Kuramayana’s room is always filled with the pungent smell of medicine nowadays. It has been over ten days since our return to the State Preceptor’s Residence and his condition still has yet to improve. Every day he coughs up blood and slips into periods of unconsciousness. Pusysdeva stays beside his father’s bed day and night; his frame getting thinner and thinner in the process. Rajiva also keeps vigil nearby and chants mantras day by day. The two brothers are too busy watching over their father that they have no time for me, making me breathe a sigh of relief. In any case, I cannot leave at this moment, for I must help them look after Kumarayana.
“State Preceptor…” I move closer to his bed. Kumarayana looks so frail and haggard it brings tears to one’s eyes. The only part of his body that still has some spark left is his light gray eyes.
“Have you come, miss Ai Qing?” He gives slight nod [in greeting] and tries to sit up. I rush forward and put some cushions behind his back to prop him up. When my hand comes into contact with his skeleton-like body, my heart cannot help but squeeze tight in sorrow.
“Miss Ai Qing must have been surprised to hear that I have asked for you, right?”
“Yes, a little bit.” I answer him honestly. For some reason, I always feel like he is my “boss”. Even though I always call my research advisor “boss”, he is actually a professor I respect from the bottom of my heart. *
* [T/N: “Boss” is a rather informal way of calling one’s employer/supervisor. In this case, using it to refer to someone who is not truly your employer carries a teasing undertone to the title, hence Ai Qing’s clarification here.]
I smile: “To have the State Preceptor asking for me, it must have been for something important.”
“Miss Ai Qing is not an ordinary woman, this I have realized since ten years ago.”
I do say anything in reply.
“I know my time is nearing its end. Truthfully, I have grown rather weary of this life. The earlier I can return to the ground, the sooner I can cease being a burden to my loved ones.”
My nose stings. I want to say something to lift his spirits, but before I can do so, his sharp eyes full of wisdom have cut me off:
“But humans, even on our deathbeds we still cannot stop worrying, and for me, it’s these two children…”
My instincts tell me that the topic of this conversation has to do with the two brothers, so I silently wait for him to continue.
“Miss Ai Qing, you came from the other realm, can you perhaps disclose to this man, who is about to depart from this world, how my two sons will fare in the future?”
Surprised, I look up and catch those brilliant eyes that seem to see through my very soul. Has he somehow deduced my background? But how?
“Ten years have passed and your appearance has not changed in any way. Your disappearance was as sudden as your arrival. I believe that you must know things that ordinary people are not aware of.”
I am not allowed to reveal details about the future [her history], but must I adhere to this rule in the face of someone who is about to pass away?
Seeing my hesitation, he adds: “Miss Ai Qing, please trust me, I will not disclose the fates.”
I keep hesitating and hesitating, but at last, I decide to tell him a few things because I cannot bear to hide them from him.
“State Preceptor, Rajiva’s future achievements will go down in history and his name will be known for generations to come,” I pause for a moment, “As for Pusysdeva, rest assured, State Preceptor, for Ai Qing promises to look after him.”
Historical records do not have anything on Pusysdeva, so he probably got to enjoy a relatively normal life like everyone else. I decide that I will also give him a warning if necessary, to prevent him from getting swept up in the tragedy that will unfold eleven years from now. I can only help him to that extent.
“Rajiva’s achievements that you spoke of, they pertain to Buddhism?”
I nod. “Rajiva will have a huge influence on the spread of Buddhism into the Central Plains.”
Kumarayana is deep in thoughts for a long moment before he speaks: “Those who are parents all wish to see their children succeed, but the most important of all is for them to attain peace.”
The coughing fit begins again. I rush forward and help him try to calm his breathing. Once it has slowed down enough, he resumes: “I am not too worried about Pusysdeva. He takes responsibility for his every action, and though he may seem foolhardy and reckless now, time will pass and he will mature. The one that I’m worried about is Rajiva…
Heart beating fast, I look up at him in surprise. Since he fell ill, Kumarayana has never talked for this long. His face right now is crimson due to forced exertion. He continues to speak amidst his coughing: “He is far too clever and has never truly suffered in life. Thinks too much, but never shares any of it with anyone. That kind of personality will bring him misery later on.”
