by Geoff Ryman
A general grinned at him. “Oh, but my dear friend, this old religion was once based around your hill."
"I know! I know!” chuckled the King of Poduli, looking delighted. “But I have no trouble with it. The people know they must be disciplined. I tell you it is always that western region that has trouble. It is a lack of discipline, but also it's too dry! The place is wretched!"
His own hill was at the meeting of the three great rivers.
Jaya said to his son, “Watch when the conches sound for the King, they will all scramble for the place just opposite the dais. They think sitting there somehow mirrors the position of the Universal King."
"Hmm,” grunted Surya. “That is very much like the little children in the courtyard."
Gold-embroidered cushions were scattered about the dais. Servant girls slipped into the room and placed carafes of water and reed bowls of nuts and fruit near the cushions.
Someone whom Jaya did not know, but who bore signs of high office, sailed quickly into the room. He wore a quilted jacket, embroidered with flowers and very fine wrapping round his legs. His hair was pulled back and wound with an image of Siva.
Who? For just a moment, the plucking at Jaya's heart made him fear that the man was King Yashovarman himself. He looked something like Yasho: the bulk, the huge jaw. But his eyes snapped like the mouths of baby crocodiles. Yasho would have had to become quick and clever like Suryavarman to have eyes like those.
Neatly, quickly, the personage folded himself down, like a wolf.
In the position directly opposite the throne.
"Hmm. Greedy boy.” said the Little King of Poduli.
"Who is that?” Jaya asked.
Poduli's eyes sparkled with mischief. He evidently enjoyed the fact that Jayavarman was not informed, and would enjoy both alleviating and contributing to that ignorance. “Oh, that. That is the Kanmyan, the Servant,” he said. Poduli turned and addressed his equals. “Which means the King will soon be trailing after him.” The chuckles that followed showed no trace of respect.
Yet, when the conch sounded, they scrambled. Those who tried to maintain some kind of dignity found themselves with no obvious place to sit. Jaya had been prepared. He simply swept himself and his son two steps back, out of everyone's way and into a place on the side.
In the jockeying for position, someone, an army officer, forced his way in behind them. He then had the nerve to tap Jaya lightly, gesturing for him to sit out of his line of view. Someone else, a Vishnuite, promptly sat next to Jaya, establishing where the circle of seating ran.
Jayavarman smiled. “No need to crowd in behind me, please sit next to me."
Jayavarman was no doubt eccentric, but was also undoubtedly a successful king. Put in his place, the army officer ducked, smiled, and crouched to his feet and sat to the left of Suryakumara.
Is it any wonder, Jayavarman thought, that I loathe this place?
Then scribes rattled forward into the room and the Universal King himself came billowing in, in robes of black silk.
Shock. The shock came almost before Jaya recognized Yashovarman. It stilled his breath and hushed his heart. Then protocol demanded that he bow and lower his eyes. When Jaya looked up again, Yashovarman had arranged himself on cushions. Jaya saw then why he had been shocked. Yashovarman looked like a scholar. His bulk had reduced; he was thin; he had ribs. He had a scholar's patient, almost kindly face.
Have I lost the chance of a friendship, Yasho, by staying away?
Yasho spoke quietly, in a direct and businesslike way. “We will begin. Welcome to you all.” He is not a bad king at all, Jaya thought. After all, Suryavarman did choose him. My Lord chose well.
It was a relief to know that the Universal King was someone to whom you could be loyal. It was a pleasure to see at once that this Yashovarman had become someone Jaya would enjoy talking to.
"We have a small problem to cope with. I'm sure we will deal with it. I'm sure no one here thinks that Bharata-Rahu has the favour of the Gods. There is no way in which his destiny will be to triumph. Unless there is anyone here who favours the old religion?"
Yasho's eyes were amused, but watchful. They rested briefly on Jayavarman. “Jaya, my old friend, you do not follow this religion, do you?” It was a statement, a joke, a threat, and a kind of recognition. The room chuckled.
