2020年11月13日星期五

Red Guards in Tibet:Robert Barnett and Susan Chen talk to Tsering Woeser

Q&A

Red Guards in Tibet12 min read

Robert Barnett and Susan Chen talk to Tsering Woeser

EdIn her new book Forbidden Memory: Tibet During the Cultural Revolution, Tibetan author Tsering Woeser dissects the impacts of China’s Cultural Revolution on Tibet. In this interview the book’s editor, Robert Barnett, together with its translator Susan Chen, speak with Woeser about the English-language version of her book and the enduring significance of the photos taken by her father, Tsering Dorje. Later this week we will also be publishing a photo essay featuring a selection of Dorje’s photographs.
Tseing Woeser as a child with her father Tsering Dorje in Lhasa, 1966 (photographer unknown)

When Tibet was taken over by the People’s Liberation Army (PLA) in 1950, the Chinese officials sent to run Tibet initially made few changes to its society, culture or administration. But, as with most revolutions since the 18th century, in time the Chinese Communist project in Tibet turned to the use of terror. Initially, this took the form of Robespierrean public education – mass imprisonment and executions – but by the mid-1960s the dominant form of political violence had become the ritualized humiliation of teachers, scholars, landlords and others whom the revolutionaries identified as their enemies. These “struggle sessions” and “speaking bitterness” events, along with ultra-leftist policies, factional conflict, and rebellions, were defining features of the Cultural Revolution in both Tibet and China from May 1966 until the death of Mao in September 1976, ten years later.

In the early 1980s, the Party itself condemned the Cultural Revolution and allowed many Chinese writers to record their experiences. However, first-hand accounts of that time by Tibetans who remained within China are almost non-existent. Only a handful of refugee reports attested to what had happened when the Cultural Revolution was exported by the Chinese to a totally distinct culture in what was, in effect, a colony.

In 1999 this situation was transformed when Tsering Woeser, a Tibetan poetess and dissident essayist living in Beijing, began to study a set of photo negatives that her father, who had served as a PLA officer and photographer in Tibet until his death in 1991, had left with the family. The photographs included hundreds of images of events in Tibet during the Cultural Revolution. Over the next six years, Woeser interviewed some seventy Tibetans and Chinese who had witnessed those events, showing them her father’s photographs and documenting their responses. None of this work could be published within China, but in 2006 the Taiwanese publishing house Locus produced Shajie (殺劫), Woeser’s book-length essay in Chinese about these interviews, together with 300 photographs, extended captions, and analysis. For the first time, the world saw uncensored images showing how the Cultural Revolution had been carried out in Tibet.

Three years after the Chinese edition of her book appeared, Woeser, myself, and the translator Susan Chen began work on an English-language version. We revised and updated the text, added new information to the captions, and included a postscript by Woeser on the changes in Lhasa since her father took his photographs. The result, Forbidden Memory: Tibet During the Cultural Revolution, was released by the University of Nebraska Press earlier this summer. For the China Channel, we asked Woeser to look back at that process and to reflect on the significance of her father’s photographs today. – Robert Barnett

Robert Barnett and Susan Chen: Forbidden Memory is a unique record of an episode in Tibetan history some fifty years ago. How would you describe that episode, and what did you learn about it that was not known before?

Tsering Woeser: The most important insight that I drew from the 300 or more of my father’s photographs that I’ve put in Forbidden Memory was about the amount of damage done to monasteries, Buddhist statues, and texts, as well as the name changes that were imposed on places and buildings. These are all so important to traditional Tibetan culture and history. There was also the abuse and humiliation that the photos showed. This was done to Tibetan high lamas, aristocrats, officials from the former government, wealthier merchants, doctors of traditional medicine and others – even though many of them had collaborated publicly with the occupation forces of the PRC. The photos show the form of rule that the Chinese Communist Party imposed on Tibet – what I would call military imperialism. To me, these were realities that had been hidden. They were buried pains and sorrows. 

The state narrative is that this was all caused by Tibetans themselves. On the surface, this is true, and you can see some of that in my father’s photos. However, when I interviewed people who actually remembered the violence in those photos, and when I dug into the official publications and internal documents, I realized that many facts have been hidden by the Party. Through writing the original and now working on the English version, I have learned also that, however powerful they are, the authorities cannot arbitrarily rewrite history.

Apart from documenting Tibet’s recent history, what makes the book significant for today’s readers outside Tibet – particularly for those who are interested in learning about China, but whose knowledge of Tibet is limited?  What relevance and what insights do you think it might offer to them?

Forbidden Memory makes it impossible to deny that the Cultural Revolution was catastrophic in its impact on Tibet. It was certainly destructive all over China, but in Tibet, it exacerbated the damage done by the Party during the PLA’s occupation in the 1950s. The devastation of the Cultural Revolution was far-reaching and traumatic in terms of how it affected Tibetan culture, beliefs, economy, and society. You can see it even now with, for example, the Jokhang Temple in Lhasa or Ganden Monastery just outside the city. They have been renovated or rebuilt so that, on the surface, their prior destruction is no longer immediately visible. But it’s generally agreed among critical scholars and intellectuals that Mao’s death in 1976 didn’t bring an end to the Cultural Revolution in Tibet like it did elsewhere. Many Chinese and Tibetan officials in Tibet whose careers were made during the Cultural Revolution remained in high positions, and their efforts at self-promotion have only continued. They have now become political role models for younger opportunists. They may look very different on the outside from their “revolutionary” predecessors, but many of the things they have done are patterned on what activists did when they followed Mao’s directives in the Cultural Revolution. These activities are what we see in the photos in Forbidden Memory.

Could you talk more about the similarities and differences you noticed between official behavior during the Cultural Revolution and official behavior today?

You don’t see today’s officials directly attacking Tibet’s cultural tradition in the way the Maoist activists did during the Cultural Revolution, but there are huge propaganda hoardings on mountain slopes and hillsides all over Tibet. The portraits of CCP leaders from Mao to Xi Jinping are put on the walls of monasteries and private homes, and the Chinese national five-star flag flies from the Potala Palace [the Dalai Lama’s palace in Lhasa]. This is all the logic of “cultural revolution.” It permeates every corner of Tibet today.

You researched and wrote the first version of the book over a decade ago. What has changed since then? If you were starting again now, what would you do differently?

Before I worked on Forbidden Memory, my writing was mainly poetry and imaginative prose. This has deeply influenced my nonfiction writing. I embed poetic aspects of my work in narratives of specific events, identifiable places, and connections between the past and the present. 

