A Woman of Angkor

by John Burgess

  The maid brought water in porcelain cups, and my boy remembered what was in his bag. He asked the girl: ‘Would you like some banana sweets?’

  ‘Oh, yes! My favourite.’ She put up both hands, enthusiastically, and Sovan took note how smooth and delicate they were.

  After that, they sat up on the terrace, with Nang hovering near, still not trusting my boy. They drank the water and ate their way through the banana sweets. The girl asked where he’d got them, and when he told her the market, she wanted to know whether he’d seen any girls of the district there. No, he replied, but maybe they were they all being kept in their homes too. Did he have any idea when the prince’s men would be moving on? Sovan told her probably in a few days.

  ‘That’s wonderful!’ she said, eyes flashing. ‘I’ll tell my sisters at the house. They’ll be jealous when they find out how I know.’

  Sovan wondered if that meant getting out or meeting him. But before he could think further of it, she stood up and took his hand, pulling him to his feet. ‘Come on! Let me show you something fun. Down at the end of the pond.’

  She led him to a spot where water fed in from a creek that coursed unseen through the jungle beyond the grounds. There were cracks in the channel’s stone lining, and in these spaces she pointed out four frogs hiding. Sovan was past the age when boys care about frogs, but now he found new interest. He thought the girl would sit and wait for one to jump. Instead she picked up a reed and tickled the back of one of the little creatures. It duly sprang fast and far, making her jump back in shocked delight. They laughed together. Then they sat in silence for a while, the girl stirring the water with the reed, humming some local melody to herself.

  Later, Nang came out with more cups of water, but this time she was not so accommodating on the question of remaining. The girl agreed reluctantly to go. But my boy was not ready to give her up just yet. ‘Let me walk with you back to your estate. You might need protection.’ She seemed to like the idea. And it was a fact that his face was known among the soldiers. If any were encountered, they would behave.

  They walked down the track, passing in and out of sun rays that found their way through the foliage. The girl chattered some more, in the same carefree way. Their house, she said, was bigger than the one they’d just left. That one wasn’t really a house, just a place where her father went sometimes when he wanted peace and quiet for his official duties. Their real house was much bigger, but much noisier because there were all sorts of people around, but even when she wasn’t locked up, she liked to go to the little place in the forest.

  Too soon, the estate house came into view. It was in fact quite a bit larger than the one they’d left, yet it had the same crafted beauty.

  Nang made Sovan say good-bye here. It wouldn’t do to arrive back with some strange boy in tow, she observed, in a voice she didn’t bother to lower.

  The girl said: ‘But he can come and see us later, surely that’s all right?’ Nang replied yes, maybe they could figure out a way.

  ‘I know where to find you,’ volunteered my boy. ‘But you never told me your name.’

  ‘Come see us and I’ll tell you then!’

  She laughed again and scurried off toward the house. Sovan watched, smiling, until the pair passed through its gate.

  An hour later, he arrived back at the occupied estate. The four bearers looked to him, hoping for something from his bag, and he had to invent an excuse about having had no money left once the varnish and brushes were bought. His full stomach protested the lie.

  Later, he found his father at the bathing jars. Nol showed no curiosity about why his trip had taken so long. Rather, he announced that they were leaving first thing in the morning. The prince would go with his private guard and entourage to take a first look at the Siamese frontier. The main army would follow.

  You can imagine what dismay Sovan felt.

  Now, was this girl really so charming, so playful, so beautiful? I remember feeling unsure as my boy recounted all this. I half wondered if his enthusiasm reflected mainly that his hour with her was the only time that year that he got a hint of the old life – no soldiers, no processions and gongs, just the simple pleasures of eating banana sweets and watching a frog leap into a pond.

  19: Martial might

  My husband did not return to me that afternoon, nor that evening. I began to wonder when I would see him again. Bopa and I were in my son’s hands, it seemed. Sovan found some lamps and sleeping mats and helped us prepare the pavilion for passing the night.