Jaya found he could laugh unforced. “No indeed, my Lord."
Yasho nodded downwards once, smiling. “It's a very great evil. Our people did well to drive it out when the true religion came. You, Poduli, you know all about it."
The fat, comfortable, clever Little King was more discomfited than Jaya. “I....I know very little, Lord."
Yashovarman educated him. “They once used Poduli's mountain to worship the Earth. Their way of worshipping the Earth was to kill some poor hapless soul, so that the God could be made manifest in the body of the dead man, and speak to his followers. Of course the voice always said what the devil worshippers wished it to say. This is the kind of filthy business Bharata-Rahu engages in."
"Perhaps Bharata-Rahu would care to be the vessel for his god,” suggested one of the generals.
Yasho pretended to be amused. “I shall suggest it to him in person."
More laughter. Yashovarman appeared to be genuinely outraged on religious grounds.
So this Bharata-Rahu dressed as a demon to scare the witless and uneducated peasants. Jaya remembered the sour faces on the road and thought: but who leaves the peasants in ignorance, King?
This Bharata-Rahu wears his hair long in a mane, and keeps his nails as talons, like a village exorcist who drives out demons.
He drives out the demons that category people blame for disease, because we leave the ill to die uncared for. Women die twisting in childbirth in their huts. I would rather the categories blame demons for their dead wives than us, Chakravartin, Universal King.
Yashovarman looked calm and confident. “So the business at hand is simple. We need have very little discussion. I require troops from each of you, and we must march before the rains come. We need to finish the business off in the name of the Gods. Then, we can have lunch."
More chuckles. Uneasy this time; this was all too simple.
"My servant will explain what is required."
The Servant stood up from his position opposite the King. He stomped forward on legs so thick that his thighs met. He glowered. “We will need 5,000 men from each of you. Except of course Kavindrarimathana who managed to lose all his army to these peasants. We will form an army of 100,000 men, with attendant cavalry and batteries of elephants. This is April; your rice will be harvested. The corvée must begin at once. We need each of you to go home, and return immediately at the head of your own troops. Then we march."
Who was this strutting, prodding little man?
Yasho of course has unpleasant demands to make, but this man does not make them gently. Nor, must it be said, with much of an air of deference to his Universal King, or any other king in the room for that matter.
This is not a man used by the King to do his prodding. This is a man who prods Yashovarman.
The Servant cast his eyes about the room, with his thick jaw thrust out. Is he challenging us to disagree?
Jaya spoke calmly. “There should be some discussion of strategy. Before asking for numbers which may not be needed. Or which may not be enough."
"Numbers. We get enough troops to win, that is all. The King has had all his discussions, but to keep your knowledge timely, since you are from the country, Bharata-Rahu has roused all the peasants in the Northwest. They burn temples and seize the riches and the rice. They dedicate them to their old god. They drive out the holy men and tear down the dedications. Counting them is difficult. They are many, poorly armed, and so the full might of the righteous must fall on them hard."
Jaya asked, “Who will plant the rice in the northwest region if we fall on them hard?"
"People from other regions."
Ah. The air around Jayava
rman seemed to tickle his face and ears. Jaya said mildly, “Such people may be needed in regions of their own."
Jaya said this in such a bobbling tone of voice that the others laughed. But they had seen his point. First their troops and then their labour was to be taken from them.
Yasho, Yasho, you have allowed yourself to fall victim to one of the Oxen. An Ox who is both blunter and more energetic and possibly, under the wall-smashing bluster, more clever than you are.
The Servant bristled. “You seek to deny the King his righteous request."
"I seek to have an informed conversation that will remove this scourge without destroying the other regions."
"The regions are always a potential source of rebellion."
The kings and generals groaned. What?
Jaya laughed. His felt his whole face beam. “My nameless friend, I don't know why you think calling us rebels is a good way to get us to quell a rebellion. When we have hardly had a chance to say anything. Even the King himself has hardly been given a chance to speak by you."
