this in the land of Gling?’
‘Perhaps that is what the people there are striving for, but they have no real nation yet. I may give them a chance to try to establish a different kind of nation.’ The Supreme Deity paused. ‘It seems to me that humans have but one kind of history and cannot follow a different path. When demons reign, humans need our protection and assistance, but once they are rid of the demons and have established their nation, they go to war again.’
The Supreme Deity shifted once more, to show them what was happening in Gling; the misery and chaos there elicited heavy sighs. Reproach appeared on the Supreme Deity’s face. ‘I do not believe that you need me to show you what is happening.’
In response to his mild reprimand, expressions of extraordinary compassion appeared on their faces. But one young deity seemed indignant. The Supreme Deity called him forward and, turning to the other gods, said, ‘Your compassion for the suffering masses below is not as genuine as his.’
The young deity’s parents and older sister ran to the jade steps to shield their son and brother. ‘This foolish youth lacks self-control and wears his feelings on his face.’
The Supreme Deity’s face darkened. ‘Move back!’ he said. And then his expression changed. ‘Come here, young man,’ he said.
The young deity stepped around his parents and approached the Supreme Deity.
‘I, Thosba Gawa, am the Supreme Deity’s servant.’
‘The suffering down below . . .’
‘Your humble servant’s heart goes out to the people.’
‘Your heart goes out to them. Well said. Now, if I were to send you down to rid the people of their demons and save them from suffering, would you go?’
Thosba Gawa did not reply, but the determination on his face spoke for him.
‘Good. But you must consider it carefully. If you go, you will no longer be a deity. You will be a mortal who suffers misery and hardship from the moment you are born. Are you afraid?’
‘No, I am not.’
‘You may lose your divine qualities and sink into evil ways, as mortals do. Then you will never be able to return to the celestial world.’
The young man’s mother and older sister wept.
‘And you will lose all memories of your life here.’
The young man dried the tears on his mother’s face and put his arms around his sister. He whispered to her, ‘Do not be afraid.’
His father embraced him. ‘My son, I have never been so proud, but you have plunged a knife of sorrow into my heart.’
‘Father, pray for the suffering mortals in the bitter sea of Gling.’
‘I shall pray for your future subjects. I shall employ all my powers to help you accomplish your task. And if you find trouble and wish to leave Gling, I shall help you return to the celestial court.’
The steward of the celestial court spoke: ‘After Thosba Gawa leaves for the human world, all the deities will, on his behalf, beseech the Supreme Deity to grant his father another son as brave as he.’
With his wife at his side, his father replied, ‘No. We vow not to use more energy and vitality to create another life, so that our son may return to our heavenly court.’
The Storyteller Light in the Blind Eye
In his dream Jigmed the shepherd was moved to tears.
He awoke to see frost sparkling, like glinting needles, on the dying grass around him. Near his cheek, gleaming beads of ice had formed on his woollen blanket. He put one into his mouth. His teeth did not feel the cold of the ice, but his tongue tasted the salt.
As he recalled his dream he realised that the beads were his tears. He placed another on his tongue, its taste like that of water held in rocks or in the soil. His sheep often nosed up against cracks in the rock to lick the salt crystals. Each year, people travelled to northern lakes in search of the shimmering crystals, whose taste, once it entered their bodies, filled them with strength.
The morning air on the plateau was always chilly, and as he shivered, he thought of the village shaman. Whenever someone had a problem, whether they had lost a cow or lost their own soul and did not know if it would ever return, they would invite the shaman to their home. Once he had eaten, he would dim the light and recite an incantation, after which he would tremble all over. That was the sign that an all-knowing deity had possessed him, and would give the mortal helpful guidance through the shaman’s mouth. His rigid body swaying, he would speak in a muffled voice that seemed to come from another world: ‘The cow will not return because it has been devoured by three wolves’; ‘The person lost his soul because he offended an evil spirit when walking by a river, but he can regain his vitality if he sends offerings and speaks admiring words.’ Once the deity had left his body, the shaman would fall to the floor, like a log.
But this was a different type of possession. On the grassland, those who learn of heroic deeds are called divine messengers, for it is the deities who tell them stories in their dreams. In Jigmed’s youth, a blind storyteller had once visited his village. The storyteller had dreamed that Gesar, a deity dressed in gold, had opened his belly with a dagger and stuffed rolls of written scripts inside. The blind storyteller could not recall if the deity had sewn his belly back together, and when he awoke, at the sound of a turning waterwheel, there was no scar. He knew he could not read a single word on the written scripts, but his head buzzed, as if a herd of horses galloped inside him.
Jigmed wanted to return to the dream world, thinking that perhaps the god who had given him this story would appear. But the donkey was now nuzzling at his blanket, pulling it away from his face. It brayed, and Jigmed muttered, ‘Let me sleep a little longer.’
The donkey brayed again.
‘I don’t want to get up yet. Do you understand, my friend?’
The donkey would not stop braying.
‘What an awful noise! The deities will not like it.’
The donkey tugged at the blanket until it slid off entirely.
‘All right, all right.’
Jigmed and his donkey walked back along the road to the village. He could not see out of his left eye, the one that always watered in the wind. The donkey, the road and the mountains disappeared when he covered his right eye, and he could see nothing but streams of light coming towards him from the direction of the sun. When he uncovered his right eye, everything was clear as day.
After his journey, he took his sheep to the mountain every day. The snow line on the mountain rose as the ice on the lower reaches melted to feed the expanding lake below. Yet the door to the dream world refused to open. He would close his right eye and recite the syllable his uncle had taught him, the sound of all sounds, and greet the light that burst forth from the east with his blind left eye. Staring into the dazzling colours, he would recite, Om. He directed his consciousness to trace the outline of the syllable in his heart: Om. But no divine images emerged from the swirling rays of light.
He had to content himself with tending his sheep. At night, when he came down from the mountain into his village, he walked along a little-used road that passed a shop where beer and spirits were sold. On early summer evenings men from the village would gather on the grass in front of the shop to drink until they broke into song, mostly popular tunes they’d learned from the radio. But some sang fragments of the hero’s story.
‘Lu-ah-la-la mu-ah-la,
Lu-ta-la-la mu-ta-la!
In the early summer of the Ding-you year,
In the early morning of the eighth day of a crescent moon,
An auspicious sign will appear in Gling;
Those of the phoenix, the eldest, the noble class,