“Here,” she said, removing a carved wooden comb from her own hair. “Temujin gave this to me as a wedding present. You keep it, and remember what I told you on this day.”
Chaka took the comb, and holding it to her chest with both hands, bowed gratefully.
Genghis seemed to marvel at Chaka’s calligraphic skills even though he said he did not understand the meaning of the strange lines she drew with the sharpened tip of a hawk’s feather. Mongols had no written language, and this he admitted was the weakness of the young nation he had founded. Without the knowledge of writing, they could never reach the level of sophistication of other civilizations.
Genghis’s excitement over the new art had prompted him to bring rolls of looted paper from his foreign adventures, and he had them piled up in a corner of Chaka’s ger. She liked the smell of papyrus and didn’t mind giving up a portion of her living quarters. Particles of ash mixed with animal fat formed the ink she used for writing.
Genghis approached her on the issue of illiteracy and lack of a written language in Mongolia one morning saying, “I am of the firm belief that my people too can develop these mysterious arts like other cultures.”
“I do not doubt this,” Chaka replied. “But what exactly do you have in mind?”
“I wish you could teach my commanders,” he replied with that look in his eyes that always made Chaka remember his childhood trauma, and she most happily obliged. She considered this vocation as her opportunity to prove her worth. It not only filled her days but also gave her a chance to learn about Mongol strategy and techniques of warfare should the right moment come for her to express her views. And express she did. On multiple occasions, she reasoned that by avoiding war and seeking trade with other nations, the Mongols could reap material rewards without risking their lives and shedding the blood of others.
Chaka kept reminding herself daily that she had many things to be thankful for. She was still a member of royalty, albeit in a foreign land. She had gained the trust of the Khan and most of all, she was his chronicler. Knowing the power of the pen, she had noted down events upon arrival in Mongolia. This segment of her writing she kept hidden.
On one occasion, when Temujin walked into her ger unannounced, she quickly put aside the ink bottle and papers and rose to greet him. Although Genghis was illiterate, she knew that he would have the material translated immediately.
He walked toward her, apparently noticing a droplet of ink on her embroidered sleeve. She laughed nervously and said that she planned to surprise him with this portrait of his she had been working on relentlessly.
“I would like to see that,” he said.
“Oh, no, don’t ask me that. Not yet. Let me finish first,” she pleaded, and her sweet feminine charm won Temujin’s heart. She quickly painted a portrait of him later that day to erase any hint of suspicion from his mind.
Genghis was a very powerful man, but in a way, she knew she possessed power over him. After all, she would be the one to decide how history would judge him, and she had resolved to be fair in her assessments. And thus, her journal entries began in a loose-leafed cord-bound notebook with a brown leather cover, pillaged by the Mongols from distant territories.
First Entry by Chaka:
As spring turns over its command of the world to summer, then summer surrenders its reign to autumn and autumn to winter, I watch the change of seasons, lamenting each day for separating me from my family. Temujin forbids me from having any contact with them for fear that they will influence him through me.
I wonder where my sisters are and how my parents are doing. I felt resentful at first that my father had given me away so cavalierly. But I now realize that he had no choice. The only thing that puts my mind at ease is the fact that through my marriage to Temujin and the ensuing peace treaty between my nation and his, the Tangut people are safe from Mongol attacks and atrocities.
For Temujin who was forty-six-years-old when we married, taking on another wife was not a complicated matter, for the Mongols marry multiple wives during their lifetimes. His first love, Borte, only a few years younger than him when they first met, would always retain her much-respected status among the clan.
When I first arrived in Mongolia, adapting to life in this punishing environment was difficult to do. The cold weather, the recurrent thunderstorms, the long stretch of grassland in which rarely any other vegetation grows, make one rather melancholy. There are hills and mountains beyond that I dare not venture toward. Though my bones are delicate, my stubborn soul refuses to succumb to despair.
Civilizations are far away. The Mongols do not understand the rules of other nations or their own limitations, and because of that, they display outstanding courage. They hunt humans as they hunt beasts. To them, the objective justifies the means as they seek victory at all costs.
Ignorance can be an advantage, while knowledge at times is an impediment. For these warriors, ignorance means greater self-confidence; with their aggrandized self-praise, they see no limit to their ambitions. If they can slaughter a bear, if they can kill a lion, they can certainly overcome foreign warriors.
The Mongols abhor the feeling of being inferior to others, and they want to get even. If the other nations have superior literature and poetry, if they possess artisans and capable architects, the Mongols have enough brutality to win wars, and by gaining power through violence, they can capture those artisans and engineers. No civilized mind could resist such brute force.
Men wear long robes they called deel and flat boots of leather with fur lining that reach up to their knees. Fur-lined pointed hats cover the backs of warriors’ necks as well as their ears while the commanders wear metal helmets. The clothing of women looks much more colorful, and their headwear is more elaborate than that of men. I like their attire, especially the embroidered fabrics of lighter weight women wear during warmer months.
