Dukkar Tsering held the horse’s muzzle fast with his left hand, and with his right removed the old man’s foot from the stirrup. Orgyen sat, cradling his head.
Some blood was dripping from Orgyen’s nose and mouth, but apart from that he didn’t seem to be badly hurt. “Good boy, if it weren’t for you I’d be roaming the bardo right now,” he said after a moment of rest, enunciating every syllable.
“Let’s get back to the county seat and take you to a doctor.”
“No, I think I’m fine. Here, give me a hand, let’s see if I can stand.”
Orgyen managed to stand without any difficulty, and as he paced back and forth by himself, he said, “My boy, it’s about time for an old man like me to pass on, but as you know, my parents are still alive. There’s nothing more terrible than losing your son when you’re eighty years old, so I can’t go yet. For that reason I will never forget your kindness.”
As he gathered up the nose rings that had been tossed all over the place, Dukkar Tsering felt ashamed and terrified of the foolish, fearful notions he’d just had in his head. “That rabbit saved your life. That rabbit saved my life too. That rabbit was a bodhisattva, and no mistake,” he blurted.
“What? That harelip rabbit almost killed me!”
“…”
“Tomorrow I’m going to tell everyone in the camp about how you saved my life, and I’ll get them all to help you out again. But you should really give up gambling for real this time.”
“If I gamble again, then I’m truly not a man, I’m a dog. Swear on the Three Jewels,” Dukkar Tsering vowed both willingly and resolutely.
“Excellent. ‘A good man keeps his word and a jackal follows its tracks.’ ”
“Just you wait and see. I won’t need any help this time. I’ll pay off my debt through my own hard work.”
“That’s good. But regardless, I still need to repay you somehow.”
Just then, a conchlike full moon appeared in the sky and illuminated the vast landscape as though it were the middle of the day.
Dukkar Tsering helped old Orgyen onto his horse and led it away. The thousand-pound burden that had been weighing him down seemed to disappear without a trace and, filled with happiness, he couldn’t help but sing:
Over the mountain peak in the east
the clear white moon rises,
and the face of my beloved
appears in my heart again.
12
BROTHERS
Chökyong Tashi’s older brother, Dukkar Tsering, was only forty-five years old, but his hair, short like a monk’s, was already ashen gray. His red-rimmed eyes were ashen gray just like his hair, and his swarthy features were covered in wrinkles that looked as though they’d been scribbled on by a naughty child, all of which gave you the impression that he must be a man of at least fifty. When he was thirteen, their father had contracted liver disease and become as thin as a hungry ghost. He’d hung on for the best part of a year, enduring unbearable agony, before finally passing away. As Dukkar Tsering was the oldest of the three siblings, the weight of the entire family’s affairs fell on his adolescent shoulders, and it’s not hard to imagine just how tough this was for him.
Every time Chökyong Tashi was bullied by other kids, Dukkar Tsering’s eyes turned red and his chest heaved with rage, and wiping away Chökyong Tashi’s tears, he squeezed him to his chest and led him home. If his brother or sister had a fever or a toothache, Dukkar Tsering took them to the hospital or brought a doctor to see them, day or night, and regardless of the weather. Whenever he went to the county seat he bought a new shirt or a new pair of shoes for his sister, mother, or brother, without ever replacing his own tattered old shirt, causing his mother to shed tears of happiness, or perhaps of sorrow. In his pure, artless mind Chökyong Tashi thought that his brother was the best person in the world and that when he grew up he would repay his kindness. After he did get older and a bit wiser, he heard people say that the hardest thing in the world to repay was a parent’s kindness, but as far he was concerned, it wasn’t his parents’ kindness, but his brother’s.
As time went by they all grew older, and Chökyong Tashi’s older sister, Rinchen Kyi, married into the Dzongön family, a clan from the lower reaches of the Machu river. Though the Dzongön were historically a branch of the four major clans of Tsezhung, after the Communist Party took power the Dzongön clan fell under the jurisdiction of another province. Nevertheless, their traditional ties continued unbroken in the form of a mutual exchange of brides and grooms.
