Malaysian Post

This article was published in The Star on 3rd October 2007

Residents of coastal Fujian believe Mazu protects them from sickness and calamities.

Mazu’s statue on Meizhou island comprises 365 pieces of stone.

EACH summer, between July and September, typhoons sweep across the coast of south and east China, often with devastating results. So it came as no surprise when warnings of an impending storm were sounded while I was visiting my ancestral village a couple of weeks ago. Typhoon Wipha, said to be the most powerful storm in a decade, was to make landfall near one of China’s most prosperous cities – Zhejiang province’s Wenzhou, just 300km north of Fujian’s provincial capital Fuzhou.

A report on the China Daily website noted that 2.67 million people in the provinces of Fujian, Zhejiang, Jiangsu, and in Shanghai were evacuated before the storm. Wipha destroyed or damaged thousands of houses and caused huge economic losses. Mercifully, with careful pre-typhoon preparations, only a handful of individuals lost their lives.

I was in Fuqing city near Fuzhou when Wipha struck. Except for a slight drizzle, we hardly felt the effects of the storm and it was during a conversation with a local taxi driver that I found out about the miracles of Mazu, Goddess of the Sea.

Essentially a fisherman’s deity, Mazu is worshipped throughout coastal China and in Taiwan, Hong Kong and Macau – wherever there are fishing communities. She was born Lin Muniang 1,047 years ago in the early Song dynasty on Meizhou island in central Fujian’s Putian county, purportedly to a military family who gave her an education normally reserved for boys of good family.

In her short life of just 28 years, Li Muniang dedicated herself to saving fisher-folk from calamities as well as cared for the sick. Legend says she sacrificed her life while saving fishermen at sea and was subsequently deified by the common people who to this day believe that she continues to work her miracles.

On a hilltop in Meizhou stands a 14 metre high statue of Mazu constructed of 365 pieces of stone, symbolic of the blessings she bestows daily throughout the year. Even as news of Wipha’s fury spread, local residents said Meizhou and its vicinity have not suffered a direct hit by a typhoon since the statue was erected in the early 1990s.

My guide recalled how it rained for days in May 2006 and China’s Central Television (CCTV) was concerned that a scheduled outdoor performance in Meizhou would have to be cancelled. The islanders however, were confident Mazu would help them. Sure enough, on the day of the show, the rain suddenly stopped. Stranger still, it began to rain again right after the event.

Apparently, a Mazu image travelled to Jinmen Island, in the Taiwan Straits, for blessing ceremonies in 2002 and for half a year after that no rain fell on the island – a boon for fisher-folk who eke out a living from the sea.

Mazu, goddess of the sea.

My guide also related a story about a Song dynasty official who was sent to Korea on a mission. A storm nearly capsized his ship but he was saved by a lady in red, none other than Mazu herself. Since then sailors have come to Meizhou to worship Mazu and ask for her protection. Admiral Zheng He, though a Muslim, was no exception and a plague in front of his statue in one of the worship halls records his visits to Meizhou before his voyages to the South Seas as envoy of the Ming dynasty.

Fishing is the lifeblood of Meizhou as the island soil is too saline for growing rice. This dependence on the sea is reflected in the costume of the women of Meizhou, said to be designed by Mazu herself, and still worn by some islanders today. The colours of the trousers and jackets express a wish for their men-folk’s safety at sea – blue for the sea, red for auspicious tidings and black to denote longing for their return. In the past, women also coiled their hair in the fan shape of a Chinese boat sail to wish the men yi fan feng shun (smooth sailing).

A small temple to Li Muniang was erected on Meizhou after her death. It has since been expanded into a complex large enough to accommodate the thousands of worshippers from mainland China, Taiwan, Macau, Hong Kong (where Mazu is known as Tianhou) and other coastal communities who converge on Meizhou to perform elaborate commemoration rituals during the 3rd and 9th lunar months (April and October). So beloved is the deity that, according to my guide, there are now over 5,000 temples in 26 countries dedicated to her.

Over the centuries Mazu was posthumously conferred dozens of honorific names and titles by emperors and devotees. Believers say she transcends religion and no matter which name is used to address her, like Guanyin, Mazu will respond to all who call upon her in their hour of need.