I once read an article about this group of scientists who have developed transgenic mice with super enhanced intelligence compared to ordinary mice. It was predicted that if this experiment can be replicated with humans, we will become much smarter and have higher IQs. But not soon after that, they were glad that they did not make that dream into reality, because later testing showed that even though the transgenic mice were smarter, they had to pay a rather costly price for it. The new genes in these “clever mice” helped simulate the nervous system, enabling them to learn and remember better, but it also made them more sensitive to feelings of pain and hurt.
So being too clever is not always a good thing. When misfortune strikes, the intelligent people will be far more sensitive and may find it much harder to reconcile with reality, maybe even find it far too unbearable, whereas the ordinary people might make light of it [the misfortune] or come to move on eventually. The “Everyone is drunk, I alone am sober” kind of feeling that philosophers often wrote about.* They can easily become lost and lose their sanity, and their lives will turn into a tragedy from then on. That is the sorrow of a wise man; Rajiva cannot escape this sad fate.
* [T/N: This sentence was not included in the Viet ver. of FBFY, but I saw it in the Chinese ebook.] “Everyone is drunk, I alone am sober” is a line from Yu Fu (漁父, literally “Fisherman”), a poem attributed to Qu Yuan, a Chinese poet and minister who lived during the Warring States period, who is most famous for Chu Ci (The Songs of the South or Songs of Chu) and being the origin behind the Dragon Boat Festival. Yu Fu described the encounter between Qu Yuan and a fisherman during his exile, which is a recurring motif in many other Chinese philosophers’ works. The poem also helped explain why Qu Yuan committed suicide…
“Although I do not know precisely where miss Ai Qing came from, but I believe what you said about Rajiva’s future in Buddhism.”
“State Preceptor, please rest for a bit,” I bring him a cup of water.
He is breathing hard, and though it’s clearly a struggle for him, he continues: “If I do not say, I fear there would be no time [left].” He suddenly looks up at me with a solemn expression: “Miss Ai Qing has known beforehand that Rajiva will dedicate his entire life to Buddhism, so why did you still let him develop feelings for you? Isn’t that too cruel? Could it be that Buddha had you come down here to test him?”
My hands tremble. The cup falls out of my grasp and crash onto the floor. I clamber around to clean up the pieces, and in my panic, I let a sharp edge cuts my palm. The searing pain wakes me up. So he has known all this while. But of course. Masavu is the loyal servant who has accompanied him from India to Kucha. The fact that I lived in Rajiva’s small house for almost three months, how could I have hid that from him [Kumarayana].
“State Preceptor…”
He sighs, his face pained, sorrow clearly evident in his eyes.
“I am an experienced man who once suffered because of ‘love’. When I left the monastic life, I had to endure many criticisms by others around me. I had thought that one word, ‘love’, was enough to resolve everything, to make up for it all. However, the one I love is someone with a heart made of iron, whose mind only cared about following her ideals, making both of our children suffer along with me.” He pauses to rest and regain his breath before continuing, “I know you also have feelings for Rajiva. But he has chosen to dedicate his life towards Buddha, and if his future sees him making great achievements, then he cannot have any room left in his heart for love.”
He closes his eyes, expression weary, lips trembling: “Miss Ai Qing, please do not go down the same road that I took…”
I leave his room feeling bereft, like my body is merely floating along. I am completely drained. There is no strength left in me. Pusysdeva has been pacing in front of the room. Seeing me coming out, he immediately steps forward and asks: “What did father say to you?”
“Nothing?” I murmur and seeing that he is about ask again, I shake my head sadly, “Pusysdeva, I am very tired, so I will retire now.”
On the way back to my room, I encounter Rajiva bringing medicine for his father. His eyes fall on me, full of concern and inquiry. Tears flow out of my eyes. I bend my head down so that he will not see them and speed up the pace back to my room.
