Adiao - The Legendary Tale Of The Sly One

Image source: Wikimedia Commons

Far in the region of Tibet, before many of this age were born, there lived a creature alone and forgotten. Her abode was in the mountains far above the gates of the Jokhang Monastery. The vultures were her neighbors and loneliness was her companion.

In her former life, she might have been known by many names. But in that time, she bore only one - a name that said too much about her past for her comfort and too little to the curious ear. They called her Adiao - The Sly One.

Her tale is not for me to tell for I do not meddle in gossip. Many a lucky soul have caught a glimpse of her side of the story. They say a cup of sweat tea melts the ice in her mouth, allowing for stories to exhale until the cup becomes dry.

If you saw her walking by the road, you would be forgiven if you called her a boy. She might have been growing old but the tomboy in her refused to whither at the turn of puberty, forced marriage and then menopause. She was always dressed in boy clothes, springing on the boyish prance she got from her father.

And when you have turned her aside, to catch a fleeting sight of her face, you would hold your breath in reverence. Her face was described as comely than the Galsang flower, radiating a beauty that was forgotten but refused to die.

Adaio might have been old and forgotten but she was a tough one to waylay. She knew two-faced people had a hundred smiles. After all, she was the sly one. That was why her Tibetan knife never left her side. Lest a man whose legs itched would long for the warmth of her thigh. Or a hungry mouth would water at the scrapes she managed to gather.

She was a scavenger in the fields of Tibet, scouring the farmlands for produce dropped by farmers. Those in the fields came to recognize her as the one in gray hat and sunken cheeks.

She walked the night trail, burdened by farm scrapes and wood splinters and a hole in her heart. Cast away from those who once loved her and who she still loves, she was a bright shade on loneliness rising on the mountain side.

Sometimes, as she made her evening meal, flashes of her youth sprint across her eyes. Sometimes tears trailed them; other times it was a blank distant look from a heart that knew not how to feel. The flashes were of young men offering the whole universe and a planet more. Sometimes it was just the memories of stolen kisses at the train station

Her bedtime were mostly spent awake, her mind replaying her tragedy. Tragedy caused by obsession. Obsession repaid with indifference. If only she didn't force her way in and earn herself her name

Unrequited love is a seed that sprout misery.
Adaio was a tree that had blossomed out of that seed, weathered against the storm of rejection. Like leaves of a tree fighting for sunlight, she held on to life, ignoring the reality around her.

The flashes still came, in forms of cloud by day and in the crackling of wood fire by night. She resolved to fill the holes in her heart with seeds. Like mushrooms sprouting off the back of a fallen tree, she was determined to blossom into the beauty she was once.

Adaio died alone on the mountain but her body was never found. The Jokhang Monks tell a tale of how a particular vulture never leaves the mountain top regardless of the season.

I got the idea of this story from a song by Angela Chang titled Adaio. It's about a legendary woman in Tibet. The song was sketchy so I threw in a few additions of my own.

Thanks for reading