Ziying makes frequent trips to China to refurbish a traditional family house in her ancestral village. She can be reached at ziyingster@gmail.com

Ziying’s Brush as published in The Star, Malaysia on 22nd August 2007

Kapitan Cina Yap Kwan Seng’s philanthropic deeds helped lay the foundations of this country and he should be accorded the appropriate recognition in our museums.

A FEW weeks, ago my uncle and his son came to Kuala Lumpur for a visit. They live in Hong Kong and that was their first trip to Malaysia in several years. My uncle said one of the places they were particularly keen to visit was the National Museum (Muzium Negara). He remembered from an earlier visit nearly a decade ago that his grandfather’s photo was in one of the museum’s galleries and he wanted his son to see it.

Naturally, I was delighted. After all, the country is celebrating 50 years of independence and what better time for someone to reconnect with its historical heritage than on its big birthday? Moreover, though I have been to many excellent museums outside the country, I could not remember when I last visited a museum in Malaysia.

Kuala Lumpur’s last Kapitan Cina Yap Kwan Seng, dressed in Qing dynasty attire.

I soon found out, however, that the historical galleries were no longer in Muzium Negara but had been moved to the National History Museum, a pleasant cream-coloured building that used to be the old Chartered Bank, in the heart of Kuala Lumpur. (The building is adjacent to Padang Merdeka and the Selangor Club building)

As we stepped inside the small museum, we looked forward to re-discovering Malaysia’s pre-colonial past as well as the life and times of the immigrants who, through a mixture of guts, grit and resolve born of desperate circumstances in the 19th and early 20th centuries, played such an important role in Malaya’s economic and social development.

My uncle was eager to see the exhibits on the Kapitan Cina of Kuala Lumpur, the last of whom was his grandfather, Yap Kwan Seng.

Kapitan Yap Kwan Seng’s philanthropic deeds and his many contributions to the birth of Kuala Lumpur are the stuff of history. Among his numerous achievements, perhaps one of the most significant is the founding of the Tung Shin Hospital (originally set up as a charity named Pooi Shin Tong) to provide free medical care for the poor. The expenses were, of course, underwritten by the Kapitan himself, who also co-founded the Tai Wah Ward of the Pauper’s Hospital that became the Kuala Lumpur General Hospital.

His philanthropic deeds extended beyond Malaya and it is said that a year before he died in 1901, he donated the princely sum of ten thousand dollars towards famine relief in India, a gesture which surely qualifies as Malaysia’s first-ever effort at international humanitarian aid.

Kapitan Yap was also a firm believer in education and co-founded one of the leading schools in Malaysia – KL’s Victoria Institution. As a businessman, he foresaw an increased demand for bricks in fast-growing Kuala Lumpur and established a kiln in a district which came to be called Brickfields, a name by which it is still known today.

Kapitan Yap had made his fortune in tin-mining. It is said he had a workforce of 7,000 and owned more tin mines than any of his contemporaries.

The Kapitan died many years before my mother and her brothers were born, but his legacy had a lasting influence on her family, who kept his memory alive by recounting stories of his life.

My mother remembered quite clearly her grandfather’s houses in Kuala Lumpur and Macau. In fact, before the Japanese War, she lived for a short period in the Kapitan’s residence on High Street in Kuala Lumpur’s Chinatown (which is today known as Jalan Tun H.S. Lee).

She said it was massive, occupying the greater part of the street, with many deep courtyards, and a large garden in front for entertaining guests. Over 50 people, many of whom were servants, lived in the house. The ancestral hall must have been particularly impressive as she recalled it had a grand altar table upon which was placed chunks of crystal, quartz, gold and other precious stones found in the Kapitan’s tin mines.

As my mother attended school in Hong Kong, she spent summer vacations at her grandfather’s mansion in Macau, which was apparently even bigger than the Kuala Lumpur residence. It was, she said, long and deep, with countless rooms, nooks and crannies, and so large that many sections were perpetually dim as they had no access to natural light.

Sadly, although the old colonial powers of Britain, Portugal and Holland were given their respective places in the National History Museum, my uncle and I could not find any references to Yap Kwan Seng or to the other Kapitans who helped lay the foundations of this country.

History museums are repositories of a country’s past, which, among other things, provide valuable insights into the development of a society or a nation. It is anybody’s guess why the Kapitans of old have been omitted from the Museum.