Every day, as soon as night falls, Rajiva can be found chanting in his room. And what is fast becoming a habit, I would then snub the lamp in my room and hide myself in the darkness. The lone light from the room opposite casts a soft glow on the lonely silhouette by the windowsill. That silhouette remains unmoving, and the only sound that can be heard in the quiet nights is the slow rhythmic chants. Rajiva, if we are not separated by a distance of 1650 years, if your identity is not that of a monk, forever unchanged, then would I have found the courage to confess my feelings to you? I know you also have feelings for me, so if I had confessed, would you have accepted? But why does life contain so many obstacles? In the end, the two of us are just two parallel lines who happened to cross once, and once we return to our original positions, our minds are unable to let go of the burdens our shoulders carry. I love you, and that is why I have decided to let go…
Kumarayana’s condition keeps worsening. The king, the queen and various other royal family members have all come by to visit him. I have seen Bai Zhen, Bai Chun’s [current king] youngest brother, who eleven years later will be made king of Kucha by Lu Guang. I also saw a young girl about 8-9 years old—Princess Asuyamati*. The feelings I had upon seeing her…are very hard to put into words. This is the girl that will cause Rajiva to break his monastic vows eleven years later. Before, when I came across this part in Rajiva’s biography, although I had sympathies for his situation [he was forced to marry], I felt mostly amused by the story and considered it just some interesting tidbit to tell others about. Now that I have become a part of his life, that passage in the history books is no longer funny to me. After falling in love with Rajiva, I realize that I cannot stand the thought of him having that kind of relation with another woman. Hearing Asuyamati’s sweet voice calling him and seeing him smile at her in return makes me burn in jealousy, even though my ‘rival’ is a mere child. As soon as that happens, Kumarayana’s words would ring in my ears like a bucket of cold water that pours all of a sudden, effectively putting out any fires I have in my heart. That’s right, I had promised Kumarayana that I would leave this place soon, so what right do I have to be jealous of the fates in store for Rajiva?
* [T/N: This is a rough literal translation of her name from Chinese based on a Sanskrit-Chinese dictionary. Her name in Chinese is 阿素耶末帝, pinyin “A su ye mo di”. I could not find any sources on her actual Sanskrit name. She was always known simply as a Kuchean princess, cousin to Rajiva, but never by name.]
Like a candle before the wind, even the best kinds of medicine there are could only help extend the State Preceptor’s life to another ten days before the light goes out. That night, both brothers stay beside their father’s bedside. I hide myself in a corner and listen to Kumarayana’s laboured breaths and stuttered whispers:
“Pusysdeva, do not hate your mother…she…s-she has always loved you.”
Kumarayana’s grey eyes, usually so sharp, are now showing signs of murkiness. Only his Adam’s apple is bobbing up and down with forced exertion; he speaks with much difficulty: “Don’t know…if I can…r-reunite with her…in the realm above,” a smile full of sorrow passes by his face, so gaut you can see the bones, “Probably not…she has attained third fruit…has severed all fetters…while I’m still here, still caught deep in earthly feelings…”
Pusysdeva grasps his father’s hands and holds on tight, eyes swollen red from non-stop crying. Rajiva looks on in silence, but his face is just as sorrowful. Their father opens his lips, just barely: “The first time I saw her…my heart has skipped a beat…”
His eyes suddenly regain their brightness, as if he has just seen someone.
“She was beautiful, intelligent also, and so very brilliant…” Kumarayana suddenly extends an arm forward, “Jiva, don’t go…the children are still too small…” He has completely lost himself in memories. I can see the gentleness, the love reflected in his eyes, filled with so much fondness it almost seems like the object of his affection is right before him.
“Jiva, wait for me…”
Kumarayana leans forward, almost toppling over, but Pusysdeva manages to catch him. His father’s arm becomes limp and his whole body collapses into Pusysdeva’s arms. He calls his father again and again in heartbreaking sobs, but no reply comes. Rajiva just stands there, still as a statue, face completely expressionless, when he suddenly falls down and starts to chant. The way the two brothers express their emotions are completely different.
