One day, I suddenly heard the sound of drums in the middle of my familiar street. Rising from a corner of the street, running along the dike, the drums' thumping sound echoed out onto the river, making me feel nauseous and running through every corner, every alley, every lane. It wasn't until I became an adult that I realized from the sound of the drums that the neighborhood I lived in also had a communal house.
Just like when I discovered that at the beginning of Phan Rang street there was a row of beautiful oil trees that were no less beautiful than the oil petals flying all over 23-9 Park in Ho Chi Minh City, or when I was surprised by the yellow scorpion flower chains that I thought I could only find in Bien Hoa, the more lands I visited, the more I touched the many shapes and memories in many places, the more I realized that I had lived like a stranger in my hometown Phan Rang.
How could I forget that I used to study in the village communal house when I was young? In the vague memories of my elementary school days, I only remember the book room that was completely separate from the classrooms. The room was very large, from the door, the pillars, to the roof, everything seemed quiet, as a child I never dared to go there alone. Piecing together the stories of my parents and some old people in the neighborhood, the book room in my memory back then seemed to be the main hall of the village communal house.
It turned out that I studied in a row of classrooms that covered the entire yard and the entrance to the communal house; the tables and chairs where my friends and I sat and spelled out words were probably made from the rows of pillars and beams that had been taken down and sawn for wood. We grew up and matured carefree, not knowing that right next to us was a relic, a piece of the wounded and troubled soul of the 300-year-old communal house.
In 1749, during the reign of Lord Nguyen Phuc Khoat, people migrated from the Nam - Ngai - Binh - Phu region (Quang Nam, Quang Ngai, Binh Dinh, Phu Yen ) to the alluvial area by the river, establishing Go hamlet. After the reclamation and settlement were stable, in the 5th year of Minh Mang, due to the religious needs of local residents, the elders advocated building a communal house on the high mound of land created by the Dinh River.
Following the old records about the communal house, I was overwhelmed to find the origin of the village. The origin of my family, the origin of the entire group of residents that formed one of the oldest wards in Phan Rang, is closely tied to the history of the communal house, just like the way people “root” in a land. Like many places, the name of the communal house in my hamlet was named after the land, ups and downs or glory are all shared with the land. Looking through the communal house decrees I received, my hands could not help but tremble when touching the name of the land that gave birth to me. “Dao Long village”! The alluvial land on the northern bank of a small river was mentioned by four dynasties: Tu Duc, Dong Khanh, Duy Tan, Khai Dinh. In the sound of the communal house drum that I heard for the first time, was there perhaps a bustling echo of the past?
In the new communal house yard, another generation has rushed through the communal house gate. The laughter of children brightens even the most somber faces. Looking into the children's eyes, I find for myself the image of the pristine beauty of the communal house, shaking off all the sadness of the past and the turmoil of the present. Perhaps, we should leave the children a communal house like that, a future like that. Right?
Source: https://www.sggp.org.vn/tu-tieng-trong-dinh-post797662.html
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