The King's Last Song

by Geoff Ryman

  The Cham King invited Jayavarman all the way to Yashodharapura to ask him, “What is this white rabbit?"

  Jayavarman had a mouthful of noodle, and he made a show of suppressing a laugh so he could swallow. “Ah, you must be learning the peasant's language, King."

  "I hear much of talk of him."

  "He is a way for the lowly people to express resentment. They tell stories of how the white rabbit tricks predators. You are very wise to pay attention to it, for I am sure that the lower categories have long resented their kings. They are an easily led people, full of complaint and free from all action.” Jaya chuckled. “What are they to do, strike your soldiers with hoes?” He seemed to find the thought amusing.

  "I built them a hospital,” said the Cham King. Well, he had repaired one. Just beyond the western reservoir.

  "And you removed the hated Usurper. But, peasants! Politics, statecraft, even religion is beyond them. Everything is at the level of superstition. Or folk songs!"

  It is a ticklish thing to be summoned to counsel and feign friendliness with a tyrant who suspects you. He looks for slips, for shivers, for unintended words.

  But you are one spider trying to catch another. I can walk on your web, King, and spin one of my own.

  We are much alike. You were wise to take a title-name that sounds like everyone else's. You hope the people will get confused about who is who. Oh, Jaya-Indravarman, Cham King of the Khmers, perhaps you do not believe in nationality.

  Jaya-Indravarman was an old man. Lines radiated out from his eyes like rays of light. His eyes were yellow and blotched with red and his teeth worn and brown, and he was beginning to suspect it was sheer foolishness to remain in Yashodharapura.

  It was Jaya's job to keep him there, for the City still had no walls.

  "Why do we need these stone temples?” the conqueror asked, eyes fixed on Jayavarman.

  "Tooh! They are to worship the Gods who are so far beyond us that it is pointless. But our ignorant people are terrified of any king whom they believe has the Gods with him. The trouble is that if you leave, they will think it is because the Gods have rejected you. It will be interpreted as you abandoning the throne, and all these petty princes will come crawling out of the soil just when you thought you had rid the world of them."

  "Ah!” said the King, letting his hands rise and fall, as if helpless.

  You feel helpless, King, because you do not know who to trust, including me. Which means you will distrust the best advice I could give you if I were truly on your side.

  Jayavarman said, “You might, of course, take some time to return to the city of Vijaya. That might be wise, very wise. One never knows what is happening at home."

  "Why, what did you see when you were there?"

  "Nothing. Would you believe it, your people seemed to distrust me because I am Khmer? I kept telling them, I fought with the Chams before against tyranny, and I gave signs of my devotion to you. But I was watched all the time. They kept trying to express how proud they were of the conquest....I thought they were grinding my face in it. I felt rather humiliated.” Jaya feigned a pout. A fat, foolish little eccentric. That is my reputation, no? And a man must guard his reputation.

  "I must speak to them and remind them that you fought on our side,” said the King of the Chams in a perfectly even voice.

  If I had not the clear intent. If I had not the knowledge that I am nothing compared to what it is that I would do. If I had not the certainty that the intent is the intent of the people, so that even if I die, my sons or their sons, or some other prince would press on. If it were not for the truth that I must keep from blazing out of my eyes, then I would be unsure, unsteady, and open to you.

  For I sit in your pavilion, watched by your armed guards, forced to sit on boards while you sit on gold cushions, eating food that could so easily be poisoned, with no possibility of leaving here alive except through what I say and how I say it.

  But I am now fearless; I have been made fearless. And so I will elude you.

  Jaya-Indravarman sighed and said lightly, “Somebody told me that the white rabbit was you."

  Jaya chuckled. “Well, I am fat enough. Me? Ho ho...” Jaya stopped and knew he had to pretend to be terrified. “My Lord, what are you saying?” As if involuntarily, he looked up at the guards. “My Lord, my Lord, no, you cannot believe this thing? Who has said this! Who?” Then he wailed, “Why have you brought me here?"