An oversight, perhaps, but for Yap Kwan Seng’s descendants and for the many people who to this day benefit from his good works, his legacy will never be forgotten. It is in this spirit that I dedicate this week’s column to my great-grandfather, the last Kapitan Cina of Kuala Lumpur.

Ziying is taking a break and will return in October. She can be reached at ziyingster@gmail.com

Ziying’s Brush as published in The Star, Malaysia on  8th August 2007

The bronze Flying Horse of Wuwei epitomises the Han dynasty’s affection for the swift steeds of Ferghana.

THE Gansu Provincial Museum in Lanzhou had recently re-opened after extensive renovations. There, we were greeted by a senior researcher who guided us through its smart new galleries. The museum houses an impressive collection of bronzes that date back 3,000 years to the Zhou dynasty, and 8,000-year-old black-painted pottery vessels from the Dadiwan culture, the pride of which is a 6,000-7,000-year-old jar topped with a clay human head which our researcher said is the earliest known piece of sculpture in China.

The museum’s star exhibit, however, is the iconic bronze Flying Horse of Wuwei. Just two days earlier we had visited the general’s tomb where this 1,800-year-old bronze sculpture was found. In the museum it was, in a solitary place of honour, perched on a glass column inside a free-standing illuminated case. The remaining two dozen or so bronze horses, riders, carriages and livestock, all about 30 cm high, stood in formation in an enclosure. As testament to their importance, the carefully-moulded horses stood at the front of the assembly while lowly oxen, without ears or tails, were placed at the very back.

China’s national tourism symbol and a national treasure, the Flying Horse was every bit as beautiful and inspired as I had imagined. Just over 30cm tall and perfectly proportioned, it exuded grace, speed and power. With its right hind leg treading lightly on a startled swallow, the half-metre long “heavenly steed” in full gallop appears surprised to have overtaken a flying bird.

Our visit to the Flying Horse marked the end of our brief journey and left us with a compelling last impression of the Han dynasty’s romance with the swift “blood-sweating” mounts of Ferghana, a prize for which Emperor Wudi sent an army across several thousand kilometres of inhospitable terrain.

Sandwiched between deserts and mountains, the landscape of the so-called Silk Road was probably not much different two millennia ago. Some friends described their trip to the region as “rough and dangerous”.

Compelling: The Gansu Provincial Museum in Lanzhou has an excellent collection of ancient bronzes and terracotta vessels.

Whatever concerns I might have had turned out to be unfounded. The 4,000 kilometre Urumqi-Shanghai expressway that conducted us from Urumqi to Turpan, and then from Dunhuang to Lanzhou, was excellent. We drove almost 1,500 kilometres across scrubland, foothills, and past deep blue salt water lakes and reservoirs without incident.

Impressive, too, was the overnight train from Turpan to Liuyuan, near Dunhuang. With four bunk beds to a cabin, it was efficient, quiet, smooth and comfortable. Most of all, everything, from the stainless steel bathrooms to the beddings, was spotlessly clean.

Typical of Chinese trains, it kept strictly to schedule, and was spot on time.

Besides the first-rate road and rail infrastructure, the government is evidently also attempting to improve the energy infrastructure in the area as we passed wind farms near Turpan as well as in the Hexi Corridor, where gusts roaring in from the mountains and desert drive hundreds of gigantic windmills to generate clean energy.

Food seems to be a key concern for many people travelling in the region but I found it to be varied and delicious throughout, notably the mutton dishes. The weather though, was erratic - it went from sub-zero temperatures in the evenings to warm and sunny in the daytime. And since the whole of China runs on Beijing time, it was still dark and cold at six or seven in the morning in Xinjiang, China’s far west.

I had particularly wanted to visit places of significance to Han history along China’s Silk Road, and it was interesting to find that nearly all major towns in the Hexi Corridor were garrisons that bore the footprint of General Huo Qubing. Similarly, oasis towns like Gaochang in Xinjiang were Han military outposts used by General Li Guangli on his campaigns to Ferghana.

Even with modern day transport and conveniences our 2,000-kilometre-long journey was physically demanding. Yet two millennia ago, the Han army and emissaries like Zhang Qian made their expeditions on horseback or on foot. Though they had to contend with hostile tribes and indifferent city-states along the way, they still managed to command territories thousands of kilometres away from the imperial capital Changan.

