The Handsome Monk and Other Stories

by Tsering Dondrup

  Sangyé bought a color TV, a fridge, and a sofa. Now the family was able to watch TV shows in Tibetan, which brought a new joy to their lives. Most popular of all was the “New Year Special” they saw on New Year’s Eve, a kind of variety show that completely captivated their attention. And now they could finally lay their eyes on the comedian Menla Kyab, whom they used to talk about like he was Old Man Earth himself.

  There were two major events at New Year. The first was that their daughter, Lhatso Kyi, was married to Mikyang the harelip. The other was that, in keeping with Yangdzom’s wishes, Lhari Kyi, Lhatso Kyi’s daughter from a previous relationship, would stay with her mother’s family (that is, Sangyé’s family) instead of moving in with the new husband. This was on the condition that she would be sent to school when the new term began in the autumn.

  SIX

  Spring arrived. All at once, men and women in what seemed like their thousands descended upon the Tsezhung county seat. They had come to do all manner of jobs: digging for caterpillar fungus, building houses, constructing highways. In the blink of an eye the grasslands, normally as still as yogurt, began to seethe like boiling water.

  The meat, butter, cheese, and dung that Sangyé’s family had brought from Black Fox Valley had gradually been used up. Now Sangyé and Ludrön had to take turns going to town for supplies almost every day, and what’s more the price of food went up with each trip. As Sangyé was also looking for a job in town, a mile’s journey away, getting a motorbike became an urgent necessity. Nomads, who love to exaggerate, have a saying about thieves: “As soon as you bend over, they’ll steal your balls.” In reality, though, what thieves really like isn’t balls, but bikes. If you didn’t want to offer up your motorbike to the thieves, then you pretty much had to keep it locked up in the house day and night. The three-room house, which at first had seemed huge and spacious, was now filled not only with their previous belongings but also with all the new things they’d bought since moving in, making the place incredibly cramped. Sangyé was left with no choice but to remove that big toilet, which was no use whatsoever, and put it outside.

  “My god!” When the red-haired cadre who had given Sangyé his keys and house number arrived, she cried out in horror. “They’ve thrown the bloody matong outside! My god … and the shicha is coming tomorrow. My god … what a disaster, an absolute disaster! These people will be the death of me!” She paced back and forth, having no clue what to do.

  Sangyé was petrified. He stood rooted to the spot with his mouth hanging open. “It’s just taking up space, it’s completely useless …” said Ludrön.

  “Even if it’s useless, we still need to show it to the shicha when he comes! My god … this is no good. I’m done for!”

  Ludrön was about to continue when Sangyé cried out, “Oh dear, oh dear, what on earth are we going to do?” He looked at the red-haired woman imploringly, as though hoping to take holy refuge with her.

  “Do your dad’s head! Go and fetch a gongren to reinstall it, quick. If the shicha sees this I’m done for.”

  “A gongren?”

  “Yes, yes! Get a workman. And quick!”

  Sangyé jumped right on his bike and headed for town. Without even asking the price he handed over one hundred yuan and got someone to come back with him. This man mixed one handful of cement with a couple of sand and reinstalled the toilet. When Sangyé thought about the red-haired woman’s expression, he felt that the imminent arrival of the so-called “shicha” must be a truly terrifying thing. Filled with anxiety, he plucked his moustache ceaselessly and paced back and forth from the house to the gate.

  Though the wind had grown so fierce you could hardly open your eyes, Jamyang still spent the whole day sitting on the doorstep spinning his prayer wheel. He stared into the corner of the yard where the dog used to be, growing more and more silent by the day. Sometimes Yangdzom would plop herself in front of him, raising a cloud of dust, and say a couple of words. But apart from a few monosyllabic responses, he paid little attention to her. She could do nothing but sit for a while, then hoist herself up in another cloud of dust, go back inside, and keep watching TV. She didn’t care whether the show was in Chinese or Tibetan, just so long as there was something to look at. She didn’t really understand the formal Tibetan they spoke on television either, but she still loved to watch. For her, at least, it was easier to get through the days than it was for Jamyang.

  Sangyé was still worried about this “shicha.” Finally, accompanied by a flock of county and township officials, cameramen, and photographers, he arrived. But he was not at all as terrifying as Sangyé had imagined; on the contrary, he was a kind and gentle man, round-bellied and wreathed in smiles just like those Chinese statues of the Buddha you always see. No matter what was said to him, he would respond with a “Ha ha ha! Hao hao hao! Good good good!” Even when he took a cursory glance at the useless toilet, the toilet that served no purpose whatsoever but taking up space, his reaction was nothing but a “Hao hao!” Only then did Sangyé calm down.

  After the kind and gentle shicha and his entourage had left, all the other families eventually removed their toilets and dumped them outside, but this time the red-haired woman didn’t seem to care. After a few days had passed, Sangyé too plucked up his courage and once again dumped the toilet back outside.