Life lacks permanency here, and I find the transience difficult to bear. Being the wife of Genghis Khan, I live in one of the fancier gers. The entire felt structure is rolled away at times, placed on oxen and carried off to where the whim of the Khan decrees.
The routines established in sedentary civilizations and considered the norm there, such as public welfare and taxation, are lacking here. Also lacking, are codes, regulations, and guidelines that bring order to society. I have spoken to Temujin on several occasions about this. That one must establish a society on some form of structure and devise rules for it. I mentioned that Mongolia needs overseers of activities such as building of roads and bridges within the different jurisdictions. Each overseer must then be held accountable by higher ranking officials who in turn must report regularly to the Mongol court.
At first, he would feel offended that a woman was trying to teach him things, but when scholars from the territories of the Jin and Song Dynasties captured by the Mongols gave him the same advice, he relented. Make no mistake; he is indeed a genius in military matters. But he grew up in the wilderness. He is now considering devising a statute of some sort, a body of laws he calls Yassa that would be implemented in all the territories where the Mongols rule.
I must add that one of the best souvenirs the Mongols brought with them from conquered territories is this manuscript upon which I am writing my first entry. The moment I laid eyes on it, I knew it was meant for me to fill its pages. Temujin has some foreign historians at his service and does not permit any other writing about the Mongols. This manuscript must remain hidden or my life will be at risk.
Temujin has left for the warfront; therefore, I feel safe that he would not suddenly walk in and see this. The fire in the pit has died out, and it is getting cold in my ger. I will have to cut short my writing, but I will return to it at every chance.
Chapter Five
The Rage
1219 C.E.
It was an autumn day in the year of the rabbit. The early morning sun had spread a shimmering ca
rpet across the landscape. The cobblestone path that led to the Grand Ger gleamed in the sunshine. The light shadows of the trees looked like the haphazard drawings of a child on a blank canvas. Standing next to the Khan, Chaka began reminiscing about the day when her destiny changed. These recollections she had gone over a thousand times, the disappearance of life as she knew it, slithering before her mind’s eye like a dark snake at night, how incredibly fast her fortune changed, not only hers but that of her nation. Her father had shown weakness. Caught between two enemies, he had decided to side with one against the other. Thus, the Tangut people had become hand in glove with the Mongols.
Time had healed some wounds, but those remained for which there was no healing. Chaka had not seen her family since her wedding day. She blamed herself for not missing home as much as she should. With the passage of years, fresh vivid colors of the life she was leading had replaced her faded memories of childhood. At the same time, she knew that she must find a way to reach out to her father.
Initially, she felt entrapped by the Mongol Khan, because she was given no choice and never actually gave her consent to the wedding. Yet, her ambitious soul kept her striving to overcome many a predicament, to swim through uncharted waters, and to reach the highest status the land had to offer a woman.
In time, a sense of mutual trust and compassion had developed between Chaka and Genghis. It was not quite the passionate love that draws young couples toward one another but a more subtle form of mutual admiration. Chaka admired Genghis’s charisma and how his former enemies revered him and joined his growing army. Individual capabilities rather than family connections mattered to him, and he promoted his warriors to the rank of officer and commander, regardless of their ancestral background, thus contradicting the norms of the people of the Steppes. She had also seen the fervor with which his men spoke of him and wondered how he had risen from his humble beginnings to such a lofty status.
Genghis appeared equally drawn to Chaka. She knew her youth, graceful manners, and sophisticated elegance set her apart from the multitudes of women he had come across during his military campaigns. Chaka’s well-calculated and timely remarks had won the respect of the Khan. Genghis never concealed the fact that he still cared for his first wife Borte, and only her children, four sons by now, would inherit the kingdom one day. Yet, with the passage of years, Chaka knew she had earned his respect. Borte was only a few years younger than Genghis and no rival to her.
The matter had come to surface all of a sudden, a few months earlier when Genghis stepped inside Chaka’s ger and saw Borte’s comb on a small table. The comb had a peony drawn on it, and Genghis said that he remembered it as a wedding gift he had given to Borte.
“I have special feelings for Borte that will always be a part of me, and she will remain my most respected companion. She is a part of my soul that can never be separated from me, although we are no longer physically close. She was the glimmer of hope when I had none. I met her when misfortune still had its grip upon our family, and she gave me the strength to go on. But you, Chaka, you are the love of my life. It is you who bring meaning to my existence, and I cannot envision life without you.”
“Then you need to start treating me not like a child but as the intelligent woman that I am,” she had replied fearlessly. “At a young age, I learned the art of diplomacy, and I know how to treat the dignitaries of other nations; when to engage in war and when to avert one to promote one’s interests. Such capabilities could be of use to the Mongol nation.”
“What exactly are you suggesting?” Genghis asked, pensively.
“To be not just your wife but your advisor, a counselor in matters of state, and to play a role in the political arena,” Chaka replied.
“A woman?” he said, raising his eyebrows.
“My gender does not matter. It is my abilities that count.”