Like Qin Shihuangdi, Wudi was obviously an emperor of great vision. I can only wonder at his drive and determination and the immense courage of those who served him, as well as of the traders, soldiers and artisans who plied this ancient route. Their strength and tenacity should serve as inspiration for the revival of China’s western regions.

Ziying’s Brush as published in The Star, Malaysia on  25th July 2007

The loess plateau appears near Lanzhou, the only city through which the Yellow River runs.

WHENEVER I recall the vast loess terraces of the Yellow River in spring, I see deep green wheat fields and swathes of bright yellow rape flowers. And when I think of colourful Sichuan, images of lofty mountains, white snow, red birches, emerald lakes and azure waters come to mind.

But on the Silk Road, from the moment we arrived in Xinjiang and throughout our journey in Gansu’s Hexi Corridor, the predominant colour was brown. Perhaps spring comes very late to these arid northern latitudes, or perhaps desertification and over-grazing have taken their toll. It was only when we were an hour south of Wuwei that we saw the first green field of our entire trip. After days of monotonous browns and greys, we greeted the dark emerald tract of young wheat with much joy and relief. Set against a backdrop of stark, bald mountains it seemed to symbolise the long-suffering farmer’s triumph over an uncompromising environment.

I also found it heartening to see brigades of farmers or volunteers planting trees along our route. Marked with pastel coloured flags, the denuded stretches were evidently designated for reforestation or windbreaks.

As we started our ascent to the pass that would lead us to Lanzhou, snow-capped peaks and high meadows where Tibetan herders had left their sheep and goats to graze came into view. At an altitude of 2,800 metres snow flurries began to fall sporadically from an ominous sky.

The south side of the range presented vistas of straw-coloured meadows, and in the distance, barely visible frozen ponds against teal and tan mountains, windswept and craggy, some still topped with glistening white snow. Every once in a while, we passed impoverished farming villages whose mud-walls were nearly indistinguishable from the dusty bare earth.

Lanzhou’s landmark is the iron bridge called The First Bridge over the Yellow River.

Finally, a half-day from Wuwei, we reached the western fringes of the yellow earth plateau just outside Lanzhou. The soft dry loess was heavily eroded in places, with sharp drops and gullies, but the first shoots were beginning to appear on the cultivated terraces and there were long rows of greenhouses.

I had been apprehensive about going to Lanzhou as it was once notorious for being the most polluted city in China. The images I had seen in various media portrayed a city engulfed in yellow-grey smog from belching chimneys.

Although it no longer holds this dubious honour, Lanzhou is wedged between mountains in a region with large petrochemical industries, and air quality is a constant concern. Compared with the wintry towns and villages we had seen however, Lanzhou seemed alive with colour. Here was a city as modern as any in China, with well-dressed residents, brightly attired children, shopping malls, restaurants, the latest music and fashions and a lifestyle that could not be more different from the destitute farming villages we had passed earlier.

Lanzhou has the distinction of being the only city in China through which the Yellow River runs and on that warm, sunny spring weekend, residents were out in force enjoying themselves by the water, flying kites, playing cards or just drinking tea with friends. Small plastic tables and chairs had been set up on the boardwalk above the river, where friends and families gathered beneath tall trees and bright yellow and pink spring blossoms.

On the river a group of holidaymakers struggled with a raft constructed of air-filled sheepskin, the traditional means of crossing the water. Besides these rafts, a floating bridge built in the Ming dynasty was the only other option until it was replaced by an iron bridge a hundred years ago. Zhongshan Bridge, as it is called, has become a Lanzhou landmark and is proudly tagged The First Bridge over the Yellow River.

Lanzhou stands at the crossroads where the culture of the Yellow River intermingled with the minority cultures of the Silk Road for over two millennia. Although Han people predominate, the mix of ethnic groups seems more apparent in Lanzhou than in many other large cities in China. The faces of the city’s populace reflect a variety of backgrounds that include Muslim Huis who form a noticeable minority, as well as Tibetans, Qiangs and other groups, some of whom controlled the area when the dynasties that ruled the Middle Kingdom were weak.

As with so many other towns and cities along the Hexi Corridor, it is said that Han dynasty General Huo Qubing passed through Lanzhou on his campaigns to subdue the Xiongnu, as did the Tang dynasty’s Buddhist monk Xuanzang on his scripture-seeking journey to India.