I have watched carefully the changes in Lhasa and other places in Tibet. Overall, despite repackaging by the state, I see the Cultural Revolution as still ongoing in Tibet, albeit in a much less obvious version. You can see it, for example, in the current official project to “renovate” Lhasa in the name of “modernization.” The city has been drastically remade so as to rewrite history, to encourage Tibetans to take on a Chinese identity, and to promote commercialization and Han immigration. The old city of Lhasa was closely bound up with Tibetans’ spiritual and secular lives; now it has become an exotic theme park for tourists. Any presentation or expression of Tibetan culture or history has to be shown as a subset of “Chinese values” or it won’t be allowed.   

To start the project for Forbidden Memory again now? I think I would want to deepen my understanding of every theme and detail that emerges from my father’s photos. I would want to say more to contextualize what happened to particular individuals. The major obstacle now would be finding people who experienced and remembered the Cultural Revolution. In the late 1990s and the early 2000s, I was able to find more than seventy of them. Some of them were activists involved in the attacks, and others were victims or unwilling participants. More than half of them have died since then. Without them, or strictly speaking without the memories they related to me, it would be very hard to write this book. They are the true authors here.

Their spiritual world is full of scars, trapped inside a gigantic net built by the Chinese state”

In many ways, Forbidden Memory is about your efforts to understand the feelings and thinking of the former political idealists and activists you interviewed. What did you learn about political zeal, and about subsequent rethinking and regrets, from your interviews for the book? How did this affect the way you have come to see the Maoist era in general?

The activists and idealists are my elders – my parents, my parents’ siblings and their spouses, my teachers in school, and my superiors and senior colleagues where I used to be employed. Some of them I have known since I was a child, others I was close to as a young adult. From what I was able to hear and observe, sometimes even without directly talking with them, I could understand the actions and the thinking of their generation. Rather than say that they were political idealists or activists, I think, more precisely, many of them are what I would call “double-thinkers”. Only a minority of them, my father included, might have been genuinely idealistic about the political principles they said they believed in. Yet, whether they were idealists or not, the lives they lived were full of tragedy. The more I tried to understand them, the more I realized how they had been engulfed, destroyed, wasted by the regime in so many inhuman ways.

I once wrote about this – that an entire generation of them (and perhaps more than just their generation) are a unique outcome in history. For decades, their lives were so entangled with political turbulence over which they had no control that they metamorphosed into a kind of extreme dependency, a kind of parasitism. Their spiritual world is full of scars, trapped inside a gigantic net built by the Chinese state. Most of them can do nothing but follow its momentum. They are now fragile and old. Looking at their faces – Tibetan, familiar, but marked with confusion and alienation – makes me feel deeply saddened. I feel an almost inexpressible aversion to the monstrous state that has controlled and manipulated their spirit.

The photos your father took in Lhasa and in the Kham region of Tibet during the Cultural Revolution are central to Forbidden Memory. Has his photographic work and the history you discovered helped you understand him and Tibetans of his generation who were part of the Cultural Revolution? 

Yes, I didn’t publish the photo of my father in his army suit until 2016, when the second Chinese edition of Forbidden Memory came out. It has not been easy for me to talk about him publicly. My father had a long career in the Chinese army. At a time when joining the army was somehow seen as an honor, he enlisted when he was 13 in the 18th Army, the part of the PLA which first went into Tibet and ran the occupation in the 1950s. When he suddenly fell ill and died in 1991, he was 54. He had been with the army for 41 years. By then, he was a deputy commander of the PLA forces in Lhasa. I remember that at least once he refused promotion to a civilian position simply because he was unwilling to let go of his military uniform. And yet he took photos of the disasters that the CCP brought to his beloved homeland. I cannot help but wonder: Why did he take these photos? Why did he preserve them so carefully?

It seems to me now that he was very intentional in using his camera to document what was happening. I talked about this with my mother. She thought that my father was simply zealous about photography. “He took photos of everything,” she said. I didn’t completely agree with her. But I was only 25 when my father passed away. I was too young, too immersed in my own far-from-reality universe of poetry and art to have asked him about the photos he’d taken. That’s been an irreversible regret for me. Some twenty years after he died, I began to use his camera to take photographs in many of the same locations where he had taken his photos. Those are in the book as a Postscript. But who was he keeping records for? I am not him and I can’t speak for him, but I know that if he was still alive, he wouldn’t be content with the current order of things in Tibet – though I’m sure that he wouldn’t have become a dissident, a “traitor,” like me. 

I have often imagined that if military service had not been his profession, my father would have chosen to be a professional photographer. But it was his destiny to be a professional soldier instead. It’s the same destiny that has connected me with his photographic work – as if he had kept those photos for me to complete a puzzle about the saddest chapter of Tibetan history as it happened. ∎

Tsering Woeser, Forbidden Memory: Tibet During the Chinese Revolution, trans. Susan Chen, ed. Robert Barnett (Potomac Books, April 2020)
Header: Women march past leaders at a rally in Lhasa, 1966 (Tsering Dorje, courtesy of Tsering Woeser)

2020年11月9日星期一

唯色RFA博客: 天葬师、“康巴松茸”、六十三根辫子及丹增德勒仁波切(四)


与乡政府比邻的寺院在文革后重建。(唯色摄影)
与乡政府比邻的寺院在文革后重建。(唯色1999年摄影)














5、

当高高低低的树林渐渐稀少,变成缓缓起伏的、绵延无尽的草坡,花朵和植物不再茂密也矮小许多,这说明海拔越来越高,但对我们(三个康巴男,半个康巴加半个卫藏构成的我)而言,高海拔根本不是问题。接近傍晚时,我们抵达了柯拉乡。确切地说,是依傍着一座山的乡政府。别看只是一个相当简陋的乡政府,可麻雀虽小五脏俱全,民政、司法、团委、妇联、计生办、人武部(门上画了一个红色的中国国徽)样样都有,然而都锁着门,一个人也不见。前面说过,乡干部都去做松茸生意了。与乡政府相邻的,是具有传统典雅风貌的小寺叫索洛寺。几个穿袈裟的年轻僧人正在打篮球(那个孤零零的篮球架有种遗世独立的风格),受乡干部的委托,暂时代管乡政府的日杂事务,还揣着几个办公室的钥匙,一见我们,忙不迭地打开会议室,搬放行李,点火烧茶。我笑道:“这岂不是夺权了?”

