1
Lik、e many other small villages near the Himalayas， Pu Village consisted of only around thirty households. It was tightly enclosed by huge mountains and seemingly isolated from the outside world.
“Kar-kar！” the caws of common ravens hovering over the mountaintop echoed across the valley. Hearing this， Pu villagers walking on the mountain paths would search the skies to see the ravens flying from afar， lest they miss news from beyond the mountains.
Mother， please show me mercy.
Don't marry me to someone from behind the mountains.
It's so barren. How can I live happily？
This song， sung throughout Tibet， expressed the reality of Pu Village： snowy mountains， hills and barren land. Yet this valley in the mountains managed to nurture hardy people. They laboriously ploughed a small gravel patch in the spring and hoped to harvest several bags of purple highland barley in the autumn.
Pu Village was the most remote village in Karton County. Due to the harsh local environment， a tenacious variety of purple highland barley had become the villagers' main crop. In several counties in Shigatse Prefecture， this variety had entirely fallen from use because of its low yield and poor quality. There was even a phrase， “Purple highland barley eaters”， which expressed outsiders' scornful view of Pu villagers.
As the saying goes， “If Pu Village has a good harvest， the whole world will.” Good harvests were rare events in Pu Village. Droughts，floods， insects and hailstones seemed to have fallen deeply in love with this poor community.
Remote as it was， Pu Village was famous in Tibet for its singing and dancing. As soon as the men started playing the Tibetan stringed instrument called the Tanenchien， the women would immediately spring up to sing and dance. No matter how hard their lives were， they never gave up singing and dancing.
When the morning light shone on the top of the mountain nearest to Pu Village， the dazzling reflections of sunlight on snow would illuminate the whole mountain. At the same time， the village at the foot of the mountain would be thrown into a darkness which contrasted sharply with the bright mountainside. The village houses were small and low， and as they were blocked by the shadow of the mountain， the sun's rays always arrived late in the day. At first， the village had only a dozen households and was the smallest village community in Karton County. Over the years， almost all its families became related to one another through marriage. These relationships bound Pu Village into a tightly-knit community.
Seen from the mountaintop， the layout of this village was very distinctive. At the east end stood the only house with a name， because it belonged to the richest and most noble family in Pu Village， “Apagbu[1]Chamsu”. Chamsu referred to a branch of the Champei Family， which could be traced back to the Champei Clan of Senke Village， Jum Township. There appeared a Nyingma Zhügu who was proficient in Pa？cavidyā and achieved great accomplishments in Buddhism. Nyingma's Vinaya stipulated that its believers were allowed to get married， bringing endless benefits to the family. Boys inherited the cause from their father and became the patrimonial Apagbu. Their skills were famous throughout the region； rumour had it that they were so extraordinary they not only excelled in Tibetan medicine， but were also able to prevent natural disasters. No one in Jum Township or even Karton County was ignorant of the renowned Champei Family. Family members would be invited to cast divinations at every important event， and locals so venerated the family that no one dared address them directly. The Chamsu family expanded over time， developing many branches， and other families joined their extended family tree. Apart from fortune-telling and divination， the head of the family also knew something about Tibetan medicine. Whenever a villager became ill or needed a divination， the Chamsu family patriarch would be called upon. Due to his kindness， his fellow villagers addressed him respectfully with the honorific “Chamsula” or “Chamsu Rinpoche”.
The Chamsu house used to be in the middle of Pu Village， but the family enclosed a large section of land at the east end and built a two-story building there in order to avoid floods. It could be seen clearly from the mountaintop. The door of the house was theatrically large with two big scorpions painted on either side. Its first floor was a livestock shed， while the upstairs rooms with their small glass windows were arranged in an orderly fashion along a railing.
At the west end of the village was the house of Blacksmith Tashi. Tashi used to make a living as a travelling performer before he came to Pu Village and fell in love with a local girl. The villagers soon came to know him well， although his origins as an outsider and wanderer led many to regard him with contempt. In those years， class conflict was a serious matter even in such a small village. Whosoever dared to openly despise poor peasants like Blacksmith Tashi would be publicly criticized and denounced， so those villagers who resented the blacksmith had no choice but to disguise their contempt and wear a false smile whenever they greeted this instrument-playing tramp from parts unknown. However， there was a striking contrast to this kind of behaviour. To reward the girl who broke out of the shackles of feudal thought and married Tashi， the entire village helped them build a small house next to the Chamsu house. We will never know whether this generous deed concealed some hidden motive.
