The Disparaging Laughter of Tsechu River

This small monastery, perched on the sunny side of Black Mountain, lay strewn with rubble and debris only a few years ago. It has since been rebuilt with a shrine room, an assembly hall, a mani (prayer wheel) temple, a stupa, and more. Over thirty resident monks now compete to build comfortable quarters, the grandest of which belongs to Alak Drong Tsang [Alak is the Amdo term for a reincarnate lama or tulku]. Although he is not 50 yet, Alak Drong Tsang’s head has already turned red, with only some hair left around his neck. Thus, when poetically praising him, it would be an insult to call him “bald,” so one can say a man with a “hairy neck.” Apart from the triangular eyes on his very round face and, especially, a pair of thick and large ears, often recognized as “signs of holy beings,” nothing seems remarkable.

He is renowned, however, because his previous incarnation was said to have “shown signs of accomplishment.” So most people in this region devote themselves to him, paying bodily respect and taking him as an object of refuge for this and the next lives. Yet it is true that, as Alak Drong Tsang often repeats, “there is no pleasure in this world!” Another tulku at Dedan Monastery, who also claimed to be the reincarnation of Drong Tsang, had long been the cause of Alak Drong Tsang’s “lack of pleasure.” Fortunately for him, that rival passed away last fall. So Alak Drong Tsang’s mind finally found some peace.

The shadow side of Black Mountain is a winter pasture for the Dragnag community. When the grass remains sufficient, they stay there into the spring. The people are deeply devoted to the dharma, especially Ama Gonkyi and her daughter Lutso, who receive annual government assistance to alleviate hardship. They often offer milk and yogurt to Alak Drong Tsang, in hopes of getting special care from him.

Spring announces itself when the ice on the Tsechu River melts, its waters circling the mountain clockwise toward the monastery’s bank, and the beautiful songs of the cuckoos echo from the slopes.

One morning, Lutso told her mother about the toothache she had suffered the previous night. “Then go and prostrate!” her mother replied. Lutso set Alak Drong Tsang’s portrait against a stone, straightened her body, pressed her palms together, and performed a hundred prostrations in a flash. In moving so quickly, she nearly lost her breath and had to take deep breaths repeatedly.

“Daughter, take this yogurt to the Compassionate One when you finish your prostrations,” Ama Gonkyi said, coming out with a milk vessel. “And tell him about your toothache, perhaps there are some healing rituals that can be performed.”

Lutso took off her fur-lined coat and put on a dark brown summer chuba. Carrying the milk vessel, she reached a mountain pass, following the path that led from the sunny side of Black Mountain to its shadowed slope. The sky was so clear that it held not a single cloud, not even as tiny as a bird’s head, and the sun moved slowly, shining brightly over the ridgeline. With a light heart, she descended toward the monastery.

Alak Drong Tsang had just woken up when Lutso arrived. She prostrated to him three times and then mentioned how she couldn’t sleep last night because of a sudden toothache. At 17 years old, though not particularly pretty, Lutso had a full-grown body with rounded breasts, large eyes, and thin lips.

Staring at the curve of her chest beneath the chuba, Alak Drong Tsang thought to himself, “I haven’t performed my secret practice for a long time.” Swallowing his saliva, he said, “Come here, let me see!” He held her cheeks with his hands and pulled her toward his lap, saying, “Open your mouth.” She pulled her neck back, closed her eyes, and opened her small lips.

“Let the honorable one blow into your mouth as a blessing,” he said. (Others usually address him in honorific terms, but when hurried or nervous, he is accustomed to using such expressions for himself.)

The Tsechu River laughs in a disparaging way.

---

Alak Drong Tsang hastily ate a bowl of tsampa and some deep-fried bread. Unsatiated, he started eating the yogurt Lutso brought. Suddenly, in that moment, he remembered that he had been invited to Tsetan Gyal’s house to conduct prayers for his old mother, who recently passed away. Putting the yogurt aside, he packed a few prayer books and set out along the narrow path.

Tsetan Gyal’s family is the wealthiest in the Dedan community, and he himself is an honest man. But his father, when he was alive, would often say to Tsetan, “It’s more accurate to call you stupid than honest.” As ever, Tsetan Gyal continues to do whatever others ask of him.

“Compassionate One, I deeply regret that I could not repay my mother’s kindness while she was alive. But I feel relieved to have invited you. Even if she lacks the merit to be lifted into the pure land, please think of her so she does not take rebirth in the lower realms and may regain a pure human body.” Tsetan Gyal offered these prepared words as soon as Alak Drong Tsang arrived.

“Don’t worry. Just watch.” Alak Drong Tsang repeated what he usually says to families of the deceased. Like most lamas who guide the dead, he chanted scriptures briefly and departed after receiving offerings.

Lutso did not know that anyone in her community had died that morning. Upon return from the monastery, she saw a crowd gather around Tsetan Gyal’s house. Forgetting her toothache, she went over as well. Not long after, Alak Drong Tsang also arrived. Her face flushed, and she slipped away to her home. At a time when everyone was busy mourning, who would notice a change of color in one person’s face, even if it had turned green?

At dusk, the shepherds had gathered all the animals, except those called “mountain escapers,” animals that do not return to their pens. A gentle breeze drew smoke from the nomad tents at the foot of the settlement, resembling a block of mist.

Gonkyi and her daughter returned home. While they were having dinner, Ama Gonkyi suddenly asked, “Daughter, is your tooth still aching? What did the Compassionate One say?”

“Um . . . to . . . tooth . . .?” Lutso set her bowl aside. “It doesn’t hurt anymore,” she said.

“What did the Compassionate One say?”

“Um . . . the Compassionate One? Oh . . . he blew into my mouth as a blessing.”

