A Woman of Angkor

by John Burgess

  ‘The dimensions at the outer enclosure,’ announced the Architect, ‘will be three hundred ninety cubits.’ He paused to let them take that in, because this was larger than anything built before, the proud promise the palace had made so many times.

  Pin declared: ‘It will be the greatest creation of the Empire, sir. You will be blessed for having drafted it.’

  The Architect’s eye went to Sovan and he knew he had to speak.

  ‘It’s excellent, sir.’

  ‘That’s all you know how to say?’ The Architect, it seems, enjoyed putting him on the spot.

  ‘Well, sir, the proportions seem to my amateur eye to be perfect.’

  ‘Yes? And why is that?’

  I cannot pretend to give you Sovan’s exact language. But it was to the effect that the base level seemed to anchor the temple to the earth. The angle of slope leading up toward the top was a bit sharper than at other temples, and this would communicate the fact that His Majesty’s connection with Heaven was close. And the level area at the top marked the highest presence, the highest possibility of human work on earth, before the central tower, pointing skyward, showed the way to Heaven and, again, His Majesty’s affinity with that place.

  ‘Thank you, Sovan,’ said the Architect. ‘I see that you understand.’

  My boy wished that that hadn’t been said in front of the other assistants.

  Now the Architect spoke for close to an hour, giving details of planned engineering and materials and making assignments. The inner core, hidden from view, would be composed of soil and laterite blocks, and one assistant would do nothing for the next week but work out the numbers of those blocks, and the ideal dimensions of each and in what order they would be carved from the earth and transported to the site over the coming years. A second assistant would calculate the precise surface area of wall that would be available for holy carvings and begin consultations with the palace priests as to which scenes from the myths would be depicted and where. Other assistants would be assigned to particular labour teams, to schedule their movements so as not to conflict with others. Pin was one of them – he got the elephant tenders.

  ‘And you, Sovan, you will work directly with me to assure that the design is executed precisely as His Majesty wishes.’

  ‘Sir!’

  ‘That’s all, then,’ said the Architect. ‘Each of you will continue to report in here daily on your progress. You have permission to consult with me directly if you have questions.’

  They all stood to await the Architect’s departure. Sovan ignored the glare that Pin had fixed on him.

  Pin and the other assistants knocked off work earlier that afternoon. They would go to the market to celebrate the start of the new phase of construction. After some wine, I’m sure, they would visit the girls at the lamp-lit stalls, as men do at such times. Sovan remained behind in the assistants’ hut, I’m sure feeling the burden of abstinence. But before he could devote much thought to that, a messenger arrived. The Architect, Sovan was told, summons you to his house in one hour’s time.

  That was a surprise – the master had taken over the house of the anxious young prince whose land this once was, but no assistant had ever been invited there. One hour later, Sovan arrived there. Another surprise – it was no longer the one the prince had occupied. Of course, thought Sovan. Our master would never live in something as ordinary as that. It had been replaced by a large teak residence of ample windows and soaring eaves. Even in the failing light, Sovan could sense design and craftsmanship of disquieting precision. He stopped outside the gate, and took some time studying it.

  A watchman appeared, seeming to know that Sovan was coming. He was an older man, but he treated Sovan with some deference, informing him that the master had been called to the kilns and had asked that the visitor be shown there. My boy followed him around behind the house, along a rectangular lotus pond which at its centre had a pavilion on stilts, a sort of house on the water. Then came a path into forest. After a bit, a clearing, with the strong scent of charcoal signalling the firing of tiles and ceramics. To one side was a collection of potter’s wheels, to the other a half dozen domed dirt kilns as tall as a man. Each had a hole in its front and a chimney in its back. Quite a few people were busy at the kilns, potters kneeling at the holes to place clay tiles inside for firing, slaves feeding charcoal to the hidden flames.

  The Architect was there, in conversation with a man who seemed to be the foreman. My son was called over. ‘We’ve finally figured out what was making the tiles come out bad so often,’ announced the Architect. He gestured to a pile of fragments to the side. ‘Every single one was cracking after it cooled, so we had to throw them away. But it turns out the clay contained a contamination. We’ve switched to clay from another spot and things are working out fine now. Have a look here.’ He led my boy to a kiln. By it were ten roof tiles, cooling. ‘Flawless,’ he said.

  ‘I had no idea you operate kilns, sir.’

  ‘Just a hobby, boy. After we moved here, we discovered there were good clay deposits on the land – most of them good, at least – so it seemed fun to try our hand. Well, then, come back to the house with me.’

  It was getting dark now, and when they reached the grounds, torches had been set burning on poles around the pond. Candles flickered inside the pavilion that stood over the water. The Architect led the way along its access footbridge.

  Inside, he said: ‘Sit down then, boy. Make yourself comfortable.’ Sovan did, wondering when the purpose of this visit was going to become clear.

  ‘Do you like this pavilion?’ the Architect asked. He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘It’s the only place I can get peace and quiet. There’s a very strict rule – no one comes across the bridge unless I say it’s all right. Not my wife, not my daughters, not my servants.’

  ‘I’m honoured that you let me enter, sir.’