Several years ago， a few people left to make a living outside Pu Village. By virtue of his previous experience， Blacksmith Tashi was able to remove his son from the shadow of the big mountain. Together， they tanned furs， built houses and made copper bells for the herdsmen of northern Tibet. Every time they returned， they came ostentatiously driving a flock of goats before them. Soon， Blacksmith Tashi enclosed a plot of land at the west end of the village and built a grand house in a completely contrasting style to that of the Chamsu house， saying， “The Chamsu family value their noble descent very much. Our family is inferior to them， after all. We are not qualified to live in such a solemn house.”
When Tashi decided to rebuild his house， his son Wangchuck insisted that it be built in the same style as the Chamsu's. At first， Tashi managed to persuade his son by reminding him of their humble origins， but later relented somewhat when he considered what his son had suffered with him in northern Tibet. Shortly after that， a bungalow with two courtyards appeared at the west end of the village. The outer courtyard was for livestock. The family's living quarters lay behind the middle door. There were many things hanging on the walls， such as copper bells for livestock and even fire shovels， lest anyone forget they were in the house of a blacksmith.
Apart from these two big houses， the other dwellings in Pu Village were almost the same size， but if you looked carefully you could discover something interesting. Most of the larger houses were followed by several smaller houses， which trailed after their larger neighbours in a tail-like pattern. These were the houses of families with too many children. When the children grew up， only a few of them could stay with the family. If the others couldn't marry into other families， parents would build small houses for them behind their own home. Those small houses were like shy kids， curiously poking their heads out from behind the legs of their parents.
Other houses had no courtyards and looked cast aside like abandoned matchboxes. The owners of these houses were all unfortunate women. Some had been married， but their marriages had broken down and they were forced to return to their parents' houses with their children. No one proposed marriage to them anymore and after such a long time they often couldn't get along with their sisters- and brothers-in-law. As they had already married once， their parents had no patience or energy to make another such arrangement for them. Instead， they would hastily build them a small house， leaving out the courtyard as this was thought too luxurious to waste on an unmarried woman. Some of these women were not refugees from failed marriages， but had become pregnant while unmarried. Furthermore， they either didn't know or refused to say who the father was. Even though some revealed the truth eventually， the father of the child often refused to marry them. Their heartbroken parents couldn't treat their daughter like they used to， and built her a small house as a way of turning her away from their own door. In this way， small houses without courtyards were like children without parents. Perhaps the parents of such daughters felt sad when they saw their disappointing offspring， so they used the new， small house as a way of physically distancing themselves. As the saying goes， “Out of sight， out of mind”.
It is not diffcult to pick out the house of our protagonists， Ama Chozom and her daughters. Amongst rows of similar houses， Ama Chozom's was like a burning candle with oil running over the ground. You could hardly figure out its layout. It was located on a slope in the middle of the village. A gutter ran beside it like a beast with an open mouth. The gutter was formed a few years ago when floods surged over the village. At that time， Ama Chozom's house was completely swallowed. The violent floods left the gutter to remind people of their power. Neighbours were inclined to erase the dark memory of the floods， and moved to higher ground one by one. Without neighbours， Ama Chozom's house looked as lonely and shabby as an ancient ruin.
2
When Ama Chozom was pregnant with her youngest daughter， her husband went to another world. The hardship of bringing up four kids alone prematurely grayed her hair. The wrinkles on her forehead and at the corners of her mouth and eyes made her look older than her peers. Even so， she never gave up hope for a happy life. Never. She named her three daughters Sangjee， Dhajee and Penjee[2]and longed for happiness.
It is said that a mother loves her children equally， but Ama Chozom favoured her simple and honest eldest son， Norbu Tenzin. She often called him “Norbu” (sweetheart). Every time， the dew of happiness would moisten her dry throat and bring her refreshment. Hoping that he could stabilize her family， Ama Chozom named him Tenzin.