而天葬师仁青的牧场离乡政府很远,阿巴本局长再一次火速地托人送出了口信,然后召集来十几位僧人,毫不疲倦地却也是例行公事地传达了党的宗教政策,如“搞好反分裂斗争……做好清退18岁以下的年轻少年的工作……教育和控制私自出境……活佛转世要按照程序和规范政策进行……党委政府要加强对宗教事务的管理”,我躺在从寺院搬来的垫子上,一边喝着僧人送来的没取过酥油的纯酸奶,一边记录下这几条就困得不行,竟倒头沉睡过去,醒来已是天光明亮,空气清凉,让人心旷神怡。

 

天葬师仁青在他的畜牧防疫工作站。(唯色摄影)
天葬师仁青在他的畜牧防疫工作站。(唯色1999年摄影) 

而接下来的早餐必须着重介绍一下,那是一碗绝对纯粹的“喀地”,是所有的用糌粑做的食物里我觉得最好吃的一种,也是众多康巴的最爱但卫藏人几乎不这样吃。其做法是用手指将酥油与糌粑捏啊捏啊捏成融合在一起的许多小块,压实,倒上一点茶,伸出舌头像小鸟啄食分数次舔那薄薄一层,然后再捏酥油与糌粑,压实,倒上一点茶,再伸舌头舔去又一层,如此反复,直到舔光为止,多么美味啊这个关键是酥油须优质且足够多。对了,此地还有一种糌粑的吃法。那天我们走下郭岗顶山,在树丛中见到一种像倒置的灯笼形状的花朵,就有人将糌粑撒入花蕊中,还分了一朵给我吃,口感不错,有一种特别的芳香。

然后,茶足饭饱的我们步出乡政府,去朝拜了旁边的索洛寺,光线暗淡的大殿里供奉着莲花生大士的塑像和宁玛派护法神孜玛的塑像,都很崭新。从僧人那里了解到,寺院最先是宁玛派,现在是格鲁派,实际上历史悠久,长达九百多年。五世尊者达赖喇嘛时代蒙古人来过。1950年代末解放军占领住过。文革中沦为废墟,后来虽有修复,但不够结实,遇到下雨下雪就很危险。又听僧人讲,其实乡政府的位置过去是寺院的护法殿,但拆光了重盖成军营建筑的式样,这“破旧立新”的革命力量还真的是无远弗届啊。

仁青出现了。他满头大汗,手中的缰绳还牵着一匹气喘吁吁的马,原来他接到口信时正在给生病的牛打防疫针,然后就马不停蹄地飞驰了五个多小时。我有些惭愧,又不是他想见我,怎么能这样打扰他呢?但仁青却一脸地喜悦,看阿巴本的眼神就像是看自己的儿子。他俩相识多年,早就结下了深厚的情谊。阿巴本不但喝他熬的茶、吃他做的酸奶,每次仁青上县里参加畜防工作会议时,还请他住在家里,这跟周围很多人的态度是不一样的。虽然仁青是党员,还是柯拉乡畜牧防疫工作站的站长,但是只有“刀登”这个称呼与他如影随形。当然,人死了是离不开刀登的,可人活着多少会离刀登远一点,毕竟刀登的身上带着一种奇怪的气味。

 

天葬场。(唯色摄影)
天葬场。(唯色1999年摄影) 

是的,就在工作站(其实只是一间低矮的小屋,也是牧民仁青从家里的牧场上被叫来,不是变成天葬师就是变成站长的落脚处),当他热情地给我端来一碗热乎乎的酥油茶,我素来灵敏的嗅觉捕捉到一种并不好闻的气味。我怀疑这就是天葬师固有的气味,但又不便表露出来,只好接过茶顾左右而言他。恰好,用木板拼接的墙上挂着一张毛泽东的画像,那是我们从小就分外熟悉的伟大领袖毛主席的标准像,而在仁青那铺着一张薄毛毡的床头,两大捧刚采摘的野花怒放着,不对,是四捧花儿错落有致地,供奉着一尊端坐在被哈达环绕的木匣子里的佛祖释迦牟尼塑像。“仁青,你到底信仰什么?”我故意提出了一个复杂的问题,可没想到仁青十分轻松地回答道:“白天嘛,我相信毛主席;天一黑,我就相信我们的佛菩萨。”我做出很惊讶的样子,仁青哈哈大笑,像是为捉弄了我而颇觉得意。当然,他这一笑也就忽略了我悄悄放在桌上的酥油茶。我到底还是一口没喝,因为我心里其实还很是在意那奇怪的气味。

眼前的仁青,那盘着黑色线穗的长发下是一张饱经风霜的古铜色脸膛,高鼻深目,军绿色的长袍里裹着一个敦实的身体,蹬着一双毛毡靴的双腿就像许多习惯了马上生活的牧人早已变形,走路一摇一晃。再过几年他就六十岁了,用他的话说,他也是快要上天葬场的人了。而我重又骑上马,跟着谈笑风生的仁青和阿巴本,远远地望见天葬场时,微风拂来,异味扑鼻。哦,从他身上散发的奇怪气味原来正是天葬场的气味,实际上就是死亡的气味。此时正值午后,座落在山谷中的天葬场更像一片安静的草原,除非留心察看,才会发现散落在草丛中的斑斑血迹,才会发现这里的草丛较之别处要稀疏得多,野花遮地,苍蝇乱飞,小虫很多。

 

天葬师仁青在天葬时的装束。(唯色摄影)
天葬师仁青在天葬时的装束。(唯色摄影) 

一来到这飘溢着死亡气味的天葬场,仁青就有了显著的变化。也就是说,他一下子显得十分地职业化。他很利索地换上一件压在一块大石头下面裹成一团的布满破洞的绿褂子,包上同色的头巾,从放在马背上的牛皮口袋里掏出一把毫无光泽的短刀(似乎是死人的血使刀的色泽显得十分沉郁)和一把长长的斧头,看来这就是天葬师的行头。接着他走到几块有凹陷痕迹如同是被斧头砸出的长条石块前,连比带划,滔滔不绝。下面就是他对这种特殊葬俗的介绍:

