by John Burgess
But in not so many months more, the spirit will change its mind. At its command, the river will reverse course and flow to the southeast, sucking life and water from the Freshwater Sea, causing it to contract to a fraction of its former size. The rains will end. It will be a time of unhappy events. Vast expanses of parched wasteland will come into being, strewn with dead fish, shrivelled plants and other reminders of bygone fecundity. Paddies will go dry, soil will crack, crumble, even turn to dust. At temples, fragments of fallen leaves will fill the cracks between paving stones. The air will become so hot and oppressive that people will avoid going out and at night lie sleepless for hours on their mats.
We Khmers know such times will come, yet we are not angry for it. That is one of our great virtues, do you not think? Each year, at the time when the river’s feeding of the Freshwater Sea comes to an end, we don’t rue the change. Rather, we celebrate. Many of us flock behind His Majesty to a sacred place on the river banks to bid farewell to the waters, to thank the spirit residing in their depths for having been so generous for so long and to give assurances that we have made every effort to put the gift to greatest use. To the chanting of vedas, to the scattering of flower petals, our monarch stands at the river’s edge, then raises hand and golden sword. He announces to the spirit below that we the Khmer people are humble, pious and deserving of a future reprieve. He issues a call: Show us your benevolent power again, spirit of the Great Dual Vector River. Let the waters now go, but let them come back and repeat their regenerative wonders.
You know, I’m sure, of the celebrations that follow. Nol took me to them several times. Boats powered by forty paddlers racing each other across the water’s surface. Soldiers duelling with blunted spears, with heavy betting on the outcome. Royal dancers dipping and swaying in groups of a hundred or more, and the royal concubines parading, each wearing her finest green sampot and headdress.
Except, of course, that we don’t see the concubine chosen that year as Woman of the Great Dual Vector River. She remains out of sight. After His Majesty restarts the Empire’s cycle of life, she will couple with him to do the same on a personal scale. Did you know that the honour is so great that some of the concubines lose all sense of rectitude and compete for it? The boldest of the women try to influence His Majesty directly, through whispered pleas and special carnal techniques, while others feel that attention is better directed toward the palace Brahmins who make the pick.
But in the year that my story has reached, the year when I was still on my trip to China, the outcome of any such competition was known in advance. The one honoured would be my daughter Bopa. It was simply that she’d been summoned so many times from the house in the far corner of the royal compound, where she continued to live with the maid Yan. The priest who oversaw preparations for the river rite had come to the house three times with an assistant and asked questions, about the health of her womb, the timing of her flow, the state of her spiritual development. Everything that she said was taken down on a slate by the assistant, then discussed by the full Councils of Brahmins.
The signals were strong enough that even my girl picked up on them in the isolation of her house in the compound. She began to feel hope. Not out of love of being singled out, I think, though of course she felt such love. The fact is that she was deeply lonely. She began to believe that winning the honour would somehow mean she could leave her house, her prison, and go to live with Elder Sister Rom in the concubine pavilion.
One morning, as she sat in her enclosed garden, two concubines passed on the other side of the fence and she overheard words that made her certain the honour was coming.
‘I was told His Majesty asks everything about her, what she’s thinking, what she’s doing,’ one was saying.
‘But how can there be news? She’s so far away.’
‘Of course she is! But now the shaman has arrived. He can sense everything. Yesterday the answer was: ‘Now she’s sleeping, now she’s waking to the sound of a temple bell, now she’s watching a mango being cut for her breakfast.’’
A mango! Bopa had eaten one for breakfast just three days earlier. She’d been sleeping when Yan prepared it with a knife, yes, but this shaman could not be faulted for not knowing that.
That afternoon, a priest came to the house and escorted my girl to an unfamiliar room in the palace. On the floor was a sleeping mat, in a corner a Chinese table. She looked around, confused, but before she could ask what this place was, the priest whispered: ‘You will lie down right there’ – he gestured to the mat – ’and look as if you are sleeping. Close your eyes. Be quick, please.’
