The Donkey on the Great Wall
Day Forty
On Palm Sunday, I was watching an online service and saw an unusual sight. It was a procession with a donkey at its head, followed by the choir and clergy. Actually it was my wife who highlighted the donkey in the procession to me as I had missed it altogether. Like many, I admire horses not donkeys, and love the paintings of galloping horses by Xu Beihong and stories of magnificent stallions.
A donkey in a procession would be easily missed as its stature is short and its gait slow, simple and unassuming, unlike a horse which would have been commanding in its height and looking impressive and regal in a procession. You can almost hear the sound of the horse trotting along with steady rhythm. That is why military commanders and political leaders of old would ride into town on a victory parade on a high horse. In some cities, they are immortalised in statues riding on the horse, but never on a donkey.
I have been on some horse rides over the past 20 years, since I first visited the grassland of Inner Mongolia. My first experience was in the vicinity of Yuan Shangdu, the site of the palace of Kublai Khan, also known as Hubilie, the founding emperor of the Yuan dynasty. I was set on a Mongol horse, which have shorter legs, but nonetheless strong and capable of galloping 100km non-stop. These were the sort the Mongolian hordes used to ride on as their calvary terrorised and conquered not only China, but all the territories of present day Central Asia and Northern India all the way to Eastern Europe.
I remembered how my first horse ride stopped short when I was a mile out in the open grassland. I tried to speak all sorts of horse language I could think of from the movies but the horse would not budge. Recognising that it probably had sensed that I was a rookie rider and was out to taunt me, I was also hanging on for fear that it might suddenly leap and do a rodeo move on me to throw me off. Thankfully before long, my Mongolian friend saw me waving from a distance and probably guessed I was in distress and came galloping towards me on his horse and escorted me back to the base. I learnt that horses can be temperamental, and have a mind of its own.
Four years ago, while visiting a herder out in the middle of nowhere in Inner Mongolia’s Lanqi, we were treated to a marvelous sight of 400 horses emerging from the hills and galloping downwards towards the grassland, heading to where we were standing. They were being rounded up by herders on horses and preceded by two land-rovers with camera crew on board. They were filming the horses on the grassland for a tourism film clip. The sight was almost surreal and reminded me of the stirring piece of Chinese orchestral music “Ten Thousand Horses Galloping” (WanMaBenTeng) played on Mongolian horse-head fiddle (matou qin).
My daughter was with me on that team and I saw that she was the only brave soul to venture forth into the grassland, eager to video the sight of the emerging herd with the dust storm that they had kicked up. Her passion for wildlife and nature was evident, which led her to pursue her studies in environmental studies and become a committed vegetarian. But what an exhilarating sight it was, not only for her, but for all of us when we finally saw the herd of horses up close as they gathered near the herder’s base for a drink of water. The horses were really beautiful creatures and loved to be hugged and rubbed with affection. Their neighing are like joyous laughter.
Conversely, the donkey is often a silent and solitary creature, with occasional grunts and groans that sound like lamentations. We often see a donkey cart along the long and lonely farm lanes in the far flung villages in China, with an elderly man sitting on the cart, evidently on the way home after a day out at the market. It is a picture of China a thousand years ago, with the simple and inexpensive mode of transport for the farmers in the villages.
Once on one of my numerous trips up the MuTianYu Great Wall in Huairou, I saw a donkey along the pathway. It must have been exhausted climbing the long flight of steps up the Great Wall. It stared at me in silence and started grunting as if apologetically, for blocking my way. The owner was nowhere in sight, probably taking a leak after a day’s work plying his trade selling some beverages to tourists on the wall. I thought of donkeys in contrast to horses, with donkeys braying in awkwardness and meekness, but a steady companion and trusted partner for the humble and poor.
I thought of Laozi who rode on an old brown cow (or is it a green ox with its mythological meanings) as he made his way up the mountain pathway to oblivion, sitting backwards and smiling as though bidding farewell to the tired listless world. Talented but unused scholars in imperial China were known for riding donkeys unlike their more powerful and influential compatriots who have won honours and officialdom and ride out on their high horses. Horses are highly priced and are a status symbol, unlike donkeys who are inexpensive. Yet to their owners, donkeys are precious and a valued partner in their journeys along the road of life.
Today, the prices of donkeys have soared as donkeys are in demand, not as a mode of transport but for their medicinal value. The Chinese have long discovered that the gelatin found in Donkey hides can be harnessed for its medicinal properties known as erjiao, and made into blood tonics or cosmetic cream.
As such donkeys, not only in China but around the world, are reared in farms no longer as a partner in farming but a creature to be slaughtered and harvested for their skin. Though they are alleviated from hard labour of the past, their life of bliss (just sleeping and eating and grazing lazily in the fields) is short-lived as they have become a mere commodity to be butchered and used for trade and industry.
There was a time in the past when donkeys were symbols of artistic freedom. Some Tang dynasty poets were known for famously composing poems while riding on donkeys, from Meng Haoran to Li Bai and Tu Fu. Thanks to these trendsetters and influencers then, there was a poetic elegance to ride on donkeys for the creatives during the Tang dynasty.
Donkeys were the default mode of transport for poets and artists simply because it was affordable for those with low or modest income. The carrying capacity of donkeys is great but the pace is slow. However it favoured those who want a leisurely pace on their journeys as they take time to soak in the environment and drink in the atmosphere. There is an air of elegance just to be able to slow down and dream and think, a luxury many cannot afford as they race with time to troubleshoot and attend to the exigencies of life at work.
Those who race on horses are usually in the thick of battle but those who trots on donkeys, especially on colt of a donkey, unridden before, are usually not men of war but as one who comes in peace.
As I watched the online video of the reenactment of the triumphal entry of Jesus Christ into Jerusalem riding on the colt of the donkey, I thought to myself that Jesus was not a mere poet, nor a military commander per se but truly a man of peace. He is the Prince of Peace much needed more than ever today, in a fast-paced troubled world.
Thanks for journeying with me in my reflection over 40 days on life and hope in the wilderness.
See the previous day’s reflection at Roots
See all my forty days of reflection at my blog: https://medium.com/@lawrence-ko
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