he finally followed the bears out of the cave complex, taking with him the Medicine Buddha and The Epic of King Gesar, only to find that Cuoe Grassland, which had been overrun by the Jialong, was now empty.’
‘How come?’ Gongzha asked in surprise.
‘Plague. A plague had decimated Cuoe Grassland, which was hardly surprising, if you think about it. When the Jialong won their battle with the Nacangdeba, they slaughtered many yaks and sheep for their celebrations. It was almost May, the warmest season on the grassland, and the Jialong were so exultant at their success that they forgot to clean up the battlefield, which would have been littered with many corpses. When the plague appeared, there was little they could do. The clan elder of the Nacangdeba was an expert in traditional medicine, but he’d died in the cave. When Cinuo saw that everyone on the grassland had died, he didn’t dare stay. He knew the clan had sent the women and children to a place near Mount Tajiapu, so he found his way there.’
‘But how did the Medicine Buddha get lost again?’
‘That happened later. After Cinuo came to No Man’s Land, he underwent a long and difficult training and became the most successful of doctors. Because he’d seen two clans wiped out in battle, he swore never to get involved in another war and he had his disciples swear that they too would lead an ascetic, restrained existence for the rest of their lives. Because Cinuo had been able to tame bears since he was a young boy, he still kept company with them after he came to No Man’s Land. But as for how the Medicine Buddha was lost, I’m not very clear about that. I’ve only heard the elders say that Master Cinuo saved an injured herder and that when the herder was healed and left, he stole the Medicine Buddha and The Epic of King Gesar, and the antidote to the scorpion venom was lost with them.’
‘But now Yongxi is the only one who stays by Tajiapu Snow Mountain.’
‘It’s been over a hundred years and the grassland has undergone huge changes. The land is more sandy and stony than it was, and the grassy areas have turned to wilderness. People had no choice but to find someplace new. Some went back to Cuoe Grassland, some went to the scared Dangreyong Lake in Wenbu, and some went to the area of No Man’s Land near Shuanghu.’
‘And you all are…?’
‘We are a group of ascetics who venerate the Medicine Buddha. Master Cinuo was Zhamu’s master. When Master Cinuo left Cuoe Grassland, he made a vow: not to engage in war, to turn his heart to the Buddha, to make the Nacangdeba experts in the study and practice of traditional medicine, and to let the children of different clans grow up healthy in the compassionate love of the Medicine Buddha. Most of the clanspeople left, but a few stayed on to live under his guidance and remain here forever.’
‘And why was that?’
‘The statue of the Medicine Buddha is an ancient treasure left by King Gesar. In the Buddha’s body are hidden two secrets. The first is the formula for the scorpion venom antidote. It’s said that the Medicine Buddha left that himself. This place is teeming with scorpions; if there was no antidote, there’d be almost no way to survive here even if you wanted to. You saw yourselves when you came how everyone kept themselves wrapped up tightly. Despite that, every year there’d always be several people who got stung and died. But now that we have the antidote we don’t need to fear the scorpions.’
‘And the other secret?’
‘It’s said that it had to do with the jewels of Princess Gesar. Although that’s only hearsay; no one’s ever seen them.’ Samu smiled drily. ‘I’ve heard Master Zhamu say that the map to the princess’s treasure is on the Medicine Buddha’s body itself. Although even if you did have the map, the treasure’s in an ice cave and the secret to opening the ice cave is in a book.’
‘A book?’
‘Yes, the book that tells the story of King Gesar. It’s written in gold ink.’
‘Is it this one?’ Gongzha pulled a package wrapped in yellow silk from his chuba and passed it over.
When he opened it, Samu’s eyes widened in excitement; he immediately turned and ran off to the hall.
Gongzha smiled after him, then followed him to the hall, holding Feng’s hand. The crowd parted as they passed, smiling at them and clasping their palms together in respect.
Master Zhamu was looking at The Epic of King Gesar. When he saw Gongzha and Feng, he ordered his two disciples to help him descend from the throne. Smiling softly, he pressed his palms together and bowed deeply.
Gongzha smiled appreciatively and bowed deeply in return. Feng bowed too.
Several disciples stepped forward with
long, ceremonial khatas in their hands; one by one, they hung them round Gongzha’s neck in the traditional display of respect and gratitude. The rest of the crowd followed suit, placing the ritual scarves around his neck one after the other. The silk scarves fluttered, and face after smiling face gazed up at Gongzha and Feng.
It was an otherworldly scene: a dim temple hall, strings of prayer flags suspended from the ceiling, flickering butter lamps, crimson-clad figures, drifting spirals of incense, and the Medicine Buddha set high on the altar looking silently on…
28
At the foot of the great snow mountain stood a little red hill, one peak flapped with prayer flags strung up the year before, above a pile of broken stones used as an occasional incense burner. Feng and Gongzha were on the hill, gazing down at the water lapping gently against the lakeshore. As they sat there deep in silent thought, from far down the valley they heard the howl of a bear and a person screaming in fright.
It didn’t matter where he heard it, Gongzha never failed to recognise that sound. It was that same howl that had fuelled his decade of wandering, a howl he couldn’t wipe from his mind, the howl that had separated him from his beloved Cuomu and sent her to Shambhala.
Gongzha raced down the slope and back to the stone house, dragging Feng with him. Grabbing his gun, he whistled to his old horse, which was grazing by the lakeshore, leapt on it, pulled Feng on after him, cracked his whip and hurtled towards the other valley. Some of the other ascetics were already speeding in the same direction.
In that nearby red-sand river valley, a brown bear with a white circle on its forehead was bellowing in maddened fury as it chased a man dressed in crimson, its howls reaching to the heavens. The man, who had somehow managed to escape the bear’s paws several times, was shrieking, ‘Save me! Someone come…!’ But there was nothing the onlookers could do except shout back.
Gongzha leapt off his horse and helped Feng down.
When the man saw Gongzha, it was like he’d seen his saviour star. He limped towards him, dragging a broken leg, shrieking and crying. ‘Gongzha, save me! It’s me, Ciwang – Ciwang from Cuoe Grassland. I apologise to you; I apologise to Dawa. Oh, Buddha, have mercy on me. Gongzha, save me, I beg you, save me!’
Love In No Man's Land Page 45