people of Glingkar, the Dragon King gave his favourite daughter to Senglon, with an ample dowry.
Everything was now in readiness. Thosba Gawa ended his life in the celestial realm and prepared to descend to the human world, a land of misery and suffering.
The Story The First Sign of Magic
In the sixth month, when all the flowers were in bloom, the Dragon daughter, Metog Lhartse, was married to Senglon.
On her way to Glingkar, Metog Lhartse saw a white cloud in the south-west, on which sat Master Lotus. ‘Virtuous and blessed woman,’ Master Lotus said. ‘Heaven would like to borrow your noble body that you may give birth to a hero who will save Glingkar. No matter what hardship you encounter in the future, you must hold fast and believe that your son will be the king of Glingkar. He may be a stern deity to the demons, but to the black-haired Tibetans, he will be their brave and wise king.’
The Dragon daughter said fearfully, ‘Master, if my son will descend from the celestial realm and is destined to be the king, why do you speak of hardship?’
Master Lotus lowered his eyes. After a pause he replied, ‘Because some of those demons live in human hearts.’
The Dragon daughter, who had lived a sheltered life, wept bitterly at this, and when she looked up again, he had drifted away on his cloud.
After the wedding, she enjoyed Senglon’s love and the respect of the people, and it seemed impossible that any hardship could befall them when her son was born. She often looked up at the clouds with a smile, sure that Master Lotus had joked with her. But still she was visited by a nameless dread.
Senglon had a first wife, a consort from the distant Han tribe, and they had a son called Gyatsa Zhakar, who was a few years older than Metog Lhartse. He was a bright, brave young man, an indispensable member of the old steward’s retinue. He treated Metog Lhartse with the respect due to his own mother. Sometimes his uncle, Khrothung, would tease him, saying, ‘My good nephew, a hero should be paired with a beautiful woman. If I were you, I would fall in love with my young mother.’
Gyatsa Zhakar would pretend he hadn’t heard him. But when his uncle would not desist, the young warrior, mortified, would stuff a ball of new grass into the older man’s mouth. Often his eyes reflected a sorrow so deep that even a hawk would lose its powerful wings if it fell into such a light.
At this, Metog Lhartse would feel a tender, motherly love for him. ‘Gyatsa Zhakar, why do you always look so sad?’
‘My young mother, it is because I am reminded of how my birth mother misses her homeland.’
‘And you?’
‘Glingkar is my homeland. But though I have vanquished many powerful enemies, I cannot help my mother’s endless suffering.’ His words brought tears to her eyes, and he added, ‘But do not let me make you sad.’
‘If I give you a younger brother, will you let him suffer an ill fate?’
Gyatsa Zhakar laughed. ‘How could Mother worry about that? I swear on my life . . .’
And Metog Lhartse laughed, too.
In the middle of the fortress there was a spring with sweet water that froze in the winter. On the eighth day of the third month, an auspicious sign appeared. Flowers bloomed amid the melting snow, and the spring gushed forth again, pushing through the layers of ice, nourishing and refreshing the pungent air. Clouds heavy with summer rain gathered in the sky where thunder rolled. It sounded to Metog Lhartse like the dragon songs in her father’s palace.
During the winter, Gyatsa Zhakar had led his soldiers in battle against the invading God tribe. Every fast steed that appeared at the fortress brought news of victories, and that day was no different. Glingkar’s troops had occupied all of the God tribe’s mountain castles. The shamans who had helped the enemy had been beheaded, and the God tribe’s land, livestock, people and treasure were now under the control of the Gling tribe. The conquering troops would return in a few days.
That night the wild celebrations kept Senglon and Metog Lhartse awake. Turning to her husband, Metog Lhartse said, ‘I hope our son will be as righteous and courageous as the elder son.’
When sleep finally came, she saw a deity in gold armour hovering at her side, while above her a crack in the clouds revealed a glimpse of the celestial court. A flaming thunderbolt sped downwards, bursting through her head and penetrating deep inside her. When she awoke in the morning, she felt calm and light, and a thought touched her heart. Shyly, she told her husband that their son had been conceived.
Husband and wife walked out onto the balcony. In the early-morning sun, round the bend in the river, the victorious soldiers appeared in a cloud of dust, with flags and pennants, the light glinting from their weapons and helmets.
Under the protection of Heaven, nine months and eight days passed quickly, and it was now the fifteenth day of the twelfth month. Metog Lhartse’s body felt as soft as fine wool, and her mind as clear as the finest jade. Of course, she had heard talk about the pain of childbirth and had seen many women die in the process. She whispered to herself, ‘I’m afraid.’
But she felt no pain when her son was born, and her heart filled with joy. More wondrous: the baby was the height and weight of a three-year-old. Although it was winter, thunder rolled in the sky, sending down a shower of blossoms. Clouds of many colours surrounded the birthing tent.
Supreme Master Thangtong Gyalpo came to congratulate the Mu clan and gave the child a name: Conquering Hero and Precious Pearl Gesar.
At the banquet, everyone begged Metog Lhartse to show them her extraordinary baby. Gyatsa Zhakar held up the child, who gazed at his elder brother with shining eyes. Deeply moved, Gyatsa Zhakar pressed his cheek against his younger brother’s, and at this Supreme Master Thangtong Gyalpo cried, ‘The joining of two fine steeds is the basis for vanquishing the enemy. Close ties between two brothers are a sign of prosperity.’
Gyatsa Zhakar wanted to call out his brother’s name but could not. ‘The name given by the Supreme Master is too complex.’
‘Then let us call him Gesar.’ The Supreme Master turned to the steward. ‘You must nurture him with milk, cheese and honey.’
Metog Lhartse was filled with joy at the sight of her son’s full mouth, bright eyes and well-set brows. But she said, ‘He is ugly. We shall call him Joru.’ So Joru became his childhood name.
Only Khrothung, head of the Tagrong tribe, kept apart from the festivities. In his view, the Glingkar Mu clan had come from one ancestor but had later divided into three branches, the senior, the middle and the junior, though for a long time there was no distinction among them. After Senglon had married his Han wife, who had given birth to Gyatsa Zhakar, a son praised by everyone in Glingkar, the junior branch was in the ascendancy. The old steward had been born into the junior branch, so the wealthy Tagrong tribe came under his rule. In theory, when the old steward stepped aside, Khrothung should take over from him. Who could have predicted that Senglon would marry a Dragon daughter who would give birth to such an unusual son?
At that thought, an evil plan grew in Khrothung’s mind, and he knew he must act fast, so he set out for home. At the crest of the hill he looked back down at the crowd gathered at the river, and his heart felt as if it were crawling with poisonous insects. Loneliness overcame him, and he knew that his vile plan against the newborn baby was that of a coward. As a young man, he had always been ready to fight, and fight hard. Frightened