Norbu Tenzin was the only man in Ama Chozom's family and her hopes rested on his shoulders. After he grew up， if the family needed to do any heavy labour， he would take it on. He was known around the village for his great strength and he was even able to do strenuous farm work delicately and carefully. When villagers were in need of help， Norbu Tenzin was the first name that would spring to mind， because he was not only a hard worker but honest as well. He did nothing but work. Ama Chozom depended on him to support the family and wanted to find him a good wife.
Nevertheless， God seemed to be against Ama Chozom. Just when she was looking for a wife for her son， she heard that he had fallen in love with Blacksmith Tashi's daughter Tsomo. Ama Chozom didn't believe this at all. Although they lived a poor life， they were of arguably high status in the village because they could share one bowl with other villagers when drinking together. However， no one would share a bowl with Blacksmith Tashi's family， even after they became wealthy through their workmanship. After all， they were of humble status. What's more， whenever Tsomo called at Ama Chozom's house she only spoke with Sangjee， and Norbu Tenzin never seemed to look at her at all. Ama Chozom was sure that steady Norbu Tenzin would never fall in love with such a poor choice of wife.
There was a saying in the village that those with humble status were generally good-looking. Coincidentally， Tsomo was pretty and easy-going. She was always honest and kind-hearted to others. When she was happy， she would scream with laughter； when she witnessed something pitiful， she would burst into tears. Pretty Tsomo was always in the spotlight when the young people went to watch a film in a neighbouring village or held a party. She was so eloquent that no one could beat her in an argument. Stiff Norbu Tenzin was always amazed by her quick responses. Yet she wouldn't criticise any of Norbu Tenzin's opinions； instead， she just listened to him carefully， smiled， and then burst into endless laughter， which made him shy but happy.
No one， not even Norbu Tenzin himself， knew the exact time he started looking forward to seeing Tsomo. He wanted to understand more just by looking into her eyes. She didn't disappoint him and a few days later she gave him a more straightforward response than he'd expected. She gave herself to him without hesitation. On that day， Norbu Tenzin brought his best friend Tsesang home and talked in whispers with him for some time. Ama Chozom didn't find anything strange in that； before Tsesang got married， the two had often slept together. She did find it strange that Norbu Tenzin left Tsesang at their home when she finished her work， while he himself found an excuse and went out.
Something in Tsesang's hesitant expression caught Ama Chozom's attention. She asked her daughters to go to bed early and bade Tsesang sit with her at the stove. She served him a bowl of wine while she held a rough-made， greasy ceramic wine pot and sat opposite him with an eager expression.
Seeing the expectation in Ama Chozom's eyes， Tsesang felt very uneasy. He tried to adjust his sitting posture several times but he couldn't get comfortable. He kept scratching the greasy surface of the square table until his fingernails were filled with dirt. After a long time， he drank his bowl of wine， seemingly made up his mind and said， “Amala， Norbu is the same age as me. He's twenty-five.”Tsesang seemed unsatisfied with his opening words. He paused and then continued， “I've been married and had kids. I think it's time to arrange his life for the future.”
The people of Pu Village hated expressing the union of man and woman directly with words like “marriage”； instead， they referred to it indirectly as “arranging their future life”.
Ama Chozom had suffered from cataracts for years. She could see a little in the daytime but she was almost blind at night. She fumbled on the table for Tsesang's bowl. While she poured him some more wine， she said， “Yes， you're the same age. I remember it clearly. How time flies！ You're a father now. Frankly speaking， but for the tight budget these past two years， I would already have found him a wife. This year！ As long as we have a good harvest this year， I'll arrange it.”
Ama Chozom's words seemed to imply that she could easily select a daughter-in-law as long as they had a good harvest this year. They also reflected the nature of the villagers： they would only casually mention their problems， but attached great importance to matters of reputation.
“No， no. Amala，” Tsesang said nervously， shaking off the wine that had been spilled on his pants when she handed him the bowl. “Norbu Tenzin's father passed away a long time ago. He was reluctant to have a heart-to-heart chat with you. Actually， he has already fallen in love with a girl and she's even willing to marry him without a bride-price.”