“先说天葬场的风水。这可不是随意选中的地方,是过去一个大喇嘛给看的。你好生看看这地形,它像不像一片屋檐?其实这个天葬场的名字就叫屋檐。送来天葬的尸体男女老少都有,大多是这周边的乡民,也有僧人。但是天葬场对尸体的数量是有限制的,并不是有多少死人就天葬多少死人,如果超额的话就会出现厉鬼。像我们这个屋檐天葬场,是很早以前就有的,到底有多久我也不清楚,反正我当刀登已经二十多年了,光是用这把刀划过的死人就有两百多,那么总共这里划过多少死人呢?虽然谁也说不清楚,但我看得出来已经找不到几块空地了。”仁青拉着我的胳膊,指点着广阔的草地,他眯缝着双眼的样子就像是他能够看见那些曾经躺在这里的死人。可我如何看得见呢?我有点心慌地掂起了脚尖,生怕踩到什么。

 

天葬师仁青让我拍他死后送来天葬的样子。(唯色摄影)
天葬师仁青让我拍他死后送来天葬的样子。(唯色1999年摄影) 

“人死了,”他用强调的口气说,“如果没有好好地天葬的话,是会变成鬼的,就像壁画上的那种专门在天葬场出现的鬼,尸陀林的鬼,一身的骷髅架子,很吓人的。不过我没见过,可能是我身上死人的气味太重了,连鬼也不想闻。但是好些人都看见了,就在前不久还有一个放羊的女娃娃看见了。这说明我们这个天葬场该作废了。其实现在除非是凶死的人在这里天葬,一般都送往红龙乡的天葬场。那里的刀登叫彭措尼玛,四十多岁。他用一年半的时间磕着长头去朝拜过拉萨。他才当了十年的刀登,就已经划了一百六十多人。连理塘县的死人都要送到那里去。那个天葬场是大喇嘛丹增德勒给看的,在半山上,很大,吃死人的鹰鹫也很多,有两百多只,最老的鹰鹫名叫汤嘎,因为它的羽毛是白色的。虽然他是我的徒弟,但他第一次天葬是大喇嘛丹增德勒亲自来教的,死者是一位七十多岁的老太婆。”

仁青又蹲下,神情愈发认真:“划死人是不能乱划的,有严格的次序和刀数,”他用刀在一块青色的石头上划了几下,划出一个四肢摊开的人体形状,惟妙惟肖。“先得在背后正中划一刀,接着在肋骨划两刀,再翻身往肚子上划两刀。不过小孩子就用不着这样讲究了,太小了,划几刀就可以了。但大人就不同了,男人得斜着划,女人得竖着划,而僧人的话,要按照袈裟的样式来划……”

出乎意外的是,仁青甚至还要求不停地按动快门的我,给他拍摄这样一张特殊的照片:他蜷伏在草地上,像一具被捆绑了四肢的尸体,眼睛紧闭,面容一下子塌陷,显得了无生气。他郑重地说:“送来天葬的死人都是这样子。我很想看看我自己死了之后,被抬到天葬场上是一副什么模样。你千万不要忘了,一定要给我寄来这张照片。”我当然诚惶诚恐地应承下来。对此,仁青表示满意的方式是用多少带点遗憾的口气说:“前几天那边草场纠纷打死了一个人,”他指了指身后那似乎藏着无数鹰鹫的山,“你早来几天就好啦,你就可以看到我是如何用刀子划开那个人的,你就可以看到铺天盖地飞来的鹰鹫。”

(本文为唯色自由亚洲博客:https://www.rfa.org/mandarin/pinglun/weiseblog/weise-10282020122841.html

唯色RFA博客: 天葬师、“康巴松茸”、六十三根辫子及丹增德勒仁波切(三)


在去往乡间的路上小憩。(摄影者是同伴)
在去往乡间的路上小憩。(摄影者是同伴)













4、没想到要见仁青是不容易的。这是我在跨上了马鞍上各种物资堆得高高的枣红马之后,才明白的现实。这些物资包括我的背包(里面有睡袋、录音机和磁带、胶卷以及化妆品、卫生用品等)、裹在类似骑兵褡裢里的被子和大衣(这是他俩下乡的行李)。而他俩的马上还驮着我们的食物和锅碗、炊具之类。需要声明,食物都是我们自己买的,不是用公款买的。其实阿巴本的那个宗教局纯属清水衙门,只能抓到白骑马的美差,蹭吃蹭喝就别想了,像风干肉这些都是从自家厨房取来的。

那么,一个骑手的形象是什么样的?这个问题恐怕只有在你自己也骑在马上时,才会考虑到。随之浮现眼前的是过去那些骑手的形象:气宇轩昂,英姿勃发,与特定的时间和空间相适宜,当其中任何一个因素发生了变化,只能是留存在过去的那些黑白照片上的影像,虽然生动却无法重现。我胆战心惊地跨上马背就开始怀念起他们,在怀念的时候努力地模仿着,却很笨拙。比如,我就无法模仿泽仁这个一骑上了马就变得光彩夺目的骑手。他是个少言寡语的人,喜欢低声地笑,性格随和得很,并且写得一手漂亮的汉字。听说他是康南一带最著名的一位土司(其实这是汉人的说法,藏人称其为王)的遗腹子,依人到中年的年纪来看,他应该并没有享受过土司家的一天好日子,因为土司全家在他一生下来就被革命了。关于这翻天覆地的往事,我很想问他,但又觉得这可能会触痛隐秘,让他难过,所以我只是对他潇洒而自在的骑姿赞不绝口。阿巴本的骑姿就逊色多了,居然会因颠簸得难受,时不时地匍匐在马背上像个懒鬼,这也太欺负默默前行的马儿啦。“上坡不骑马不是马,下坡不牵马不是人”,以及必须从右边跨上马背,左手执缰绳,右手握鞭,身体不能挺直,屁股随时左右摇晃等等。鉴于我的热烈赞美,泽仁高兴地传授了轻松骑马的诀窍。

一路上的风景美不胜收,难以描述。当我们骑马穿过一片丰茂的树林,他俩留下我和乡里派来的马夫扎西,说声“去捡几个松茸”就遁入树林中不见了。扎西牵着三匹马去吃草了。我躺在五颜六色的花朵和错落有致的青草形成的天然地毯上,止不住地想要用歌声赞美这美丽的大自然。我从来没有这么想歌唱过,我太想唱了,可就是没有一首歌能够嘹亮地或婉转地冲出我的喉咙,而我发出的声音简直与这美景不相配。看看,我显然不是一个纯粹的藏人了。但扎西就不同,他想唱就唱,开口就唱,一唱就让我怎么听也听不够。


这洞穴边上的森森白骨,据说是清末赵尔丰率军队入侵康区,遇到藏人顽强抵抗,清兵留下的骨骸。(唯色摄影)
这洞穴边上的森森白骨,据说是清末赵尔丰率军队入侵康区,遇到藏人顽强抵抗,清兵留下的骨骸。(唯色1999年摄影)



