Body Rainbow
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Editor’s Notes：
Jigme Phungyel is a famous Tibetan novelist. Almost 20 years ago， his novel Tibetans in Beijing vividly recorded several Tibetan youths’ lives and their confusions in modern city in the 1980s and 1990s. Later， he went to Tibet Autonomous Region as one of aiding-Tibet cadres once and again. From then on， he knows Tibet and Tibetans more and more deeply. Last year， he finished his novel body rainbow and provided our editors to polish. We all enjoyed it very much and excited to find his progress. Here we open a new column “Tibetan Novels” and publish it one by one.
Body rainbow is a rare and extraordinary after-death phenomenon. Its basic characteristic is that the dead body keeps shrinking until it disappears entirely either instantly or over a period of several days） as a rainbow or a breath of air vanishes into the atmosphere. When the body is completely “sublimed”， usually nothing is left except a little hair and some fingernails .
Chapter One
Finally Phubu stuffed the small copper pot， wrapped in a plastic sheet， into the luggage. He tightened the strap and breathed a great sigh of relief.
“Let’s go.”He said.
Supported by Lhapa， Phumo struggled to his feet from the mat. The moment had fi nally come. She was pretty excited and defi nitely in better spirits than usual. Her cheeks were fl ushed.
It was quite a heavy load， including all our food supplies for the road such as a bag of Tsampa， some beef jerky （dried beef）， and a small piece of butter. The fresh butter was a gift from their uncle Lhapa Phuntsok who lived in the
Dangran village. Since their mother’s death， Lhapa Phuntsok hadn’t visited for more than six months. Yesterday， when he brought the butter， he did not say much either. He was still bearing a grudge over the death of his sister. Besides food， there was an old Thangka in the luggage that Phubu planned to have consecrated in front of the magnifi cent Sakyamuni Buddha in the Jokhang Temple in Lhasa. There were also fi ve pairs of wooden hand guards and three heavy leather aprons， each with an extra piece of rubber sewn on top. Phumo’s heavy clothes for the road and their sleeping pads were strapped on top of the luggage. The bags were so full that Phubu couldn’t jam in another pair of shoes.
Originally， Phubu’s plan was to take two mules from home； one for Phumo to ride and the other for luggage. They would go to Dombang on the other side of the river fi rst， continue up the mountain from there and start prostrating once they reached the highway. Though it is not the shortest route， it avoided the high mountain of Dosenla that does not have road access. Therefore at least the fi rst section of the trip would be relatively easy. However， Phumo was strongly opposed to the idea： fi rstly， because this route would lead them eastward in the opposite direction for dozens of kilometres； secondly， she had never heard of anyone starting their pilgrimage by riding a mule. Phumo complained，“If comfort is what you want， you might as well not go. The Buddha is in the west. I’ve never heard of anyone going east on their pilgrimage.”Phubu had no reply to that and had to give up his plan.
Over two months ago a party of seven， led by Padma Trile of Yulo village， left for Lhasa. When he was young， Padma Trile worked as a teacher at the township primary school. He was a person of charisma and prestige. This year’s pilgrimage group was not big because the quota for low-income housing projects was bigger than usual this year. Many families were busy preparing to build houses. Padma Trile knew Phubu had planned a pilgrimage， so he invited Phubu a long time ago… but Phubu had never given him a defi nite answer.
Phumo knew what Phubu was thinking.
There was a time when Phubu’s family was very well liked in Yerpa village， including the two pastures in Dangran and Nyinpa， and three riverside villages of Yulo， Gogo， and Sengo. Theirs was a big family. Phubu’s father Losang was once a township offi cial. Though he did not do that much for the villagers during his tenure， thanks to the good infl uence of his wife Lhamo， he did not boss people around like many colleagues who had antagonized village people.
Lhamo came from a big family. Some of her relatives worked as county offi cials， but she had never seen that as something to brag about or take advantage of. On the contrary， she always turned these connections into opportunities to do something good for her fellow villagers， for example， she would ask her relatives who were working as county offi cials to look after her neighbours’ kids studying in the county seat. She never had a row with any neighbours over her many relatives， who often complained that she did not care enough for her own family. So when Lhamo passed away， Yerpa village， which did not have a tradition of elaborate funerals， staged a massive tribute during the 49 days after her death.