She did as told and the man left. After a moment, a bell rang somewhere outside and the priest whispered from the door: ‘Now, get up, as if you’ve awoken from sleeping all night.’
What game was this? She did as instructed, rubbing her eyes for effect. In a moment, a female servant entered, carrying a tray set with mango and knife. The woman began to cut away the fruit’s skin.
‘You will watch,’ the courtier whispered, still at the door.
Bopa obeyed and then she was given the mango to eat. As she did, she suddenly felt that the royal eyes were on her, had been from the moment she’d arrived, through a hole in the wall to the side. She dared not look. When she finished eating, she waited, trembling, and got no more instructions from the priest. Footsteps came from outside, then the King entered. He stood back for a moment, wearing what she felt was a mournful expression. Then he turned and studied her with an intensity that she found both exciting and humiliating. After that, the King knelt by her, then made their union, gently, and when it was done she lay back, breathing hard, hoping to hold in his seed, and he studied her again, with such a strange, tragic look on his face that she turned her face to avoid it.
In subsequent days, she was summoned to this same room again. Each time this same priest told her to carry out some routine domestic task. One day it was eating, the next it was bathing – a water jar had been brought inside and bathing without splashing water everywhere on the mats was quite awkward. Another day it was reading holy scripts (this she could only pretend to do). And the day after that, yet another surprise. A man with a pale face and wearing strange silk robes that covered him top to bottom was in the room when she arrived, and he addressed her in a strange language. Then there were words from outside the door and His Majesty entered.
Then one morning, Bopa was sitting in her house’s main room, tended by Yan, when the Brahmin Subhadra brought official word. Bopa would be the river rite partner. She would leave for the site the following day on a royal barge.
The rest of the day seemed like a repeat of her first time with His Majesty. Two aged seamstresses came to make the special sampot, followed by a priest who instructed her in the ceremony, then assistants with bath water drawn from the river and blessed, then a woman who spent more than an hour arranging her hair.
At the port on the Freshwater Sea, Bopa and Yan boarded a barge that would take them down the coast. The two were directed to a pavilion at the stern. It was an odd thing, closed on three sides, open only to the back, so as to hide the females from the rowers’ eyes. Inside were sleeping mats, a small shrine, and a teak chest, which she’d been told in strict terms not to open. Inside would be garments and jewellery for the rite.
After three days, the boat tied up on the river bank, connected by a narrow plank, and all the rowers went ashore. A priest appeared. He explained that the site for the ceremony was just a short walk away, but that Bopa must remain on the barge until instructions arrived. Evening came, but no instructions, and then night and morning and another full day of waiting. Servants brought food and left without a word. Bopa picked at it, growing more and more bored. She told Yan to open the teak chest. It couldn’t hurt just to look. But Yan frowned and said, please, mistress, we must not.
That evening, a boy arrived with a message. Yan was to come with him to receive instructions for the rite. The priest had said nothing about that, and the
maid resisted. But Bopa, fearful they’d get a scolding, urged her to go.
She lay down for another nap and was awoken by a voice. It was Rom’s.
Elder sister was standing on the shore, smiling across at her. ‘You look absolutely stunning, Bopa! His Majesty will be delighted when he sees you.’
Really it was Bopa who was delighted, so much so that words failed her. Rom hurried across the plank to join her. ‘Oh, Bopa,’ she said, clasping both of her hands, ‘you look a bit concerned! Don’t tell me you’re worried about those silly rules that we can’t see each other. They don’t apply down here, don’t you know? We can spend as much time together as we want.’
Rom sat down beside her and in an instant Bopa was blubbering like a child, embracing her friend around the waist. ‘I’ve missed you so much, Elder Sister!’
‘And I’ve missed you,’ she said, stroking Bopa’s shoulder.
‘All day I sit in that house with the silly maid Yan. There’s not a thing to do, and I think of how much fun we used to have in the pavilion.’