“Who is this girl？ Is it true？” Ama Chozom asked. On hearing that the girl didn't require any bride-price， she immediately had a bad feeling. The face of Tsomo flashed in her mind， but she didn't dare say her name. “If you mean that woman，” she continued， “You can stop right there. We are a family of dignified status. He will simply have to marry a clean woman. What will people say？ They'll laugh at us.” Ama Chozom paused and asked him， “If you asked to marry an unclean woman， would your parents agree？ Maybe Norbu Tenzin doesn't have a father， but that doesn't mean his future life can be casually arranged. He still has a mother！”
Tsesang felt awkward. What Ama Chozom had said was true， and he could understand her concern. He couldn't find any words to answer her， so he left in a hurry.
Pu villagers nicknamed Blacksmith Tashi “the man who can't think about death”， because his behaviour was totally against their ways of thinking. In their eyes， once a person grew old he should make preparations for his afterlife； chant more sutras， do more good deeds and pray more for his spiritual health， for there was no longer much time to spend on earthly matters. However， Blacksmith Tashi felt restless if he didn't keep himself busy. Hence he would leave the village every year. The locals said it was because he had spent his early years going around begging for food， so he felt bored if he didn't leave. After the spring ploughing， when there weren't any people in the village going out to make money and the old men had wholeheartedly committed themselves to their gravelly land， Blacksmith Tashi went with his son Wangchuk to the pasturelands to find a job.
As the leaves were dancing in the wind at the entrance of Pu Village， Tashi and his son came back from the pasturelands with bulging bags on their backs and a flock of goats following behind. He greeted everyone he met with honorifics and stuck out his tongue to show respect. Those bags and goats pricked the curiosity of the villagers and punctured their self-respect. Although they deliberately kept away from Tashi， it didn't mean that they would refuse his things. Blacksmith Tashi was a warm-hearted person. Every year he gave away some of the yak butter， curd cheese， beef and mutton he brought back. Ama Chozom was among those who received his gifts. Nonetheless， accepting his things didn't mean accepting everything. Although they ate his beef and mutton， the villagers still spoke about Blacksmith Tashi behind his back. That was the character of Pu Villagers： simple but also deceptively complicated.
People say that Norbu Tenzin is as stubborn as a donkey， Ama Chozom thought， yet surely he will listen to his own mother's advice. After all， it was I that brought him up from a little infant.How could he ignore his mother's words？ While she was lost in such contemplation， Norbu Tenzin came back with a livid face and walked directly into his room， as if he hadn't seen his mother waiting for him.
Ama Chozom knew she couldn't keep silent after Tsesang had acted as their go-between. She asked Norbu Tenzin to come over and handed him her wine bowl. “To live is to fight for your reputation，”she said. “Nothing is more important. It's common for people of your age to do foolish things. But after getting over this period， you will understand. It doesn't matter if you're poor. Many people live a poor life. As long as we have a devout heart， the Buddha will bestow a happy life on us. But no one can change his family background. Don't do foolish things and bring shame on our family.”
Norbu Tenzin stared at the shabby roof with a pair of hazy eyes. In a daze， he poured bowl after bowl of cool highland barley wine into his stomach. Soon， he had drunk the whole pot. Ama Chozom finally put the wine pot on the ground.
“Well， it's late，” Norbu Tenzin slurred. “Go to bed， Mom.” He stood up and the wide lappet of his robe brushed the wine pot， knocking it over with a “bang！” The aged pot broke into pieces. Norbu Tenzin went out without a single backward glance.
Ama Chozom had always been frugal， but she didn't feel sorry when she heard the pot break. She just felt bad that her son had left without clearing away the fragments. It was his leaving that made her heart sink.
That night， Sangjee couldn't fall asleep. The family only had three small rooms. The three sisters crowded into one room while their elder brother slept in the storeroom. Their mother slept in the kitchen， as she was sensitive to the cold. Anything that happened in the kitchen， including the crack of the pot， was caught by Sangjee's ears. Early in the morning of the next day， Sangjee tried and failed to mend the broken pot. It was completely shattered. With a heavy heart， she made tea and then sat beside the stove in a stupor. She couldn't summon the energy to do anything else.
