Temple of a Thousand Faces (53 page)

“In a few days it shall all be over,” Jayavar said, stacking three stones. “For worse or better, it shall end.”

She thought about the permanence and impermanence of life, wondering how they could coexist. “What do you see, Jayavar? You always ask me, but on this night I see nothing.”

“I believe victory is possible…but I fear betrayal.”

“Who would betray us?”

“Many. And if even just one does, we are lost. Because the only way we shall win is through surprise. Indravarman has too many men. If we fail to surprise him, we’ll be annihilated.”

“Don’t let our people see your fear.”

“I won’t.”

“You must speak to them before battle. Tell them what we fight for.”

“What do we fight for?”

“The right to live as we want.”

He nodded, adding a fourth stone to his pile. “War should be fought for nothing less.”

The sun had dropped below the horizon, and waves of amber spread slowly across the sky.

“It looks like an artist spilled orange paint on a blue background,” she said.

He agreed but then turned from the sky to her. “In two days, when we strike, I shall have to lead the charge. And the Chams will seek to destroy me.”

Nodding, she made no reply.

“If victory is theirs,” he asked, “will you take the poison?”

“Yes.”

He reached for her hand, his fingers rubbing against her skin. “If we should die, how shall we find each other amid so much space, so much blackness?”

She kissed the back of his hand. She wasn’t certain how to
answer and thought about how she would look for him if the poison claimed her. “Remember,” she said, “that night so long since past, when you sent up a lantern into the sky?”

“I do.”

“You took silk and wrapped it around a rectangular box that you’d made from the thinnest of bamboo strips. The silk was yellow, the box as long as my arm. Positioned near its bottom was a candle.”

“A three-wicked candle.”

“Yes. And we stood atop Angkor Wat and beheld its beauty, the night full upon us. For the first time you told me that you loved me and that you wanted to honor me by adding my star to the sky.”

“And I did.”

She smiled as the memory unfurled. “You lit the candle and held your lantern aloft, waiting for the air within it to warm. When it finally did, we released the lantern. It drifted sideways for a moment and we feared it was lost, but then it seemed to surge upward, glowing and strong. It sailed high and far, at one point mingling with the stars.”

“It became a star. It’s still there, if you look closely enough.”

Her smile returned. She leaned over to kiss him on the lips. “If you should fall in battle, hold our star within yourself as you pass from world to world. I shall do the same, and if we both keep our star, our light, within us, surely we shall be brought together again in the next life.”

Jayavar nodded, putting his arm around her, drawing her close. “I was right, so long ago, to think of you as that star. Because you’ve brought such a brightness into my life. You’re the one person in the world who sees me as I am.”

A mosquito landed on his forearm and she crushed it before it
could trouble him. “If I hear you’re dead, I shall take the poison. I shall hold our star within me and come looking for you.”

“Just be certain, Ajadevi. There are many untruths in war, and rumors are born as quickly as the pests around us.”

“If we win,” she replied, “we should light another lantern. We should add one more star to the sky.”

“Yes.”

“Win so that you can give us a second star.”

Sighing, he kissed her shoulder, his lips lingering on her skin. “Rest here with me, my love. Rest with me and see what the night will bring.”

wo days later, shortly before dawn, Jayavar stood in the center of a circle of twenty-four officers who were illuminated by a small fire. One of the men was Phirun, to whom Jayavar had revealed himself on the dusty road outside of Angkor. True to his word, Phirun had sent groups of fighters north, and later made the trip himself, commanding a large contingent of able men and women.

Each of the twenty-four officers would soon lead three hundred warriors into battle. Each had been assigned specific goals for the coming fight. Some were told to follow Jayavar’s lead and drive straight into the Cham camp. Others were commanded to flank the melee and capture the Cham boats before the enemy had a chance to flee.

Jayavar had spent the previous night thinking about how the battle might unfold, mulling over every possibility. In the end, he decided to use a version of the boy’s plan to employ fire. Jayavar was afraid that massive flames might simply cause the Chams to rush to their boats. Certainly some of the enemy would be overrun
and downed, but others might escape and warn their approaching countrymen. The success of Jayavar’s overall strategy was to surprise the new arrivals, and to do that he needed to ensure that no Cham escaped the morning’s attack.

Ultimately, Jayavar opted to start a small, diversionary fire to the west. The smoke would distract the Cham sentries, and perhaps a contingent of the enemy would be sent to inspect the cause. In the meantime, Jayavar would lead his army straight at the Cham base, rushing forward to surprise many of his foes before they had time to arm themselves and form fighting groups. As the Chams had used terror against his people, he would use it against them, scattering their warriors, killing them without mercy.

Jayavar had decided to follow the boy’s plans exactly when it came to the poisoned fish, and two days earlier he had sent scouts ahead to tell Khmer fishermen to let their catch spoil before they sold it the following day. The king had no idea how many Chams would be sickened, but he was certain that at least some would not be at their fighting peak. This fact alone might shift the outcome of the battle in his favor.

Since Indravarman commanded far more men, Jayavar was convinced that waging three smaller attacks instead of one large one was the only way that he might drive the Chams from their land. In the first two battles—the fight on the lakeshore and the waterborne attack on the approaching Cham fleet—his force would be larger than that of the enemy, and if his strategies were superior, he might win the day.