13 years ago， Phubu was taken by some relatives of her mother to Lhasa to learn business. Phubu hadn’t even graduated from primary school then. He was just a curly-haired boy wandering around the small alleys in the Panamxue neighbourhood of Lhasa. He learned to smoke and drink. Worse still， he learned to sell antiquities from neighbouring counties. His mother’s relatives found him too much to handle， so they took the opportunity of going back to attend his brother Lhapa’s wedding and “escorted” him back to Yerpa from Lhasa. Following the local customs of fraternal polyandry， the day when his brother got married was also Phubu’s wedding day. Therefore， Phumo， who was regarded by those from the Chinese hinterland as Phumo’s sister-in-law， was in fact Phubu’s wife too.
Having seen the world， Phubu did not take this arrangement seriously， neither did he understand much about men and women. So when he fi rst came back to the village， besides running around in the neighbouring villages to search for antiquities， he just got blind drunk with a bunch of boys of similar age in the village grocery store. In the old days， the young men of the village rarely got drunk. Those who came home late and drunk faced the dangers of falling down the mountain. The grocery store owned by Chophel only sold grape juice with alcohol. Now， with Phumo’s patronage， Chophel’s sold 100 or 200 Yuan of beer on an average day； more than they had sold in a week in the past.
Their drinking excesses upset the other parents in the village. They went to Lhamo to complain. Her youngest son was a big headache for Lhamo too， so she told Lhapa and Phumo to give their brother some good lessons. It was not clear how Phumo did it， but Phubu did stop going to Chophel’s grocery store. Instead， he did not leave his bedroom for whole days， which upset Lhapa. Phumo knew this could not last and Phubu was a wild horse that could not be reined in， so she persuaded her mother-in-law to send him to Lhasa to do business. Phumo said that the two elders were getting older， while the young couple were planning to have children. It was time to remodel their house. The fi nancial burden of the family would increase substantially but on the other hand， government policy had become more and more favourable so it was also time for Phubu to contribute his share. The old couple were very satisfi ed with their daughter-in-law’s arrangement but they were just worried that once Phubu was in Lhasa， he would be too much of a troublemaker and they were concerned about his safety.
“Rest assured， Phubu won’t cause any trouble for anyone.”Phumo said.
That turned out to be true. Phubu not only remained trouble-free， but also distinguished himself.
So Phubu took the treasures he had collected at home and went back to Lhasa. He called on an antique dealer named Gyatso whom he knew. This Gyatso lived in a big courtyard. His neighbours were either painters or weird characters dealing with curiosities. Gyatso claimed to be a Tibetan from Lhasa， as well as the housekeeper of a famous monastery. But in Phubu’s eyes， this Gyatso fellow looked every inch like a Sichuanese - just like those Sichuanese construction contractors in his hometown. Later， Gyaltsen， a business partner of Phubu， told him，“That Gyatso is not our Gyatso（the sea） but Gyana Tsongpa， a merchant from the Chinese hinterland！” That’s when Phubu learned the difference between the two Gyatsos.
Phubu went into Gyatso’s small courtyard and spread his things out on the cement. Seeing them， Gyatso’s eyes lit up. He picked and chose from the pile， put things aside for a while， then threw them back and pulled out another. He mumbled under his breath， “This is a bit broken， that won’t do； it leaks， what a pity...” In the end， nothing was good enough for him. Gyatso asked Phubu， “My goodness， where did you get these？ None of them is good enough. Take all of them back.”Seeing Phubu’s confusion， Gyatso said，“Pure trash， all of them！ There are no identity marks. Did you pick them up in the suburbs of Lhasa？”
Phubu’s face turned red， “these are all from my hometown. Forget it then！”
Phubu got down on the ground and started putting things back into his sack. Gyatso quickly picked out a copper pot. “This one is kind of OK. How much？”
“You tell me.”Phubu said.“50.”Gyatso waved a hand.
Without saying a word， Phubu grabbed that pot from Gyatso and put it away.
“You name the price.”Gyatso squatted down.