The sun rose over the mountaintop. Her two younger sisters came to drink tea in the kitchen. Sangjee showed them the broken pot. Penjee took it and sighed. She took up the fragments to see if it could be fixed， then put them aside helplessly. Dhajee didn't give it a single glance； instead she gloated， “Buddhist texts say the world's substance is eternal. Whatever is destined to be broken will break sooner or later. You don't need to be so fussy.”
Hearing Dhajee's words from her bed， Ama Chozom felt more and more that she couldn't understand her children.
3
After Norbu Tenzin talked with his mother， despair had swelled like a pea in his stomach. The more she spoke ill of Tsomo， the more he missed her. If he had not been afraid that the other villagers would have scolded him for abandoning his mother， he would have tried to convince Tsomo to elope.
Norbu Tenzin felt suffocated at home， as though someone were blocking his mouth and nose with a rag. He took his coat and wandered around the hills. At last， he grew weary and lay down to sleep in the shelter of a cliff. When he woke up， Tsomo sat smiling beside him. He thought he was in a dream， so he rubbed his eyes and stared carefully until she burst out laughing. Norbu Tenzin was surprised and delighted. He lost his words and just giggled at Tsomo with his hands under his head.
It turned out that Blacksmith Tashi had fallen sick and Tsomo was helping him herd his goats. Outgoing and straightforward， Tsomo was somehow very shy in Norbu Tenzin's presence. She stroked the grass beside her， seemingly about to say something， but at last gave up. Norbu Tenzin knew what she wanted to say， but what good news could he bring her？ He planned to tell her nothing. A moment later， she stood up， threw the kurtu[3]several times and gathered the goats from their grazing. Norbu Tenzin tacitly understood and followed her. He pulled the kurtu from Tsomo's hand and drove the flock out of sight of the village. Tsomo knew he hadn't eaten， so she picked up several pats of dried cow dung and deftly propped up a few stones to make an oven for tea.
Ama Chozom's calm attitude didn't surprise Tsomo. She had foreseen it. But when Norbu Tenzin told her what his mother had said， she suddenly couldn't accept it. She moved his hands away from her shoulder and sat down with her back to him. Norbu Tenzin didn't console her. Lying on the ground， he pulled up a stalk of green grass and chewed it. “Forget it，” he said. “Don't think too much. This life was determined in the previous one. It's fate. No one is to blame. We should try to be happy！”
Tsomo moved to Norbu Tenzin's side and touched his hair. Her touch aroused feelings in him that he had repressed for a long time.
Ama Chozom and her daughters waited up all night， but Norbu Tenzin didn't come home. He didn't return the next day， nor the day after that. By this time， his mother was flustered. She tearfully twiddled her prayer beads in her hand and chanted “Om Man i padme hūm” over and over. Sangjee and Penjee sat around her silently like injured puppies. Dhajee casually did Sangjee's chores.
At Blacksmith Tashi's home， Norbu Tenzin was also in a state of indecision and turmoil. Unexpectedly， Tashi didn't look very happy at his arrival. On the contrary， he tried to persuade him to go home again and again， but without any intention of driving him away. “Children who act against the will of their parents will be punished by Bodhisattva，” he said， as much to his daughter as to Norbu Tenzin. In the end， Norbu Tenzin stayed there. He sometimes felt guilty and ashamed when he thought of his poor family and his aged mother， but he finally chose not to go back. He couldn't tear himself away from Tsomo. Her tenderness eclipsed Blacksmith Tashi's indifference. At length， he became the Blacksmith's son-in-law. The news spread throughout Pu Village and Ama Chozom had to admit the fact. That damned blacksmith must have set his trap， she thought. He will suffer from this karma！
Ama Chozom firmly believed this idea. She simply couldn't wait and asked Penjee to take her to Tashi's home. “You thick-skinned bastard！” she cried， venting her spleen at his door. “Come out！ Your skin is even thicker than a wild yak's！ I've never seen anyone with such a complete lack of self-knowledge！ You cheated my honest boy but you can't cheat the Buddha！ Your karma will make you suffer！”
Her stream of abuse attracted a throng of onlookers. Penjee felt quite ashamed and embarrassed. However， Blacksmith Tashi didn't retaliate； he dragged Norbu Tenzin over to Ama Chozom to let him explain himself to his mother. Norbu Tenzin was clumsy in speaking. His lips moved several times but didn't produce any words. Instead， from behind him， Tsomo wiped her tears and said what the villagers had expected but nevertheless still wanted to verify. “Please show your mercy and let us be，” she said. “I am pregnant.”
