Chapter 16

The next morning, we set off. God knows how much I want to stay and research this ancient city that cannot be found in the 21st century. However, after thinking twice, I decided to follow the Persians. There are two reasons: One, the merchants chose to return to Kucha because of me, how could I delay their [original] journey any further. Secondly, I have to leave for my own safety because who knows if a second group of bandits might come along. Anyhow, let’s just head to Kucha first then come back here later. After all, this place is not very far from Kucha. Having made my decision, I woke up early and conducted a quick survey around the place, then marked the location on the map so that it’ll be easier to locate later on.

After we set off, reluctant to part with the ancient city, I keep looking back until it becomes a small dot in the sky and finally disappears from sight. On a positive note, along the way, I get to see many surprising landmarks. I discover the ruins of a military base from the Han Dynasty that still has remnants of war left behind. When noon break comes, I use the time to quickly measure and examine the site. I find many pottery fragments and even some Han copper coins. According to the map, this is probably the Wu Lei Gate during the Han Dynasty. Later on, during the Tang Dynasty, a beacon tower and garrison fort will be built next to this site. There will be a large battalion and army camps set up around as well. This construction will remain even in the 21st century.

I keep conducting research along the way just like that. Three days later, we arrive at Kucha.

Seeing the familiar walls, my heart beats fast. A strange feeling arises in me, as if I have ‘returned home’. I wonder if Rajiva is still Kucha. How old is he now? Does he still remember me?

We enter the citadel from the eastern gate. My eyes widen when the guard asks for documents. While I ponder whether I should tell him that I ‘know’ the State Preceptor, the Persian who knew Tocharian has already slipped a small pouch into the gate guard, who then waves his hand and allows us in.

This is the ancient city of Kucha that I once knew? From the main streets to back lanes, every nook and crane has been swept and cleaned. Everyone is dressed in their best clothes and drifting towards the western gate, their faces full of eagerness. I look at the Persians. They shrug, not knowing what is going on either. I have to grab a passerby for answers. The person sees that I’m wearing Han clothes and explains that today is the procession of Buddha festival. Later there will be handcarts carrying Buddha statues into the city from the western gate, processing on the streets for everyone to see.

Procession of Buddha festival? Fa Xian and Xuan Zang wrote that this was the largest Buddhist festival held in India and in the Western Regions.

Seeing me in a daze, that passerby thinks I’m a Han person and thus do not know about this festival, so he begins to explain it to me eagerly. After the Buddha reached Nirvana, Buddhist disciples who wanted to see him again decided to start this festival on the Buddha’s birthday, so everyone can ‘see’ him and pray. Prayers on this day are rumoured to more effective than usual. But this kind of festival never gets to the Central Plains.12409Red-Agate-Buddhist-Prayer-Beads0

I am quite fortunate, to have arrived here at such a right time, how could I miss such an important Buddhist festival like this. I bid the Persians good bye. Since they carry so many goods with them, surely they cannot accompany me any further. The leader of the merchants wants to give me some money but I refuse vehemently. He then decides to give me a string of clear agate beads and puts it in my hand. I reluctantly accept it.

After parting with the Persians, I merge with the crowd and move along to the western gate. A temporary dais is set up on top of the gate, covered by yellow and red canvasses and decorated with countless fresh flowers. The people sitting on the dais are dressed in fancy clothes. Even though I cannot see clearly, I guess that they must be the Kuchan royalty and nobles. People squeeze by me and eventually force me to take a dozen steps back. Finally I find a small spot enough for my two feet, but I must stand on my tiptoes to look.

A red carpet around hundred meters in length spreads from the gate. At this moment, the sea of people suddenly moves. My eyes follow the movement and look towards the gate. Still on my tiptoes, I see two identical carts with large wheels, around 4-5 meters tall, decorated grandly like a mini palace, covered by a yellow canvas. I have seen this Buddha procession at the large square before, where next to the Buddha were two smaller Bodhisattva statues. The Buddha statue is made of gold, wears a golden kasaya robe with complex patterns and numerous precious jewellery.

The carts slowly enter the western gate and pull to a stop on the red carpet. Bai Chun [the Kuchan king] steps down from the dais and removes his crown and shoes. Feet bare, he walks on the red carpet, both hands holding a long incense stick over his head, and faces the Buddha statue in a reverent manner. The king is displaying signs of age, his body heavier than before. Suddenly, I’m pulled into a trance. The person standing in an upright posture behind Bai Chun, the one wearing golden kasaya robe and exuding otherworldly aura, it’s Rajiva! It is indeed him!