  ‘Never mind that.’ He took out a palm leaf and laid it close to a candle. ‘Now, tell me what you think of this.’

  It was the same leaf he’d presented that day. Sovan cleared his throat, and began to repeat his words of a few hours earlier.

  A frown stopped him. ‘Sovan, if we’re going to work together, you must speak your mind with me. At the meeting today you were saying what you felt I wanted to hear, and you’re doing it again now.’

  ‘Sir, I’m only an assistant, the most junior, in fact.’

  ‘Yes, and if you retain an assistant’s timidity, you’ll be one all your life. Now, look. This is not the King’s court. It’s not a meeting with the other assistants. It’s just you and me. Well, go on!’

  Sovan took his time. ‘Well, sir, it’s just that...I suppose it’s that...that this design seems to be mainly a larger version of what has been built in previous reigns.’

  ‘I agree.’

  Sovan at this point might also have mentioned his belief that everyone had been facing in the wrong direction on the day of the cubit ceremony. But he kept that to himself; it would be too big a challenge to his master, who after all had been facing that wrong way along with everyone else. Instead, Sovan focused on the design.

  ‘I feel, sir, that to show our devotion to the Absolute, we must at all times be striving to perfect our understanding of the appearance of Heaven and how a structure here can replicate one that is there. Each reign’s construction should advance us along this path, seeking harmony with both earth and the motion of the sun and stars, until we create something that is indistinguishable from what is found in Heaven – in fact, is that thing.’

  Do you see? When speaking his heart, Sovan could be like an orator.

  The Architect took a moment to smile. He tapped Sovan on the shoulder. ‘You do understand, then. Now let’s look at the paper again.’ He moved the candle closer. ‘What you see is what I drafted based on a drawing by His Majesty, a man of great abilities in war, but whom Heaven has given lesser abilities in the appreciation of the aesthetic realm of life. His Majesty has seen the temple of our late lord Uday
adityavarman, has picked up a piece of chalk and imagined his own temple looking not so different than that one. Bigger, of course. He has set his mind on this design, and so has the Brahmin Subhadra, who is happy that the King has shown an interest in something that doesn’t involve weapons or concubines.’

  Sovan had never heard anyone speak this way about our monarch and it made him uneasy. But it did sound like truth.

  ‘So,’ the Architect concluded, ‘this is what we have been given. Except...except in a project of this complexity, the Architect has certain authority to make changes as the work goes along, and it’s not necessary to report to the palace about every little one of these changes, because people there don’t want to be drowned in details. And they know, as you and I know, that some number of changes will always be necessary to achieve the full effect of a design, because not everything can be foreseen in the initial plan.’

  ‘I think I’m starting to understand, sir.’

  ‘I would hope so. Now, if ever we’re challenged, you’ll appreciate that there’s a fine line between a change that retains the spirit of the original design and one that takes things in a new direction altogether. It’s often something that can only be settled by debate, and the person who is the more familiar with the vocabulary and aesthetics and theory of this kind of thing can usually prevail in such a debate.’

  ‘Sir.’

  ‘Now, this will all remain confidential between you and me. But I can already see refinements that should be made to the design, and I will begin sketching out some changes and we will not tell anyone about them. That would just create confusion. There will be times when I will rely on you to convey word of a change to the team working on a particular element of the project, and you may need to be very diplomatic, and maybe not convey the real reason why you want them to, say, make a trench twenty cubits longer than is shown on the plan they’re working from.’

  ‘I understand, sir. You can count on me. And I...I deeply appreciate the trust you are placing in me. I am the most junior of your assistants.’

  ‘Most junior, yes, but least capable, no.’ The Architect shifted his legs to relieve some ache. ‘You know, it was clear to me from the day I first met you, when I came out to have a look at the site, that you had something in your soul for this craft. Who knows? Perhaps the builder god Visvakarman had reached down from Heaven and touched you. Just a bit, mind you. Everyone else was swatting at flies or griping about the heat, but you, you looked and you saw a mountain-temple.’

  ‘Sir, I’m nothing as you…’

  The Architect put up a hand to stop him. ‘Down the road you may wonder why you ever agreed to this. It’s going to be endless work for the next twenty or twenty-five years. Now listen. There are going to be changes in your schedule. You’ll continue to do the morning inspection, but for the next few months I will want you to spend three hours each afternoon refining your drawing skills. You will come to the design pavilion out at the site. Sometimes it will be a draftsman instructing you, sometimes it will be me.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Well, then – that’s settled.’

  ‘Thank you, sir!’

  Sovan expected to be dismissed. But the Architect cleared his throat and looked again to him. ‘Now, Sovan, I need to ask you a few other things. Let’s start with: Do you pray on a regular basis?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And give offerings?’

  ‘Often enough, I think, sir. My life is blessed.’

  ‘A good answer. And do you have debts?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Do you have any...unmentionable disease?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘And do you go with the girls in the marketplace, the ones who become a sweetheart for a night?’

  ‘Why no, sir!’

  ‘There’s no need to be offended. But maybe then there’s some girl who’s especially dear to you. The daughter of someone on the palace staff, perhaps.’