“5， 000！”
“Hey， don’t try to rip me off.”Gyatso jumped up.
“Last year， I sold you one like this at 3， 500.”Phubu had won and lost in this trade. He knew how to deal with this kind of situation.
“Really？ I don’t remember anything like that.”Gyatso said.“Let’s get it over with. It’s a heavy sack； you don’t have to shoulder it back and forth. I’ll take them all for 6，000.” He gestured towards Phubu’s sack.
Phubu fastened the sack， raised his head， and spoke with the kind of fake sincerity he learned from Gyatso，“My friend， I know you have tons of customers， you won’t have any problem selling them. You can have my whole sack for 60，000. If no one buys them， you can return them to me. Don’t worry about the money， I’ll come back in a few days to get it.”
Gyatso knew that he could not acknowledge a debt to these fi erce Khampas. He waved his hands at once，“No， no， no. That’s too much.”In the end， the two agreed on 2， 500 for that one pot. Gyatso counted the money， passed it to Phubu， and said，“There are many old Thangkas and old Buddha statues in your home town. Those things are worth a lot.”Then he led Phubu into his rooms， and showed him dozens of Buddha statues of various sizes， made from wood， clay and china， but mostly bronze.
Gyatso’s words pointed the way for Phubu.
What Gyatso said was actually no news to Phubu. He knew that many of his fellow villagers had been in that line of business， but it was still a fi eld in which he feared to tread. One reason was that no one had ever brought that up to him before. More importantly， he still felt uneasy about dealing with Buddha statues. But those Buddha statues he saw in Gyatso’s room did strike him. He had seen too many statues like those since his childhood， in people’s homes， monasteries， or shrines by the roads， but he had
never connected them with money. Since then， Phubu jumped on the bandwagon of the Buddha statue trade and soon hit the jackpot. His business got bigger and bigger… and he gained quite a reputation in this trade in Lhasa.
At the beginning， Phubu came home twice a year. He usually bought loads of stuff in Lhasa， rode the long-distance bus to Dzogong， and hired a car to get to Dombang. Finally， he would send a message to Lhapa to meet him with a mule. The whole journey took four or fi ve days. The entire family were happy to see the bags and parcels of goods. The novelties Phubu bought for Phumo often amused Lhapa. Lhapa would hold baby Namgyal and Drolma up， and move into the kitchen. As time went by， Phubu was less keen on going back to this village that had no road access. As he got busier and busier， the material demands from home also grew. With the rise of his fortune， he had more women by his side. Those women had fascinating ways to keep him coming back for more and forget about his faraway home. Nevertheless， Phubu taught Lhapa how to withdraw money with the bankbook from the county bank， and he had never failed to make monthly deposits into that account.
Back at home， things were getting better and better. Their house became the biggest in the village. Lhapa told Phubu on the telephone that it was 48-pillar big， the roof was on， and half of the walls were fi nished. Phubu would be living very comfortably when he came back. Lhamo and Phumo were all smiles all day. Everything at home was arranged in perfect order. The village elders and relatives from other villages all enjoyed coming there to sit and chat from time to time. On those occasions， old Losang always sat in his usual spot turning his long prayer wheel， taking a pinch of snuff once in a while and puffi ng light smoke from his mouth. He was having a great time.
Slowly， those who came back from their pilgrimage， business， or medical trips to Lhasa brought back negative news about Phubu. People described how he made a fortune by selling Buddha statues there， and that he had many women， got drunk every day， and stole things from monasteries along with some other dubious characters from Lhasa. “Good heavens，”the old men would shake their heads in dismay， while the young men would reply in disdain， “We knew he was no good from the beginning and you told us to look up to him！” Finally， they would stick up their little fi ngers and spit to the direction of Phubu’s house. Gradually， the villagers and relatives from the adjacent village showed up less and less often. Even when Phubu’s family greeted the villagers fi rst， their reply was usually half-hearted and embarrassed， some simply walked away as if running from leprosy. Still， it was all hearsay at this stage. The family called Phubu， but he acted as though nothing had happened. Then one day， Uncle Jampa Phuntso returned from Lhasa and confi rmed these rumors in Yerpa. Suddenly Lhamo fell ill. On that day， a gust of wild wind cut down an old walnut tree in the orchard behind their new house and Lhamo was down just like that walnut tree： the life drained out of her and she never recovered. By some mysterious connection， on the very day Lhamo fell ill， Phumo miscarried her third pregnancy. However she could not just lie down since her sick mother-in-law needed her care.