“Pah！” Ama Chozom sneered， slapping Tsomo heavily. Tashi's bronzed face was twisted with anger. He never imagined that Tsomo could say such a thing. He was stunned into silence. Ama Chozom appeared to have gone mad. She cried and screamed， flailing her walking stick around in an effort to hit Tsomo.
“Ama Chozom， don't be angry. Drink a bowl of wine and calm yourself down，” Tashi's wife said， holding out a seldom-used silver bowl to her. Ama Chozom knocked the bowl out of her hands and pointed her stick at the Blacksmith's wife. “Even if I die of thirst， I won't drink wine from a blacksmith's bowl. If you jumped off a cliff， I wouldn't spare you a glance. But he is my son， my beloved son！ I can't leave him alone！”
Norbu Tenzin couldn't bear it anymore and whispered， “Mother， be reasonable.”
Ama Chozom pointed at him immediately. “How could you ignore karma？” she asked. “Do you think you've always been as strong as you are now？ It's me that brought you up regardless of hardship！”
“Ama Chozom，” Tashi broke in. “You despise me and I don't want to fawn on you. Take your son back. I， Blacksmith Tashi， have the ability to raise my unborn grandson. Even if I couldn't， I wouldn't beg you. Don't cry and scream at my door. Even if you don't care about your reputation， I mean to protect my own！”
Blacksmith Tashi and his wife went inside and refused to come out again， no matter how loudly Ama Chozom cried. She continued bellowing insults and threats for a long time， with no response. Then she clutched at her son's clothes and begged him to come home with her. Norbu Tenzin stood still like a stone sculpture， seemingly resolved to stay with Tsomo all his life. Penjee just kept sobbing and didn't help her mother at all. Ama Chozom felt weak and turned to the onlooking villagers， hoping that they could deliver justice. In the face of her pleas， however， the villagers gradually dispersed home. Ama Chozom was heartbroken. She had counted on their support. Her son — a man with a clean background—was married to the daughter of a blacksmith， and no one had stepped forward to denounce this tragedy！ What was wrong with the world？ In such thoughts， Ama Chozom cried all the way home.
When the village head Ajya Tinga[4]heard the news， she paid Ama Chozom a visit. Ajya Tinga had been the village head since the Cultural Revolution. No matter which political or social era came along， she could always adjust herself to it. Although she didn't always succeed in solving their problems， everyone in the village admired her eloquence. On this occasion， after learning the details from Ama Chozom， she consoled the broken-hearted mother and made her feel as though the village was on her side. Then， with a straight face， she informed Ama Chozom that Party policy stipulated that interfering with the freedom of marriage was forbidden. She even deliberately exaggerated the consequences of intervening， scaring Ama Chozom so much that she repeatedly stuck out her tongue and promised that she wouldn't cause Blacksmith Tashi's family any trouble.
In Ajya Tinga's eyes， the Party issued all laws and decrees for the country. As to the Law of Marriage， she had never heard of it at all. 4
In the dawn light， the mountains shone with tranquility and magnificence. You couldn't find anyone picking up cow dung anywhere in the wilderness. Only several barks from unseen dogs disturbed the silence. Dhajee was famous both for her indifference and her beauty. Seldom did anyone see her cry. Yet today， she felt terribly helpless and lonely. The absence of her elder brother meant the end of all hope. She felt that the benevolent mountains themselves were laughing at her dilemma. She suddenly sat down on the ridge and began to sob.
When she lost her voice， dawn broke. People came along the path picking up cow dung. They saw Dhajee sitting on the ridge and shouted excitedly， as if they had discovered something amazing， “Dhajee！ Dhajee . . .” Hearing them， Dhajee immediately wiped away her tears， neatened her messy hair and walked up the mountain without looking back. She completely ignored the people who were calling her.
