The family of the old herdsman Yerdsi has lived in the expansive and sparsely populated area around Kanas Lake in the northern part of the Xinjiang Uygur Autonomous Region for about 300 years.
In their lonely herding life, the music of the "chaur" -- a special kind of flute made of reed stalks -- faithfully keeps them company.
Having heard that he and his son Tohyh are the only living people in the whole of Xinjiang who can play the "chaur," Yerdsi was somewhat worried that its dear melody would one day be silenced forever under his homeland's vast blue sky.
As a result, Yerdsi was greatly heartened one day last summer when another herdsman told him that a professor coming all the way from Beijing wanted to record his "chaur" performance.
After some searching, the herdsman found Yerdsi in a pasture hidden deep in the mountains. He told Yerdsi that the professor had twice come to look for him and had already been waiting at the herdsman's home for two days.
Cooperation
The professor was 71-year-old Mao Jizeng, and a researcher working with the Beijing-based Central University of Nationalities.
Thanks to Mao, the seven pieces of "chaur" music that Yerdsi plays were recorded and saved from extinction. And thanks to Yerdsi, Mao was able to further enrich his wealthy collection of ethnic music from Xinjiang accumulated in his fieldwork.
Throughout his whole career, Mao has worked like an obsessed treasure-seeker, traveling patiently and tirelessly to almost every corner of China, delving into colorful Chinese folk life everywhere, searching avidly for uncared-for musical heritage, which is disappearing every hour.
At first sight, it is hard to imagine that Mao -- a rather slightly built scholar -- is like an Odysseus who has trekked over the Qinghai-Tibet Plateau seven times and is used to spending more time on the road than at home each year.
But those who know him better can see beyond the appearance of a nondescript researcher to behold a man of strength and character, who possesses not only the passion of an idealist but also the hardiness and persistence of a frontiersman.
Born in the countryside of Leshan in Southwest China's Sichuan Province, Mao grew up accompanied by the songs of the Minjiang River boatmen. The pensive chant and raw voices of the workers touched the child's soul deeply and later led him to find a spiritual home in Chinese traditional music.
In 1956, only one year after he graduated from the Sichuan Conservatory of Music, the then 24-year-old Mao was sent by the Beijing-based Chinese Music Institute where he was working to be part of a team going to Tibet. The team was composed mostly of senior experts doing cultural and historical research.
The mysterious and primitive "roof of the world" harbors a great variety of ethnic music and dances. Because of its forbidding natural environment, much of it was little known to the outside world at that time.
The young Mao at once found a vast area to explore. He stayed there for eight months. Carrying a tape recorder with him, he cycled alone in central and suburban Lhasa, enjoying in amazement the profoundness and immensity of Tibet's ocean of ethnic music and dances.
The active fieldwork enabled him to publish two original books on the Tibetan traditional musical forms duixie and nangma after he returned to Beijing.
Those formative eight months led to Mao's lifetime undertaking of collecting and compiling ethnic music. Since then, he has visited the Tibet Autonomous Region another six times, each time staying there at least six months.
In recent years, when age had stopped letting him hike on the Tibetan plateau, he found another area to explore: the magnificent music in the land of Xinjiang. He has traveled to most of the region's inhabited areas, especially since 1999.
"There still remains a very intriguing place in Xinjiang where I hope to visit in the future: Lop Nor," he said. "If I am lucky enough, perhaps I will find some well-preserved ancient music among the inhabitants there."
Hard Trek
Fieldwork in the vast grasslands or desert in Xinjiang is anything but a holiday. Many places are remote and isolated. Mao had to make do with whatever means of transport were available, and carry his own luggage and equipment.
With a highly content air, Mao told me that it has become much more convenient in recent years for him to travel around than before, thanks to the support of local governments, and funding from the Ministry of Culture. His fieldwork in Xinjiang is one of the top Chinese cultural research projects.
But he still could not squander money on such a "luxury" as going to Urumqi, capital of the Xinjiang Uygur Autonomous Region, from Beijing by air, which would be much quicker and more comfortable than taking a train ride lasting at least two days.
Then, more for the fun of it than to complain, he would mention some of the more redoubtable aspects of his drifting life, such as the fact that he twice escaped unscathed from dangerous car accidents in Tibet.
"When our team worked in Xinjiang, two crates of mineral water and two boxes of nang (large, thick pancakes popular among Uygurs) were all the food you could expect to have on the way to your destination. If the car broke down on the road, you didn't have to worry -- you still had the car seat to serve as your bed for the night," he said with a smile.
Research Findings
Through several decades of hard fieldwork, Mao has become one of the most important scholars in the field of ethnic music research.
Based on his fieldwork, he recorded and compiled Opera Music of Tibet. Its compact-disc version was released in 1994 and many critics praised it as being the most comprehensive collection of traditional Tibetan music.
But nothing is as rewarding for Mao as the pleasure he feels each time he finds an undiscovered precious musical work.
"When, by chance or through effort, you come across the relic of an ancient musical genre or a beautifully wrought, little-known musical piece, it seems to be almost a fateful moment in your life," he said, his eyes shining.
In some villages in the Shannan area of Tibet, there still exists a living fossil of the ancient Tibetan art of boxie, a type of martial song and dance. It may date back to as early as the reign of King Songtsam Gambo (AD 617-650). In the past, the performers were all enlisted in the army to raise the troops' morale by singing and dancing.
A blissful feeling of discovery surged in Mao when he first witnessed the legendary boxie and heard the low-pitched, resonant voices thundering out the masculine refrains:
From the sheath, my knife is drawn.
The blade glares a rainbow glow.
From the sheath, my knife is drawn.
The tip gives away its cutting determination.
The same feeling of pleasure overwhelmed him when he ran into any unheard-of exquisite musical work composed by obscure folk artists, such as the "chaur" music played by Yerdsi.
Special Love
The heart of Mao, of the Han people, is open to all ethnic groups. He beams with warm affection when talking about the people he met in Tibet and Xinjiang.
"The ethnic groups in Tibet and Xinjiang are extremely true-hearted to their friends and, in turn, they demand you be as true to them as they are to you."
In the 1960s, the first time Mao went to Xinjiang, the local people were fascinated by his wristwatch, and straightforwardly asked him for it. Though it was then Mao's most valuable property, he took it off and handed it to them.
"But these people will always repay you 10 times more if you do something for them," Mao added.
For instance, he said, when he was roaming in the Altay area in northern Xinjiang to collect ethnic music, local people prepared fresh mutton dishes for him every day for 54 days.
"If you wish to join the society of an ethnic group, the most important thing is that you must become one of them. You must melt into their community and follow their habits, customs and feelings," he emphasized.
In the Qamdo area of Tibet, local people have the habit of eating raw meat seasoned with spices, which not all outsiders are daring enough to try. Unnerved as he was, eyeing the extraordinary food for the first time, Mao finished the portion he was given, without saying a word.
"Actually, as soon as you overcome the psychological repulsiveness, you'll find it tastes excellent. I missed it very much when I left that area," Mao said with a smile.
With his understanding heart and unreserved feelings of fellowship, Mao has won the friendship of ethnic people wherever he goes. The first time he went to Tibet, a local patriarch was so fond of him that he even made Mao his adoptive son.
"I was half a Tibetan 10 years ago and am half a Xinjianger now," said Mao proudly. "My whole life is connected to the land and people of those enchanting parts of our country."
(China Daily March 31, 2003)