When his mother was very ill， Phubu came back with some expensive 70-Flavors-Pearl-Pills which he considered a panacea. No one knew whether the pills worked or not， but Phubu’s return did bring enormous relief to the family， especially to the two sick ladies. Phumo was in much better spirits and Lhamo was able to sit up in bed now and then. But all Phubu did was reminding them to take the variety of pills he brought while playing with his cell phone absent-mindedly. Whenever he had time， he would climb the mountain slope， where the reception was better， to make phone calls. The family， especially the two women， took every opportunity to preach to him about how wrong selling Buddha statues was. They even forced him to swear an oath before the Buddha， only stopping short of kneeling in front of it. Phubu kept hemming and hawing， but could not take his eyes off the tiny cell phone screen， which to their eyes was only of the size of a fi ngernail. One day， after a phone call， he hurried to Dombang on a mule， regardless of the time. The next day he sent a message back， saying that he had to go back to Lhasa to land a major deal. Lhamo knew he was going to pick up his godforsaken business. She lay down in silence， stopped eating， and muttered parts of Sayings of the Buddha about Scolding. Jampa Phuntso heard the news and came immediately but could not make out what she was saying before her death.
Although the villagers were alienated from Phubu’s family， Lhamo’s passing did draw them closer again. Appreciating what a nice person and what a devout believer she was made her funeral into the biggest in the history of the village. Yerpa village had always kept things simple when it came to funerals， because death was seen as the beginning of the next life. The body was just an empty vessel. It was either exposed to the predatory birds， or fi sh， or buried in soil （as long as no more sins were committed）. The important thing was to ask the monks to look after the soul of the deceased during the 49 days between death and rebirth， and guide the lonely soul through this signifi cant transition. As to where the soul would go， it is believed that it has a lot to do with what you’ve done in your life.
Chapter Two
Phubu came back to Yerpa before “28 days after death”. On that very day， fi ve monks from the Serni monastery came （as well as some villagers who could chant sutras）， so there were about a dozen people chanting in the scripture hall all night. The one-hundred- plus families in the village all had someone come to pay their respects， but almost everyone walked past Phubu sitting by the memorial tablet of the deceased as if he were only thin air. Only a couple of elder neighbours didn’t have the heart to do that and nodded to him. Back when Phubu brought parcels and bundles back to the village， how cool he was！ The horses and mules in his caravan sometimes numbered as many as a dozen. He was like a hero， surrounded by people ingratiating themselves with him. True， it was in the mourning period， but looking past him as if he did not exist was too much.
Phubu’s feelings were hurt and he wanted to leave， but of course， he could not leave before the end of the 49-day-period. In the following days， he often sat in front of the shrine in the scripture hall， gaping at the small， ancient family Thangka， which was severely darkened by smoke. Sometimes I couldn’t help but estimate the age and value of the Thangka and think of his business in the big city. Nevertheless， gradually he got used to his peaceful life. At night， he went to sleep with the cowbells in the courtyard ringing in his ears. He rediscovered that long-gone comfortable feeling： no more alcohol， no more late nights， no embarrassing instances of being unable to fi nd his home after getting wasted.
The family gradually recovered from the pain of losing their matriarch， and normal life was resumed. However， Phumo was still depressed after her mother-in-law’s 49-day memorial service. She had burned herself out. The spark of life still fl ickered in her. Phubu sensed that fl ickering， but felt that it was fanned by some strong wind from outside， rather than inner strength. Phumo kept calm， she did not want her family to be in another painful situation after losing one beloved member. She kept the pain inside and just said that she was just too tired and wanted to have a good rest.
Once Phumo lay down， she could not get up again， as if the backbone， which had long supported her， had been pulled away， just like Lhamo. In the warmth of her bed， she felt as weak as melted butter.
