Monkey Wars (16 page)

“Was it strength that won us all this?” Tyrell pointed out of the window. “If I remember rightly, it was a small monkey with a big brain.” A fleeting glance between Tyrell and Mico, for a moment acknowledging the truth before burying it.

“It was
me
who devised the strategy that won the day, not Hani,” said Tyrell firmly. “What the langur troop needs is a leader with intelligence.” He turned to face his monkeys. “And it is your job to make them realize it.”

So now it was clear: Tyrell's ambition was to be the next lord ruler.

There was a critical moment of silence between the wavering monkeys. Tyrell locked eyes with Mico. “I'm counting on your full support in this.”

Mico's mind raced through the implications. What Tyrell was proposing was treason, the leadership should pass to Hani; not only was he older, but he had twice the size and strength.

But Mico wasn't here just to serve the langur—he had his own secret agenda, and that cause would surely be helped if Tyrell became the lord ruler, as it would put Mico right at the center of power.

Which is why he lowered his head and with great solemnity announced, “I am the rock for you to build on.”

A compliance which instantly robbed Castro and Rani of any lingering doubts.

They had two days. Two days to subtly infiltrate the mind of the troop. Two days until Lord Gospodar's funeral and the anointing of the new leader. It was a fine art, shifting opinion, but Tyrell had taught them well.

Mico, Castro and Rani started by dividing the troop into sections, and identifying the monkeys in each section whose voices could sway others, the so-called “rainmakers.” Then they created a set of political messages that they could inject into casual conversation in such a way that these rainmakers would pick up on them.

The shock of Gospodar's death had made the langur troop a hotbed of speculatio
n—ordinary monkeys struggled to understand why he had died. Was it the work of rhesus monkeys? Was it the dead bonnets somehow exacting revenge? Would the humans still favor the langur as the chosen monkey without Gospodar as leader?

Into these fevered speculations, Mico, Castro and Rani planted their carefully worded suggestions, that “the problems facing the troop were complex,” that “the wind of change is in the air,” and that “Gospodar would have wanted the troop to be bold in this crisis.”

The trick was timing—they couldn't just blurt out the messages; they had to listen to the conversation and drop them into the flow, subtly steering thoughts this way and that.

A good sense of humor helped—a couple of witty remarks always made the monkey on the branch more receptive.

Rumors and speculation swirled around the troop, and by the time of Gospodar's funeral, langur minds were hungry for change.

T
he langur troop had never seen so much honor lavished on the dead.

It was their tradition that any monkey who could feel the grip of death in sickness would share a final meal with their loved ones, then quietly crawl away in the night never to be seen again. A monkey who fell in battle was disposed of as quickly as possible in the nearest ditch. But for Lord Gospodar it was different. Gospodar had been the architect of the langur's rise to greatness and he needed a final resting place that would keep him at the heart of the troop.

Which is why, as the black monsoon clouds loomed threateningly in the sky, the langur lined the avenues of the cemetery clutching fistfuls of flower petals. They stood, silent and solemn, as Deputy Hani emerged from the Great Vault followed by four elites who carried a long flat stone on their shoulders. Lying on the stone was the body of their dead leader, wrapped in a silk shroud.

The shroud had been Hani's idea, a very practical solution to a rather sordid problem. Because the monkeys had no experience of storing corpses, they had been caught unawares when, in the heat, Gospodar had started to rot. To counteract the stench, aromatic herbs had been stuffed around him, and to conceal the damage the maggots had done, Hani ordered the theft of a silk sheet from one of the nearby street markets. But it had been Tyrell's idea to present the shroud as a gift from the humans, celebrating the unique bond Gospodar had forged between monkey and man, transforming a practical solution into a potent symbol.

As the body came into view, tightly wrapped apart from the head, a wave of raw emotion swept over the monkeys. A plaintive wail erupted as they threw petals in the air and watched them drift down onto the passing body.

Tyrell was waiting at the foot of the great banyan tree, next to a hole that had been dug between its jutting roots—this was to be Gospodar's final resting place, forever protected by the huge tree.

As the elites gently placed the stone on the ground, Tyrell studied the crowd, fascinated by the baying of their collective grief.

