Ma Jian - Stick Out Your Tongue

‘Ten days after my teacher ran away from the monastery, the stupa was finally completed. Kula and I packed our bags and prepared to leave for Nepal. In the evening, she told me that she had spent many hours watching my teacher carve the golden crown and that she knew exactly how to detach it from the stupa. She said, “There’s a golden key hidden in a box at the centre of the mandala below the Thousand-handed Bodhisattva of Mercy. To open the box, one must recite the secret mantra Nam Myoho Renge Kyo and lift the Bodhisattva of Wisdom. Only the abbot and I know the secret mantra.” I considered her proposal for a moment, then told her that I thought it would be too dangerous. I said, “If the monks found out that we’d stolen the crown, we would never make it to Nepal. They might even kill us.” But she said that she was certain that her plan would work.

‘Late that night, I heard her creep out of bed and leave the room.

‘At dawn the next morning, a monk banged on my door and said that Kula was on top of the stupa and couldn’t get down. Everyone in the monastery raced up the mountain. Kula had tried to carry out her plan after all. She had managed to dislodge the golden crown, but was now stuck on top of the stupa. Its central bronze pillar was driven between her thighs. She struggled to break free, but as she moved up and down, the pillar grew thicker and thicker until finally she could no longer move at all.

‘The golden crown had fallen onto the circular platform. The monks stood rooted to the ground in terror. I fetched a ladder and prepared to climb up, but as soon as it touched the stupa, it burst into flames. I dropped the burning ladder and jumped back. The bronze was as hot as it had been when it was melting in the furnace.

‘At last the abbot turned up. He ordered the monks to knock the crown off the platform with a long stick, then he arranged a ritual exorcism to banish the evil spirits. As the invocation was recited, a heavy rain fell from the sky. The stupa became shrouded in thick smoke, but continued to get hotter and hotter. When the raindrops hit the surface of the stupa, they exploded with a terrifying burst.

‘Three days later, the smoke finally lifted, and I saw Kula, still stuck on top of the bronze pillar. She was dead now, but her musky fragrance still filled the air.

‘The monks and I packed our belongings and prepared to leave the monastery. The abbot said that it was an unsuitable location for a monastery, because it stood on the eye of the Sea Dragon King. He said that the monastery should have been built beside the river at the foot of the mountain. I tried many times to follow the monks down, but the moment I could no longer smell Kula’s fragrance in the air, I would fall to the ground.

‘In the end, I decided to stay on the mountain and keep watch over her. I moved into the largest room of the abandoned monastery. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I would hear Kula groan and grunt as though someone were making love to her. After two years on the bronze pillar her body became thin and dry. When the wind blew, she would swing from side to side like a weathercock. When it died, she would always face Nepal, and the horse-trail that runs between the mountain goddesses Everest and Shishapangma. As the years rolled on, her face grew as white as snow and her hair became darker and shinier. Then one day, she finally left the stupa and floated to the ground like a sheet of paper. I walked over, rolled her up and carried her with me down the mountain.’

When he finished telling me the story, he pointed to the wall behind him. ‘That’s her,’ he said. I jumped to my feet to take a look but, because of the lack of oxygen, was soon blinded by a sea of gold stars. Once my vision had cleared, I lit a match and went to touch what was hanging on the wall. It was as hard as dried sheepskin, but the hair was still smooth and glossy. I lit another match, and saw that below the black hair between the thighs there was indeed a large black hole.

The district clerk whispered to me that the old silversmith didn’t allow matches to be lit in his room. The next morning I climbed to the top of the mountain. It was just as I described at the beginning — all that remained of the ancient stupa was a mound of loose stones.

As I left the village, the dust that I’d raised the day before was still hanging in mid-air. In front of me, a few girls carrying stones on their backs were walking slowly uphill. After a few steps they stopped to catch their breath, then turned to me and smiled. I recognised one of them as the girl who’d leaned out from under a stone roof the day before and stared at me while combing her hair. Her breasts were very large. I noticed that where the second button was missing, a safety pin tugged her shirt together, faithfully protecting her flesh from view.

The mountain range stretched for hundreds of kilometres, naked and silent under the sun. As dusk approached, the setting rays drenched the slopes in a blood-red light. While the sun sank below the jagged peaks and the last ribbons of light hovered between sky and earth, I started climbing. In those mountains that rose like the ruins of an ancient city, I searched in vain for a pulse of life. The mountains hauled me up, drowned me, then reduced me to an empty carcass. When I could walk no further, I collapsed on the ground, dug my hands into the rocks and sobbed like a child. Then I got up and smiled, and walked back down to the road.

It was the day after I’d left Raga. In my rucksack was a ritual cup, made from a human skull, that I’d bought in a street market. The presence of the skull upset and disturbed me. I had decided to climb those barren mountains to try and clear my thoughts a little and work out what I should be doing with my life. In Tibet, religion permeates every grain of earth. Man and God are inseparable, myth and legend are intertwined. People there have endured sufferings that are beyond the comprehension of the modern world. I am writing down this story now in the hope that I can start to forget it.

She was discovered nine days after the death of the Living Buddha, Tenzin Wangdu. She was just nine days old, but her eyes were wide open and carefully observing the people and objects around her. The shack was built of mud and straw bricks. Light from the butter lamp shone on the frayed cloth of her mother’s apron. It was a poor family. When the mother heard the commotion outside, she stuffed the baby back inside her sheepskin cloak. The visitors crammed into the doorway and stood there like a herd of black sheep. The mother got up and invited them in. They were high-ranking monks fromTenpa Monastery. Lama Tsungma, master of rites, headed the group.

Lama Tsungma said, ‘We hear that your child was born nine days ago.‘The mother confirmed that this was true. The monks instantly clasped their hands in prayer and recited from the scriptures. Lama Tsungma dispatched a messenger to report to his superiors that the new incarnation of the Living Buddha had been found. Then he turned to the mother and said, ‘Is it a boy or a girl? What is her name? Sangsang Dolma? Then from now on she will be called Sangsang Tashi.’

A ceremony was held to celebrate the successful reincarnation of Tenzin Wangdu, and Sangsang Tashi’s entire family left their shack and moved into Tenpa Monastery.

At fifteen, Sangsang Tashi completed her study of the Five Major Treatises, and began training in Tibetan medicine at Manrinba College. The college was an hour’s walk from the monastery. At first, she was driven there in a horse and cart. But after a few months, she requested to walk to the college by herself. She hoped that the solitary excursions would help clear her mind. Feelings that she couldn’t describe had begun to trouble her. Until now, all that she had done during the fifteen years of her life was to study Buddhist scriptures and practise yoga.