  The next morning, we awoke to great urgency around us. To our left, to our right, soldiers with spears and shields were running down the hill, as if late for something. At some distant location a drum began to beat.

  Sovan came with news. ‘I’m afraid, mother, that the attack is about to begin.’

  I could only say: ‘Attack?’

  ‘Yes, mother. Against the Siamese fort. That is why the soldiers are here.’

  He gestured. There it was, far away up the other side of the valley, a kind of large wooden structure, situated at a pass between two hilltops.

  So my children and I did what we were told. We joined other camp followers to climb to a lookout spot atop a hill on our side of the valley.

  I didn’t want to watch, but something about the strength, the organization, the frenetic motion of the massed men insisted on my eyes’ attention. Ranks of soldiers were moving up the hill toward the Siamese fort, bringing with them ladders and spears and torches and strange rolling engines of war. What things men do in the cause of violence! I had never witnessed a battle before.

  Off to the left, a great war chariot appeared, drawn by four white horses. Next to its driver stood a warrior, taller by a head. Even at this distance, I knew it must be Prince Indra. His chest was encased in silver armour that gave off a gleam like a daytime star. An escort of soldiers trotted to either side.

  The prince raised his sword in some kind of martial greeting, and cheers arose from the ranks. There was a pause, then an officer’s shouted order. The attack was starting, and so quickly! A giant, flaming arrow took flight. It seemed to hang for a moment in the heavens, before heading down, gaining speed, then disappearing behind the wooden walls of the Siamese fort. More cheers rose from our men, then a brace of smaller flaming arrows shot up from a row of archers.

  Then the chariot darted ahead, those four horses at full gallop, leaving the men of its escort behind. What a sight it was – I would not have been surprised if the vehicle had taken flight across the sky.

  Soldiers raced forward to try to catch the prince. Arrows were streaking the attackers’ way. One caught a charging soldier right in the belly. I winced, but was not able to look away. Some of the men made now for a smouldering part of the fort’s walls and stood ladders up against it. Another group took shelter behind large shields arranged in a row, making ready for an assault of their own, I think.

  Indra’s chariot raced up and down the length of the wall, he unleashing arrows as it went. All the time he was within range of the defenders’ bows. Not a few enemy arrows were protruding now from the chariot’s sides. It was a fearless performance.

  Now the prince raced toward one of the erect ladders. Two men were climbing it, slowly, timidly, crouching behind shields. Even from here, I sensed their fear at being in the very front. The prince gestured abruptly to them, and they jumped down. Then he took their place! You recall how I felt when I first saw the prince that morning in the compound, that he never walked, he bounded? What he did next was like that again. He ascended that ladder as if with a single jump, sword in hand. And with no shield! More arrows came his way, but none struck him. At the top, he swung his sword at some unseen defender and then disappeared from sight.

  Watching him, I will tell you, created a sort of spell in me. But then it broke and I turned away and mouthed a prayer.

  Spirits of this isolated place, may all men find protection through you.

  ‘Come now, children, let’s not look
at this anymore.’ I turned my back on the battle and led them away. We found a grassy place and sat down.

  When the din had died out, we looked again. The fort was now a smoking ruin. Men were carrying various things from it.

  Sovan gestured to the left. ‘Look!’

  Climbing the hill across the valley was a team of parasol bearers. Nol was in the lead. His small stature told us it was him. In the way he carried himself I could see he was feeling proud all over again.

  The team reached the fort’s entrance. Prince Indra stood waiting there, his silver armour still marking him. A dais had been set up. The prince took his place on it; at my husband’s order, four parasols snapped quickly into place over his head. It was a makeshift princely court, bringing order to the mayhem of a battlefield.

  Now two soldiers bundled a captive toward the prince. They pressed the poor man to the ground; he crouched, hands bound behind him. People around me were saying that this must be the Siamese commander, captured rather than killed.