“Stop it! Aside from chanting mantras, what else can you do?” Pusysdeva lays his father’s body back onto the bed, then turns around and shouts at his brother, voice bordering on aggressive: “Chanting all day and night, what is the point? Will chanting bring back father?”
He points his finger at Rajiva, a gesture full of accusation: “You only know how to hide in your scriptures, in your Buddhas. Aside from painting that nonsense world of the afterlife, what else can you do?”
“Pusysdeva, do not speak like that to your brother!” I step forward and try to put Pusysdeva’s arm down. He is no longer in his right mind and is clearly trying to vent all his sorrows onto his brother’s shoulders.
He turns to look at me, eyes turning red, chest heaving heavy breaths: “In mother’s heart, brother is the only son she has. Father was the same, always missing him, proud of him, even though he has never been a filial son a day in his life.” He throws my arm off him with so much force it sends me tumbling backwards. “And you, Ai Qing, in your heart there is also only him. He receives everyone’s love, but just look, exactly what has he done or brought to the ones who love him? Father just passes away and he can’t even find it in him to shed a single tear! He is an emotionless monster!”
“Stop it! Do you know that he is feeling even more pain than you are right now? You can shout and release your feelings, can cry any time you like, as much as you want, but he…”
Rajiva’s eyes are still closed as he continues to chant, though tears are leaking out of his eyelids.
“It’s not that he does not know what pain or sorrow is, but that he is in so much pain he cannot even cry-”
“Ai Qing,” he suddenly speaks up, his voice a bare whisper, “Pusysdeva is right. I am a monk, and the monastic should not have any earthly feelings…”
“Rajiva…”
He stands up abruptly and steps out of the room. “I will go and inform the king…”
I am just about to run after him but get pulled back by Pusysdeva. I push him off with all my strength and take off after Rajiva. I do not know what he plans to do. I only know that I have to follow, to look after him, to protect him.
His strides are hurried, though the direction he’s heading is not the main palace but the gates to outside. The gate guards who see him immediately let him pass, but when it’s my turn, I have to give them all the coins I have on me before they let me go through.
He walks with seemingly no aim in mind, keeping a quick pace the whole while, even staggering at times. At last, he comes to a stop by the shoreline of the Tongchang River. Only then does the finally let go of his tears and cry his heart out against the still waters before him. In the desolate night, with the city long left behind us, the sound of his cries cuts through the air like a glass breaking its fall, fragile in its lonesome quality, heartbreaking in how invisible the pieces seem after they reach the ground.
I watch him silently from afar. Rajiva, it’s not that you don’t have any feelings, you just can’t cry in front of others. Someone as sensitive as you, who feels too much, too deeply, should not be following a religion that forces people to extinguish all their emotions…
I continue to stand there in silence, ignoring the urges to rush forward and comfort him by recalling Kumarayana’s words. Rajiva, I do not want my presence to become a burden to you, so I will just stand here and guard you from afar.
The lyrics to Chyi Yu [or Qi Yu]’s song “The Story of the Weeping Camel” come to my mind then. Amongst all her songs, this is the one that moved me the most. Back then, I was moved by the beautiful but sad love story told in the novel of the same name by Sanmao*. But now, in this desolate night, as I watch that lonely figure ahead trying to hold back sobs because he thinks he is not allowed to cry, the lyrics feel even more sorrowful, more painful than usual. The heart runs and runs as it tries to escape but is unable to, so it can only stand there helplessly and endures the pain.
* Sanmao was the pseudonym of Chen Mao Ping (1943-1991), a Taiwanese novelist, translator and writer. One of her most famous works was an autobiographical travelogues titled “The Stories of Sahara”, where she recounted how she met her Spanish husband, Jose, and the life they led in Spanish-controlled Western Sahara.
“I am filled with both happiness and pain
Leaving may be the only way to love you
I learned how to give, but not how to collect
Forgetting is perhaps the most sincere blessing we can give to each other.
