When I was compiling works of folklore in 1981 in Tibet Autonomous Region's Zhanang County, locals told me about a young man named Kezhub.
A young rural Tibetan living in Gyiling Township, Kezhub was already known as an avid collector of folk tales, folklore and ballads.
Today, Kezhub, 49, is vice-chairman of the Shannan Prefecture Chinese People's Political Consultative Conference, a leading advisory body to the local prefectural government. He has won respect from the local populace for his years' work with the Shannan Song and Dance Troupe as its script writer. Over the years, he has created a sizable number of ballads and short skits while also winning local literary awards over the years.
But I still remembered the Kezhub from 23 years ago, a hard-working young farmer with an interest in Tibetan folklore.
When I first heard about him, I was really intrigued. So one morning, I borrowed a horse and rode over with a colleague to Gyiling Township, on a road meandering between the mountains.
Rounding bend, we were greeted by a white-walled building complex with tall walls, which were encircled by a moat.
The building complex used to be the Gyiling Coba Monastery, but is now the seat of the Gyiling Township government.
When we asked where Kezhub lived, the chef working at the office canteen pointed to the single small house in the moat. We were told it was Kezhub's home.
Upon entering the small house, we saw a young man in his 20s making a padded quilt on a traditional frame.
Seeing us enter, he got up to greet us. Kezhub's mother, a woman in her 50s, offered me a full glass of qingke barley wine.
I then asked if I could see some of his collection.
Kezhub immediately brought out two thick white paper notebooks from the cabinet.
Thumbing through the pages, I found they were filled with Tibetan language in neat and beautiful handwriting.
"I jotted these things down when I wasn't so busy with the farm work," Kezhub said with a shy smile.
He first read me two folk tales and I immediately recognized them as two popular titles in the Shannan area.
Then he said he would narrate a love story.
It began with a poem:
Marriage in the earthly world,
Is not destined for the next life;
The young man in Xigaze,
And the maid from the pastoral area in northern Tibet,
Met at the temple fair of Tashilhungpo Monastery,
And were united in wedlock in Nyingchi.
It was a story about young people, who, in their pursuit of love and happiness, had to endure twists and turns.
When he finished, I asked: "Did you write this story?"
"I can't help writing my own stories," he admitted. "I'm not content just to note down what others tell me."
Interesting encounters
He did have quite a collection. And he knew many people with their own collections of stories and ballads.
The first person he took me to visit was a blacksmith named Baima.
Having just finished making some tools, Baima was covered in black dust.
After washing himself in a nearby stream, he came and chatted with us.
"We blacksmiths were the humblest people in the past," Baima began. "We were considered untouchables, sinful and with dirty bodies and black bones, just because we forged knives and weapons.
"We were not allowed to drink tea or wine with others, neither could we sit with them. What's more, we were forbidden to marry outside our group. My wife is the daughter of a blacksmith."
At that moment, his wife, a strong, middle-aged woman, came and poured some buttered tea for us. We consumed the tea quickly and this pleased our host immensely.
But life had dramatically changed for them.
"Nowadays we live more freely, working at home for half of the year, then going to Yamzhog Yumco Lake and Zhegu Lake to bring back butter, wool, milk residue, beef and mutton," Baima continued. "We lead a fairly good life now."
The next day, we visited Dainpei, from Sergung town, just opposite to Gyiling Village. He was a sturdy and swarthy man, who was deeply interested in local singing and dancing.
"We Sergung people love to sing and perform Goshie, which is favoured in the Shannan area, and is well-known throughout Tibet," Dainpei said.
For the Sergung locals, Dainpei said, singing and dancing were "the legacy our ancestors left us, more valuable than pearls, and more precious than money."
"We Sergungs couldn't cut ourself off from our roots," he said.
We invited Dainpei to sing us a song. Kezhub and I wrote down the lyrics in Tibetan and Chinese.
Kezhub also accompanied me on a visit to the Samye Monastery, which is located to the north of the Yarlung Zangbo River and was undergoing repairs and renovations at that time.
Whenever we were free, Kezhub would read some lyrics for me to write down, all of which were eulogies to his hometown, nature, labour, love and the beauty of life. He read some historical stories and folklore tales as well, which were intriguing and subtle narrative poems and lyrics.
It was during those days that I began to learn more about Kezhub and his family.
Family learning
Kezhub's father was the Living Buddha Gungjor Chimei Gyamco, attached to the Gyiling Coba Monastery.
The monastery, which is very famous in Tibet and is noted in religious circles, was built in the 13th century by Master Kachi Banqen Shagyia Lisi from Kashmir. The Living Buddha was proficient in Buddhist doctrines, with many great accomplishments in Tibetan traditional culture.
At the age of 40, he abandoned his Buddhist post as well as his affluent lifestyle, and started leading a reclusive existence with a nun in a small temple called Garzepur.
Later they had two sons, the elder named Bantai and the younger, Kezhub.
The Living Buddha didn't show the least regret about his later life, but indicated many times how much he treasured his sons.
He was their initial teacher, when they were just 4 and 5, instructing them in writing, the phonetic system and different writing styles.
Unfortunately, he passed away when Kezhub was 6. A lama with the Gyiling Coba Monastery became the new husband of the nun and the stepfather of the children. The stepfather was also a learned man. With the stepfather's devoted instruction, Kezhub started to read ancient Tibetan texts such as the Biography of Padmasambhava .
Kezhub and his brother joined the village youths in a lot of public farm work. When villagers told folk tales and ballads, Kezhub took time to jot them down.
He even wrote some new lyrics and acts to perform for others, which made him famous.
People in the local area liked to ask for his advice when naming their children, deciding on auspicious dates for weddings, and so forth.
Later, Kezhub came with me to Lhasa to perform the stories and ballads we had collected. He was punctual every morning, but would disappear in the afternoons.
One evening, I passed by Barkhor Street, and found Kezhub selling pulu woolen fabrics. I patted him on the shoulder and asked: "How's your business, Kezhub?"
He looked up and replied with some embarrassment: "I should apologize to you. My neighbours and relatives asked me to sell pulu woolen fabrics for them while in Lhasa. Fortunately, now, I've sold out all my stock."
At the end of the performances, Kezhub asked for two or three days' leave to take care of things at home.
"I will be back soon after that," he said.
But for two weeks, we had no news of him, until I received a call from the Cultural Bureau of Shannan Prefecture.
The person at the other end informed me that the local song and dance troupe had offered Kezhub a position as the troupe's scriptwriter.
In 1997, two years before my retirement, I went to Shannan to collect more folklore.
There, I got a warm reception from Kezhub and other people in the Shannan Song and Dance Troupe, and heard about Kezhub's great achievements in Tibetan literature. His novels and prose had won prizes in Tibet and even nationally.
He had created comic dialogues, popular talking-and-singing skits, dancing and short cross-talks which were widely performed in Tibet.
I am truly happy about all his achievements.
(China Daily February 17, 2004)
