The Duanwu or Dragon Boat Festival
On the fifth day of the fifth month of the lunar year a boat race is held and people gather all kinds of herbal medicines. It will be held on June 16th 2010.
The explanation is this: the boat race on the fifth day of the fifth lunar month is undertaken to commemorate the poet Qu Yuan who drowned himself in the Miluo River that day. People symathise with his death. Therefore they row boats to come to his rescuer symbolically. The competitors use light, swift boats which are called ‘flying wild ducks’. The two teams in the rowing competition call themselves ;Chariot on Water’ and ‘Steed on Water’. Prefecture officials and people of prestige all go to the riverside to watch the performance.
Zong Lion (Southern Dynasties, the state of Liang) Stories of the Jing and Chu Times
This is a major festial celebrated all over the country. Activities include dragon boat races, eating rice dumplings, drinking yellow wine, wearing incense sachets, putting up bunches of sweet flag and gathering herbal medicines.
Qu Yuan was a patriotic poet, a citizen of the State of Chu during the Warring States Period (5th century BC). He was exiled to the Xiang River by the Emperor. Greatly concerned over the corruption in the government and feeling powerless to remedy it, he drowned himslef in the Miluo River.
According to Chinese lunar calendar, the famous traditional festival – Duanwu festival is held on the fifth day of the fifth lunar mont. For thousands of years, Duanwu has been marked by eating Zongzi and racing dragon boats.
The taste of Zongzi, a pyramid-shaped dumpling made of glutinous rice and wrapped in bamboo or reed leaves to give it a special flavor, varies greatly across China. Zongzi is often made of rice mixed with dates in Northern China, while Eastern China people like to stuff Zongzi with pork, ham, chestnuts and other ingredients, making them very rich in flavor.
Duanwu is also known as the Dragon Boat Festival, because dragon boat races are the most popular activity during the festival, especially in Southern China. A dragon boat is shaped like a dragon, and is brightly painted in red, white, yellow and black. Usually, a dragon boat is 20 to 40 meters long, and needs several dozen people to row it. Boatmen row the boat in cadence with the drumbeats, as the captain standing in the bow of the boat waves a small flag to help coordinate the rowing. Before the race gets underway, a solemn ceremony is held to worship the Dragon King.
Dragon boat racing is quite a spectacle, with drums beating, colorful flags waving, and thousands of people cheering on both sides of the river. Nowadays, it has become a popular sporting activity in Southern China. International dragon boat races are held in Guangzhou and Hong Kong every year.
For thousands of years, the tradition of the Duanwu Festival has been passed down from one generation to the next. But where did it come from and why did people eat Zongzi and race dragon boats?
There is a common legend in China says that the Duanwu Festival honors the great poet, Qu Yuan, who was born in 340 BC, during the Warring States Period. At that time, there were seven states struggling among themselves to unify China. Of the seven states, Qin was the strongest and Chu the largest. Qu Yuan was a noble of Chu. During his lifetime, the powerful kingdom of Chu fell into a decline.
Qu Yuan
Duanwu commemorates the life and death of the famous Chinese scholar Qu Yuan, he was a loyal minister that served the King of Chu during the Warring States Period in 3 centuries BC. Initially, his sovereign favored Qu Yuan, but over time, his wisdom and erudite ways antagonized the other court officials. And then he was Trumped up a charge of conspiracy, and ejected by his sovereign. During the exile, Qu Yuan made many poems to express his anger and sorrow of his sovereign and people.
In the year 278 B.C., at the age of 37, Qu Yuan drowned himself in the Milo River. He clasped a heavy stone to his chest and leaped into the water. Knowing that Qu Yuan was a righteous man, the people of Chu rushed to the river to try to save him. The people desperately searched the waters in their boats looking for Qu Yuan, but they were unsuccessful in their attempt to rescue him. Every year the Dragon Boat Festival is celebrated to commemorate this attempt at rescuing Qu Yuan.
When it was known that Qu Yuan had been lost forever, the local people began the tradition of throwing sacrificial cooked rice into the river for their lost hero. However, a local fisherman had a dream that Qu Yuan did not get any of the cooked rice that was thrown into the river in his honor. Instead, it was the fishes in the river that had eaten the rice. And so, the locals decided to make zongzi to sink into the river in the hopes that it would reach Qu Yuan's body. The following year, the tradition of wrapping the rice in bamboo leaves to make zongzi began.
There is also another version of the story. When it was known that Qu Yuan had been lost to the river, the local fisherman had a dream that the fishes in the river were eating Qu Yuan's body. The local people came up with the idea that if the fishes in the river were not hungry, then they would not eat Qu Yuan's body. People thus began throwing zongzi into the river to feed the fishes in hope that Qu Yuan's body would be spared. (Wikipedia)
China Daily
Spirit of Qu Yuan still shines today
The 2,000-year-old Duanwu Festival, or the Dragon Boat Festival, falls on June 16 this year. The most popular legend about the origin of the time-honored festival is to commemorate the famous ancient poet Qu Yuan.