Those eyes, gentle as they are since birth
And yet even crying is cursed upon
But if the tears don’t flow,
How can the loneliness ebb away?
The sand is blowing, my sight is but a blur
My steps falter in the darkness
Lost in the desert,
My heart is the North Star,
Leading me on without a word.
The sand is blowing, I can no longer hear
The memories of our love calling back
You and me dare not to love, dare not to hate,
So we let the heartless wind erase our footprints.”
* [T/N: I couldn’t find any English translation, so this is a rather rough one I did based on both the Vietnamese ver. and Google Translate, forgive me.]
I sing the song over and over again in my heart as the tears fall, as the night winds come and chill me to the bone. Rajiva, look at how great your influence is. Though I want to sing, I can’t utter a single word. I want to cry, but I cannot make any sounds. Rajiva, you are not alone in this night, because I am right here beside you, crying with you. Allow me this one chance to cry because of you, to let out the tears I’ve accumulated these past twenty-four years. After this, let us not cry any longer, let just allow the heartless wind to erase the footprints we once left on this desert that is life.
It is not until dawn approaches that he finally returns, seemingly exhausted and with no soul left. The temperature is close to freezing. When I stand up to follow him, I realize there is almost no trace of heat left in my body.
Unknowingly, the summer has passed and autumn has arrived.
Kuramayana’s room is always filled with the pungent smell of medicine nowadays. It has been over ten days since our return to the State Preceptor’s Residence and his condition still has yet to improve. Every day he coughs up blood and slips into periods of unconsciousness. Pusysdeva stays beside his father’s bed day and night; his frame getting thinner and thinner in the process. Rajiva also keeps vigil nearby and chants mantras day by day. The two brothers are too busy watching over their father that they have no time for me, making me breathe a sigh of relief. In any case, I cannot leave at this moment, for I must help them look after Kumarayana.
“State Preceptor…” I move closer to his bed. Kumarayana looks so frail and haggard it brings tears to one’s eyes. The only part of his body that still has some spark left is his light gray eyes.
“Have you come, miss Ai Qing?” He gives slight nod [in greeting] and tries to sit up. I rush forward and put some cushions behind his back to prop him up. When my hand comes into contact with his skeleton-like body, my heart cannot help but squeeze tight in sorrow.
“Miss Ai Qing must have been surprised to hear that I have asked for you, right?”
“Yes, a little bit.” I answer him honestly. For some reason, I always feel like he is my “boss”. Even though I always call my research advisor “boss”, he is actually a professor I respect from the bottom of my heart. *
* [T/N: “Boss” is a rather informal way of calling one’s employer/supervisor. In this case, using it to refer to someone who is not truly your employer carries a teasing undertone to the title, hence Ai Qing’s clarification here.]
I smile: “To have the State Preceptor asking for me, it must have been for something important.”
“Miss Ai Qing is not an ordinary woman, this I have realized since ten years ago.”
I do say anything in reply.
“I know my time is nearing its end. Truthfully, I have grown rather weary of this life. The earlier I can return to the ground, the sooner I can cease being a burden to my loved ones.”
My nose stings. I want to say something to lift his spirits, but before I can do so, his sharp eyes full of wisdom have cut me off:
“But humans, even on our deathbeds we still cannot stop worrying, and for me, it’s these two children…”
My instincts tell me that the topic of this conversation has to do with the two brothers, so I silently wait for him to continue.
“Miss Ai Qing, you came from the other realm, can you perhaps disclose to this man, who is about to depart from this world, how my two sons will fare in the future?”
Surprised, I look up and catch those brilliant eyes that seem to see through my very soul. Has he somehow deduced my background? But how?
“Ten years have passed and your appearance has not changed in any way. Your disappearance was as sudden as your arrival. I believe that you must know things that ordinary people are not aware of.”
I am not allowed to reveal details about the future [her history], but must I adhere to this rule in the face of someone who is about to pass away?