  SEVEN

  After two months of continuous gales there came the sleet, which gradually became an endless downpour. So much water leaked from the roofs of the houses in Happy Ecological Resettlement Village that they became unlivable. Even worse, as the water flowed down all four walls, outside and in, the residents discovered that the hollow bricks had been stuck together not with cement but with clay. Black muddy water stripped off all the whitewash, leaving the houses completely naked, and cracks began to appear all over the bricks. This posed a serious threat to the portraits of the Party leaders stuck on the wall, and Sangyé was forced to take them down.

  “We saved up all this zee-chow money for a house like this? And I heard the government’s subsidy was even more than what we paid,” fumed Ludrön. “The adobe houses in Black Fox Valley were ugly, but they never leaked. And they were warm too. Mom and Dad are going to freeze to death in this place!” All of a sudden, she was struck by an idea. “Hey, why don’t we pitch the tent in the yard and put a stove in there?”

  “We … I suppose we could do that. But …” Sangyé plucked his moustache. “But what will the red-haired woman say?”

  “Listen to yourself. You make it sound like she’s our boss! She damn well should have something to say if she comes to see this place. It’s unbelievable, paying all that zee-chow money for a house like this!”

  “I swear on the sutras … I’m terrified of that red-haired woman.”

  “What’s there to be afraid of? If you’re scared, then I’ll go.” Ludrön got up and went straight out the door. In truth, she didn’t really know if she had the courage to confront the red-haired woman, but having so fearlessly declared to her husband that she would, she was left with no choice. Fortunately, when she got to the red-haired woman’s office, the Tsezhung township secretary and other officials, along with a big crowd of nomads, were already gathered there. One of the officials who knew Tibetan was telling them that they’d already sent a report up to the county Party committee and the county government, and that the county Party committee and the county government were taking this matter very seriously indeed, and that when this bad weather had passed they would absolutely fix every single one of the houses. He entreated the broad masses to have patience in this matter.

  “In that case, there’s nothing more to say. Praise be to the Party and the nation,” said a young man with a hoarse voice, seemingly on behalf of the assembled group. He walked out the door, followed in succession by the others.

  Ludrön returned home with a smile on her face and reported to the family. “The leaders said to be patient for a few days and they’ll fix the house as soon as they can.”

  �
�The Party and the nation truly are like our mother and father!” Jamyang, who had been silent for some time now, finally opened his mouth to speak, his face a picture of joy. Sangyé stopped plucking his moustache and said, “I’ll go the county seat and get some mutton. This town, it’s really amazing. They sell lovely fatty mutton, even in spring!”

  The heavy rain finally stopped. On every house, about five inches of moss had sprouted haphazardly at the feet of the sun-facing walls. Repair work began on the houses of the Ecological Resettlement Villages surrounding the Tsezhung county seat, which were now even larger and more numerous than before. The method of repairing the houses was extremely simple: they removed the tiles from the roof, laid down a few plastic sheets, spread about half an inch of black soil on top, then replaced the tiles. After that they coated the walls in a layer of cement about the thickness of the back of a knife, slapped on some whitewash, quickly repainted the vermillion and white decorations, and that was that. Finally, a group of shicha who said they were from the prefecture arrived, pronounced it “Very good,” and left. Apparently it was indeed very good. For a while after that not a drop of water leaked in, no matter how heavily it rained. But, much to everyone’s surprise, when the spring rains came the next year, the very same thing happened again.

  Once more, the nomads gathered at the red-haired woman’s office. Some demanded the return of their down payments and said that they were going back to the grasslands.

  The county Party committee and the county government were taking this matter very seriously indeed. They said that they would repair all of the houses for free. Sadly, their method of repairing the houses was precisely the same as the one they had used the year before. The nomads called this method “spreading mud on shit.”

  EIGHT

  In the Tsezhung county seat, dung sellers were becoming more and more rare, but sellers of another kind of fuel were becoming more and more common. This fuel was coal, a substance that in the past had been the exclusive privilege of the Tsezhung county seat’s high officials and wealthy work units. The price of coal was so high that the nomads referred to it as the “expensive black rock.” Not only was it expensive, it was also dangerous. In Happy Ecological Resettlement Village alone, nine people from three different families had died of carbon monoxide poisoning. Once, four cadres from the county seat were drinking beer together and passed out in a drunken haze. One of them woke up thirsty in the middle of the night and staggered to the stove to grab the kettle, but he didn’t put it back properly, leaving the door of the stove open. In the morning, all four were found dead. Tales such as this were a constant source of terror for the residents of Happy Ecological Resettlement Village. By the grace of the Three Jewels, no such tragedy had befallen Sangyé’s family. Still, they were running out of money fast, and on top of that, about a third of the expensive black rock they’d bought recently had turned out to be nonflammable rocks and pebbles. As Sangyé fell deep into thought and plucked his moustache, Ludrön said, “The butter you bought the other day had completely gone off. Yesterday Dad ate some tsampa with butter in it, and he said he had a stomachache the whole day. This morning he had to eat plain black tsampa. You didn’t even check if it was fresh …”

  “Didn’t check if it was fresh?” Sangyé interrupted her. “Fresh butter’s as expensive as the heavens!” He plucked his moustache irritably.

  “I think it’s time to sell the saddle. What’s the point of having a saddle when you haven’t got a horse?”