Not a year after that, Dukkar Tsering himself married a woman from the Dzongön clan. She was a very petite, crimson-cheeked woman, but despite her stature she went about her labors with an inexhaustible supply of strength, and with another, even more inexhaustible supply of strength she dictated her husband’s every thought and action. Before long she established a total monopoly of power over the household. She began to treat her mother-in-law as an inanimate object instead of a living thing, forcing the old lady to place all her hopes for care in her twilight years in Chökyong Tashi. “Mama’s little darling, get yourself a woman soon, Mama wants to move in with you,” she kept saying to him.
A few years later Chökyong Tashi finally got himself a wife and established his own household, but not only did his brother refuse to give him his rightful share of the family land, livestock, and property, he also said that if their mother didn’t remain in her own home he’d become the subject of people’s gossip.
“Well, how about we just let Mom decide?” This was the first time that Chökyong Tashi had put forward an opinion that conflicted with his brother’s.
“What?” spat his brother angrily. “You shameless little shit! Have you forgotten everything I did to raise you?” he yelled, working himself up into a rage.
“No, I haven’t, and that’s exactly why I said nothing when you didn’t give me my fair share of the inheritance.”
“Your fair share of the inheritance? Haha! Sounds like you think you should be the one living in the old house.”
At this point their mother issued a horrible moan. “If neither of you will give me a place to live, then I’ll go and live with my daughter.” As she prepared to head off to the Dzongön clan, she was accosted by some of her neighbors and the community elders, who urged her to stay at Dukkar Tsering’s house. Dukkar Tsering should get his wife under control and take care of his mother, they added, and offered to mediate the dispute.
The tangible outcome of this mediation amounted to nothing more than conferring ownership of their mother’s land and livestock on Dukkar Tsering, who did absolutely nothing to get his wife under control, forcing his mother to spend most of her time at Chökyong Tashi’s house. Eventually, unable to stand it any longer, she moved to Chökyong Tashi’s place for good, “empty hands stuck in her armpits and empty bowl stuck in her pocket,” as the saying goes. After that, Chökyong Tashi told his brother that he ought to transfer their mother’s share of land over to him, but his brother wouldn’t hear of it. “It was you who put Mom up to this and got her to move to your place, giving me a bad name,” he said. “Everyone knows your game is to get Mom’s share of the land and property all for yourself. But I won’t let you take it. Go report me to whoever you like.” Chökyong Tashi realized that right from the beginning his brother had been like the man who’s thinking not of the yak, but of the meat: what he wanted wasn’t his mom, but her land. This must have been the idea of that red-faced wife of his, he thought. He lost all hope for his brother, and the two of them didn’t speak for over ten years.
During those years the Dzongön clan began to encroach more and more on the territory of Tsezhung with each passing day and month, flagrantly eating away their grass and wantonly drinking up their water. Both the local authorities and the people of Tsezhung lodged numerous complaints with their Dzongön counterparts, but in the end they responded by claiming that more than a quarter of the present territory of Tsezhung formerly belonged to the Dzongön clan and there
fore should be theirs to use. Apparently the population of the farming villages in the lower reaches of the Machu had been expanding rapidly, and they had been muscling their way into the Dzongön’s territory as the months and years passed, leaving the Dzongön clan with little choice but to themselves encroach on the land of the Tsezhung clan. So the two sides began to offer large sums of money for the acquisition of rifles. In the autumn of the past year, nine men of the Dzongön clan had been killed, and six had been killed on the Tsezhung side. From that point on, any man or animal that crossed over the mountain pass with the cairn or the other borders that divided the two sides never came back, and guerilla ambushes and the theft of livestock became commonplace.
The pastures belonging to Dukkar Tsering and his brother were both connected to the mountain pass with the cairn, meaning that the last few years hadn’t given them enough peace to even enjoy a quiet cup of tea.