Like a movie, everything around me blurs into shadows and all the noises vanish. In my eyes, only the image of Rajiva is clear.

He has grown up, seems to be over twenty years of age. [He looks] just like a Greek statue with that high nose, big bright eyes, long thick eyebrows, and those light gray eyes of his that seem to be able to see through everything in this world. His thin lips are pursed together, a vivid line that captures people’s attention. He looks very tall, must be over 1m80 [5’11’’]. His physique is firmer than when he was thirteen, and though still thin, it is proportionate. That narrow face, pointed chin, and elegant as a swan neck, every line of it is graceful. Not to mention his dignified aura and calm demeanor, which becomes even more prominent in the crowd, against the muddy background [metaphor], bringing shame to others around him.

Rajiva, Rajiva, how could you become this handsome, this bright? If I keep looking at you, once I return to the 21st century, how would I be able to look at any other man?

Bai Chun kneels down before the Buddha statue. A female servant brings forward a pot of bright flowers. The king puts the incense in the burner before the Buddha, then scatters the flowers on top of the statue. The crowd erupts in cheers. At this time, the queen and the noble ladies are also standing up and scattering flowers down from the gate. Drums begin to sound. The carts slowly move along on the carpet and enter the city. Bai Chun and a few other people lead the procession. Rajiva is also with them. Anxious, I yell out: “Rajiva, Rajiva, I’m here. I have returned!”

The crowd swarms to the gate. I get pushed around so much that I feel as if my feet are no longer touching the ground. Rajiva suddenly turns back in my direction. I want to call him, but people from behind suddenly push forward and make me fall to the ground. I rush to stand up, but he has gone away. Looking at that tall figure slowly disappearing into the city, I smile sadly. He probably cannot hear me. Amidst all this noise, how could he? Only now do I feel a burning pain from scrapes in my palm and on my elbow. These summer clothes that I wear are really no good!

I follow the procession in a daze. Every time the carts pass by the entrance of a temple or palace, they will stop. After that a number of men and women dressed in beautiful silk will rotate the wooden trays in their hands and dance. The sashes on their clothes fly along the wind. In the cheerful music, with their practiced moves, they would scatter the flowers from their trays as they dance. The crowd around them clap their hands in applause. Next is a beautiful girl dressed in soft tulle dress, two hands holding a golden bowl, dancing on bare feet, her moves light and happy. From time to time, she would lift her left foot and her hands would bring the bowl over her head. This dance was captured vividly on the paintings in Dunhuang and Kizil.

I ask an old man standing beside me. He tells me that these two dances are called tray dance and bowl dance. Tray dance is a dance where one scatters flowers on Buddha statues and on the people, representing admiration and praise towards the Buddha. Bowl dance is a dance that originated from the story of the Buddha, who in his six years of penance, in order to restrain himself, had used every austere method possible in eating and living. But even when he fainted from fatigue, he still could not attain enlightenment. Finally, when he meditated under the Bodhi tree, he was able to reach enlightenment and founded Buddhism. Later, he went to wash up in the river after many years, and after that received from a young woman a bowl of porridge. This bowl dance is thus based on the story of that young woman who gave the Buddha porridge.

The dances and music are very impressive, especially for someone from the 21st century like me, but they are unable to extinguish the heavy feelings like a wall in my heart. Unknowingly, my eyes keep passing through the dances, through the statues, through the noisy crowd, searching for that tall silhouette…

And every time I think I see that figure, I would rush up to look and then pull to a stop, realizing that it is merely an illusion. Only an illusion? I suddenly recall a poem:

“Startled I look back

Catching that person’s silhouette

Next to embers full of sparks.”

I take a deep breath and turn around once more. There is nobody. I rub my eyes and look around, still nobody.

The sky darkens. The streets are still filled with music and dancing. It’s time for me to look for lodgings. I escape the crowd and ask around several inns, who all tell me they are full. Should I go to the State Preceptor’s residence? But with me looking like this, I will only scare them. It’s not because I look like a villain. My looks are actually pretty okay, certain not to disappoint the audience [Ha!]. I once held the beauty queen title of the history research department. Of course, my class had more males than females. But that aside, if you suddenly see someone whose appearance after nearly or over ten years (I still haven’t confirmed how many years have passed since) has not changed a bit, how would you react?

I am still wondering what to do when luckily, my saviours arrive—they are the Persian merchants I met before. They bring me to their Zoroastrian temple, which has a few rooms at the back for travelling Persians to spend the night. This reminds me of merchant halls in Shaanxi, Wenzhou. That is how I spend my first night after returning to Kucha.

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