Seeing my hesitation, he adds: “Miss Ai Qing, please trust me, I will not disclose the fates.”
I keep hesitating and hesitating, but at last, I decide to tell him a few things because I cannot bear to hide them from him.
“State Preceptor, Rajiva’s future achievements will go down in history and his name will be known for generations to come,” I pause for a moment, “As for Pusysdeva, rest assured, State Preceptor, for Ai Qing promises to look after him.”
Historical records do not have anything on Pusysdeva, so he probably got to enjoy a relatively normal life like everyone else. I decide that I will also give him a warning if necessary, to prevent him from getting swept up in the tragedy that will unfold eleven years from now. I can only help him to that extent.
“Rajiva’s achievements that you spoke of, they pertain to Buddhism?”
I nod. “Rajiva will have a huge influence on the spread of Buddhism into the Central Plains.”
Kumarayana is deep in thoughts for a long moment before he speaks: “Those who are parents all wish to see their children succeed, but the most important of all is for them to attain peace.”
The coughing fit begins again. I rush forward and help him try to calm his breathing. Once it has slowed down enough, he resumes: “I am not too worried about Pusysdeva. He takes responsibility for his every action, and though he may seem foolhardy and reckless now, time will pass and he will mature. The one that I’m worried about is Rajiva…
Heart beating fast, I look up at him in surprise. Since he fell ill, Kumarayana has never talked for this long. His face right now is crimson due to forced exertion. He continues to speak amidst his coughing: “He is far too clever and has never truly suffered in life. Thinks too much, but never shares any of it with anyone. That kind of personality will bring him misery later on.”
I once read an article about this group of scientists who have developed transgenic mice with super enhanced intelligence compared to ordinary mice. It was predicted that if this experiment can be replicated with humans, we will become much smarter and have higher IQs. But not soon after that, they were glad that they did not make that dream into reality, because later testing showed that even though the transgenic mice were smarter, they had to pay a rather costly price for it. The new genes in these “clever mice” helped simulate the nervous system, enabling them to learn and remember better, but it also made them more sensitive to feelings of pain and hurt.
So being too clever is not always a good thing. When misfortune strikes, the intelligent people will be far more sensitive and may find it much harder to reconcile with reality, maybe even find it far too unbearable, whereas the ordinary people might make light of it [the misfortune] or come to move on eventually. The “Everyone is drunk, I alone am sober” kind of feeling that philosophers often wrote about.* They can easily become lost and lose their sanity, and their lives will turn into a tragedy from then on. That is the sorrow of a wise man; Rajiva cannot escape this sad fate.
* [T/N: This sentence was not included in the Viet ver. of FBFY, but I saw it in the Chinese ebook.] “Everyone is drunk, I alone am sober” is a line from Yu Fu (漁父, literally “Fisherman”), a poem attributed to Qu Yuan, a Chinese poet and minister who lived during the Warring States period, who is most famous for Chu Ci (The Songs of the South or Songs of Chu) and being the origin behind the Dragon Boat Festival. Yu Fu described the encounter between Qu Yuan and a fisherman during his exile, which is a recurring motif in many other Chinese philosophers’ works. The poem also helped explain why Qu Yuan committed suicide…
“Although I do not know precisely where miss Ai Qing came from, but I believe what you said about Rajiva’s future in Buddhism.”
“State Preceptor, please rest for a bit,” I bring him a cup of water.
He is breathing hard, and though it’s clearly a struggle for him, he continues: “If I do not say, I fear there would be no time [left].” He suddenly looks up at me with a solemn expression: “Miss Ai Qing has known beforehand that Rajiva will dedicate his entire life to Buddhism, so why did you still let him develop feelings for you? Isn’t that too cruel? Could it be that Buddha had you come down here to test him?”
My hands tremble. The cup falls out of my grasp and crash onto the floor. I clamber around to clean up the pieces, and in my panic, I let a sharp edge cuts my palm. The searing pain wakes me up. So he has known all this while. But of course. Masavu is the loyal servant who has accompanied him from India to Kucha. The fact that I lived in Rajiva’s small house for almost three months, how could I have hid that from him [Kumarayana].