  Very satisfying for a king.

  Jayavarman, a little king, began to crawl. “My Lord, I have been loyal. My Lord, I fought for you! I build temples in your honor. You cannot believe this of me!"

  This was a leader of men? It was the question this false Jaya had to ask. No wonder the Little King's help in the first invasion had led to disaster. This was the thought he had to have.

  The Cham conqueror smiled. “Now, now, Little King, I did not say I believed them."

  Jayavarman shook and trembled and sat back and looked at the food as if it now made him ill. He gasped and wiped sweat from his face.

  The false Jaya chuckled and shook his arm affectionately.

  Jaya found he could weep. He wept from determination. “My Lord, you mustn't make such jokes with your servant! Do you have any idea how t-t-terrifying your displeasure is? Oh!” He put his hand over his heart.

  "My dear Little King, be more of a man."

  "Oh, oh."

  "Here, have some water."

  Jaya drank and said. “Your Lordship should be more careful who you trust, whoever told you this is simply currying favour by making up stories, and trying to separate you from your allies."

  "Hmmm,” said Jaya-Indravarman. Unconvinced, neutral, considering. Undecided, concerned, bemused. But certainly not at all afraid of this easily unsettled, religious Little King.

  The best that could be hoped for, under the circumstances.

  Jaya still pouted. “I can see I had better stay here. I'd better just keep an eye on you.” He found he was imitating his waspish, crippled son. “Yes, if you fall prey to stories such as these. You may send me home, but I won't go. I shall stay here and direct your temples for you, and keep you out of trouble."

  The Cham King looked as if he had just eaten rabbit. “Will you, now?"

  "Well, I must do something to defend my interests. There are plenty of Khmers who resent the favour you show to me. And they won't tell the truth!"

  The false Jaya was leaning back. He was amused by this petulant little man, playing at politics.

  "I shall decide where you go,” warned the Universal King.

  And he sent Jayavarman home.

  In his eastern kingdom, the King walked with his sons into the fields, where spies could be spotted from a distance. Jayavarman said to Surya and Vira, “It has to be done now. The Cham King knows something is afoot and grows too watchful. I very nearly did not get back."

  Virakumara cautioned, “So we attack after May, when the rains swell the river and the Great Lake."

  "No,” said the King. “Now."

  Suryakumara scowled. “But I thought the strategy was to attack from the Lake."

  "It is. They attacked from the Lake, but in December. They will be less watchful when the Lake is at its lowest."

  "But there is no rice left in the fields, there will be nothing for the soldiers to forage."

  "Exactly. Again, the Chams may relax. The people will give our warriors their rice to march on."

  Jayavarman gathered his own warrior-monks, in the depths of his temple.

  "The white rabbit has many sons. He sends them out to all the hidden burrows. The new song is: all the family is invited to go fishing. Afterwards, we will have a banquet. The main dish will be the tiger."

  He sang it to them in a voice that was just good enough to be entertaining.

  The soldier-monks chuckled. One of them said, “That will be a good song to sing."

  "You leave tonight. You are prepared. Those of you who go to this side of the Great Lake, wait
three days before moving. Those of you that have to travel far do not wait to begin. Arrive, sing the song, and get the troops moving immediately. Those of you near Malyang in the west, you launch onto the Great Lake from the west. Those of you here in the east, from the eastern shore, and those of you on the rivers, from the south and up. We will gather in the middle of the lake and sail on together. Tell your boatmen, tell the other soldiers. The aim is not to fight the enemy on the lake or to destroy their boats. The aim is to shoot past them, up the canals, and deep into Yashodharapura to kill the Cham King. My own brave warrior son, Suryakumara, will lead the land forces in the south, to prevent further Cham forces arriving from their own lands."

  And also to feed my hungry son's appetite for war, and to keep him far from the Great City.

  "The Cham King will know something is afoot. He will guess that many of his supposedly loyal Khmers will desert him to join us. He has already surrounded himself with many Chams. Do we have the Cham princes? Good. They will be in my boat, to share the glory."