Then came April by the Tibetan calendar， which was the time for harvesting barley. That was one of the busiest times of the year in the village. Normally， when Phumo was up and well， she almost singlehandedly managed several mu of land. She usually got up early in the morning to water the crops， and then came to cook tea， wake the two children， and bring tea to her husband and father-in-law. It seemed like she had unlimited strength. After breakfast， she went to weed the fi eld， and returned at noon with fi rewood. Lhapa would help out a bit during harvest time， but usually Lhapa’s main job was just to go to the county seat and withdraw money， or go to Dombang to do some grocery shopping. Now that Phumo had fallen ill， Phubu wanted to help them fi nish harvesting the barley and plant corn and millet for next season before going back to Lhasa. One day， after Lhapa had gone to work in the fi eld， Phumo sent Namgyal and Drolma to their grandpa， and called Phubu to sit by her side. She grabbed his hand and said， “Phu” （“Phu”， meaning“little boy” in Tibetan）， she always called him that. When Phubu slept with Phumo for the fi rst time， he was indeed just a boy. “Phu， take me with you when you go back to Lhasa. I feel something very heavy on me. I want to go to Lhasa as a pilgrim， and pray for the deceased.”Phubu looked down， but did not say a word. He did not expect this. Phumo went on，“All you have to do is to take me to Lhasa. After visiting the Jokhang Temple， I’ll come back by myself. Our family’s bad karma needs to be diminished.”
Phumo’s seemingly casual words shook Phubu to the core. Phumo felt his reaction and squeezed his hand. Phubu snapped out of his trance.“Let me think， let me think.”He said.
Phubu sat in front of the small family Thangka. Scenes fl ashed through his mind like a movie： in early scenes about his Buddha statue trade， the pictures were messy and shaky with jarring background music； but when it got to his mother’s passing， the screen went blank - with just some spooky music coming from an unknown source. He had no idea when his father and brother came home. He did not even realize that Namgyal and Drolma had jumped on top of him. The next morning， after the family prayers and right before teatime， Phubu made an announcement： after they fi nished harvesting the corn， he would take Phumo to Lhasa on a prostrating pilgrimage！ Lhapa gasped in disbelief. Old Losang turned his prayer wheel with eyes half closed and a smile on his face. Phumo was already teary-eyed.
“That’s insane. Think of Phumo’s health！”Lhapa protested.
“I’ll do the prostration， all Phumo has to do is to walk with me. If we get too tired， we can hitch a ride.”Phubu said.
Phumo looked at the two brothers，“I’ll be fi ne. It’s six months away. I’ll be fully recovered by then.”
“Just two of you？ Leaving father and children home with me？ Think of me for a moment！” Lhapa was shocked and almost incoherent.
Old Losang said， “I heard Padma Trile of Yulo would organize a pilgrimage team this year. You can go with them.”
“No need for that. I’ve been to Lhasa a million times. We’ll be fi ne by ourselves.”Phubu was adamant.
“You’ve walked to Lhasa？ Don’t be ridiculous！ You went there by bus.”Lhapa glared at him.
“All right， all right. It’s still early. Let’s wait and see then.” Phumo played the peacemaker.
The news of Phubu’s proposal to take Phumo on a prostrating pilgrimage to Lhasa was soon all over the two pastures （Dangran and Nyinpa） and three villages （Sengo， Yulo， and Gogo）. It was met with some surprise， some approval， and some suspicion.
The short summer soon passed. After the corn harvest， the families all began taking animal manure to their farmlands and planned to plant the fi elds with barley and winter wheat. The seven people in Yulo’s pilgrimage team had prepared tents and carts. Padma Trile came to Phubu several times， asking whether he could do something to help （but Phubu was very stubborn， and declined Padma Trile’s offer）. Phubu was particularly unhappy about Yulo’s youngsters， because when he was doing well in Lhasa， people from Yulo were his biggest fans. Later， however， they became the main source of gossip. Phumo told Padma Trile，“Uncle Padma， Phubu was afraid that my condition would delay your departure and we will have to take care of some family business before we leave. Please go ahead， we’ll try to catch up with you later. When we get to Lhasa， Phubu will take all of us to the Samye Monastery.”
