In China’s lost Queendom, beauty contests and love triangles endure
- A beauty festival for the ages in a mythical region once ruled by women shows off the pageantry of the Tibetan plateau
- The judges noted that the quality was ‘especially good’ this year and they had a ‘tough time’ judging. Teens murmured that this year’s contestants were the worst ever.
Danba also claims to be the centre of a mythical Eastern Queendom, ruled by a line of hereditary queens, where men served merely as footnotes. Today, the area is inhabited by the Qiang people, an ancient tribe distinct from the Tibetans and Hans.
Tapping on her legends, Danba now hosts an annual beauty contest. At its venue, my wife and I found the arena packed with thousands of locals. Hawkers peddled enormous hydrogen-filled balloons, fat beaded necklaces and barrels of instant noodles.
“It’s the biggest day here,” a policeman explained. “Every village nearby nominates a beauty. The final winner gets the Golden Flower. There will be two Silver Flowers and three Pomegranate Flowers. But what a pity – we can’t watch anything. We have to stand guard with our backs facing the beauties.”
The audience had turned up in as much grandeur as the contestants. Women of all ages came wearing black velvety jackets and heavily embroidered skirts, their necks weighed down by loads of jewellery and their thick plaited strands of hair decorated with silver brooches and colourful tassels.
Each contestant presented a talent: a song, dance, speech, even magic. The audience erupted in delight whenever a contestant tripped or forgot their lines.
The toughest part is to learn Danba’s history and culture. Judges can ask anything on that. I prepared by consulting my grandmother.
The judges noted, as everywhere, that the quality was “especially good” this year and they had a “tough time” judging. Teens standing next to me murmured that this year’s contestants were the worst ever.
The compère announced the shortlist of finalists. Instantly there was a rush for the exit as the failed contestants and their families fled. I spoke with Lhamo, one of the shortlisted girls. She was a student at a Chengdu university.
“I am so happy,” she said. “I was practising for six months. The toughest part is to learn Danba’s history and culture. Judges can ask anything on that. I prepared by consulting my grandmother.”
I asked if she had been nervous.
“Yes, of course. Everyone from my village and other villages are here. Anything goes wrong, my family, my village, loses face.”
Before the finals, troupes of elderly people performed one slow dance after another. The audience looked bored. We chatted with Dorje Xiamu, a past Silver Flower winner.
“We didn’t have a talent contest like now. All was about height, figure and appearance. I have only four years of education, so nothing changed for me after the contest, only 500 yuan as prize,” she said, referring to the equivalent of what is now about US$75. “Winners nowadays are university students or those working in cities. So they benefit a lot more from winning. But I want to start a homestay someday.”
We didn’t feel like waiting for the final results. Instead we went exploring the nearby villages, arguably the most beautiful in China. Our driver, Dawa, came from Daofu, a village in Kham, one of the three main regions of Tibet.
“Daofu men are the best,” he said. “So Daofu men have many affairs while Daofu girls become nuns. Danba men also famous, as drunkards. So Danba girls have many affairs also, especially with drivers who know phone numbers of all passengers because they call us to book.”
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Growing up on top of the world: A nomadic family's summer on the Qinghai-Tibet plateau
Dawa was indeed handsome; toned face and body, fitting clothes, chest buttons open. A saying goes about the three Tibetan regions: U-Tsang has the best religion, Amdo, the best horses, and Kham, the best men.
The villages of Jiaju, Suopo and Zhonglu, had tall stone towers – some up to 1,800 years old – peeking out of forested hills and valleys, delightfully picturesque in their fall colours. At Zhonglu, Dawa stopped the car upon seeing a woman standing by the treacherous road. He invited her in. My wife complemented her for her beauty but she shrugged it off.
Soon, Dawa stopped his car again.
“You walk up there,” Dawa said. “Very beautiful. Meanwhile, we will deliver some noodles.”
As the sun set on Zhonglu, the Qiang towers, the autumn foliage and the small green farmlands all worked in sync to create magic. When we went back, we found Dawa and the lady with mud and straw on their clothes. It all became clear what they had been up to when the woman gave Dawa two long kisses before departing.
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“We both have two kids from our marriages. So I don’t want to divorce. Besides, I married my wife after a lot of hassle. She’s also a Silver Flower winner. Many wanted to marry her. The custom here is that suitors spend one night at the girl’s house and then she chooses from among them. My wife rejected everyone because of me.”
I couldn’t help but feel for Dawa, his life in “beauty valley” entangled between two Silver Flowers, far from the legend of the all-conquering Kham man.
“Pray for me please,” he said. “I don’t dare pray myself. Buddha knows I am a liar. But tell him that he is the one responsible for making my life complicated.”
Shivaji Das is the author of four travel memoirs and photography books. His latest book is The Other Shangri-La (Konark Publishers). He is the conceptualizer of the Global Migrant Festival and Migrant and Refugee Poetry Contests, and is also the Managing Director-APAC for Frost & Sullivan, a research and consulting company.