Ziying’s Brush as published in The Star, Malaysia on  11th July 2007

China’s national tourism symbol, the 1,800-year old bronze Flying Horse, was discovered in a tomb in Wuwei.

THE 470km stretch of the Hexi Corridor between Jiuquan and Lanzhou traverses some of the harshest landscape I have encountered in China. I had thought the loess plateau of the Yellow River in Henan and Shaanxi austere but the unforgiving terrain of the Hexi, sandwiched between the Qilian range on the west and the Gobi and more mountains on the east, was far more daunting.

Our guide said that, with the exception of some tourists from Hong Kong and Taiwan, most people travelling on the Silk Road skip this route altogether, preferring to fly between Dunhuang and Lanzhou.

As we headed south from Jiuquan, we passed dusty farms with parched fields that still lay fallow in early spring, some with long rows of plastic-covered vegetable greenhouses, and in places, tumbledown dwellings and packed earth fences that blended perfectly with the arid brown soil. Everywhere, dried thatch was stacked in long thick rows or on roofs for use as fuel for cooking and heating.

The rounded contours of the wind-swept Qilian Mountains soon came into view and after a three-hour drive from Jiuquan, we stopped at the old Han dynasty garrison town of Zhangye for lunch. It seems Zhangye was vitally important in times past and for a short period during the Ming dynasty, even served as capital of Gansu province.

Zhangye’s Dafosi Temple, which is undergoing extensive renovation, houses the largest indoor reclining clay Buddha in China, and the style of its murals and sculptures, as well as its ornately-carved wooden beams, door frames and panels are a legacy of the Qiang minority’s Xixia kingdom which ruled Gansu during the Song dynasty a thousand years ago.

Our next destination, Wuwei, lay a further three hours south of Zhangye. As we passed the now-familiar scenes of dusty mudbrick houses and bare, plowed fields, the ruins of a watchtower of pounded earth suddenly came into view alongside the highway near Shandan town.

A large packed mud wall, perhaps 6 or 7m high, extended from this structure into the scrubland and beyond.

Incredibly, this was part of the great wall of the Han and Ming eras and it continued to run parallel to the highway for close to an hour before veering off into the distance.

Wuwei, a former garrison town whose name means martial prowess, was named in honour of the Han dynasty’s General Huo Qubing who drove the Xiongnu out of the area two millennia ago and secured the Hexi Corridor for Emperor Wudi.

However, despite its military origins, Wuwei is also known as the City of Books and this is proudly announced on a wooden calligraphic tablet bearing the words shu cheng bu ye at the city’s 600 year-old Wenmiao (Temple of Confucius). A combination of academic and martial proficiency is held in high regard in traditional China and it is indeed a special honour to have monikers denoting both these qualities.

Strips of red cloth adorn the stone scholar’s bridge at the Wenmiao. Our guide said they were tied there by students praying for academic success, particularly for the college entrance gaokao examinations held every June. After praying, the students would walk across the scholar’s bridge without looking back in the hope they would do well in their examinations, and head out through a gate towards a large sculpture of The Great Teacher.

Wuwei was evidently an important hub of the Qiang’s Xixia kingdom and across the road from the Wenmiao, a small museum houses a collection of stone steles dating back to the period 10 centuries ago. Particularly fascinating is the Xixia script on the steles, the lost language of a vanished culture. At first glance, they looked like Chinese characters, but on closer inspection, the characters formed by the strokes were completely unintelligible.

Wuwei’s greatest claim to fame is without doubt the 1,800-year-old bronze Flying Horse that has become China’s symbol for tourism. Along with other burial objects, this masterpiece was discovered in the tomb of a mid-ranking Han dynasty general, in 1969, at the height of the Cultural Revolution. The general’s burial chamber lay deep in the mound, on top of which a Daoist temple had been built, as the location apparently has excellent fengshui.

We edged our way into the tomb through a narrow tunnel, which opened up into three, small brick-walled chambers, arranged in the same progression as the halls and courtyards of traditional Chinese architecture. The chambers are empty now and their openings are so small and low, we nearly had to get down on our knees to squeeze in.

The Flying Horse, with more than two dozen bronze-mounted warriors, horses, chariots and oxen, once resided in the innermost chamber. But they now rest in the Gansu Provincial Museum and we would have to wait till we arrived in Lanzhou to set our eyes on this exquisite treasure.