As a minister of the state Chu, one of seven large nations fighting to organize a central power during the Warring States Period, Qu Yuan assisted his ruler in adopting reformatory policies to develop the economy and joined forces with another state to withstand invasion from the most powerful nation. But sadly, he was later exiled because of vilification and ended up drowning himself after learning that his nation's capital was captured.
Qu Yuan's tragedy was certainly a circumstance of history, but why do today's Chinese still hold magnificent rituals every year to honor a man who lived thousands of years ago?
In today's China, the reforms go beyond those of the Warring States Period. China has entered a new stage of reform and is experiencing huge changes in the economic system, social structure, interest pattern and ideology. The country is working to change an agricultural, rural and closed traditional society into an industrial, urban and open society. In just decades, China has shifted from an agricultural nation to an industrial one, the same task that took centuries in the West.
It's certainly China's golden period of development. However, conflicts are emerging quickly in this transition period. The country is experiencing social disorder, mental imbalance and changing social ethics standards. There seem to be a huge number of choices for Chinese, but it only makes people more confused about the future and their social roles. They don't know what to choose and easily lose their direction in a country changing at unprecedented speeds.
In these times, Qu Yuan's spirit shines a brilliant light in today's society.
Qu had a strong sense of responsibility. He considered the prosperity of his nation and the happiness of his people the most vital thing in his life. He focused on increasing his own moral standards and was never corrupted. Later generations often likened the glory and the continuation of his noble spirit to the sunshine and the earth.
Qu's most admirable quality was his belief that "Although the road is endless and far away, I still want to pursue truth in this world." This is just what today's Chinese, who're living with rapid changes, should focus on. There are surely many distractions to lure and puzzle people, but they only need to remember their original goal and do what Qu wrote: "For the ideal that I hold dear to my heart, I don't regret a thousand deaths." This was also quoted by Chinese Premier Wen Jiabao in a speech earlier this year.
China Daily
Duan-wu celebration in Zigui - VIDEO
The Dragon Boat Festival is celebrated in Zigui county, Central China's Hubei province on June 16. This is the first state-level event after the festival was listed in the intangible cultural heritage catalog in 2009.
The celebration is held by the Chinese cultural department, State Council Taiwan Affairs Office and Government of Hubei Province. The activities are held for the purpose of promoting the culture of Qu Yuan and enhancing Cross-Strait communication. Guests from cultural circles of both sides of the Strait attended the opening ceremony.
Chinese New Year, the Mid-Autumn Festival and Dragon Boat Festival are three major festivals in China. The Dragon Boat Festival is celebrated on the 5th day of the 5th lunar month of the Chinese calendar.
Chinese also call this day Duan-wu, as it memorializes the Chinese patriotic poet Qu Yuan, who committed suicide by jumping into the river after tying himself to a big rock on the 5th day of the 5th lunar month.
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Set in Zanzibar in 1910, it is the story of two people from different worlds falling in love. Susan immerses herself in Zanzibar. Asim falls in love with this woman from the nation that killed his wife. Susan is a spy. Asim is the chief advisor to the Sultan of Zanzibar. Germany and France are holding secret negotiations to form a Pan European alliance, which would isolate Britain and destroy her power. Susan and Asim are caught up in all this and their love is finally dashed on the cold, hard reality of international high politics.
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Chapter One
Zanzibar
'A maharaja’s ruby cast on a Persian carpet by the blackest of hands'
Their souls danced, honouring his promise.
The ancient dhow stirred in the soft morning breeze. Like a sleepy lion, it began to move through the water, snuffling about the other boats on the harbour; some scurrying, some at anchor, some darting before a brief gust of wind. The lateen sails a bustling panorama of blood-red and sun-bleached white.
Aft, the woman's eyes searched the skyline, drinking in the architecture of Stone Town, the heart of Zanzibar; its jagged, cluttered silhouette so familiar, so much a part of her soul.
Abruptly, her eyes ceased their restless searching, jagged by an invisible hook, transfixed by the grand buildings on the northern shore, Beit-al-Ajaib, the House of Wonders, Palace to the great Sultan of Zanzibar. The distinctive architecture captured in the tropical light: coconut white outlined by contrasting shadow plays of pepper black.
A smile, ever so slight, started to play on the edge of her mouth then disappeared. A memory that should have been fond instantly turned to sharp unbearable pain. Her eyes hardened and moved on.
Without warning the captain threw the rudder over. Stumbling, the woman barked her shin on a wooden box, a rough-hewn coffin. She recoiled, knocking over an untidy stack of cane baskets. Imprisoned in the baskets, rusty cockerels, their scruffy heads straining through the latticework, snapped at her, cried out to her; their raucous din overwhelming her, drowning her.
