The sound of the village bell echoes.

Which sounds were once compressed? Which sounds were once unleashed? Now they all become the dawn on the mountaintop...

The gong rang out in rhythmic, powerful tones, spreading evenly in all directions, reaching even the Cat's Ear Mountains before echoing back. My villagers, whether fishing in the Cau River, harvesting corn in the fields, or gathering bamboo shoots on the Soldiers' Hill, could all hear it. Whenever there was a communal event in the village or a need to gather the villagers, the village headman would use the gong to summon them instead of going to each house to announce it. This familiar sound has been a part of my village for nearly half a century.

The gong, hanging beneath a large, shady tree in the middle of the village, looked rather imposing and heavy. A block of metal is by nature not light, of course, but it was heavy because it held countless stories of time and history within its rough, rusty surface. Each time the "giant" sound soared and echoed throughout the mountains and forests, a multitude of stories unfolded in the minds of each person.

Illustration: Dao Tuan

Since I was a child, my grandfather told me that the gong was originally a bomb dropped by the invading army on the edge of the forest, thankfully it didn't explode. The soldiers' engineering troops skillfully removed the explosives safely, leaving the bomb casing intact. Everyone then carried it back and hung it under an ancient, cool-to-the-touch tree.

From then on, the villagers changed the name from "bomb casing" to "village bell" because it had taken on a different, more meaningful purpose. I looked up at him innocently and asked, "Why don't you sell the bomb casing to the scrap metal dealer for money?" He affectionately replied, "It needs to be kept as a memento; you'll understand when you grow up." Whenever we passed by, we would gather around to admire it, touch it, and ring the bell together. The children, innocent and enthusiastic, would find small pieces of wood and pass them around to ring the bell. The clanging sound was jarring, but only enough to startle the chickens chirping for food nearby.

Later, I realized that the bomb casing was a remaining relic of war; if that bomb casing hadn't been a noisy gong, it would have remained a silent, wordless place, lost somewhere far away.

Occasionally, I would hear my grandfather tell stories from a bygone era about a time when our homeland practiced a cooperative economic model, where the sound of the gong was a familiar and comforting signal for everyone to go to work on time. After the resounding, urging gong, the hurried footsteps echoed throughout the streets.

The sound of the gong gradually faded with time; the sound signaling the start of work at the cooperative now only remains in the memories of the elderly.

During my few days off in my hometown, I took the opportunity to visit the village and its gardens. In the drizzling rain, I passed by the ancient crape myrtle tree, its melancholic bell still there. This season, the crape myrtle is in full bloom with white flowers, filling a corner of my beloved little village with its fragrant scent.

This morning, when the gong rang out, I was deeply moved. It seemed to awaken something profound within me. Along the village road, villagers, shovels and hoes in hand, were engaged in community work, digging irrigation ditches to bring water to the spring fields. My father said that although modern communication methods are more efficient, the gong still holds its own story, preserved by the villagers just as our ancestors cherished it.

After the gong sounded, the birds in the treetops were startled, quickly flapping their wings and flying into the air. Their tiny wings circled around before returning to the peaceful foliage, chirping merrily. Hearing the gong, I remembered my grandmother, and those childhood afternoons when, upon hearing the gong, I would quickly pick vegetables and prepare a neat meal so that my parents could eat dinner before attending their meetings. Oh, the village gong, its sounds evoke memories within me.

Source: https://baothainguyen.vn/van-nghe-thai-nguyen/202508/vong-tieng-keng-lang-6242591/