Mongolian Connections: Wrestle for Your Ring!

I came to Mongolia to study folk literature, and though my research quickly took off down a different route (the “religious studies” route—go figure), still I uncovered some folk tales that are strikingly similar to our own. One myth that Mongolians seem very fond of repeating is about the traditional costumes wrestlers wear.

Wrestlers don’t wear a lot of clothing, just a pair of briefs, a pair of boots, and a bolero-like jacket called a “jodag” or “zodag.” It pretty much just has sleeves and a back, and then ties around the belly. The exact story of why the jodag has an open chest varies from teller to teller, but it always has to do with a successful female wrestler. The most popular tale says that the costumes used to be full jackets, and at one festival, a mysterious wrestler defeated all the other wrestlers, and after receiving his reward (or after the final victory), he ripped open his jacket to reveal that he was indeed she. From that point on, jackets had to have the chest exposed so that women would no longer be able to compete. Another version says that Khutulun, a niece of Kublai Khan, challenged any suitors to a wrestling match. If she won, he had to give her 100 horses, but if he won, he could marry her. Supposedly she beat enough suitors to win 10,000 horses, and no man was ever able to defeat her so she remained single forever. Though I’ve heard that legend end with, “and since that time, women have not been allowed to wrestle, which is why men wear open-chested jackets,” I fail to see how one (Princess Khutulun) leads to the other (open-chested jackets), and I think two separate Mongolian girl-wrestler stories were merged into that one.

The idea of a woman defeating all the men isn’t confined to Mongolia—the first that comes to mind is the Greek tale of Atalanta, a young girl who beat all her suitors in footraces until one won through trickery. One Celtic myth tells the story of Macha, a woman who was able to run faster than the king’s fastest horses, and who gave birth during a race. The Iliad relates that Penthesilea defeated several heroes in battle before being killed by Achilles, the greatest Greek warrior. I’m sure there are tons of other stories like this, and they are just on the back of my mind, but I can’t quite remember them.

So this got me thinking—why do these stories exist and persist? Why are they so popular? Most of them probably were written by men, or at least recorded and handed down by men... So why did men delight in stories featuring women’s superiority over some men? Woolf, in A Room of One’s Own, points out that the same men who were demanding quiet and meek daughters and wives in real life were exalting heroines like Antigone or Rosalind in their literary works. And this is true in the legends, too—men liked being in power, demanded to be in power, yet read and re-told stories in which women were often the victors. What factors are at work here? Is it that these men, though they, for practical necessity, had to keep women under their power, truly wanted or admired strong heroines and thus put them in their poetry? Or is it the other way around—that though they fantasized that women could have power, the fantasy was best (for them) left as a fantasy, and they didn’t appreciate the reality of powerful women? (Is that even the other way around, or is it the same exact thing?)

But there are also cultural differences at work in these stories. Atalanta did eventually lose her race, and Penthesilea was killed by a man. (For Macha, the Celtic heroine, the story gets much more complicated.)  And not all stories of strong heroines are positive—Look at Lady MacBeth as a classic example, or many portrayals of Cleopatra. (Especially Roman portrayals of Cleopatra versus Octavia; though the reasons for hating one and loving the other might be political, which traits did they emphasize in each? Also, Horace's Ode 1.37 has a portrayal of Cleopatra that fits well into this post's theme of whether men admire or resent real powerful women.) Do the men who passed on these stories use them actually as catharsis, as a way to keep women down even in legends? That is, writing/reading the stories not as “Atalanta/ Penthesilea defeated many men,” but as “even the best woman Atalanta/ Penthesilea could eventually be brought down by a man.” In contrast, the Mongolian legend never has that moment of “But wait! She couldn’t beat all the men!” In fact, the legend of the jorba can be read as one that says that Mongol men still believe a female wrestler might be able to best them; thus they need to keep women out of the ring. This might reflect Mongol attitudes toward women generally; women had a lot of power, from Genghis Khaan’s wife in The Secret History of the Mongols to later queens who ruled when their alcoholic husbands or young sons could not. Marco Polo reported that women were trained as warriors, and though they no longer wrestle, girls are still allowed to compete in archery and horseback riding during Naadam. (There will be a later post, hopefully, about the Awesomeness of Mongolian women.) And there doesn’t seem to be any backlash against this, at least not that I’ve encountered.

What makes the difference here? Mongolia was traditionally a patriarchal society, just like most others, so why do its myths and history reflect more respect for women? Do its myths and history even reflect more respect for women, or am I reading them wrong? What is the relationship between attitudes toward women and women in myth? And finally—what do our myths say about women? (When I say “our myths,” take this however you like, from your religion to your culture to the movies you watch and show your children.) Disney’s Mulan might be an admirable girl, but she impressed her captain and defeated the Huns (who came, by the way, from Mongolia) through ingenuity, not through strength. (Though you'll need both to reach the arrow...) On the other hand, Disney’s Nala ceded to Simba’s authority as king, but she could still always pin him, and it was her advice sent him back to defeat Scar. (So now we know what I consider my mythology.)

You could apply these analyses to many women admired by our society, and look at which religious stories we choose to emphasize (Noah and David get a lot of press-Miriam, Deborah, and Jael? Not so much), which historical figures we exalt, even which celebrities we admire, and, just as importantly, what we admire them for. So how do we stack up? What sorts of girls are we looking back at, and thus, what sorts of girls are we bringing forth?