As Chökyong Tashi, lugging a rusty 7.9mm rifle that must have been buried under the mountain pass for decades, was grazing his meager, mixed-up herd of sheep and cattle, he saw ten or so yaks running straight toward the pass, tails sticking up over their buttocks. Thinking that he should stop the herd, he mounted his horse and cantered toward them, but when he got there he realized that the yaks were in fact his brother’s. He was immediately brought back to the years of terrible treatment he and his mother had endured at the hands of Dukkar Tsering and that wife of his, and he turned his horse back around, feeling the rage build inside him.
Dukkar Tsering was riding a black dzo, spurring it on with stirrups and whip in an effort to catch up with his herd, but the yaks were still about a quarter mile away from him and running even faster than before. He looked on helplessly as they disappeared over the tip of the mountain pass with the cairn. Incredibly, Dukkar Tsering, casting his brother an angry glare, continued to ride after his herd without a moment’s hesitation. Now Chökyong Tashi looked on helplessly as his brother neared the pass.
Ah ho, he’s really going over the pass, and he’s not carrying a gun! His kid probably took that busted rifle to go guard some other bit of land. Chökyong Tashi felt a sudden wave of alarm and regret. What am I thinking? My brother’s always been so good to me. With these thoughts running through his mind, he spurred his horse onward.
Just after Dukkar Tsering disappeared over the pass, a gunshot rang out and a prolonged echo filled the air. A flock of wild doves resting on the sunny side of the peak shot into the air, and after circling once, landed back on the shady side of the mountain.
Chökyong Tashi urged on his horse with his spurs and his whip. A succession of images from his childhood appeared before him—his brother guiding him by the hand, lifting him onto his back, kissing him on the head, ruffling his hair, bringing new clothes home for him—and he didn’t think to take his rifle from his back, didn’t give a thought to the terrible guns on the other side. As soon as he disappeared over the pass, another gunshot rang out and another prolonged echo filled the air. The flock of doves resting on the shady side of the mountain shot into the air, and after circling once, landed back on the sunny side of the peak.
This was an afternoon in the middle of summer. The earth kept on spinning, and the birds and bugs kept on singing and dancing.
A few days later a woman came over the mountain pass with a yak in tow—it was Rinchen Kyi. The yak was loaded on both sides with the putrid corpses of the two brothers, Dukkar Tsering and Chökyong Tashi.
13
THE LAST MAN TO CARE FOR HIS PARENTS
As the photojournalist was hunting for the last remaining wild musk deer on the Qinghai-Tibet plateau, a fierce storm rolled in and drove him to the home of a local nomad named Tsetar Bum, where he took shelter for the night.
A few days later he penned an article entitled “The Last Man to Care for His Parents,” which he published in the newspaper and online. In the article he wrote about how Tsetar Bum was an ordinary nomad of Tsezhung County who lived in a ten-yard-square mud hut that he called his “house,” which was located in a remote valley sixty miles from the county seat. He was about thirty years old, but he’d never actually been to this county seat. His father was bedridden, and Tsetar Bum had been helping him go to the toilet for over ten years. His mother had been blind for nine years. After his parents became like this, Tsetar Bum’s wife took the kids and left. Tsetar Bum had a younger sister and a younger brother, but his sister had long since left to get married and his brother had long since left to become a monk. Tsetar Bum relied on the meager income he received from renting out his land to take care of his invalid parents and to lead an ascetic life of chanting and religious practice, free from any ill will whatsoever.
Shortly thereafter reporters from across the land, extremely dubious of the story, gathered in Tsezhung County like clouds in the autumn. The County Party Committee not only arranged for the head of the Propaganda Department to personally escort the reporters to Tsetar Bum’s house, they also had him personally translate for them. The scene was just like a press conference organized for a major affair of state. The press pack jostled with one another and shot their hands in the air, and whoever was given permission by the head of the Propaganda Department directed their question to Tsetar Bum.
Reporter A: “Mr. Tsetar Bum, are you aware that, in the present era, you are probably the only person in the whole world who takes care of his parents?”
“The only person in the whole world? Three Jewels, that’s completely impossible.”