“State Preceptor…”
He sighs, his face pained, sorrow clearly evident in his eyes.
“I am an experienced man who once suffered because of ‘love’. When I left the monastic life, I had to endure many criticisms by others around me. I had thought that one word, ‘love’, was enough to resolve everything, to make up for it all. However, the one I love is someone with a heart made of iron, whose mind only cared about following her ideals, making both of our children suffer along with me.” He pauses to rest and regain his breath before continuing, “I know you also have feelings for Rajiva. But he has chosen to dedicate his life towards Buddha, and if his future sees him making great achievements, then he cannot have any room left in his heart for love.”
He closes his eyes, expression weary, lips trembling: “Miss Ai Qing, please do not go down the same road that I took…”
I leave his room feeling bereft, like my body is merely floating along. I am completely drained. There is no strength left in me. Pusysdeva has been pacing in front of the room. Seeing me coming out, he immediately steps forward and asks: “What did father say to you?”
“Nothing?” I murmur and seeing that he is about ask again, I shake my head sadly, “Pusysdeva, I am very tired, so I will retire now.”
On the way back to my room, I encounter Rajiva bringing medicine for his father. His eyes fall on me, full of concern and inquiry. Tears flow out of my eyes. I bend my head down so that he will not see them and speed up the pace back to my room.
Every day, as soon as night falls, Rajiva can be found chanting in his room. And what is fast becoming a habit, I would then snub the lamp in my room and hide myself in the darkness. The lone light from the room opposite casts a soft glow on the lonely silhouette by the windowsill. That silhouette remains unmoving, and the only sound that can be heard in the quiet nights is the slow rhythmic chants. Rajiva, if we are not separated by a distance of 1650 years, if your identity is not that of a monk, forever unchanged, then would I have found the courage to confess my feelings to you? I know you also have feelings for me, so if I had confessed, would you have accepted? But why does life contain so many obstacles? In the end, the two of us are just two parallel lines who happened to cross once, and once we return to our original positions, our minds are unable to let go of the burdens our shoulders carry. I love you, and that is why I have decided to let go…
Kumarayana’s condition keeps worsening. The king, the queen and various other royal family members have all come by to visit him. I have seen Bai Zhen, Bai Chun’s [current king] youngest brother, who eleven years later will be made king of Kucha by Lu Guang. I also saw a young girl about 8-9 years old—Princess Asuyamati*. The feelings I had upon seeing her…are very hard to put into words. This is the girl that will cause Rajiva to break his monastic vows eleven years later. Before, when I came across this part in Rajiva’s biography, although I had sympathies for his situation [he was forced to marry], I felt mostly amused by the story and considered it just some interesting tidbit to tell others about. Now that I have become a part of his life, that passage in the history books is no longer funny to me. After falling in love with Rajiva, I realize that I cannot stand the thought of him having that kind of relation with another woman. Hearing Asuyamati’s sweet voice calling him and seeing him smile at her in return makes me burn in jealousy, even though my ‘rival’ is a mere child. As soon as that happens, Kumarayana’s words would ring in my ears like a bucket of cold water that pours all of a sudden, effectively putting out any fires I have in my heart. That’s right, I had promised Kumarayana that I would leave this place soon, so what right do I have to be jealous of the fates in store for Rajiva?
* [T/N: This is a rough literal translation of her name from Chinese based on a Sanskrit-Chinese dictionary. Her name in Chinese is 阿素耶末帝, pinyin “A su ye mo di”. I could not find any sources on her actual Sanskrit name. She was always known simply as a Kuchean princess, cousin to Rajiva, but never by name.]
Like a candle before the wind, even the best kinds of medicine there are could only help extend the State Preceptor’s life to another ten days before the light goes out. That night, both brothers stay beside their father’s bedside. I hide myself in a corner and listen to Kumarayana’s laboured breaths and stuttered whispers:
“Pusysdeva, do not hate your mother…she…s-she has always loved you.”
