Literary sandbox

Growing up in a tiny village in Tibet under Chinese rule, there were few books that crossed my path. By the time I was old enough to read, Mao was dead and his Little Red Book had taken a near-permanent place on our former altar, rather than in my father's pocket to be read, studied and enthusiastically displayed during public meetings and political rallies. The first book that our neighbour invited me to read aloud was a Gesar story. Hor-Ling Yulgye or The War Between Ling and Mongolia was one of the epic legends of Gesar of Ling – running to over one hundred volumes, it is perhaps the longest epic in the world. During a daylong marathon recitation in our neighbour's house, Aku Migmar and his son-in-law would gasp or slap their thighs when Gesar and his generals went into battle while his wife and daughter would occasionally stop me to ask whether Drukmo was in Hor or in Ling. In the evening they sent me home with a packet of dried chura, a chunk of yak meat and a pouch of tsampa as gifts. They said they'd invite me again when they got another volume of the epic story.

Books were not the only source of Gesar stories though. There were, and still are, Gesar bards, including one in our village, an old woman who did not know how to read or write. Often she would go into a story-telling spree singing the dialogue in various melodies, depending on the character. There are over 50 different tunes to switch to, like: 'melody of the tigress pose', 'melody of the warrior's roar', 'melody of the cascading water', 'melody of the majestic pose'. The old woman would jump, sway her body and thrash imagined enemies with her wrinkled hands. The only demand she made was for us children to collect firewood for her. In our remote village, her Gesar stories at night were one of the few entertainments we had.