As I reached the village of Eskdalemuir nestled among the Scottish borders, I spread my arms as wide as I could stretch and called out in a loud voice;
“You greet me well with your captivating landscape; cascading rivers and rolling green hills dotted with grazing white sheep.”
My voice echoed in the tranquillity. I breathed the clean air into my lungs. “The lambs in the fields bleat and the birds in the bushes sing, announcing my arrival. I am a Tibetan with a heavy heart and drought stricken eyes.”
A pheasant perched on a dry stone wall spoke to me; “Hello stranger, where do you come from?” It stretched its wings and ruffled its feathers. I replied;
“I came from the land of Tibet, where the rivers are bleeding, holy mountains are crying and the inhabitants oppressed, their voices suppressed. So they are silent these days.”
The pheasant wiped its eyes with the feathers of one of its wings. A highland cow shook its head and through its thick fringe stared at me from a nearby field.
“I know of Tibet. That’s where my cousin yak live, do you know them?” It called loud enough to be heard by all near by.
“My parents used to have many yak before the Chinese took them from us . So, yes I know them well.” I responded loudly.
“Are they still alive? Do you think the Chinese are treating them well?”
Its voice trembled, there was growing concern on its furry face. For a moment I thought, except for the colour of its mane it looks exactly like the yak I had known well. I hesitated to answer, conveying sad news is the hardest thing to do. Perhaps it read my expression. So it insisted; “Tell me what happened to them”.
With a heavy heart I explained; “They were driven to a slaughter house and killed. Their meat was packed and shipped all over China for profit. Even from a great distance we could hear them screaming, and for months the rivers were tainted with their blood”.
I broke down after telling the truth.
The pheasant flew up and landed on my right shoulder, while the highland cow came over and rubbed its hairy neck against me. I felt a light touch on my hand, it was a sheep from the field nuzzling my fingers and a black bird hopped down from a branch, on to the top of my head and sang its mellow song.