Assenting chuckles. Jaya pressed on. “Can I suggest a morning of polite discussion to determine how we can best serve the King?” Jaya paused just long enough. “And to give the King himself time to speak."
The Servant was outraged. “This talk of time is just to delay. You do not want to give the troops, and so you hope to wheedle and duck and escape.” The relentless prodder spun on his heel. “You see, my Lord, it is as I said. They will delay and cavil and question and try to deny you. They will want your help soon enough if the rebellion spreads to their own lands."
Yasho held up a waving, placating hand, to soothe and make his servant more gentle. “They have not yet refused. Let them speak."
The Servant's eyes shot spears at Jayavarman.
It was the King who told them the true extent of the devastation. He sounded aggrieved, wearied, and pained.
As well you might, Yasho.
For it has come. The hungry face has started to devour.
The people no longer care that you pray for them, or drink purified water on their behalf. They see no benefit to the squads of devotionaries who do no other work than to feed and dress statues, while real people go unfed and unclothed.
That is the real source of rebellion, Yasho. As I think your wise and weary face would admit, if I pushed you.
But we face a religion that kills people so that a dead god might talk. That does not advance the Dharma. Nor would Buddhist institutions be spared. The hungry face was untamed as a tiger's.
"I will certainly bring my troops to your aid, Universal King,” said Jaya, deliberately addressing Yashovarman and not his servant.
So the Servant thrust himself forward. “The King himself has committed all three of his sons to the task. He asks less of you than he does of himself."
The air tickled Jayavarman again.
The Servant turned on Jaya. “You! There is your son, are you sending him?"
Jaya answered in a patient tone of voice. “As you can see my son is not yet of an age to fight. And he is the oldest. So no, none of my sons will fight. Will yours?"
The Servant was ready. “I have none, but if I did, of course."
No sons? Neither did Suryavarman.
Jaya beamed. “Oh, so I see! You want us to lose our troops, and then the workers for our lands, and you also want as many of our sons to die as possible."
The other generals chuckled. They may not have much time for little Jayavarman the Buddhist, but they had plenty of time for seeing the King's obnoxious servant dressed down.
Jaya blurted out what started as a laugh and became a growl. “And as many of the King's sons as possible as well, I see! I knew a man who worked as you do, Servant, and he became Suryavarman."
The laughter of the generals was loud and ugly, raucous in its determination to get back at the Servant.
"Following a period of revolt and confusion!” shouted the King of Poduli.
Someone else added, “Over the backs of other men who had better claim."
The air seemed to thrill. This was open revolt against the power of the Servant.
"Watch out for your servants, King!"
Like a caricature in a dance, the Servant folded his arms in disgust, looked away, and tapped his foot. Was he being serious? He cast a look at Jaya and then tossed his head in another direction. He looked like an angry little girl. Jaya had to laugh at him. The Servant was naked, shameless, unreasonable, blunt, demanding.
And dangerous.
Jaya looked at the King, and saw that Yashovarman was looking askance back at him. Their eyes met. Jaya thought: If you prefer this little strutting monster to us, perhaps because you know of no other way of placating him, then you will be fooled. You will be like my Cham Buddhist master, all book wisdom and asceticism. Not much point if your servant strips you of your sons, and then of your Kingship.
But that look, that question in your eyes, King, is weak. For it is full of regret; it shows you know I tell the truth.
If I were you, I would make this little monster head of your troops and dress him in brilliant lime green, put him on a lime-green elephant, and surround him with troops that carry only parasols.
And if he came back, I'd send him on a campaign to the lands of the Pagan.
And if that failed, I would sail the little man in a ship with sawn timbers.
Who knows, if I think he is dangerous enough, I may dispatch him for you in the heat of battle.
Jayavarman stood up. He bowed to the King. “I accept the King's request for troops. I will not send rice workers to the region. The loyalty of the rice workers in these lands must be won back by showing them that the true religion treats them with kindness. I will not send my sons. I will march in brown cloth, so I will not be a target. I also suggest you find yourself a general who has fought a campaign before. I remember our rout by the Chams only too well. It will be unfortunate indeed if this time we suffered defeat at the hands of peasants."
