A Woman of Angkor

by John Burgess

  ‘Let me tell you, Bopa, that Channary says that there was never any man with her in the mosquito net, that she was sleeping on her own, that suddenly the guards began chasing someone outside. You are acquainted with this girl Channary. I ask you now – do you believe she is capable of such terrible betrayal of His Majesty, or would you believe her version of events? Or is it possible that this young man was lured to the resthouse, perhaps told by someone that his former betrothed was in danger and had urgently begged that he come?’

  You can see what had happened, I’m sure. But I’m afraid that my daughter, close as she was to it, was not able to. She felt only confusion and anxiety. I suppose it was for the best that now she broke down, weeping, and was not able to offer an opinion on this question either way, and at least did not suggest that this poor girl Channary was guilty of anything.

  The Brahmin let her go after that, and she slunk back to the resthouse. She drank water while the next girl’s questioning began. Later, she closed her eyes and drifted off. When she awoke, from troubling dreams she could not remember, she ate some rice. Rom passed close by several times. Bopa sought her eyes, hoping to convey that she had stood up for her, but each time the woman was looking somewhere else.

  The concubines were all kept in that room all night, while the questioning continued. Bopa looked for Yan, but she had disappeared.

  Late the next morning, a servant girl approached with a message: Sovan was waiting outside. Yet again, Bopa was stunned. She went to find him, and without preliminaries he announced he was taking her back to the Capital.

  They walked silently from the house, Sovan carrying her things. Ahead, a hired oxcart was waiting in the failing light. Yan jumped down from it – it was she who had summoned Sovan.

  By the time they passed through the city gate, Bopa felt able to talk about what had happened.

  ‘It must have been upsetting, sister,’ said Sovan when she was done. ‘And perhaps for the Brahmin too. He must be sure of the evidence. It’s a very serious accusation that’s been made against Channary, with a very serious punishment.’

  ‘What would that be?’

  ‘It is what you would guess, sister. Let’s not speak of it now.’

  At the gate of the parasol compound, Sovan said good-bye, so as to respect my husband’s edict. Yan helped my girl bathe at the jars, then took her to her room. ‘Lie down, mistress, lie down,’ she whispered, holding open her mosquito net. Yan blew out the lamp, then sat down to wait for sleep to overtake her charge. Bopa lay still and pretended to fall off. After the maid left, she crept out of the net and to a box in which garments were kept. In it, hidden, there was also a small wine jar, her secret friend. Yan returned to the room to find Bopa upending the jar.

  Bopa had got enough down to sleep. The next morning, Yan brought rice and fish to her mat. Bopa ate, then, when the maid was away washing the bowls, she stole away to the concubine pavilion.

  41: The heavenly sister

  So that is what finally forced me from the little house at the village.

  Before my son went to fetch my daughter from the old orchid farm, he dispatched a note to me. ‘Please come back immediately,’ it read. ‘Bopa needs your help and guidance. I will wait for you tomorrow afternoon at the south gate.’

  He was there as promised when my cart arrived. During the ride across the city, he recounted the events as best he understood them and Bopa’s subsequent disappearance into the concubine pavilion.

  We fell into silence. I upbraided myself for having left my daughter alone. So, right there in the cart, I made up my mind. I would go to the pavilion and take my daughter back. If I had to confront Rom, I would confront her.

  An hour later, I arrived at the pavilion’s gate. With a sentry looking on, I called through. A maid listened on the other side, then went away without answering. After ten minutes she came back and opened the door, offering no explanation for the delay. I felt offended, but said nothing – my purpose was to retrieve my daughter. The maid led me around a lotus pond, across a footbridge and then into a large but empty pavilion.

  There I was left, again without explanation. I stood; sitting would imply I meant to stay a while. Some minutes passed; footsteps and whispered words sounded from a doorway that was covered with a drape.

  Then the cloth was pulled smartly aside and a woman entered, wearing a green silk sampot, silver necklaces, bangles and armlets, in general more jewellery than I was used to seeing on a person in a private setting. Two maids trailed behind.

  ‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘I am Rom, chief concubine to His Majesty. I am sorry you were kept waiting so long.’

  ‘Thank you for receiving me,’ I replied evenly. ‘I am Sray, mother of Bopa.’

  ‘Yes, I know who you are. Who doesn’t? But please, please sit down.’ She gazed on me in a way that made me look aside. She sat down. And I? I felt compelled to follow.

  ‘The beautiful merchant woman,’ said Rom, in a not unfriendly way. ‘Or is it the beautiful devotee of Heaven? People say it both ways, did you know?’

  ‘I am not aware that people speak of me at all. But in your presence, it becomes quite clear how plain I am.’

  ‘Such modesty! Heaven smiles on that.’ She gave a short laugh. ‘Just like your daughter. You have brought her up very well, if I may say so. She has the most lovely of faces. It’s quite like yours, really. As perfect as a lotus blossom. I can see her in you right away.’

  ‘She and I are not like you describe…’

  ‘But you are! And you know, your daughter is not the least bit vain about it. It’s good to have someone like her at this place. She’s an example for everyone, and not just in beauty. If something unsettling happens, the girls turn to her instinctively because they know she’ll know what to do.’

  Was that an allusion to something that happened at the orchid farm? If it was, I hoped I could believe at least this much of what the woman said. I replied: ‘You are kind to say that. But really, I do not want to take up your time. I have come for my daughter, that’s all. She is needed at home.’

  Rom clapped her hands twice. Another maid appeared at the door. ‘Bring fruit for our guest.’

  ‘Really, really that’s not necessary,’ I said, trying for firmness. ‘I’ve only come for my daughter.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but she isn’t here. She’s gone to one of the other pavilions across the compound, with some of the younger concubines. I’ll have someone go get her.’ She glanced to a girl by the door, and it was remarkable how quickly that girl set off.

  ‘So,’ said Rom. ‘Bopa tells me that you travel quite a bit. You’ve just come back from a trip?’

  ‘A short one, yes. I was in a village to the south.’

  ‘Oh! Those places are so pretty – away from the strains of life here. Which one?’

  I told her, then wished I hadn’t.

  Fruit and tea were served, and Rom insisted that I eat. When we finished, she said: ‘Now, I know your daughter, so it’s only fair that you know my son. Come see him for a minute – I hope you won’t be bored.’

  She rose and I could only follow. We passed across the pond’s bridge, then down a long wooden arcade. At the end, just before a corner, Rom stopped and signalled for silence. ‘Please,’ she whispered. ‘Let’s just look from here. Otherwise he’ll stop. He hates for me to watch him.’

  We moved ahead two more steps so that we could just see around the corner and into a small courtyard. At one end was a straw target. At the other, a boy of about ten, holding a bow, a dozen arrows at his feet. By him was an instructor, in the uniform of the palace guard. The man voiced a command, and the boy snatched up an arrow from the ground, strung it, pulled and let fly. It was a single, smooth, practised motion. The arrow went straight, piercing the target barely off centre.

  Rom gave me a silent look of delight. ‘Let’s go, then. Before he sees us.’

  As we walked away, Rom said: ‘I’ll tell you a secret – he’s going to give a demonstra
tion for His Majesty next week.’

  ‘You must be proud.’

  ‘A bit, I will admit,’ she said. ‘His Majesty is quite interested in him. Sometimes I think...’

  Her silence demanded what I said next: ‘Think what?’

  ‘That perhaps he’s becoming a favourite.’

  Back inside the pavilion, relief – my daughter was waiting. The girl put hands together in bashful greeting. She and I would have a talk later, away from this place.

  Rom walked us to the compound’s gate. There she made an elaborate good-bye. I began to feel my distrust returning. But then she stepped to the side and Bopa and I passed through the gate together. We had made our escape.

  But then, an enormous shock: Not five paces away stood His Majesty! All I could do was go to the ground, face down.