去捡松茸的两人很快就回来了,果然就捡了几朵,算得上是优质的那种。他俩并不贪心,适可而止,够吃就好,天生与这个世界同生共存的民族性,又有一种顺其自然的魅力:骑马走着走着,遇上松茸适宜的水土,就下马走入林中随手采几朵,这让我颇为感动,觉得这才是对待松茸的正确态度。

路遇几处石块垒砌的低矮洞穴,周围长满杂草。两个康巴男子又翻身下马,熟门熟路地从一个洞穴中刨出七八块森森白骨。泽仁就从各种形状的白骨中选出一根长的,笑眯眯地,放在嘴边当做法号装模作样地吹了一阵。我有点惊惧,他俩反倒说魂已飞,魄已散,骨头就是烧火棍。阿巴本还像称职的导游向我介绍道:当年“赵屠夫”赵尔丰大兵入侵,遇到藏人顽强抵御,清兵也死了不少,这些骨头就是他们的;又指着附近的乱石堆说,这里以前有他一个营的兵力安营扎寨。后来我翻书得知,那是1905年至1910年,赵尔丰以“改土归流”的名义血洗康区,“拆毁庙堂,掘平城墙,寺内铜佛,亦抬出交收支局铸成铜元,充作军饷。……经书抛弃厕内,护佛绫罗彩衣均被军人缠足。惨杀无辜,不知凡几。以致四方逃窜者,流离颠沛、无家可归。”赵尔丰还更改了许多地名,把巴塘改为巴安,理塘改为理化,德格改为德化,达折多改成了康定。而雅江这个名字是1914年改的,原本这里的藏名叫亚曲喀,是河口的意思,跟雅砻江有关。


骑马去往乡间路上遇到的藏人牧民家庭。(唯色摄影)
骑马去往乡间路上遇到的藏人牧民家庭。(唯色1999年摄影)


经过不远处的一个凹形山谷时,我再次听说了丹增德勒仁波切(第一次是在雅江城里的小商店,见到店主供在柜台上的一帧照片,戴着眼镜的中年僧人形象远看酷似尊者达赖喇嘛,当然近看不是。店主就用非常尊敬的语言做了介绍,使我生起了渴望拜见的愿望)。两个同伴指着那陡然变得不一样的山谷说,那就是大喇嘛阿安扎西(丹增德勒仁波切的另一个在信众中传扬的名字)通宵修法之处。看上去,照射在那山谷的光线呈现出明暗对比格外强烈的特点,树林与植物也好似比别处更加茂盛。据说那个山谷的深处有极好的牧场,但牧人们都不敢去那里放牧,因为多次发生过人畜离奇死亡的悲剧。于是就请来了丹增德勒仁波切,而他竟独自走入山谷中,只带了金刚铃杵及法鼓等简单的法器。牧人们在山谷外不安地等待到天明,当大喇嘛毫无倦色地安然返回,一一道出多年来各种暴死却因未得超度而变成厉鬼的男女名字,并告知在履行了布施与收伏的密法后,如今已得超度不会再来纠缠人间,那些死者的亲属都痛哭不止,感激不已。这个故事给我留下了深刻的印象,而我按捺不住好奇心,后来在见到丹增德勒仁波切时忍不住冒昧地问道:“那些厉鬼是什么样的啊?”“就像人一样,”仁波切平淡地说:“只是就像我们看电视上的人,隔着不同的空间罢了。”“但他们能感受到您的存在?”我难以置信。“是啊,我必须帮助他们,可怜啊。”至今我仍记得仁波切一下子泪水盈眶。

我第一次见到丹增德勒仁波切时,给他拍的照。(唯色摄影)
我第一次见到丹增德勒仁波切时,给他拍的照。(唯色1999年摄影)


据说其中一个厉鬼是个女的,死于文革期间的武斗。我就问阿巴本他俩,“连这么遥远的牧区也发生过武斗?”他俩连声说,有哦有哦,红卫兵到处都去,所以58年躲过厄运的庙子到了文革就躲不过了,都遭拆了。可能是看我的表情变得比较沉重,他俩马上又给我讲了一个民间笑话,倒是让我大笑了。这个笑话是说,文革中期开大会批判林彪,一再强调坚决不允许林彪反党集团复辟。什么是“复辟”?牧人们听不懂。就有懂几句汉语的牧人“冒皮皮”(四川话,意思是吹牛说大话):“复辟”嘛,就是狐皮。狐皮?狐狸皮?不能给林彪狐狸皮?牧民们好似恍然大悟,纷纷表态,既然毛主席都不给林彪狐皮,那我们也绝对不给。

扎西不唱歌的时候,我就听随身听,是一个播放磁带的小机器。我把两只被马镫夹疼的脚抽出来,悬在马肚子边上,一晃一晃的,很惬意。我故意落在最后。我不想说话,就想这么骑着马,这么倾听着耳朵里的慢悠悠的诵经声(是一位闭关多年的老喇嘛在念诵观世音菩萨的心咒),这么东张西望无处不美的风景。可马突然惊了,高高地扬起前蹄,我低头一看,一条细长、柔软的蛇倏忽而逝。来不及细看,我已被摔下马,头正巧撞在一块石头上。骑在前面的同伴们被我的尖叫扭转了马头,急急地驰来,而我的耳朵里依然还是慢悠悠的诵经声在回响,倒在地上的我摸着摔疼的头毫不害羞地哭了……打住。打住。我不能只顾说自己而把仁青放在一边。

(本文为唯色自由亚洲博客:https://www.rfa.org/mandarin/pinglun/weiseblog/rfa-10092020111534.html

唯色RFA博客: 天葬师、“康巴松茸”、六十三根辫子及丹增德勒仁波切(二)


雅砻江流过雅江县城。(来自网络)
雅砻江流过雅江县城。(来自网络)













3、雅江紧邻雅砻江,而雅砻江是一条充满危机的江。虽说水面并不算很宽,流速也不算太猛,可是你只要盯着它看片刻就会喘不过气。这可能是因为邻近的山崖或峭壁上建有不少房屋,高低错落,有的甚至就悬挂在江上。当夏季暴雨,山洪滚滚而下,使得江水水位陡然上涨,那些房屋显得岌岌可危,让人不禁为住在里面的人捏把汗。有一次我小心翼翼地走在平日里似与江水相距甚远的桥上,竟能看见那汹涌澎湃的江水中翻卷沉浮着无数的青苹果和杏子,如果我有足够的勇气,抓住桥上的铁链子,随手往水里一捞,准能捞起几个水果来。