  And to keep them in view.

  "We will not lose. The very stones of our countryside will rise up! The peasants will drive their cattle into the war; the fishermen will hurl their nets over the heads of the enemy. We will take back our city, and rebuild it again, with new towers, and above all else, with walls to protect and shelter it, so that it can never be taken in this way again! For we are the Khmer people, with a language and a way of being of our own. We are not every nation; we are not Universal. But we are us, ourselves. There will be two results of this war: a happy people as you see here in this small kingdom. And peace! No more war!"

  The soldier-monks howled and shouted and pledged loyalty and looked overjoyed, overjoyed to be marching at last. They jumped up and punched each other's shoulders, clambering up each other's broad and bellicose backs.

  My soldiers, my people. You are so beautiful in life, young and strong, so happy to be fighting at last. I myself will sing songs over your funeral pyres. You will be like flowers that never wilt, no man or woman will see you in age. You will be beautiful in glory, young and strong and brave.

  For we are glorious. Right now, we are the flower of creation.

  And we will win.

  * * * *

  "There they are,” said the King.

  As if the Great Lake had grown teeth, the horizon was serrated with the prows of many boats approaching.

  "That's the West and Malyang and maybe even Louvu or Ahodya.” Jayavarman spun around to face south, to see if Poduli had answered the call. To the south, the lakewas rippled, like silk upon a table. No boats yet from the three rivers.

  The Little King stood in a small roofed pavilion, crammed into the middle of his long boat. He was safely nested within a formation of twenty boats from the eastern shores of the lake.

  "Either the timing is wrong, or Poduli's fleet is not coming. If they are late, perhaps they can act as reinforcements when we need them most."

  The Cham prince Vidyanandana tapped King Jaya's arm. “Here comes the tyrant's fleet."

  The northern horizon had grown teeth as well.

  "Battle by midday,” judged the King. He looked down and the creamy green water churned. What looked like a rough-backed log drifted past. Crocodiles. The Great Lake swarmed with them. In battle, as blood ran down the sides of the barques, the crocodiles would stream towards them. Even if the Great Lake was shallow enough to walk in places, to fall into a sea of blood would be to know that jaws would slam into you, knock you from your feet, and gouge out your chest or stomach.

  To fall overboard would be to die; to be on a boat that sank would be to die.

  Jaya smiled. “Our crocodile jaws close,” he said. “See how our two fleets of east and west close on the tyrant's navy. Without doubt, this will be a day to remember."

  "Let us hope it is a day that is remembered for its justice,” said Vidyanandana. He was not only the subtlest and bravest of Jaya-Harideva's sons, but Jaya found he could talk to him as a friend. He had not felt that for another man's son since the days of Yashovarman's noble princes.

  He who would rule must always make friends among the young.

  "Justice will not be forgotten and it will be done,” promised Jayavarman.

  A crocodile thumped the side of the barque. The men jumped, groaned, and then chuckled to themselves.

  In the high, flawless light of heaven, even at a distance, the details of both fleets could be seen. Turning behind him, King Jayavarman saw fifty barques catching up with him. Those bearing troops had eleven rowers. Their prows rose up as images of the beaked garuda or makara monsters. Some were plain and unadorned. The rowers sat protected by wickerwork panels. Between their rows were crammed the kneeling soldiers. You could just see the tops of their heads and long lances, as if the boats carried a crop of rice-straw and nuts.

  The King's own boat was the largest. The trunk had been made from a single huge silk-cotton tree. Its prow tapered to a carving of a makara monster but with real elephant tusks for fending off boarders. The makara's open mouth disgorged a carving of the seven-headed serpent Naga who guarded the Buddha.

  At the back of the boat, a poop deck carried a royal throne, borne up by a wooden garuda. From there the King could survey the battle behind them.

  From his central pavilion, the King could loose his arrows and take some shade.