Hani crouched down and with great solemnity touched Gospodar's cold face, as if the gift of leadership was being passed from the dead to the living. Then he stood up, letting all see the size and power of his body.

“I have chosen this tree for Gospodar's resting place,” Hani's voice boomed across the cemetery, “because it towers over us just as he did. This tree has weathered storms and droughts, just as Lord Gospodar guided us through good times and bad.” He looked up respectfully at the huge canopy of the banyan, then gave a signal to the elites, who lowered the body into the hole.

Tyrell watched impassively, considering the merits of Hani's oration. Simple, short, sincere, but not very inspiring. An easy act to follow.

The elites stepped back—Gospo
dar's body had been placed feet first in the grave, his head a little below ground level. But just as they were about to start filling the hole, there was an emotive shout:

“NO! Let the final honor be mine!”

All eyes searched for the monkey who had interrupted the funeral…and found Tyrell.

“Let it be my hands that serve our leader for the last time,” he cried, his voice bursting with emotion. “It's the least I can do for the monkey who gave me everything, taught me everything
…like a father.”

The troop watched, astonished, as Deputy Tyrell threw all rank and dignity aside and scooped the sticky mud into his arms.

“Wisdom, hope, ambition—it all flowed from him,” Tyrell declared, as with great reverence he placed an armful of mud around the corpse then dramatically held up his stained palms. “These hands bury Gospodar, but remember that it was
his
hands that guided us to greatness. His was the mind that had the vision.”

A low moan of assent echoed through the cemetery. Tyrell had captured the drama and the grief of the moment.

“But,” Tyrell declared, “the lands we rule, the power we wield, these are just trifles. Gospodar's real gift was in here.” Tyrell put his hands on his head, letting the damp soil mark his face as if anointing himself.

“He taught us that we can
choose
who we are. We can choose to be oppressed or we can choose to be free; we can choose to follow, or choose to lead. If you want to honor Gospodar, never forget, monkeys can choose their own fate. Don't meekly accept what you are given; strive for what you desire!”

As he spoke, Tyrell could feel the mood of the monkeys lifting.

And then a lone voice spoke from the depth of the crowd: “Lead us, Tyrell.”

Was it Mico, or Castro or Rani? Or was it some anonymous monkey who had been genuinely moved by Tyrell's words? Whoever it was, the voice articulated what many of the troop were feeling.

“Lead us, lead us!” The cry was taken up by others.

Tyrell shook his head, modestly. “I'm not your leader.
This
is your leader.” Tyrell turned and bowed respectfully to Hani. “Hani, lord ruler of the langur.” Without a hint of irony, Tyrell started to thump the ground in a show of loyalty.

The elites immediately took up the rhythmic beating, their loyalty beyond question. But the dissenting chorus in the crowd would not be silenced.

“Tyrell! Lead us!”

“We choose
you
!”

“Lead us!”

Hani looked at the crowd anxiously as the chanting escalated.

“Monkeys! My monkeys!” he boomed. “Tyrell has spoken wisely. Which is why he is our most valued and trusted advisor. I swear, everything he spoke of is safe in my hands!”

Pathetic
, thought Tyrell; he can't even articulate his vision without referring to me.

Many in the crowd sensed this same weakness and joined in the pro-Tyrell chanting, but others rallied behind Hani, preferring to stick to the time-honored rules of succession.

The troop split in two, and the solemnity of the funeral was all but forgotten as each faction chanted for their chosen leader.

Then out of the chaos, a new refrain started to grow, one that unified the troop: “Let us choose! Let us choose!”

Hani could feel his authority slipping away. Suddenly he was facing a crisis in the first moments of his reign.

“Show them strength, my lord!” advised Tyrell, shouting above the noise. “They
must
listen to you!”

Hani looked at the restless surge of monkeys, wondering what Gospodar would have done. The crowd seemed evenly divided, but when it came to it, surely no one really wanted Tyrell as leader; he was too small and weak, and he had no charm. Perhaps in a straight contest everything would sort itself out.

“Very well!” Hani boomed above the chanting. “If that is your wish,
you
shall choose the leader!”

A huge cheer went up and the ground started to tremble with the deafening thump of fists pounding the dirt in a show of support.

A smile spread across Hani's face; he'd made the right decision. The first of many, no doubt.