我原本不打算在雅江多住的。这是因为整个县城就一两条长不过数百米、宽还不如滔滔江面的小街,虽说人不及万,却显得拥挤不堪。遇到采摘和买卖松茸的季节,无论白天还是黑夜,这里简直成了人山人海。从乡下开着满载松茸的拖拉机或卡车赶来交易的老乡,各个单位突然形同虚设。因为几乎所有的干部、职工就地转型成了一、二道贩子,更有携重金、携计算器、携各种口音从诸多外地涌入的大小老板,都一窝蜂地挤在铺满街道的背篼或竹筐跟前大声地讨价还价,熟练分拣,搬来运去,甚至在临时牵起的电线系挂的无数灯泡形成的灯火辉煌中,通宵达旦。啊,雅江的松茸之夜!不但有松茸交易,还有各种热气腾腾的小吃伴随着当时的流行歌曲一首接一首,有藏地歌王之称的亚东阿哥的那首《康巴汉子》既是最强音也很应景,只是我觉得有点虚张声势:“……血管里响着马蹄的声音,眼里是圣洁的太阳,当青稞酒在心里歌唱的时候,世界就在手上,就在手上”。而这样一个狂欢节的火热场面据说可以持续两个月之久,给人的感觉是,全县人民的生活和工作的重心都是围绕着松茸来进行的。且不说家家户户的饭桌上,连空气中都飘逸着松茸那特殊的清香味。当地朋友开玩笑说,连每日的祈祷都要祝福一下日本人,因为他们是松茸的最大买家。至于生长在藏地树林中的松茸是如何进入中国的都市,尤其是岛国日本的市场与餐桌,这是人们无法想象也不感兴趣的,那已属于资本主义的故事。对于当地人来说,用几朵松茸随意做道家常菜才是日常生活的场景,就像用土豆做的所有菜,我爱吃土豆,我爱吃洋芋,这里的叫法。


藏地松茸。(8月友人摄影)
藏地松茸。(友人摄影)


其实松茸这种蘑菇以前并不珍贵,我过去多多吃过,那时候叫青冈菌,进城卖菌子的阿布(对乡下藏人的称呼)把背篓放下任人选,有淡黄色的小蘑菇,金黄色的细穗状的扫把菌,顶端褐色、枝干粗壮且如伞立的就是青冈菌,好像价格都差不多,这我不记得了。我更爱吃黄蘑菇,它的藏语发音是“色夏”,大意是黄色的近乎像肉(的植物),还真的似有肉味,用酥油煎着吃仿佛有牦牛肉的味道。据说这些蘑菇的藏语发音都与肉有关,如松茸是“培夏”,大意是栎木上的近乎像肉(的植物),扫把菌是“色其夏”,大意是金黄的珊瑚枝似的近乎像肉(的植物)。记忆中,青冈菌并没有那么不得了的吸引力,却是什么时候独占花魁,成了珍馐中的珍馐?我从《雅江县志》上读到,“1985年,雅江商业局与四川省外贸局联合试制盐渍松茸,每市斤价格由5角提到3元。1986年由乡镇企业局牵头,在雅江召开有雅江、康定、旦巴、九龙、乡城、理塘、稻城、巴塘、道孚等十个县参加的松茸生产联合会,参加会议的还有日本、香港的商人。会议确定,松茸商标叫‘康巴松茸’”。于是青冈菌这个名字很快就被忘却,替而代之的松茸变成了所有山珍中长得最像钱的那种了。

在雅江的最初几天,除了吃家常味的松茸,我去朝拜了郭沙寺、帕姆林寺、昌都寺,重点朝拜了郭沙寺内供奉的据说灵异非常、威猛无比的护法神荡杰,祂面色通红,三只眼睛,龇牙咧嘴,头插金刚杵,骑着一头羊。这里人人对荡杰的生平事迹都能做到如数家珍或扼腕痛惜,我印象深刻的是说祂在经历了文革浩劫后,只剩下额头上那第三只圆圆的眼睛被信徒暗藏,一直等到有了重塑的机会时才献出来重新装上,以示旧有的魂识或法力未有丧失,“你好好地看这只眼睛啊,好好地许个愿,”守护荡杰的僧人叮嘱道。


郭沙寺林珠仁波切与学僧。(唯色1999年摄影)
郭沙寺林珠仁波切与学僧。(唯色1999年摄影)


我还采访了几位年纪大的仁波切,每一位都有历经劫难的故事。比如郭沙寺的林珠仁波切,回忆往事他心有余悸因而声音低沉地说,1958年搞“四反”(县志称“四反”即反叛乱、反违法、反特权、反剥削),雅江县各寺院(县志称全县有大小寺院42座)的大喇嘛和民间的所有头人,八十多名,都被共产党召集到县上学习,分成两个组:政协组和人民代表组,前者持绿牌,后者持红牌,每天必须红斗绿。斗的意思先是骂,后是打,不肯的话就会带到新都桥的劳改农场去,而那时他才17岁,出家已十年却被赶出了寺院。1958年12月的一天,甘孜州十八个县的主要寺院被命令在同一天拆掉,仅从郭沙寺就装了八十多箱无价之宝用解放牌卡车运走。据说金银菩萨等贵重塑像送往了汉地,珊瑚松石等宝石归了商业局,连寺院存放的粮食也被粮食局没收。另一位七十岁的达克喇嘛,面容清矍,眼神悲悯,就像壁画上的大成就者,他年轻时在拉萨哲蚌寺修习过,也在1958年的“四反”中遭驱逐,去乡下放牧了十几年。其实我去过的这些寺院都是文革后重新修复的,规模都比以前小了许多。

我还跟着一群对我关爱有加的族人,骑着西俄洛乡的康巴汉子降村的白马,穿过结满各种野果的树丛,登上了有一座古堡废墟的郭岗顶山,在煨桑时竟有三条极美的彩虹出现,差点发生了零距离接触的奇迹,降村他们立即大声许愿,还诵念了祈愿嘉瓦仁波切(藏语,尊者达赖喇嘛)长寿的祈祷文,几个康巴汉子热泪滚滚。而在德叉乡遇到几百个牧人趁短暂的、美好的夏季时光聚在一起赛马,我从不断拉近的镜头里看见有个男子披着漆黑而漫长的卷发像头獒犬,很符合康巴汉子的英武形象,就冲过去想给他拍特写。他从观望赛马的人丛中缓缓起身,天哪,他差不多有两米的身高,让我产生了瞬间的审美眩晕。但他多么地善解人意,任我拍照,腼腆地微笑时露出了两粒闪闪发光的金牙令其余白牙生辉。