‘We’ll make up for it down here. When the ritual’s over, we’ll go out together into the festival. In the meantime, I’ve brought you something to eat. I hear that what they’ve been giving you is terrible. Priests have no idea at all about food. But look – it’s your favourite.’ She held out sweetmeat wrapped in a banana leaf.
Bopa grinned and took some. It did taste fabulous.
‘Go on!’ laughed Rom. ‘Eat as much as you want!’
She had some more, and before long she was sucking the meat’s juice from her fingers like a village girl, which seemed to her quite funny. Rom watched, and she thought it was funny too, and laughed and said it was so good that Bopa should finish it all. Rom could go get some more. That was the last thing the girl remembered: Rom holding out a morsel, and Bopa wanting it, but feeling unable to raise a hand to take it.
And thus was my girl cheated out of the river honour.
When she awoke, Rom was gone. But sitting close to her, wearing an expression of very great concern, was Yan.
Bopa sat up in a start, confused. Her hand went to her head, which was pounding. She grimaced and fell back to the mat and slept again, though she did not mean to. Later, she awoke, this time her bladder insisting that she get up. Helped by Yan, she stumbled to the edge of the boat, where she hung her rear over the edge, not caring if anyone saw.
But there was no one to see. The boat was empty, save for her and Yan, who was relieved that her mistress was awake and moving around. But then the maid began to cry.
‘Mistress, I’m so sorry – I should never have left you. I came back and that woman Rom was here. You were sleeping and you wouldn’t wake up! Then the priests came to dress you and get you ready and still you wouldn’t wake up. Oh! I should never have left you alone.’
‘It’s all right. I’m awake now. We can go.’ Bopa’s head began to throb again. She lay down, afraid she would faint.
‘Mistress, the Brahmins saw that you couldn’t go, and so they made a ruling, right here, that in an emergency, when the King was waiting and the selected concubine was not up to the task, for whatever reason, they could choose someone else. They chose Rom.’
Bopa’s head pounded all over again. She had to ask: ‘And they dressed her in the garments from the chest?’
‘They did! There was a sampot with two green sashes and a three-pointed headdress, and very fancy red dye for the palms and feet. And there was perfume and lots of armlets. They put them all on her. Mistress, I know you treasure her, but she’s not your friend! She brought you something that made you sleep. She planned this, don’t you see?’
‘Of course I see!’ cried Bopa, and indeed I think she finally did.
‘Mistress, you’re awake now. Maybe there’s still a chance. Let’s go to the festival area ourselves and see.’
The idea of confronting Rom frightened my daughter, but she allowed herself to be led off the barge. The two women moved along a trail that followed the water’s edge. Around a bend, they saw soldiers and pavilions and banners, and Bopa lost her nerve.
‘You go find out. I’ll stay here.’
She sat down beneath a tree and leaned against its trunk. She sank to her haunches. How comfortable it seemed – she fell asleep again. But then Yan was there again, gently shaking her awake. ‘His Majesty performed the ceremony,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, it’s too late for you. But Rom has been disgraced!’
‘I don’t understand...’
‘The priests chanted and they threw lotus petals and His Majesty gave his blessings and thanks to the water. I arrived just as he was doing that. But when he was processing to the pavilion to be in union with Rom, one of the courtiers came running up and told him something, and he just stopped, right there. He stood there, still, like an image in a temple, looking down the river, like he was searching for something. And then he gave some orders. Rom was ejected from the pavilion! She was screaming, protesting, but His Majesty simply turned his back on her. Nobody could understand what was happening. But then the word spread. His Majesty had just been told that the ships from China were not far down the river and are coming this way.’
‘Ships from China?’ It was a powerful drug Rom had administered; my girl’s head still was not clear.
‘Yes, mistress – China, the embassy. Your mother is part of the embassy. She’s on one of those ships.’