The King remained gracious. “Stay some time here, Jaya. I would like to talk to you.” Yasho's voice was mellifluous. Perhaps he even meant it. Perhaps he yearned to discuss wisdom-literature and the savants.
Feather brush of fear.
Or perhaps to detain me.
"My Lord is gracious, direct, and kind. But your servant tells the truth for all his bad manners. It will be a journey of three days to return home. It will be longer than a week to call my men and arm them and stow provisions. There will be no rice in the fields to forage. If I am to be here again in time to march before the rains, then I must be on my way."
And I did bring my son here, and I must get my son safely away.
Yasho's face was full of affection. “We could talk about the old times and undo the damage they did."
Jaya paused, and breathed in strength and courtesy. “The old times damaged many people, Universal King, Chakravartin, though we both appear to have done well.” The room, supporting Jaya now, chuckled. “But, Chakravartin, we did not damage each other."
Yasho smiled. “It was a near thing, Jaya. But I know that you do not like the City and yearn to be away.” The great King waved the Little King on his way.
Jaya stood and bowed, and then dipped in respect to the rest of the circle. Their faces now gave him colluding smiles, for he had said what they had all wanted to say. He did it again. He said, quickly, sharply, “Keep two sons behind, Lord."
The murmur of the generals showed they agreed. Yashovarman smiled tolerantly and let the loyal, honest little eccentric go his way. Jaya safely ushered his son Surya ahead of him.
Yasho sent all three of his sons to the battle, and all three of them were killed.
Leaf 60
How bold was Yashovarman's heir, the glorious Samtac Sri Indrakumara! How my young Lord was quick in the attack, keen in the forethought. He sniffed the terrain of the battleground as does a tiger. I remember his young knife face, eyes gleaming like sunlight on the Great Lake. He was a guardi
an door, bolted shut against all faults, stalwart, ready for the fight or for the retreat, strong beyond the norm, and wise beyond his years. The Samtac was Rama reborn again to embody all the kingly virtues and to harrow evil. Like Rama, he collected and attracted many friends to fight for him. Call me Hanuman the Monkey, for I joined him in battle bringing many troops. I was strong and I was loyal, and by my eternal soul, how war made the maidens in my blood dance.
Leaf 61
I remember the faces of the two noble brothers the Sanjak Arjuna and the Sanjak Dharadevapura, sons of Yashovarman. Their faces were fresh as though Vishnu had given birth again from his own flowering stomach. The Sanjak Arjuna sang as beautifully as the sarika bird and danced with grace, wreathing his warrior hands into the ritual shapes. He played chess with the skill of demon. He would gently question the Samtac, testing the path for his brother as a scout surveys the terrain. The Sanjak Dharadevapura was fleet of foot on the field, and so devoted in his pursuit of virtue that the unworthy could count his ribs. How I wished then that my own son Suryakumara had joined them on the field of battle. How I wished Suryakumara had friends like these, a noble company of productive fighting youths. Our handsome sons, how happy we are to send them to their deaths, when the blood maidens dance.
* * * *
Leaf 62
I looked across the western plain in the rain-shadow of the mountains of Siam. I saw a fierce and foolish gathering of category people, armed with wooden swords, forest axes, and ragged shields of torn cattle hide. Yama (Death) swelled in the sky overhead, but we mistook him for the sun. At midday, we saw Bharata-Rahu, the ignoble man. He came like a festival magician with long spears on his fingers like claws. He came wearing an absurd mask, calling on his god, holding a dagger as if it could speak and making nonsensical, moaning noises. His people led forward a stumbling man who smiled. He was simple, or drunk, or made to drink potions. We saw Bharata-Rahu plunge the dagger into this man's heart. The bare-chested victim smiled down at the dagger inside him as if it were a delightful wonder, a child's puzzle. And he began to speak in a calm, sad voice, like one in a fever.