Dimly, through the fog of noise, the strident swearing of the sailors in Kiswahili seeped into her conscious. Understanding, she smiled mirthlessly.
The coffin had been carelessly stowed, a chore, rather than a labour of respect or love.
London 1910
“Hello, who are you? I am Oliver, is Edward at home?”
The words were spoken by a tall, impeccably dressed young man as he rushed into Edward’s flat shaking off surplus water and calling for whisky while shoving his umbrella into a stand. It was a blustery, grey, bitterly cold February afternoon in the heart of London. He brushed a curl of soft auburn hair from his forehead and smiled charmingly.
Susan laughed, her hazel eyes dancing with the exhilaration of the new. “Yes, he is having a bath. I think he is trying to get warm. I’m Susan, Susan Carey, his sister.”
“Ahhh yes, from Australia. How do you do?” said Sir Oliver, smiling broadly and offering his hand. He noticed the laughter in her eyes, and the depth, particularly the depth, intensified by jade flecks that made them striking and alluring. “So, you have arrived, good trip I trust.”
“I am very well thank you, and yes, it was a good trip,” replied Susan.
He laughed and glanced at the sitting room, “whisky?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, please come in…….. that was silly of me, after all, it is your flat.”
Oliver smiled and gestured for Susan to lead the way. He followed her into the room, and after helping himself to a generous portion of whisky, walked over to the fire.
Shortly after, Edward, wrapped in a huge ruby-coloured dressing gown and wiping soap from his ear strode into the room. He was of similar age to Oliver, late twenties, well built, if slightly podgy, with dark auburn hair and a full moustache. Susan looked up and smiled to herself, she could see now where he had picked up some of his new mannerisms.
“Thought I could hear voices. I see you two have met, no need for introductions then.”
As he was speaking, Edward walked to the side table and grabbed a whisky decanter by the neck. He glanced at Oliver who nodded. A long finger snaked into one of the tumblers followed by the distinctive clink of crystal. He swept the decanter off the table and carried it to where Oliver was sitting. After pouring the whisky, he sank into a lounge chair and sipped from his glass, enjoying the warm glow as it spread through his body.
Suddenly he sat up exclaiming, “Sorry sis, would you like something to drink?”
“Kind of you to remember, but no thank you, and yes, Oliver has already inquired.”
Edward nodded and sank back into his lounge chair.
They chatted, tentatively at first, getting to know one another. Edward had not seen Susan for two years and was unsure how his sister would take his new relationship. Oliver was intrigued by Susan. An attractive, self-assured young lady of high intelligence with a degree was a rare find. And, as fate would have it, she was also a trained and experienced teacher. He suggested a picnic at Oxford, which was met with ready acquiescence. Arrangements were made for the following Sunday.
“I’ll see if the Rolls is available,” mused Oliver. “Must ring father, haven’t spoken to him in ages.”
Oliver, Sir Oliver Marchmaine, was an unaffected young man of intense intelligence who saw life as a great adventure to be lived to the full. He was also unyieldingly loyal to his country, England, which is why he had joined Military Intelligence on leaving Oxford.
It was 1910 and Europe was stirring. It was a time full of interest, intrigue and danger. The European chessboard was becoming increasingly complex, the moves more subtle. A time when an unexpected move or feint could have profound consequences.
Regaining her balance, the woman’s eyes were drawn, hesitantly at first, resisting back to Beit-al-Ajaib. She wondered if it was still the same. Still the same centre of power and intrigue that had been so much a part of her life all those years before; that had defined her life.
She remembered those first few moments, remembered standing in the foyer of the palace, .………… remembered the breathtakingly beautiful Persian tapestry ........
The sea breeze stirred her clothes. She smiled a little sadly, and in her mind the tapestry gently swayed. Two small apparitions ran giggling up the stairs: two small exquisitely rich burkas disappearing along the first floor landing. Childish squeals of mischief and joy left in the air.......
“Move to seaward, you accused of Allah! Move!”
Her thoughts were clawed back to the dhow, the captain crashing the tiller over to avoid another boat on the crowded harbour. The woman instinctively ducked her head to avoid the heavy boom as it swung over her, the rusty cockerels squawked their raucous indignation, their heads straining through the latticework, relentless.
The collision avoided, the dhow continued on its way. The cacophony dying down to the occasional command by the captain or the cry of a seagull.
The woman's thoughts returned to Beit-al-Ajaib
…………. laughing and giggling, girls of seven or eight. A door on the first floor slammed and all sounds of them disappeared. Silence. The woman smiled. She could see herself, a young woman, dressed plainly, unselfconsciously, her sexuality tantalisingly just out of reach, hidden beneath the thin veil of her clothing. She remembered standing alone in the foyer, looking around, perplexed. Asim came through a door to the left of the tapestry.
“Salaam.”
The woman started and looked around. Then, realising, was cold again. Alone again. Alone, rocking to and fro to the rythm of the sea. Alone, beside a rough-hewn coffin.
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