  “Don’t you know the saying ‘The horse is easy come, the saddle’s hard won’?”

  “Well, what about ‘If you’re blessed with the horse, the saddle’s easy to source’?”

  “Maybe it’s easy to get an ordinary saddle, but mine’s no ordinary saddle.”

  “Well anyway, if we can’t get any fresh butter, it’s going to be tough for us, let alone Mom and Dad.”

  “Doesn’t matter how tough it is. Without the pasture compensation money, there’s nothing I can do.”

  “Tea with no milk, rancid butter—the poor old things.”

  “Let me go buy some milk.” Who knows if Sangyé felt sorry for the old folks or was just tired of Ludrön’s grumbling. Either way, as he got to the door, he saw his son Gendün Gyatso enter the yard.

  It seemed as though Gendün Gyatso grasped the whole situation just from seeing his parents’ faces. He greeted his grandparents and gave them each a kiss, and without even sitting down he pulled two thousand yuan from his pocket and placed it in his father’s hands.

  A lot of monks and nuns nowadays are returning to lay life, and when they do, many of the young men gamble and steal, while many of the young women turn to prostitution. In Happy Ecological Resettlement Village alone, five or six men had been arrested and three or four women had disappeared just in the last two years. Not only had four or five monks returned to lay life, one of them actually went back to his monastery and stole a precious black thangka of Pelden Lhamo that was even older than the monastery itself. He got caught as he was preparing to make his getaway and was still in jail. Various shocking events such as this had occurred, and they continued to occur. But Gendün Gyatso dedicated himself solely to prayer and the cultivation of merit. He declined the extravagant lifestyle led by other monks, instead saving up all the alms donated by the faithful and using them to help his family. When he thought of all this, Sangyé wanted to squeeze Gendün Gyatso to his chest and kiss him. But not having kissed his son once since he’d grown up, he felt it would be awkward to do it now. Feeling so moved that he might cry, Sangyé excused himself by saying that he was going to buy some meat.

  Ludrön followed him out the door, shouting, “Don’t forget to buy a bottle of milk! But don’t get it from the store by the gung-shang-joo, it’s all fake!” This fake milk came in all varieties; the most common was the kind that had been mixed with water and skimmed, as well as the kind that was yak milk passed off as cow milk. There was one kind even demons couldn’t think up: during the hot summer months, people would put antibiotics in the milk to stop it from turning.

  Sangyé, revving the engine of his bike, didn’t seem to hear her. In any case, he didn’t respond. “He’s going to get fake milk again,” Ludrön mumbled to herself as she turned to go back inside. She saw her father, Jamyang, staring at the corner where the dog used to be, and tugged at his sleeve. “Dad, let’s go inside.”

  NINE

  As soon as Jamyang entered the house, Gendün Gyatso rose to greet him. Jamyang cast an eye over his grandson and asked, “Who is this monk?”

  Gendün Gyatso, completely taken aback, looked over at Ludrön. “Grandpa’s confused,” she whispered. At that point, Yangdzom intervened. “Ah tsi, what’s the matter with this old man? It’s your grandson, the monk! He came to say hello to you just now, remember?” But Jamyang didn’t accept this at all; in fact, he grew angry. “Ah tsi, when did our little monk get here? Why didn’t you come say hello to your grandpa?” Gendün Gyatso, not knowing whether to laugh or cry, could only put his arms around his grandpa and give him a kiss. Only then did Jamyang, seemingly satisfied, sit down on the floor.

  “Your grandpa’s confused,” Ludrön whispered again. “Every evening he stands in the doorway saying things like ‘Have you fed the dog?’ ‘Is the old brown dzo back in her pen?’ ‘Tie up the old gray horse with the black one that always bends its head.’ I don’t even remember us having any animals like that. I asked your grandma, and she said that the old brown dzo, the old gray horse, and the black one that always bends its head were all animals they had when they were young.…” Her words were flowing like water, but she was brought to a halt when little Lhari Kyi flung open the door and rushed in, panting. “Is Uncle here?”

  Before Gendün Gyatso could say anything, Ludrön cut in. “Ah tsi, what are you doing home from school so early?”

  Lhari Kyi put down her backpack, and in a mix of Tibetan and Chinese announced two unrelated items of news. The first was that the roof of one
of the classrooms had caved in, crushing two children to death and injuring four more. The second was that yesterday a student had gone into one of the teacher’s houses and stolen some money, and the teacher had beaten him black and blue. So today the kid’s older brother had gotten some of his friends together, and they’d beaten the teacher until he couldn’t stand.

  “The xiaozhang said we didn’t have to shang ke today,” said Lhari Kyi, concisely concluding her explanation of why they were released from school early.

  “Ah ho! What if our little baby had been crushed … that’s it, no more school from now on!” said Yangdzom with an iron resolve, squeezing Lhari Kyi tightly to her breast. Of all the members of the family, she was most attached to Lhari Kyi. When Lhatso Kyi had married into another family, Yangdzom had been absolutely insistent that the child not be taken away, and she’d also been reluctant to send her off to school. For this reason she now seized the opportunity before her in the hope that that she could keep Lhari Kyi by her side day and night.