So， more than two months after the pilgrimage team of Yulo had left， Phubu and Phumo were fi nally ready to go.
Chapter Three
“Let’s go.” Phubu said. He put the bags on his back and climbed down the ladder to the courtyard. In front of him， Lhapa had carefully climbed down while supporting Phumo. By the time Yulo’s pilgrimage team had left， Phumo seemed to have almost recovered from her illness. She was even able to help with some housework. Lhapa was no longer sick with worry about their impending trip. However， only days before their departure， Phumo suffered from vomiting and diarrhoea. Perhaps it was food poisoning but this relapse had worried Lhapa， and Phubu felt uncertain too.
“We’ll go next spring instead of this year，” Phubu whispered to Lhapa.
Phumo overheard this in bed and sat up at once， “No way！ There’s no turning back once a vow is made！”
“We did not make that vow in a temple.” The two brothers replied.
“As long as it was made， it doesn’t matter where. If you don’t go， I’ll go instead and try to catch up with uncle Patri myself.”
The two men looked at each other， utterly defeated. Finally， Lhapa said，“Have a good rest and then get some nourishment， …and get better soon.”
In order to leave on time as she wished， Phumo not only took a lot of pills （brought from Lhasa by Phubu） but also tried hard to eat well and even forced herself to get up early and stay up late to do the housework. Phubu knew that Phumo was just putting on a show， but she often winked at him， and told him not to interfere. Phubu’s idea was to ride mules to Dombang and then walk along the road in a more leisurely manner. But Phumo didn’t agree. At last， Phubu said， “I’ll have to shoulder many heavy bags. If we cross Doshong La Mountain， let’s not do prostrations between home and the township. Wait until I borrow a cart from Dampa’s in the township. Then we’ll take turns between pulling the cart and prostrating …what do you say？”
Sitting on the bed， Phumo looked at them and nodded， “All right. But you will be the one to draw the cart and I will prostrate. When we cross Doshong La， I’ll kowtow wherever there are Mani stones.”
Lhapa ran his hands through Phumo’s messy hair， “Drawing a cart and kowtowing are of the same merit. Some say that drawing a cart is even better.”
“I’m just honouring my commitment.”Phumo held her chest， panting.
As Phumo had never fully recovered， Lhapa and Phubu planned to postpone the departure date. However Phumo wouldn’t give in and they knew that if they do not leave soon， the heavy snow in Doshong La would make it even more diffi cult. Old Losang went to the Serni Monastery to pray. The old lama Yonten Gyatso picked the departure date for them and told Losang，“Your daughter-in-law should go. Don’t hold her back.”Losang came back with that message. Lhapa did not object any more. Instead he stuffed a lot of dried apricots （the only snacks Phumo enjoyed） into the alreadypacked bags.
Finally， they were to set off. To ease the sadness of parting， old Losang took his grandchildren to the orchard in the early morning to collect the last batch of apples that were still on the tree. The fruits hanging from the tree looked even redder after frost. The three of them placed an old mat under the tree and carefully struck the tree with a long stick. Apples fell to the ground as Namgyal and Drolma chased each other， laughing and cheering. They all forgot their elders were hitting the road today.
Lhapa， Phubu and Phumo walked along a small alley in the village. The fallen leaves of the walnut tree crunched under their feet. None of them uttered a word. They walked three times clockwise around the white pagoda in front of the village and did nine prostrations each， side by side. Usually they just circumambulated around it several times， but today was different， they were leaving for a prostrating pilgrimage to Lhasa so this ritual
was essential. After the ritual， Lhapa looked at them and said， “It’s up to you two now. Don’t push yourselves too hard. Rest a few days if you get too tired and perhaps take a bus once in a while.” He then took out a stack of bills wrapped in a handkerchief.
Phubu pushed it away，“Don’t be ridiculous. I have enough money.”
“You’ve stayed home for more than six months. Where did you get the money？”
“I have my ways. Don’t you worry； Penlo， in the county， still owes me money.”
Phumo broke her silence， “A pilgrimage shouldn’t cost any money. Besides， food and supplies are all ready. We’ll have people to look after us on the road. Actually， you are the one with the heaviest burdens. You have to look after dad and the kids. That’s a hard job.”