  Twenty-one paddlers lined each side of the royal barque. Paddlers faced forward and needed less direction than rowers. Paddles made the long, slow boat more manoeuvrable but still slower than the fighting vessels, whose rowers could put their backs into it.

  The soldiers of the white rabbit crouched down between the paddlers.

  How different these infantry were to the troops of Suryavarman. This was a rebel force, stripped bare. They wore a motley of quilted jackets or no jackets at all. There were no breastplates, and few bows or arrows. Their weapons were made of hardwood, long shafts that could be hurled as spears or thrust forward as lances. Both ends had been polished into blades that could whack like swords.

  The men trusted to skill and God. Most wore only modest twists of cloth around their hips. Bands of rope criss-crossed their chests, lashing javelins to their backs. Around their necks were bronze or wooden amulets for protection. All of them had pulled back their oiled hair into tightly woven buns at the tops of their heads—too tight and slippery to grab hold of.

  In my childhood, Jayavarman thought, the soldiers wore totemic topknots of beasts and birds. Even their ears are stripped now, all earrings removed.

  In the prow, soldiers nursed ropes with grappling hooks.

  The King's heart thrilled, like a bird taking wing.

  All about the placid lake, fishing boats were turning, pulling up nets, fleeing the closing of the great naval jaws.

  The art of naval attack was to avoid fighting, and shoot through the enemy's lines of defence. They would try to grapple your boat and pour over it in a solid wave of men. You fought them off, hand to hand.

  Well, thought Jayavarman. We have done whatever we could. Now fate decides, not us.

  We either win or we don't. We will have done what we can.

  He apologized to the Buddha.

  I am sorry Cittamika, Saugatauma. I could have spent my life improving my wisdom, tending my little kingdom. I have had the conversation with Mara, the world, and I did not choose the Way. I decided to become a king.

  So I do not pray on the grounds of my greater virtue or even the greater justice of me being a king over any other man.

  I do not pray on the grounds of injustice against the people of Kambujadesa. What difference does it make who inhabits the land or rules others? We would rule the Chams if we could, as we rule in Siam. What difference does it make if there is a Kambujadesa or not? All peoples die eventually. Whether they are great or not, all cities end in ruins.

  It will make no difference if I make my kingdom. It will be unmade in the end. It will still be based on categories of peop
le and I will still have to give patronage to the Brahmin and the powerful families. It will not make people wiser. It is nothing to you if your religion is spread among the people.

  I suppose I can ask on the grounds that the people seem to want it.

  I am attached, Lord Buddha. I am attached to my people. I am attached to my old kings Suryavarman and Yashovarman. They were human and faulty, but as good as they could be.

  I was not as good as I could be. I let the Servant rule. I let the Chams win. I made myself a little man.

  Now I make myself a big one. That is who I always was, like a silk-cotton tree who tried to be a flower. Do not blame the tree for towering. It shades the flowers.

  So. I do not pray to win.

  I pray for the right thing to happen.

  I pray for the strength to be whatever I really am.

  I pray to stop praying and simply to be.

  I am here, at the edge of my limits.

  And therefore utterly in your hands.

  The King turned and saw his limits ranged all around the horizon behind them, boats streaming from the south, the east and the west, and now even from Poduli.

  All of them called forth by a song about a white rabbit. Called forth by some mystery that even Jayavarman, at the center of it, did not understand.

  To be at your limits with brothers around you, and to know that this would be a day like no other. That was something.

  To know that things would finally be decided after years of talk, years of lies and pandering, and biding, biding, biding your time—that was a very great relief.

  So Lord Buddha, cast me up or down, give me my full and just return for being my full self.

  You do your job, I do mine!

  Part of his job was to know the names of all the men close to him. The King looked down the ranks of the rowers, reviewing their names and the names of their wives and children. Then he reviewed the single file of soldiers crammed in the aisle between them. They knelt in the sun, Yama, death.

  He began to hear far off and muffled the beating drums of the enemy.

  The beating kept pace with his heart, faster, faster.

  Vidyanandana said, “I think the Chams will be on us before the two other fleets catch up."