海勒根那《草原上的事物》

Things on the Grassland

Helgna, a contemporary Chinese writer of Mongolian descent, was born in Horqin, Inner Mongolia, in 1972. He has published collections of short and medium-length novels such as Riding Around the World, Please Drink a Bowl of Hatubuqi's Wine, and Basang's Sea. He has won numerous awards, including the Chinese Minority Literature Creation Junma Award, the Chinese Baihua Literature Award for Medium-length Novels, the Poetry Exploration - Chinese Red Sorghum Poetry Award, the Inner Mongolia Literature "Suolongga" Award, the Inner Mongolia Literature Aodesi Award, the Ethnic Literature Annual Award, and the Grassland Literature Annual Award. He has also been included in the short story rankings of the Chinese Fiction Society for 2020, 2022, and 2023. Some of his works have been translated into English, Spanish, and Slavic Mongolian. He currently serves as the Vice President of the Inner Mongolia Writers Association and resides in Hulunbeir.

Horse Herds on the Grassland

Before coming to Hulunbeir, I had never seen so many horses. They nested in separate herds, scattered across the vastness, some with just a dozen, others numbering in the hundreds. Most lived in a semi-wild state, unfettered by human control. Regardless of their ethnic background - whether Balhu, Buryat, Daur, Ewenki, or Han Chinese - the herders here had a tradition of horse breeding. It was not for trade or profit but for the love of the animals. Aside from culling the weak and infirm, the herders generally allowed them to breed freely.

Breeding horses was less troublesome than other livestock. They were left to graze freely throughout the year, with the owners only checking on them occasionally or bringing them home for branding during the spring foaling season or the harvest festival. Thus, the horse herds of the Hulunbeir grassland retained their primal instincts, maintaining their tribal bonds as they freely roamed the plains, forests, lakes, and rivers. They braved the winter frosts and drank the summer dew, living freely as if they were the children of the heavens.

When left to their own devices without human interference or enslavement, domestic animals reveal the beautiful nature bestowed upon them by the universe, exuding the vibrant vitality that is their birthright. Like all other creatures, horses thrived in such a state, embodying the essence of life itself.

If the skylark and the Mongolian lark are the musical notes of the grassland, then the herds of galloping horses are its soul. A grassland deprived of horses is merely a soulless wilderness, lacking elegance, nobility, elegance, and even the spirit of freedom and courage. Therefore, whenever I visit the grasslands, I always seek out these horses as if greeting cherished family members hidden in the vastness.

I sit beside any herd, watching them snort and stamp their feet, shaking off flies. Occasionally, a few playful horses frolic, chasing and nibbling each other, their whinnies echoing across the plain. As night approaches, I lie back on the grass, gazing at the silhouette of their majestic backs against the horizon, listening to the rustling sound of their grooming, a mesmerizing symphony of the evening breeze. It makes me want to bow down and kiss Mother Earth with the same fervour as the horses...

Depending on size, a horse herd is typically led by one or two stallions. These stallions are usually in their prime, robust and muscular, with a glossy coat that shines in the sun. They are vibrant and stand out among the rest. As their herd leaders, stallions embody bravery, resilience, wisdom, and the ability to discern danger and right from wrong.

In the Ewenki grassland, I ventured closer to capture a large herd of horses on camera. A muscular stallion charged towards me from afar, perceiving me as an intruder. He snorted warnings and displayed his silky coat, cascading mane, and rock-hard muscles, exhibiting his exceptional athleticism. Our stare-down lasted for a moment, and his gaze, though intense, was not hostile. Instead, it shone with the brightness of the stars and a gentle warning. At that moment, I retreated, honoured by his kind warning.

Upon returning, I penned a poem:

"I raise my hands in submission

To a horse, to a grassland, to the territory of a herd

Even the setting sun claims sovereignty. I bow to that

Vast and magnificent nature

To the precious freedoms and dignity within it

Yes, these domesticated horses still retain their unbound, fearless nature.

This is the final dignity of nature, a dignity that humans must never trample upon.

The Beauty of the Prairie Night

As evening approaches, the prairie settles into a state of tranquillity. The insects cease their frenzied activity and hide in the grass. The skylark, dancing in the air moments ago, greeting the setting sun and the final traces of daylight, now plummets like a stone, disappearing without a trace.

Summer nights arrive late, with the sun lingering over the horizon past seven-thirty. First, it sets the edges of the vast cloudscape ablaze; then, the dim mountains are ignited by its glow. If this blaze continues, it threatens to destroy everything, but the horizon is too dense, like a massive, unmovable iron plate. Around eight o'clock, the sun finally melts a gap in this cast iron, and it begins to sink like a glorious master taking his curtain call. As the curtain falls and the master disappears, his afterglow remains, lastingly influencing future generations. The evening sky behind him, illuminated by his radiance, remains fiery late into the night, while the surrounding heavens turn into an ethereal purple, still feeling the warmth of his farewell.

Compared to the gradually darkening earth, the western sky remains clear until around nine o'clock. That clear light seems more profound and precious than any other time of day. As the inky clouds overhead gradually disappear into the darkness, and the last ember-like vestige of the sunset fades into ash, the stars begin to appear in the sky. They swarm the heavens; if you only raise your head, you will see their fleeting shapes.

A half-moon, which had been hanging in the southern sky, is the true star of the night. However, due to the lingering applause of the former protagonist, it has been overlooked. It finally reveals itself and is shown as a beautiful woman beyond description. At this moment, the night sky appears complete and becomes increasingly captivating. Anywhere you stand on the prairie, you will feel its dignity, elegance, serenity, and grandeur. In contrast, standing solemnly on Earth, you are as insignificant as an ant lost in the darkness.

The nocturnal breeze of the grassland is captivating, a refreshing coolness that arrives with the closing of the day, regardless of how scorching the sun was during the day. As twilight envelopes the sky, the cattle and sheep return to their pens, calmly chewing their cud, while the horse herd sinks into the darkness, snorting and grazing on the wild grasses. This cooling breeze is crucial, smoothing the animals' coats, wiping away their sweat, and shooing away the pesky mosquitoes.

In the distance, a faint trail of smoke rises from a Mongolian yurt, a testament to the night breeze's magic. It seems to carry away the shepherd's homesickness, making it fainter and fainter with each passing moment. Listening intently, you can hear the grass rustling, sounding like a fine rain or crickets chirping. The breeze caresses the stars, vast and silent like the whisper of the universe. It touches your heart, leaving you with tear-filled eyes, grateful to the heavens for the privilege of witnessing this breathtaking beauty of having walked this earth...

The evening's performance on the grassland is well-orchestrated. Before sunset, the birds sing their improvised harmonies, and as the sun sinks, the stage transforms. Performers emerge from ponds and lakes, like stars reflected on the water's surface. Their chorus is somewhat hasty and eager, with the imperfect chorus of frogs echoing across the ponds, vibrating the ears of the wind.

When the night sky turns pitch-black and the true stars appear, the frogs obediently close their mouths and become motionless, resembling virgins in stillness. By 10 pm, the grassland is solely illuminated by the moon, the whispering of the stars, and an indescribable serenity...

This goes on for five long hours until the magnificent master rises magically from the east again. Suddenly, birds sing, insects dance, ants emerge from their holes, and the night, like a black dog curled up in front of a Mongolian yurt, leisurely wags its tail and chases after the early-rising herds. While I, having enjoyed the beauty of the night, am ready to lay down and sink into the dreams of this grassland…