  Why had I not thought of this danger when I came strutting over to the pavilion, so filled with righteous purpose? Had he come to seek me out or was this just an accident? How could I withdraw? I wish that I could say that these were the questions that coursed through my mind as I crouched at his feet. But no, my thoughts were of the blood that filled my cheeks, of whether he noticed or could at this moment see it, of the workaday sampot that I was wearing, of my instant’s glimpse of him, facing me full on, and that he seemed, for that instant at least, to be as much at a loss as I was.

  I remained on the ground, and he remained standing before me, a gap of silence lengthening. Then he took a step closer.

  The dust of a sovereign’s feet. We are taught from childhood to revere even that aspect of a King’s sojourn on earth. I was close enough now to sense this dust, and I will tell you that I was struck with the feeling that it seemed no different than that of any other man’s feet. And that somehow I took this as a signal that perhaps there was no barrier to speaking to him as I would with any other man.

  Then Rom’s voice broke up my thoughts. ‘Majesty! We were not expecting you.’ That drew no response so she pressed on. ‘Let me take you inside. We will bring tea for you in the pavilion.’

  My head was still down. But right then I chose to raise it. Our eyes connected.

  ‘Lady Sray…’ He could get nothing further out.

  Not a word came from me. But I dared get to my feet and face him. There came another silence.

  Rom broke in again. ‘Majesty, the Lady was on her way home. She will continue and I will take you into the pavilion.’

  Again, the King seemed not to hear. ‘Lady, it has been too long since I have seen you.’

  ‘I am sorry it has displeased you, Majesty. But the work that Heaven has chosen for me takes me out of the Capital often.’

  ‘But now you are here.’

  ‘Yes, Majesty. I have come to take my daughter home.’

  The King’s eye went to the girl. For the first time now I remembered she was there. ‘My daughter, Majesty. Her name is Bopa.’ She was behaving according to protocol and remained on the ground. The King gave an appreciative nod to her. ‘Whatever your business,’ he said, turning back to me, ‘I am happy to have found you here. Perhaps we can have tea in the pavilion before you go. Can you spare the time, Lady Sray?’

  It would still have been possible to beg off. But no, with a dip of my head, I acquiesced. He led the way, slowly, lest I be forced to walk too quickly. My eyes went down, and there they came upon the taut back of his calves, sinews moving in outline below the skin. My gaze rose and came to rest on his shoulder blades.

  He entered the pavilion, and as he did he gave me a glance over his shoulder, then smiled and looked away. In that gesture I saw confirmation of what I had seen in that first instant of our meeting, the same nervousness that I was feeling. This also confirmed the sign. A King behaving as a King would show no diffidence in dealing with one of his subjects.

  I passed inside, and I noticed now that no one else had followed us from the gate. ‘Please, please, sit,’ he said. He motioned toward a mat laid out in a spot obscured from the outside by a hanging drape. We took our places.

  ‘You are comfortable?’

  I nodded yes, and attempted to still my breathing.

  ‘Do you recall, Lady Sray, the last time that we met?’

  ‘I do, Majesty.’

  ‘I came to your house. You kindly received me, but our visit was cut short by my Brahmin. There was much more I wished to ask you about charity and other works. And…’

  He paused to collect his thoughts. ‘I will admit something to you, Lady Sray. It is more than that. Sometimes when I am passing through the streets of the Capital, or walking across the palace compound, I look for you. Yet I have never seen you, until just now. I must ask – do you avoid me?’

  ‘My duties keep me elsewhere, Majesty.’

  ‘You say that, Lady. But is it the only explanation?’

  A maid appeared, bringing porcelain pot and cups on a tray. She set it down between us and withdrew.

  I poured for him.

  ‘Lady Sray, please, you did not answer my question.’

  ‘Majesty, I have given an answer. But you choose not to accept it.’

  ‘Because I sense that there is more to say.’

  ‘Majesty, you know as well as I that there has been an issue of holy law.’

  ‘Yes.’ He hung his head for a moment.

  I poured again, this time filling my own cup. He watched me intently. ‘There is that,’ he said. ‘But surely it does not prevent us from drinking tea together.’