  The prince sprang to his feet and went to this man. He circled him, prodding at him with a foot! I pursed my lips – was such humiliation necessary? And there was Nol, right at the prince’s side. He was addressing the prince. It was not a long conversation, but it seemed intense, as if there was some disagreement. It was true then, as people had said. My husband was already an intimate of our master, so confident that he dared challenge his word.

  Here is what happened next: The soldiers rolled the captive onto his back and unbound his hands. He began to struggle, but they held him down, extending his left arm outward. The prince raised his sword and without an instant’s hesitation, brought it down, hard, on the man’s arm! He cut it clean off. Even at this distance, I could see the blood spurt forth.

  I was appalled. I took Bopa and Sovan by the hand and hurried them away.

  Later, I sat in the pavilion and wondered, why had I come here? Why was our family serving this prince? We did not belong in this world.

  Perhaps an hour later, Nol appeared.

  ‘I am back, wife. My work is complete for now.’

  I said nothing. Anger, or maybe it was disappointment, was welling inside me.

  ‘What is wrong?’ he asked, stepping closer.

  ‘What is wrong? What is wrong?’ I found my tongue. ‘What is wrong is that I have a husband who is involved in cruelty of the worst kind. I watched! I saw that man be deprived of his arm! How can you live with such a sin? You were right at the scene. Did you do nothing to stop it?’

  ‘I did not, in fact…’

  ‘Very well! I will leave. Right now. With our daughter.’

  ‘Please…’

  He put a hand to my shoulder, but I shook it off. ‘Say nothing more!’ I cried. ‘Look at this, you were so close that there are spatters of that poor man’s blood on your sampot!’

  ‘Please. I will tell you what it was that happened there.’

  I looked to him and for a moment, the self-important Nol had departed and the old one who cared for me, who protected me, was in his place, hoping for a favourable answer.

  ‘Tell me, then.’ I crossed my arms across my breasts.

  ‘The prince was prepared to carry out a killing. It is that way in war – the losing commander forfeits his life. But I persuaded him to instead let the man go, alive. The lost arm was the price of release. It is a small price compared to a lost life.’

  I looked to him, and could see he was telling the truth. That is another problem I never had with my husband. He never lied to me.

  ‘That was all, husband? The prince decided to show mercy?’

  He smiled wearily. ‘Dear wife, I have always known you are wise. Yes, things were not as simple as that. I pointed out to His Highness that this man, if returned to his own lord in a less than intact physical state, would be a much more powerful message than merely the news that he had perished. Our prince saw the logic of that, and agreed to spare the man’s life, in this way.’

  It seemed heartless and calculating, but at least I could take comfort in knowing my husband had not been party to murder.

  ‘This is a different world we inhabit now, husband, you and I.’

  ‘It is.’

  He reached for my hand, and I let him take it. What a look of love and gratitude came to his face! And of course he assumed that now everything was now fine.

  ‘So!’ he cried, looking on me again. ‘Let me bathe and we will have dinner. And then I will present you to our prince.’

  That I did not want, and as it turned out, we did not meet the prince that night. Within a few minutes of our sitting down to rice, word came that torches had been sighted just beyond the fort. It seemed as if another Siamese unit had formed up. Our prince, we were told, had immediately mounted his horse and, against the advice of his officers, gone riding off with a detachment to investigate. And shortly, before my husband had even finished his meal, came word that his presence was needed. ‘One can never tell when a court session must be held, or a procession staged,’ he explained as he stood up. And so off he went, again, in company of that new wife of his. Bopa and I remained behind, again, with Sovan.

  We passed the night in worry, but in the morning came word that there were in fact no Siamese beyond the fort but that the prince’s detachment, and my husband, were pressing on further. They had sent back for supplies and more soldiers and would be gone two weeks at the least.