As usual, Gonkyi sent her daughter to deliver food to Alak Drong Tsang. The girl repeatedly showed her reluctance to go, which angered her mother. “Listen, daughter! You should be happy to have the chance to serve food to a lama in this lifetime. That attitude will only accumulate negative karma. Don’t act like this again,” she scolded.

The Tsechu River laughs in a disparaging way.

At a time when everyone was busy mourning, who would notice a change of color in one person’s face, even if it had turned green?

---

Time passed swiftly. Summer slipped away, and the end of autumn is near. Hilltops turned golden, like the hair of Russian girls. Wind swept through the dried grasses and weeds. The Dragnag families returned to their winter pasture: Some drove herds of sheep, others led yaks or horses, while elders and children followed behind with pack animals.

A nomad saying goes, “Monks slaughter autumn sheep, and brides steal autumn yogurt.” Some monks at the monastery looked forward to the fatty mutton and rich yogurt their patrons might bring, with their mouths watering. Whenever they spotted any traveler with a talen bag coming down from the pass, they hurried out to greet them with smiles. Yet most travelers asked, “Is the Compassionate One here?” and headed straight to Alak Drong Tsang’s house. The monks often pretended to step outside to relieve themselves by briefly sitting on the ground; when they returned inside, their smiles faded.

Day by day, Alak Drong Tsang grew more content. Yet, as Chekhov says, “How many unimaginable things there are in the world!” Today, he encountered one such thing. His ears, or the “holy marks,” stood upright, the hair on his neck bristled, and his triangular eyes widened: He had just learned that Lutso was pregnant after one of her visits to deliver food to him.

“You . . .” After a long pause, he asked, “Are you pregnant?”

Lutso’s face flushed. She lowered her head and stayed silent.

“Who is the child’s father?”

“Alas . . .”

“Have you told anyone?”

“No.”

“Good. Then there’s no problem.”

But Lutso explained how harshly the one-child policy was enforced in practice, and how difficult life had become for her family. She repeated what her mother had said: “Tell me who the father is, and we’ll try to convince him to marry you. If not, we’ll give the child to him after birth.” As she spoke, Lutso began to cry. Alak Drong Tsang grew nervous. Rubbing his mala, he uttered, “In that case, ask your mother to come here. I’ll speak with her myself.”

After sending Lutso back, Alak Drong Tsang’s face turned pale, and he frowned in deep thought. As readers know, only through thought can a writer produce meaningful work, and only through thinking can readers truly comprehend the text. It requires thinking to solve problems. Likewise, Alak Drong Tsang began to think back on how this incident had begun, recalling the death of Tsetan Gyal’s mother and how he had been entrusted with the task of finding her reincarnation.

“Oh, perfect!” A flash of delight suddenly crossed Alak Drong Tsang’s face, and he kept muttering to himself, “Perfect!”

---

“No need to prostrate, no need to prostrate,” he said quickly as Gonkyi began to bow upon arrival.

“Em . . . what do you plan to do about your daughter’s pregnancy?”

“I planned to ask your advice, Compassionate One.”

“Good. If I’m not mistaken, this is auspicious. The child is the reincarnation of someone from a wealthy family, and his owner will soon claim him. He will help you in the future. Even under this shitty law they call the one-child policy, where the dharma’s law is absent, the child will certainly find his own way in life when he grows up. Instead of forcing your daughter to reveal the father, you should be grateful. She is still young, and your pressure might drive her toward shame and suicide. If that happens, you will bear responsibility for the sin for both a child and a life. Where could you possibly go after death?”

“What you say is true, Compassionate One! What would I do if my only daughter took her own life? Where could I go at the time of my death if both the sin and the child fell upon me?” Gonkyi prostrated to Alak Drong Tsang again and again. He instructed her to keep everything secret and reassured her that this would lead to a better outcome.

The Tsechu River laughs in a disparaging way.

---

A warm spring returned, as it had the year before.

Today marked the first anniversary of Tsetan Gyal’s mother’s death. He went to the monastery and offered 50 yuan to each monk and 500 to Alak Drong Tsang. “Compassionate One,” he said, “a year has passed since my mother’s death, yet she still visits me in dreams. In which of the six realms has she been reborn?”

Counting prayer beads with his fingers, Alak Drong Tsang closed his eyes for a while before saying, “To be honest, as I promised you, your mother has already attained a pure male body and has taken rebirth within our community.”

Mouth agape, Tsetan Gyal stood silent, then slowly joined his hands at his heart.

“He is the little boy born into Gonkyi’s family, named Chokyung,” Alak Drong Tsang continued, rubbing his mala, “no mistake.”

Two years later, Tsetan Gyal brought Gonkyi’s family to the monastery to prostrate and circumambulate. Alak Drong Tsang’s eyes fell on a plump boy with triangular eyes and large thick ears, staring in wonder at a mural of the Four Guardian Kings. “Ah, a bad sign,” he muttered. When no one was watching, he called the boy closer and said, “If you can take the mala from your uncle Tsetan Gyal’s neck, claim it as yours, and ask for it back, then you are your mother’s good son. If not, you’re a bad boy.” [The boy does as he is told.]

“Three Jewels! Isn’t this my mother? Look how he recognizes her things!” Tsetan Gyal took his mother’s mala from around his neck and handed it to Chokyung. Deeply moved, he embraced the boy and stayed for a while.

Lutso was also astonished and recalled Alak Drong Tsang’s words: “Every lama has secret conduct, and ordinary people cannot comprehend even a fraction of it.” She found them to be true. Regretting the negative karma accumulated through her earlier doubts about Alak, she felt once again grateful to have received such a special “conduct” from a lama, seeing it as a merit for both this and the next lives.

The Tsechu River laughs in a disparaging way.