康巴赛马。(唯色1999年摄影)
康巴赛马。(唯色1999年摄影)


这之后,我就想再次启程,去其他地方转转。而这时,个子很高、头发很卷且有一双黑眼睛的阿巴本说:“你想不想认识刀登仁青?我可以带你去找他。”“刀登?这有什么稀奇,”我不屑地说,“我从拉萨千里迢迢到康区,不是冲着一个刀登来的,拉萨有的是刀登。”我还没好气地补充了一句:“你以为我像那种喜欢猎奇的汉地文人吗?”阿巴本憨厚地笑了:“这个刀登跟其他刀登不一样,他还是个党员呢,而且还是畜防站的站长。”啊哈,一个天葬师的身份这么丰富,对于我这样一个不甘于浮光掠影的写作者,是绝好的写作对象,我顿时兴致盎然。

那时候,年轻的阿巴本是县宗教局的副局长,并没想到有一天他会去当县旅游局的局长。而旅游这项事业在他心目中的确立,我觉得可能与我有关。这么说吧,我对这个地方大加赞美、无比痴迷、乐而往返的劲头(结果用掉了我将近三分之一的假期),很有可能刷新了土生土长的他对家乡早已熟视无睹的印象。而且我还在口头上和文字上做出了一定的贡献,至少州上的文人纷纷在我之后也来游玩,这一定鼓舞了有着文青气质的阿巴本,三年后满腔热情地投入到了欣欣向荣的旅游工作之中。当然也并不完全是受我的影响,无论如何,他对宗教是有一份信仰的。也因此,他的职务与他的内心会有冲突的,改行做旅游就轻松多了。藏、汉文皆通的他,特别擅长用诗歌一样的藏语辞藻在法会上赞美高僧、在婚礼上赞美盛装新人的他,不但发掘出了一个个印在明信片上的景点,还设计出了一条条富有吸引力的旅游线路,却渐渐地过犹不及,有的新编故事显然脑洞大开,比如某个树林茂密的山头,被说成是出现了仿若中国地图的雄鸡形状,这当然是为了迎合那些以主人翁自居的游客,却也需要他们有一副努力附会的好眼力。


唯色在雅江。(1999年摄影)
唯色在雅江。(1999年摄影)


既然是个官(阿巴本自称是比七品芝麻官还要小的芝麻官),让乡里派马来接我们就是一点儿也不麻烦的事情。不过也有一点小麻烦。本来阿巴本局长的命令可以通过电话下达,但因正逢采摘与收购当地最能挣钱的特产即康巴松茸的黄金季节,柯拉乡政府的工作人员基本上都不在岗,纷纷跑去当松茸贩子,以致整个柯拉乡唯一的一台电话机空鸣不已。无可奈何的阿巴本只得把他的十万火急的指示通过口耳相传的方式传递了出去。这一招很奏效。看来藏地的乡下还是古风犹存,更适宜过去的那种用快马或者信使将无数的驿站串连在一起的方式。  

一个三人工作组立即组成了。除了我和阿巴本,还有一位优秀的人民教师、区中学校长泽仁。可是,我们这个工作组要去柯拉乡开展什么工作呢?阿巴本倒是为了调查该乡寺院的近况,宣讲党的宗教政策;泽仁也勉强说得过去,毕竟该乡有一所不完全小学;而我呢?脖子上天天挂着一架有两个镜头的相机的我,不用介绍就会被人看成是记者,呵呵,这倒是一个最有理由去游山玩水的理由。实际上,我是去见刀登仁青的。

(本文为唯色自由亚洲博客:https://www.rfa.org/mandarin/pinglun/weiseblog/ws-09242020101712.html

唯色RFA博客: 天葬师、“康巴松茸”、六十三根辫子及丹增德勒仁波切(一)


白玉寺的金刚法舞。(唯色1999年摄影)
白玉寺的金刚法舞。(唯色1999年摄影)













1、
一开口就提天葬师,像是有意吸引读者的眼球,难免流于俗套。这个似乎专属西藏独具的一种行业,往往容易引起介于不规范的解剖学与神秘的巫术之间的联想,还会招来“落后”、“野蛮”、“可怕”之类的鄙视。即使是那套在网络上流传甚广的照片(我估计是上个世纪九十年代,在拉萨色拉寺附近的那个著名的天葬场,出于猎奇的游客偷拍的),系着围裙、戴着手套的天葬师如同一位在露天实施手术的大夫,但他手起刀落之处却是一具首身异处的人体(那人体是如此地有血有肉,简直不像尸体),足以令其他文明的人们受到近乎矫情的惊吓。

给我转发照片的是一个向往西藏的汉地诗人,他有些心悸地问我:“难道你们藏族人死了都要这般了结?”倒是让我颇费思量,因为这不是三言两句就能说得清楚的。看来对藏人的这种传统葬俗只能进行文学化的描写,比如有句诗是这样赞美天葬场上分食尸骸的鹰鹫的:“光荣随鹰背而飞翔”,可想而知会打动多少怀有西藏情结的浪漫主义者,而一个个操刀的天葬师,也就变成了化腐朽为神奇的魔法师,似乎有着往返于阴阳两界的本事。的确,天葬师并不是人人都能够做的,也不是人人都可以做的。若想成为一个真正的天葬师,既要有足够的勇气处理无常的生命,还要有平衡世俗偏见的能力,更要有一颗悲悯的心。



折多山口。(唯色1999年摄影)
折多山口。(唯色1999年摄影)


在西藏或者说所有的藏地(必须添上“所有的藏地”,不然有可能被误解为只是今天中国行政区划的西藏),天葬师指的是自己家乡的那个帮助每个人走上轮回之路的人,虽然他从事的这个职业与屠夫不同,但也素来被有所介意,可是在生活中却谁也离不开,因为在死亡的时候,我们除了需要喇嘛,还需要“刀登”(藏语,天葬师,康地发音。拉萨发音是“多典”)。

对于生活在柯拉草原上的藏人来说,在死亡的时候,除了需要大喇嘛丹增德勒,还需要刀登仁青。

2、

新都桥的小店。(唯色1999年摄影)
新都桥的小店。(唯色1999年摄影)