As he stood among his men and repeated his earlier instructions, Jayavar wondered which of them would live to see the sunset. They were all strong, brave, and loyal. They had been beaten by the Chams, sent fleeing into the jungle, and craved revenge. Jayavar feared that they might be too aggressive and counseled them to fight with their minds as well as their hearts.

“I cannot afford to lose any of you,” he added. “So attack with passion, not recklessness. Think of those you’ve lost, but don’t seek to join them. Instead, honor them with victory.”

Several officers expressed their agreement. Jayavar gazed from man to man, each of whom was heavily armed. Of the twenty-four officers, six Siamese were present, including a scarred and toothless man who had planned the successful Siamese ambush against Indravarman’s column of warriors. Considering the needs of the foreigners, Jayavar kept his eyes on them. “You were drawn here by gold, and gold you shall have. But know also that we have a common enemy. If the Chams destroy my people, they’ll come for yours. So fight with us today not just for gold, but also for your future.”

The Siamese beat their shields against their chests. As usual, their movements were synchronized, and Jayavar was glad not to be fighting such men. Again his gaze drifted from face to face. “On the trail,” he said, “I asked my wife why we should fight this war. She replied that we should fight to ‘live as we want.’ And she was right—no desire has ever been more noble. So as you prepare for battle, tell your men of this need, of what was once a certainty but now is a longing. For I, like you, covet freedom. And today I shall have it, either through victory or in death.”

Jayavar nodded, hoping to inspire his men, his hand tightening on his sword hilt. He needed to fill them with hope and courage because they would soon be called upon to throw themselves against hardened fighters.

“My days of hiding are over,” he added, looking at his men, his voice growing louder. “I was forced to hide, as were you, but thoughts of vengeance have simmered within me since that first night in the jungle. The Chams killed my children. They stole that which was most precious to me. And now, as they defile our temples and our homes, as they mock our history, they think us
cowards. They cast their dung upon us because they believe that we’re incapable of rising up against them. But they are wrong, my friends. Because on this day we, so small in number, shall redden the ground, the water, the very air we breathe with their blood. And when my sword sings, it will do so through the voices of my children. Your swords will sing as well, and together we shall show the Chams that anyone who threatens our land does so at a terrible risk. We do not seek war. We do not welcome it. But when it comes to us, we shall battle as if the existence of our very souls is at stake!”

Both Khmers and Siamese shouted in agreement, beating their shields and weapons together.

“Good!” Jayavar yelled, the prospect of victory filling him with strength. “Today we shall fight under a new banner. A banner not for a king, but for a people. Draw resolve from it! Carry it forward! And fight to live as you would want, not as the Chams would make you.” He unsheathed his sword and thrust it into the air. “As you would want!”

The officers cheered, hoisting their weapons.

Jayavar stepped forward to embrace each man, calling him by name and wishing him victory. He would die for his people and they would die for him. And though he wanted to live, if he had to choose between victory and death or defeat and life, he would choose the former. More important than his fate, or even Ajadevi’s, was returning freedom to his people.

At all costs, Jayavar had to win.

S
everal hours later, after the diversionary fire had been lit to the west, Boran stood next to Vibol and listened to his commander give additional orders. Though what the officer said was important, Boran kept glancing at his son, whose chest rose and fell
with increasing vigor. Sweat beaded on Vibol’s forehead. His fingers were tight around the shaft of his spear, which trembled slightly, like a sapling in a breeze. Boran had a sudden urge to take Vibol’s hand and pull him away from the approaching madness, but he knew that his son would never forgive him. So Boran prayed to the Gods to shelter his family. He beseeched them for protection.

The commander unsheathed his sword. The Cham encampment was near, and all along the jungle, large groups of Khmers and Siamese waited to attack. Men shifted uneasily, ensured that their shields were held fast, and whispered to one another as brothers might—swearing their loyalty and protection. With a possible end so near, emotions were unchecked. Hardened warriors spoke of love and devotion. Officers looked at their men with affection and grace.

A bird’s call sounded to Boran’s left. He recognized it to be false, and the men around him readied themselves. The call came again and his commander urged them to run. Boran turned to Vibol and kissed his forehead. “I love you.”

Vibol nodded, started to reply, but suddenly the men behind him were pushing forward.

Boran followed the leaders ahead of his son, promising himself to always remain between Vibol and the enemy. The jungle rushed past. He leapt over a fallen log, ducked under a branch, careened past a waist-high anthill, and kept running, aware of Vibol’s grunts behind him. Men stumbled and fell but rose again, rushing through the undergrowth like a river bursting through a dam. Though shields beat against branches and bodies, the footfalls of the warriors were remarkably quiet.

A Cham shouted. The men around Boran quickened their pace. The jungle thinned, sunlight streaming down. Abruptly the Cham base revealed itself. Boran saw men struggling ahead. The
aim of his group was to capture and secure the enemy boats, and his commander warded off a blow but did not engage his attacker, instead circling toward the docked vessels. The clash of sword against shield rang out, as did shouts, screams, and the trumpeting of several war elephants that were still tied to trees.