  ‘No, sir,’ my boy said again, reddening. ‘It didn’t happen before I moved out of my former father’s house. And in my current situation, I hardly have the opportunity to meet such a girl.’

  That brought amusement to the Architect’s face. He said: ‘Well, then. That’s all you and I have to talk about for now. Good-night.’

  Sovan stepped along the footbridge, puzzled. There was too much to sort out here. A new position, a new design, whose course he might conceivably affect; questions about health and marriage. He came to a stop. That last one he suddenly figured out, standing still in the light of the pond’s torches. The Architect had daughters, but no son. Everyone knew that. No one to teach the craft to. Under the laws of Heaven and Empire, a son can be born into a family, or he can be brought in, just as Veng became son to my husband with Sovan’s expulsion. And sometimes, sometimes, a son is brought in as husband to a daughter. Sovan swallowed. Things could become terribly awkward very quickly now. But then a spirit placed a humbling thought in his mind: this perhaps is why your own father, having only one son, was so angry at losing you to a man who had none.

  An old servant woman waited at the end of the footbridge. ‘This way please, sir.’ As she led him along a path, he found something to wonder about in her too, and the answer was starting to come to him as she led him up the back steps of the house and into its main chamber.

  There a young woman stood waiting. Her face and hands bore the rouge of the well-bred; her hair, pulled back, was secured by a bronze clasp. This time, a lamp shone on her rather than the afternoon sun.

  She asked: ‘Do you remember me?’

  ‘Of course!’

  ‘And I remember you. I saw you talking with Father the day His Majesty came to bless the building site. I knew right away it was you and I told Father. He made me wait. But now you’re here. Would you like to sit down?’

  She didn’t wait for an answer but called out. ‘Nang, could you please bring some water for our guest? And please put out the banana sweets I bought. I think he likes those.’

  So! My son’s problems of marriage were past. For love and for life, Heaven had delivered to him this girl, this young woman, just as his dreams portended.

  When he told me, I embraced him, tearful. Happiness for Sovan! Grandchildren! I felt such a sense of celebration, even as I worried over the other things he had confided, that he was now part of a secret challenge to the authority of King and Brahmins.

  38: Nol’s dream

  My husband had almost come to accept that he would not get the land to the east of the temple. Then the fires were lit in him all over again, by the royal cattle tender Kiri and, I must admit, by me, though I of course had no such intention.

  It happened on the first day of the water festival in the shrine that stood behind the central market. Scores of vendors had set up on its grounds. Dancers and fortune tellers had come in great numbers. Now common folk were thronging in, and so were heads of prominent families, who presented offerings to the priests or risked people saying they were miserly with the wealth that Heaven had settled on them.

  Nol and I walked with attendants toward the grounds, me carrying, wrapped in silk, a silver bowl that we were going to donate. Nol believed it was too valuable a thing, but I had convinced him that the priests were deserving of it. As we drew near, there was a commotion on the road ahead. People were stopping, going up on their toes to see better and soon it was impossible to get by.

  Nol called to a soldier standing guard on a rise by the roadside. ‘What’s going on here?’

  ‘The royal cattle tender Kiri is coming this way,’ the man replied. ‘And his palanquin is fabulous!’ Such a sight it was that the soldier had failed to notice that Nol was someone notable too.

  Nol fumed; I think a new wave of pain began passing through his back.

  People were now stepping out of the way to let the palanquin pass. I should have taken Nol by the arm and propelled him elsewhere, but it was too late. The palanquin sailed past us, like a boat borne on a sea
of humanity, and it was in fact a marvellous thing. It was silver-plated top to bottom, with dozens of carved deities on its sides. It was upholstered in blue silk and decorated with fresh lilies and orchids. And at its centre: Kiri, accepting greetings left and right.

  Nol turned away, worried that Kiri would see him.

  ‘Husband – please, you mustn’t be angry.’

  ‘Why do you think I’m angry?’

  ‘It’s plain to see. But please, do your best to put it aside. It makes me grieve.’

  The crowd broke and we walked on a bit, slowly. Then Nol stopped again, right there in the road. ‘How much would such a thing cost?’

  ‘The better question,’ I replied, taking his arm, ‘is why does he spend so much on something like that, when there are so many people without food, so many shrines to be built?’

  ‘It’s unfair. He has so much. That property by the mountain-temple’s east gate – how much must that generate?’

  I tried again. ‘Husband, you lose standing in Heaven’s eyes when you allow such feelings to build up in you. We have more than we need.’

  ‘That land is going to be mine! I’ll get it, and I’ll buy an even larger palanquin, and you will ride on it.’

  The next day, I left the Capital on a trading trip. When I came back two weeks later, there was a stunning surprise. My husband had triumphed over Kiri! He had not acquired the east land; rather, he had caused its value to move to ours.

  I will explain to you, though it took some time for me to find out how it had happened. Nol at first would not discuss it, but after a while, he did. You know, I think he was so pleased with how he’d managed it that he simply had to tell someone and I was the only person who could be trusted to keep the secret. It was that repellent.