  With two hands, I raised my cup. There it remained, at my mouth. I was suddenly disquieted – the cup now seemed something to hide behind.

  Then the King’s hand moved slowly toward me. He put it forward as an offer, to be accepted or turned away. There was nothing in the gesture that hinted of force. Now his index finger came to rest atop my cup, then moved it down, gently, to reveal my face. Then that finger, inverted, found its way to the skin below my chin and brought my face up so that my eyes met his. His were pleading. I swallowed, incapable of looking away. But then his eyes left mine. They followed his finger as it travelled first the slope of my neck, then the ridge of my shoulder, then down again, tracing the flesh of my arm. It came to rest on my wrist. My wrist, the one part of me that he had touched before, by candlelight that night as I laid in my sleeping chamber.

  At this precise moment, the spell broke. I turned away, ashamed. I at once sensed that in this room was present the ghost of His Majesty’s brother, gleeful over the harm it was accomplishing.

  ‘Majesty, you mustn’t...’ It was all I could do to get that out in a whisper.

  ‘Please don’t say that.’ He took my hand.

  ‘Heaven does not intend me to unite with the blessed monarch. It has united me with another man already.’

  His hand tightened on mine just slightly. ‘Please! For years I have hoped that Heaven might choose to change that. And when we met outside, I had a sense that it had.’

  ‘Majesty, I thought just now that it had, but I am sure I was mistaken. It was a trap.’

  ‘What, what do you mean?’

  ‘I cannot say. Only that we must resist. Both of us. We must resist.’

  ‘So you too feel the need to resist. You have said it!’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Whatever the law, if it has not been put aside, then we must be put it aside ourselves. Please, Lady, I have waited so long…’

  ‘Majesty!’

  It was not my voice but Subhadra’s. He was crouching by the door; he had dared enter the pavilion.

  The King’s fierce character returned in a flash.

  ‘Leave!’

  But the Brahmin did not. Rather, he spoke again, addressing his words to the mat. ‘I cannot, Majesty. My duty, the Empire, the future of the reign all require that I remain.’

  ‘I said leave!’

  ‘Majesty, if I could, I would be gone. But I cannot, I cannot.’ He went back to a full crouch and continued talking in a voice barely audible through his whiskers. ‘If I leave, Majest
y, I will live a while longer, but I will be delivered straight to hell when I die, and I will be tormented by flames and scorpions and rats and I will be reborn as a slug. That will happen, Majesty, because I will have allowed worse to happen to you.’

  The King gave no response, and this gave the Brahmin courage to go on.

  ‘If you complete what you wish to do with this woman, Majesty, it will mean the end of the reign, the collapse of the Empire, the Chams dancing on the smouldering ruins of this great city. It will have that result, Majesty, because this woman has the potential to be your destruction. Bringing her into your fold will set off a revolt first among your own women, then among your soldiers, then your people at large. The gods will pass your mandate on to another, Majesty. Your temple will never be completed, your name never inscribed on the holy tablets in Heaven.’

  ‘How is that possible?’ His Majesty shouted.

  ‘It is because she is not like any other, Majesty. The proof is in your interest in her. For all monarchs, there must be things that are forbidden.’

  ‘But look at her!’ said the King. He strode to me and took me by the shoulders, turning me to face the priest. ‘She is not the incarnation of some demon. She is purity, she is virtue. Anyone can see!’

  ‘You are right, Majesty. She is the incarnation of....of your heavenly sister.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your sister, Majesty. In Heaven. It is taught that a King must treat another man’s wife as if she were a sister. But in this case, she is in fact your sister. In Heaven. Your Majesty exists there in divine form, as does this woman. You are brother and sister there. The deities would be incensed were carnal relations to occur between your earthly avatars. You must live apart. But Heaven is merciful and just. It has seen that this woman, your sister, is well provided for on earth, that she has a home and children and wealth.’

  The King sank to his knees, his determination faltering.

  Subhadra came closer and whispered. ‘Majesty, Heaven sends trials for all its children on earth. While an ordinary man can fail the trial, it can never be that way for a sovereign of the world.’