Dhajee's beauty was incongruous with the bleak village， and especially with the shabby house they lived in. She had an oval face， the eyes of a painted phoenix， well-formed eyebrows and fair skin. She was as beautiful as a sleek and charming vixen. Even the patchedblack pulu[5]robe couldn't hide her haughty elegance. She was like a girl from a fallen aristocratic family， and her beauty made the men of Pu Village recoil at the sight of her. “Dhajee was reincarnated in the wrong family，” they said.
Dhajee was fed up of her poor and hopeless family. They had to eat tsampa and drink weak tea all the time. She didn't feel that life was diffcult； it was her worn shoes and patched clothes that she couldn't bear. Her mother would scold her for wasting soap powder even if she was washing her underwear. Why were people born so differently？ Dhajee， who once went to work in the city， was confused by this question. Thinking about this， she would remember the city women wearing long Tibetan robes and leather shoes. “Some day， I will leave this place，” she often promised herself.
After Norbu Tenzin left home， Dhajee's uncle Tsering often came to visit Ama Chozom and her daughters in Pu Village. Uncle Tsering lived in Senke Village， which was Dhajee's father's home. At that time， her father had married into her mother Chozom's family and his youngest brother stayed at home to look after their parents. Senke Village was quite far from Pu Village but it still belonged to Jum Township. Close to the outskirts of Karton County Town， Senke was the village with the most fertile soil， the richest water and the best harvests in Jum Township. There were only two ten-thousand-yuan households in the whole township， and they both came from Senke Village.
Uncle Tsering's wife was a descendant of a local noble family. She brought an abundant dowry when she married Uncle Tsering and so they lived a relatively well-off life. Unfortunately， she died of an illness without having had any children， leaving Uncle Tsering extremely lonely.
One day， a thought occurred to Uncle Tsering： given that Ama Chozom and her daughters lived such a hard life， he could adopt one of them as his own daughter. He favoured Sangjee. She was quiet， honest and sincere. He decided that she could take good care of him in his old age. However， Sangjee was Ama Chozom's eldest daughter and he felt ashamed to tell her his preference. Instead， he asked her to allow him to adopt Penjee. Although Penjee wasn't as well-spoken as the other girls， she was honest and reliable. To his surprise， Ama Chozom refused. “Penjee is my youngest daughter. She can't leave her mother，” she said.
Ama Chozom was willing to let him adopt her second daughter， Dhajee. She put in a lot of good words for her， unbeknownst to her daughters before， but Uncle Tsering had no interest in Dhajee at all. He saw something discontented in her eyes. Such an expression gave him a sense of distrust. He just smiled and shook his head at Ama Chozom's suggestion.
Nevertheless， on the morning when he planned to go back， the situation took a favourable turn. Dhajee packed her clothes in a blue cloth and followed Uncle Tsering silently. No matter how much he implored her to go back， she continued to follow him. In the face of her stubbornness， Uncle Tsering could hardly refuse to take her in， at least temporarily.
Leaving her mother didn't make Dhajee sad at all. She couldn't stand her sloppiness. Her grey hair was in a mess like a chicken coop. Her eyelids almost covered her deep-set eyes and there was always gum at the corners. Besides all this， her face was masked with soot. She once overheard her mother's peers talking about how beautiful she was when she was younger， but Dhajee couldn't imagine it at all. Her mother's pulu was so dirty that it was hard to make out its original colour. She once suggested that it should be washed， but her mother wouldn't hear of it. She said it's a greater waste to wash it once than to wear it for ten years， and claimed that it wouldn't be warm anymore after being washed. She always found some excuse that Dhajee couldn't bear.
The news that Dhajee had been adopted by her uncle from Senke Village soon spread in Pu. Some said Dhajee coveted her uncle's valuable jewellery； some said she was tired of poverty-stricken Pu Village； others said she was a good girl who wanted to keep her lonely old uncle company. Various speculations were passed around for a long time in the tiny village. None of this mattered much to Dhajee， who left without hesitation.
5
Shortly after Dhajee's departure， Sangjee's boyfriend Chamsu Dorjee also went to work in the city. His departure disappointed Sangjee far more than her sister Dhajee's. She felt extremely cold in her heart， as though she were walking in the chill spring wind wearing only a thin coat.