  Bopa and I stayed two more days, then said goodbye to Sovan and left for the Capital. We walked not a single step on that journey. We rode an oxcart, alongside silver bowls, inlaid trays and various other plunder from the Siamese fort. In the Capital we were deposited right at the door of our house.

  Inside, Bopa and I knelt to say a prayer of thanks to the domestic spirit. We had found Sovan and Nol; their lives were no longer a mystery. Perhaps soon this campaign would end and they would return home. And yet, as I mouthed those words I found myself picturing not them, but the prince, bounding up that ladder.

  20: The world his to take

  For Bopa and me, the following year went smoothly. We continued to live in the big house in the compound. We prayed as often as we could at the shrine of Bronze Uncle. Like Sovan, my girl began to blossom into physical adulthood. My work for the prince’s household expanded, as did my private trading. We were on the road to becoming rich, I must admit. There were evenings when Mrs Pala and I added up the accounts, and we could not believe the sums. Some of the wealth I gave as anonymous gifts to temples, but some I put aside for later use.

  Almost every week we heard claims of the progress of the campaign in the Siamese territories. The prince has captured a great riverside city, he has taken four quarries, two ruby mines and a forest with the finest teak. He has seized riceland sufficient for a hundred thousand Khmer settlers. How much was true we couldn’t know, but what was undeniable was that every week more cartloads of plunder arrived at the Capital. People gathered to watch them roll in. The prince was on everyone’s mind, and not just at that gate. Story tellers entertained crowds at festivals with the exploits of the war bow Gandiva. At temples, worshippers chanted prayers seeking protection for him. There was at least one shrine that was claimed to have power to grant young men similar appearance and martial ability.

  Inside our compound and out, people began saying that it was time for the prince to come back to the Capital and receive an honour from the King. Yet month after month passed with no word that such an honour would be bestowed. The Council of Brahmins was consulting to discern Heaven’s intention, it was said. No doubt they were. But Brahmins are men like any others, vows notwithstanding, and later I learned that in the council there was a point of view that whatever honour was bestowed would best be posthumous, that if the council waited long enough the campaign against the Siamese would open the way to Prince Indra’s next life. Each time a field dispatch described him as completing a battle blood-splattered, these priests wondered whose blood it was and if the next dispatch would recount
fever, infection and final breath.

  But that news never arrived. So it was that the council finally deemed that Indra would be honoured. But behind the walls of the prince’s palace, many people were offended by the terms: He would be promoted to the Second Rank, not the First. He would enter the city with just a small escort. The famous war bow would have to remain behind – he could bring only ceremonial weapons. There would be no victory parade. His schedule would be set entirely by the Brahmins and at the end he would leave the Capital and return to his army in the north.

  You see again how the priests were entirely in charge. They got no direction from the King. When the decision to award the honours was announced to him, in fact, his only comment was ‘Indra… Now, which one is he?’

  The following day, proclamations were read out to the Capital’s people. I was in the central market when a crier arrived there and the news of the honours caused general elation. But the details that followed did not: All residents wishing to greet the prince must wait until after he paid respects to His Majesty the King. They must gather only at approved places where the prince would make brief appearances – the main market, the West Gate, a field by a particular temple in the southern quadrant. They must not commit public offense by becoming loud or disorderly or intoxicated. Many people muttered complaints, some of them right in front of the crier.

  But in subsequent days, it became clear that whatever power the priests had inside the palace, it did not extend to the streets. There was simply too much ferment. Travellers arriving from the north reported that Indra had reached such and such temple in his journey to the Capital, crossed such and such river. The beast the prince rode, it was said, was surely Airavata, sacred mount of the god Indra, possessed of three heads but choosing on this particular journey to display only one. Entire villages were turning out in greeting. At one monastery, sixty acolytes emerged from their cells to join the prince’s procession. Word spread that he would enter the city by the North Gate. So people thronged out of it and marched north to greet him on the road. Spirits were so high that hardly anyone remembered that this was in violation of the palace proclamation.