He grinned approvingly, and she knew at that moment that he had learned to trust her in matters of administration. From then on, she allowed the bond between them to grow stronger, both to secure her own well-being and to retain her influential role in the arena of Mongol politics. Thus, she could exert influence when necessary to prevent greater carnage and thwart any attempt by the Mongols to infiltrate or attack her homeland.
As Genghis’s perception of Chaka changed, so did his attitude toward her. Chaka noticed that he no longer saw her as a child he toyed with, but a caring friend to whom he could turn to at times of trouble. She even suggested what he should wear to appear more presentable before foreign dignitaries.
Chaka knew the rules of the court established by Genghis. His advisors never expressed their views in his presence unless he asked for their opinion. Although well-informed of the affairs of the land through the women of the court, Chaka kept her opinions to herself. This increased Genghis’s trust and admiration for her. She always waited patiently for the right time to express her concerns, and the right time was when he asked her for advice.
At twenty-eight, she had reached the peak of her beauty and femininity and the Khan, almost three decades her senior, had attained the summit of his mental maturity. As the grandmaster of all the tribes and nations of the Steppes, Genghis’s status had certainly changed. His robe-like attire, still displaying the Mongol taste, was no longer made of rawhide or coarse cloth; instead, he wore intricately embroidered silk. Most of the low-ranking warriors, though, kept their seamless coat of rough material that reached below their knees.
On that autumn morning, the Khan and Chaka walked hand-in-hand in the garden toward a small hill of flowers. Chaka recalled the tender buds that bloomed throughout spring and summer in her father’s garden. Chrysanthemums in every color brought from the territories of the Song Dynasty sidled up to the two sides of the pathway that led to the Grand Ger. The flowers held their heads up high, flaunting their petals. Every time Chaka glanced at them, she remembered the homeland she had left behind.
Signs of age could be seen on Genghis’s countenance, but his resolve to wage war had not diminished in any way. He had mentioned more than once that he considered himself an instrument of divine retribution, but she saw in him a lost child who had never known his true calling in this world. Struggle for survival and being victorious to the detriment of others was a code he had learned at a young age, and that knowledge had formed the foundation of his philosophy. She had committed herself to reforming him, and through him, the newly formed Mongolian nation. Yet, she knew the limit of her power and the narrow chances of her success.
“Temujin, my love,” Chaka said, calling the Mongol Emperor affectionately as she always did since their wedding night, “do you not enjoy the beauty of the garden?”
Genghis looked pensive. His eyes, peering through almond-shaped lids, stared thoughtfully at a bright red chrysanthemum bush brimming with blooms in a corner of the garden. Chaka had learned to admire his grayish brown eyes when they cast their tender rays upon her, warmer than the mid-day sun. Today, however, their piercing beams reflected the Khan’s inner turmoil.
“Twice now I have sent emissaries to Khwarazm territories. They harassed and ridiculed my first group of messengers who may have appeared unusual in their Mongolian outfits. They arrested a second convoy I dispatched that was carrying precious goods, killing members of my trade delegation and confiscating their merchandise. A governor in the border region of Otrar ordered this last atrocity.”
Chaka made no reply, just listened. Genghis added that he knew that man to be a nephew of the king’s mother, a woman of great influence, and that was why the Shah of Khwarazm, the Turkic ruler of Persia and Transoxiana, had refused his request to hand over the culprit.
Since the Buddhist lands bordering Transoxiana fell to the Mongols, Mohammad Shah, the king of Khwarazm, and Genghis Khan had become neighbors. And as a neighborly gesture, Genghis had made an offer of mutually beneficial trade to the powerful Shah; an offer that he had hoped would not be refused.
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Gardeners were busy pulling weeds and clearing the garden for planting spring bulbs. Suddenly Genghis approached an elderly landscaper whose face turned yellowish white as if he had seen a wolf. He had been leaving the roots in the ground and pulling on the stems and leaves. The Mongol Khan knelt in a manner that stunned Chaka as well. He plucked out a bunch of weeds with such ferocity that the roots came out, dirt still attached.
“Weeds need to be pulled by the roots, so they will never have a chance to grow again,” he said. He continued after an uneasy pause as if talking to himself. “There are people who, not unlike weeds, need to be obliterated. And there are those for whom a mere chastisement will suffice.”
Chaka stole a glance at the gardener and saw him cringe as these words were spoken.
“I sought trade with them,” Genghis continued, appearing insensible to his surroundings. Only a slightly noticeable twitch in his jaw muscles indicated the intensity of his frustration. “I dispatched a trade convoy carrying camel loads of gold and silver that we had plundered in China after suffering massive casualties, hoping for commerce and trade with the Khwarazm Empire, but they ended up slaughtering my men and confiscating their goods.” His voice rose, “They have robbed me. Robbed me! Just as our own clan robbed my mother and me of our only means of livelihood when I was merely a child, leaving us in the wilderness to die.”
“Temujin,” Chaka said meekly, “you remember your mother’s words that became your inspiration to survive. She told you that you were born clutching a lump of blood in your closed fist. She believed that this was a sign from heaven, meaning that you would become a great warrior, a legend. Do not destroy what Providence has ordained for you.”
The Sky Worshipers Page 4