Chamsu Dorjee's family was relatively well-off compared to others in Pu Village but there was still a big divide from the city people， and even the peasants in surrounding villages. He decided to venture into the outside world like Blacksmith Tashi's son Wangchuk. He firmly believed that he would be able to earn more and earn it easier in the city than in the fields at home.
Dorjee was the youngest son of the Chamsu family. He was originally supposed to share one wife with his two brothers and learn Tibetan medicine， divination and fortune-telling. In a word， he was supposed to live the normal life for a member of the Angpa Family. However， a beautiful woman changed his life. When he was only about seventeen， Sangjee， with a small piece of yak butter and a dirty hada， took her seriously sick mother to his home and asked his father Chamsula to divine and drive out the evil spirits that were afficting her. Chamsula's generosity was well known in the village. He wore a deep red Tibetan robe and a yellow wool hat， sitting with a serious expression at the square table overspread with sutras. He declined the gifts presented by Ama Chozom and her daughter. “You're living a hard life，” he said. “I can't accept your gifts. Take them back.”
In the face of such graciousness， Ama Chozom couldn't help wailing， “Rinpoche！ (Tulku) It's an expression of our good will！ Please show your mercy and accept them， or I won't get better！”
Since they were so stubborn， Chamsula couldn't decline their gifts. He asked Ama Chozom to sit before him， then closed his eyes and chanted a paragraph of sutras. Afterwards， he blew on her head and repeated his previous actions several times. At last， he hung an amulet on her neck. When they were about to leave， he enjoined them to make a “lu” from tsampa and throw it into the road. Thus， the evil spirits would be driven away.
After this， Ama Chozom gradually got better day by day. She was deeply grateful and she felt guilty that she hadn't repaid him for his kindness. But they couldn't afford to give anything away. How could they repay Rinpoche？ Ama Chozom eventually decided to send Sangjee to help him during the spring ploughing the following year.
During each spring ploughing， many people would volunteer to help the Chamsu family. As a result， Sangjee's arrival didn't make any difference. As it would have been impolite to send her back， however， she was asked to help Chamsula's daughter-in-law cook and make tea.
Soon， the spring ploughing came to an end. When Sangjee was about to go back， she and Chamsula's future daughter-in-law became friends. She knew Sangjee's family was poverty-stricken， so she furtively gave her a small bag of tsampa， a string of curd cheese and a piece of dried mutton to take back with her.
After the ploughing， spring seemed to have disappeared from the farmland. Only some tenacious grass showed the season. Wind swept over the fields， stirring up dust， and everything became dusty in the blink of an eye. Sangjee walked along the edge of the field with the wind blowing dust in her eyes. She took off her headscarf to cover her face. She had left the Chamsu house far behind and nothing could be heard except the howling wind. After a long time， she sensed that there was someone running after her. She turned around to see Chamsu's youngest son， her new friend's husband-to-be. Sangjee greeted him politely with a flushed face. She was afraid that Chamsula's family had discovered that his daughter-in-law had given her the gifts. Chamsu Dorjee came to Sangjee and whispered， “Let me see you off. You've done so much for my family and I haven't thanked you.”
Sangjee's beauty was a welcome in Pu Village. She had a big round face， a straight nose， jet-black hair， healthy skin and a pair of puppy-dog eyes. Many young men wanted to marry her， but how could Ama Chozom be willing to marry her to others？
Love between young people doesn't need too many reasons. Although Dorjee's marriage was already arranged， and although his wife-to-be had helped Sangjee a lot， everything was too far gone once it began.
If Sangjee's brother hadn't moved in with the Blacksmith family and insisted on being their son-in-law， the Chamsu family would have had no reason to refuse Dorjee and Sangjee's marriage. But how could a noble family accept a woman related to the Blacksmith family？ When their marriage encountered challenges， Dorjee was even more determined to go and work in the city.
注释
[1]Apagbu refers to a Domiciliary Vajrayāna Master in Tibetan culture.
[2]The suffx “-jee” means “happiness” in the Tibetan language.
[3]A kind of Tibetan herdsman's tool for driving flocks and herds
[4]A nickname given to her by the villagers. Her face is wrinkled like “Tinga”—goatskin used to knead tsampa.
[5]Tibetan wool.