“Don’t mention it. Taking care of them at home is no more diffi cult than Phubu dragging the cart，”said Lhapa in an offhand manner.
Usually there are some people basking in the sun at the entrance to the village but maybe because it was too early in the day， not a single soul was there. At that moment， they heard the sounds of chanting sutras and the beating of drums and cymbals coming from the gentle slope of Awula Mountain in the west and by the Mani stones of Nawusese， the guardian deity of the village. They also saw smoke from the burning of aromatic leaves curling upwards. It was Uncle Jampa Phuntso praying for them. Phubu and Phumo said goodbye to their uncle with their palms pressed together， crossed the bridge， and climbed the small path up Dosenla Mountain.
The fi rst day went very smoothly. Phumo walked slowly with some diffi culty， but the weather was fi ne with hardly any wind. She collected many cypress branches when cooking tea by the pine forest at noon. Tea prepared by burning cypress branches had a subtle fragrance. After they fi nished with Tsampa， Phubu wiped the bowl clean and put it back into the small leather bag. She put out the fi re with the remaining tea and water， and placed some clean stone plates on top of the fi re pit. They climbed toward the top along a path previously used for the tea trade between Sichuan and Tibet. Higher up is the summer pasture of the adjacent Pulung village. In the old days， caravans carrying tea were often robbed there. The thick forest made for a perfect hiding place for bandits. It was said that before a group of bandits ambushed a caravan， they would check to see if the bones left from the caravan’s lunch were clean enough. If not， the travellers were most likely inexperienced and the bandits would wait for them at the next stop. On the contrary， bones left by experienced travellers tended to be so clean that wild animals would not touch them. Thinking of this， Phubu couldn’t help but look back to see how he had handled the fi re pit. Phumo read his mind， and laughed， “We don’t have anything on us that’s worth taking.” Phubu laughed too. Bandits have long disappeared from this area. It is said that the very last bandit here was still active until the 1960s. Around that time when the Tibet Autonomous Region was established， the People’s Liberation Army eventually cornered him in a cave. Too hungry to fi ght， he came out by himself and surrendered. Phumo and Phubu were not even born at that time.
They stayed at the Pulung summer pasture for the night. There were a lot of simple adobe houses built by the villagers. In summer， the villagers drove their cattle there and each family enclosed a piece of land for planting peas and barley as winter feed for cattle. Phubu and Phumo found an adobe house by the road. To keep off animals， especially bears， the houses all had two fl oors. The ground fl oor served as a barn for young cattle and the fi rst fl oor was for sleeping. The ladder had been removed so Phubu found it， replaced it and helped Phumo to climb it. He opened a door barred by a wooden bolt， found a plastic bucket and went to fi ll it from a pond. Then he climbed back up and drew the ladder up after him. Phumo had already lit a fi re in the stove. The fi rewood was ready for use in an open storage room for grass and fi rewood in the house.
Phubu cleaned the pot， put it on the stove， opened their bedroll， and put the mat on the adobe bed. After he was done with all this， it was almost dark. There was a lantern in the house， but there was no oil in it. So Phubu got the fl ashlight and hung it on a post. He saw Phumo nodding off in front of the stove.
“Phumo， Phumo， don’t fall sleep. You’ll catch cold.” Phubu shook her.
Phumo awoke drowsily， “Pu， you are back already？ So soon？”
“Where did I go？”Phubu teased her.
“Didn’t you go to Lhasa on a pilgrimage？” Then she was suddenly awake，“Oh， we are still on our way.”
“You bet we are， and we haven’t eaten yet.” Phubu poured some tea， threw in some milk， Tsampa and cut several pieces of beef jerky， but Phumo had no appetite. She just had a cup of tea and fell asleep.
In the dim light of the torch， Phubu saw Phumo breathing heavily. That worried him. The wind started blowing. Gusts of wind blew through the forest， producing a low， deep sound like the wind on the mountain. Phubu tucked Phumo’s clothes under her and cuddled up by the stove， soon falling asleep leaning against the pillar. （To be continued）