49: Plea for peace
At the time, I knew nothing of the events concerning Rom and Bopa. How could I? As they unfolded, I was up the river, standing on my ship’s deck, also peering into the day’s final light. I was having the most hopeful kind of thoughts. The long journey was near its end; I would see my girl, my boy, my husband, I would sleep on my own mats again, I would eat rice from my own bowls. Then, with sunset approaching, a crewman at the bow called out that we were near the site of the river festival, that it seemed to be underway even as we approached. Soon we could all make out torches ahead. No one had timed our arrival this way. Rather, Heaven had chosen to give us winds that delivered us at this very moment.
It came to me that my gaze might be meeting, invisibly, the gaze of His Majesty. I looked away, and thought of the golden bangles, which still lay in my jewellery box.
Two hours later, our ship was riding at anchor in darkness off the bank. We could see many more torches on shore, their light glinting off a profusion of polished head pieces and jewellery. There was no doubt that His Majesty was present. I thought, this is starting again so soon? I have yet to even set foot on Khmer soil. Yet I understood. Our embassy could no more sail past His Majesty than some minor god could pass Vishnu and give no obeisance. The King would not be meeting with me so much as meeting with a member of the China embassy.
So I put on a ceremonial sampot and stood still while my maid dusted my hands with powder and applied jewellery and holy scent. Presently I took a place on a sampan, sitting behind the embassy’s chief minister. I recall above all how quiet it was, that none among us spoke, and that all on shore remained hushed as well as our boat drew near. The loudest sound was paddles stirring the water’s surface, signalling our passage to the great spirit below.
On dry land, crouching courtiers showed us forward by torchlight. People knelt left and right as we passed. Then I caught sight of my husband ahead. Our eyes locked. His face displayed his unquestioning devotion, his long readiness to protect me. What a faithful spouse he had always been! It was a breach of court etiquette, but I put hands together to greet him, right there, before I had acknowledged the lord on the dais.
I kept my eyes down as we approached the King. Then I went to the dirt, along with the minister.
‘Majesty,’ the minister announced, ‘we have completed the blessed mission on which you dispatched us.’
‘We welcome you back to the Empire,’ the King replied. ‘We are happy to see that you are in good health.’ The voice was the same, deep and melodious, captivating me even before the second word was out,
blocking out consciousness of my husband, who was so near.
‘We have conferred with the Emperor of China, Majesty, who sends his greetings and best wishes and hopes of good health, as well as gifts…’ And then he spoke at length, in the most elaborate and grandiose terms, as officials do, as if their education is for nothing but such times. The subject was the Khmer people and the Chinese people now united as brothers. For me, hardly a word sank in. But then there came a murmured interjection from off to the right: ‘We will see.’ I glanced up. The words had come from Commander Rit. His tone led me to force my mind to back up and recall what the minister had just been saying. It was that this new unity as brothers would also bring peace with the Chams.
Now it was the King who spoke. ‘Lady Sray, please tell us, did the voyage go well for you?’
I dared look up again. His eyes were on me alone. And I am certain that for just an instant they went to my wrists, hoping for things there that were not there.
I found my voice. ‘The voyage did go well for me, Majesty. As for us all. Not one of us was claimed by the sea or disease or violence. We made prayers at our shrine on the ship. In this way, we reached our home again safely.’
I looked down, hoping that no more would be required of me. But the King turned to a courtier. ‘Hurry – have water and rice and fish brought here for her, no, for everyone in the embassy. Make it a good meal.’
‘You are kind, Majesty. We do not deserve it.’
‘Now, Lady Sray, please tell us, what things will we import from China?’
‘In our ship, Majesty, are more than twelve hundred bolts of silk. There are wood carvings, as well as porcelain and large jars. We will offer them for sale in the market here. People will see the benefits of our new friendship with the Chinese Empire. And we will provide things in return. The Chinese have had bad rains this year. They need rice and we have agreed to send them twenty shiploads. We will send them live animals as well. They are very fond of pork, and a single pig will fetch three times what it does here.’