但是,仁青不仅仅只是一个天葬师。如果他只是一个天葬师,我就不会改变我的那次伟大的旅行(呵呵,这个形容词当然是对我自己而言),特意骑一天的马,跋山涉水地去拜访他。

在这之前,我已经在康北的北端白玉县和康南的南端稻城县(需要说明的是,康北和康南位于今四川省甘孜藏族自治州,传统上这里属于东部康地),度过了完全地、彻底地沉浸在宗教氛围中的一个多月。那是1999年的夏天,那时我还是《西藏文学》杂志社的编辑。我终于可以把积攒了四个月的假期慷慨地、迫不及待地交给离开多年的康地。这么讲,似乎有重游故地的意思,其实不然。曾经在康北的道孚和康区中心的康定生活的岁月里我哪里都没有去过,原因是那时年幼,做梦也别想一个人漫游康巴大地。大学毕业后在甘孜报社工作过一年多,先做记者,因不适应很快改做了副刊编辑,也只去过色达的县城里转了转,仅对骑马穿城过的牧人提着双卡录音机传出的弹唱有印象。之后去过父亲的老家德格,百感交集,热泪盈眶,血缘相关的至亲们已去往另一个世界……总之我的计划是用整个假期独自走遍整个康区大地,参访所有著名的、各个教派的寺院,了解有着悠久传统与独特习俗的民间,然后写一本有关地理、历史和人文的游记,这听上去是不是像夸下了海口?

果不其然!我不但没能实现过于宏大的目标,吃喝玩乐的时间远远多于勤奋写作的时间,而且返回拉萨后,在电脑上列出了数千字的写作提纲,去洗印店洗出了上百卷彩色与黑白胶卷,写了上万字华而不实的开头后,这本书就夭折了,虽然写过两三首诗和两三篇散文(包括这篇散文的原型,原名为“带我去天葬场的仁青”,简略版发表在2004年4月的《南方周末》地理版上),说起来既惭愧又惋惜得很啊。但在最初上路时,从未有过独自旅行经验却雄心勃勃的我,把自己装备成了一个很像那么回事的背包客。用阿巴本的话来说,他在雅江街上第一次看见我时,看见的不是我这个人,而是一个很大的背包正在走路。为什么这么说呢?这是因为我的个子比较矮小,而我的背包比较巨大,当我背着装得满满的、挤得高高的背包一步步地走路时,别人从背后几乎看不见我的脑袋。

记得在康北的白玉县,每天一早我就从一借宿的人家走向整个县城中最醒目的建筑群,位于半山坡上的白玉寺,直至傍晚才下山。我几乎成了古千仁波切的专职厨师,虽然我的厨艺不怎么样,但土豆烧牛肉却是我的拿手。只要敢于大把、大把地将辣椒、花椒和其他香料放进巨大的高压锅里,就能做出色香味超级俱全的土豆烧牛肉。我相信古千仁波切身边的扎巴(藏语,普通僧人)会常常怀念让他们的嘴巴无法闭上的我。有一天,我正举着佳能相机专注地拍摄着戴华丽面具的僧众跳金刚法舞,突然听得身后有人用地道的四川话问我:“你是不是一个纯粹的藏族?”(四川话的发音把“纯粹”说成“顺粹”,把“藏族”说成“藏缺”。)回头一看,我非常吃惊,因为站在我面前的是一个再纯粹不过的藏族老僧人,身材高大,面貌沧桑。我没有回答,而是饶有兴致地问他,“你咋个会说这么纯粹的四川话?”老僧呵呵笑道:“我在新都桥待过十几年,跟我关一起的不是成都的贼娃子,就是邛崃的强奸犯,我咋个不会说他们的话嘛。”我当即就明白是什么意思了。


白塔后面的山上是崩坡寺。(唯色1999年摄影)
白塔后面的山上是崩坡寺。(唯色1999年摄影)


所谓的新都桥其实不是桥,而是从康定翻过折多山后,通往康北和康南的分叉路和中转站,来来往往的尽是忙碌生存的平民、赶路歇脚的旅人、参访寺院的香客、运人载货的司机,还有云游各地、化缘四方的僧侣,以及进去监察民情或出去享受生活的官员,以及时不时就会源源不断的军车。但这位老僧说的是另一个很少被外人知道的事实,而当地人都非常清楚,这里有一个很大的劳改农场,自从几十年前“翻身农奴得解放”以后就有了,关押着整个甘孜州绝大多数的政治犯和刑事犯,尤以1950年代所谓“平叛”和文革时代关押的藏人最多,还关押的有四川省诸多地方的犯人,难怪老僧能说一口四川话,他一定是被当做“叛乱分子”成了囚犯。不过他为何对是否“纯粹”这么看重呢?这是我现在才想到的问题,当时忘了问他。是不是他比较反感变得不纯粹的族人呢?

提到厨艺,我想说的是,我在稻城的崩坡寺就不是厨师了,相反宗各喇嘛成了我的厨师。谁也不会想到一个热爱闭关修行的喇嘛竟会做馒头这种中式面点,那不算白却胖乎乎的馒头泡在酥油茶里很香,但更香的是宗各喇嘛亲手揉捏的糌粑坨坨。康地的糌粑与拉萨的糌粑比较,虽然主要都是用流动的河水推转传统的石磨给磨出来的,但粉质粗粝些因而更有青稞本身的香味。连寺院下方河水里的鱼也吃糌粑,我亲眼看见当宗各喇嘛来到河边,大大小小的鱼就游了过来,他伸手将捏成小块的糌粑伸向水面,竟有鱼儿跳到他的手心里来吃。我离开崩坡寺的那天,一辆从稻城开往康定的客车在寺院附近的公路上被宗各喇嘛拦住。他把我的背包塞到坐得满满的车上时,还在我的衣兜里塞了一样东西。我想要看,他说现在不能看,等会儿再看,是沁颠(藏语,法药)。当望不见半山上崩坡寺绛红色的房子后我取出一看,竟是一张五十元的人民币。我差点流泪了。要知道,宗各是一个清贫的喇嘛,他显然是把我当成了一心朝圣的香客。

不过这辆客车只把我送到了小小山城雅江,原因是阿巴本的几句话引发了我的好奇心,由此可见我的旅行充满了随机性。本来嘛,一个人在路上,想怎么走就怎么走,想在哪里住下就在哪里住下,随心所欲,随遇而安,这才符合“在路上”的本意。

(本文为唯色自由亚洲博客:https://www.rfa.org/mandarin/pinglun/weiseblog/ws-09082020094918.html