Reporter B: “Mr. Tsetar Bum, what is your reason for taking care of your parents?”
“Ah tsi, what are you talking about? I’ve never heard of needing a reason to take care of your parents.”
Reporter C: “Mr. Tsetar Bum, it is my understanding that you also have a sister and a brother. If that’s true, wouldn’t it be better for the three of you to at least take turns looking after your parents?”
“Take turns? I’ve never heard of such a thing. If you have the chance to take care of your parents, it’s your good fortune for accumulating merit. Besides, my sister left to get married ages ago, so she belongs to another family now. My brother’s taken his vows and wears the robes of a monk. How could I possibly expect him to wipe someone’s butt?”
Reporter D: “Mr. Tsetar Bum, in that case, do your sister and brother provide you with any support?”
“Of course they do. My sister makes me tsampa and brings me butter and cheese and yogurt and milk. And my brother buys me salt and tea.”
Reporter E: “Mr. Tsetar Bum, it is my understanding that your county seat has an old people’s home. Why don’t you send your parents there? That way you could get married, have kids, have a happy life.”
“These people’s questions are so strange. Why would a son send his parents to an old people’s home if he’s still alive? Heh, if I get married and have a kid, and he sends me to an old folks’ home when I get old, isn’t that just so he can have a happy life himself?”
Reporter F: “Mr. Tsetar Bum, I have a rather impolite question. Does your brain work normally? Have you ever been to see a doctor? My apologies.”
“Heh, if it’s true that I’m the only person in the whole world who takes care of his parents … heh, then I think my brain works more normally than anyone’s.”
Reporter G: “Mr. Tsetar Bum, it is my understanding that you haven’t been outside of this place once in twenty or thirty years, and that you’ve never even been to the county seat. There have been enormous changes in the outside world in the last thirty years; don’t you want to go and see what it’s like?”
“Heh, sounds like one of those changes is that I’ve become the only one who takes care of his parents. Three Jewels, I couldn’t stomach seeing changes like that.”
The reporters fell silent. In their minds this scruffy nomad had gradually transformed into some sort of dazzling international dignitary. For a moment they became overawed, and no one dared ask another question.
Plucking up his courage
, the final reporter asked, “Are your actions the fruits of Tsezhung County’s long propaganda campaign to promote Spiritual Civilization?”
“I don’t understand this question,” Tsetar Bum said to the head of the Propaganda Department.
“He said, ‘That goes without saying,’ ” the head of the Propaganda Department translated for the reporters.
Following a vigorous publicity drive by the reporters and a concerted campaign of self-aggrandizement by the Propaganda Department, Tsezhung County was awarded the title of Nationwide Leading County in Spiritual Civilization.
14
BLACK FOX VALLEY
ONE
About forty miles north of the Tsezhung county seat was a mountain pass with a small cairn and a few strings of prayer flags. If you looked out from the pass, you would see a valley opening to the north covered in a rich variety of dense thickets. In the middle of the valley, in a marsh about the size of a sheep pen, gushing springs were dotted all around, their waters merging and forming a clear stream that flowed down through the center of the vale. In July and August, its deep reaches became a dense wilderness of shrubs—spiraea, black and white dasiphora, rhododendrons—each with a variety of flowers blooming atop them. Up on the ridges, edelweiss and stellera grew by the bunch, and gentians bloomed in the autumn. Both banks of the stream in the middle of the valley were covered in wolfsbane, lousewort and long tube lousewort, maroon snow lotus, and all sorts of other flowers. On the smooth grasslands down at the foot of the valley grew leopard plants, knotweed, lamiophlomis, white snow lotus, black and white gentians, Himalayan aster, Tibetan dandelions, white wormwood, potentilla, and countless other things that even someone who could boast of being an expert in botany would be hard pressed to identify. Every few days, the hues of the landscape transformed and a new variety of fragrances filled the air. If the “Thousand Lotus Pasture” described in the Epic of Gesar really exists, then it must be this very place.
The Handsome Monk and Other Stories Page 16