Kumarayana’s grey eyes, usually so sharp, are now showing signs of murkiness. Only his Adam’s apple is bobbing up and down with forced exertion; he speaks with much difficulty: “Don’t know…if I can…r-reunite with her…in the realm above,” a smile full of sorrow passes by his face, so gaut you can see the bones, “Probably not…she has attained third fruit…has severed all fetters…while I’m still here, still caught deep in earthly feelings…”
Pusysdeva grasps his father’s hands and holds on tight, eyes swollen red from non-stop crying. Rajiva looks on in silence, but his face is just as sorrowful. Their father opens his lips, just barely: “The first time I saw her…my heart has skipped a beat…”
His eyes suddenly regain their brightness, as if he has just seen someone.
“She was beautiful, intelligent also, and so very brilliant…” Kumarayana suddenly extends an arm forward, “Jiva, don’t go…the children are still too small…” He has completely lost himself in memories. I can see the gentleness, the love reflected in his eyes, filled with so much fondness it almost seems like the object of his affection is right before him.
“Jiva, wait for me…”
Kumarayana leans forward, almost toppling over, but Pusysdeva manages to catch him. His father’s arm becomes limp and his whole body collapses into Pusysdeva’s arms. He calls his father again and again in heartbreaking sobs, but no reply comes. Rajiva just stands there, still as a statue, face completely expressionless, when he suddenly falls down and starts to chant. The way the two brothers express their emotions are completely different.
“Stop it! Aside from chanting mantras, what else can you do?” Pusysdeva lays his father’s body back onto the bed, then turns around and shouts at his brother, voice bordering on aggressive: “Chanting all day and night, what is the point? Will chanting bring back father?”
He points his finger at Rajiva, a gesture full of accusation: “You only know how to hide in your scriptures, in your Buddhas. Aside from painting that nonsense world of the afterlife, what else can you do?”
“Pusysdeva, do not speak like that to your brother!” I step forward and try to put Pusysdeva’s arm down. He is no longer in his right mind and is clearly trying to vent all his sorrows onto his brother’s shoulders.
He turns to look at me, eyes turning red, chest heaving heavy breaths: “In mother’s heart, brother is the only son she has. Father was the same, always missing him, proud of him, even though he has never been a filial son a day in his life.” He throws my arm off him with so much force it sends me tumbling backwards. “And you, Ai Qing, in your heart there is also only him. He receives everyone’s love, but just look, exactly what has he done or brought to the ones who love him? Father just passes away and he can’t even find it in him to shed a single tear! He is an emotionless monster!”
“Stop it! Do you know that he is feeling even more pain than you are right now? You can shout and release your feelings, can cry any time you like, as much as you want, but he…”
Rajiva’s eyes are still closed as he continues to chant, though tears are leaking out of his eyelids.
“It’s not that he does not know what pain or sorrow is, but that he is in so much pain he cannot even cry-”
“Ai Qing,” he suddenly speaks up, his voice a bare whisper, “Pusysdeva is right. I am a monk, and the monastic should not have any earthly feelings…”
“Rajiva…”
He stands up abruptly and steps out of the room. “I will go and inform the king…”
I am just about to run after him but get pulled back by Pusysdeva. I push him off with all my strength and take off after Rajiva. I do not know what he plans to do. I only know that I have to follow, to look after him, to protect him.
His strides are hurried, though the direction he’s heading is not the main palace but the gates to outside. The gate guards who see him immediately let him pass, but when it’s my turn, I have to give them all the coins I have on me before they let me go through.
He walks with seemingly no aim in mind, keeping a quick pace the whole while, even staggering at times. At last, he comes to a stop by the shoreline of the Tongchang River. Only then does the finally let go of his tears and cry his heart out against the still waters before him. In the desolate night, with the city long left behind us, the sound of his cries cuts through the air like a glass breaking its fall, fragile in its lonesome quality, heartbreaking in how invisible the pieces seem after they reach the ground.
I watch him silently from afar. Rajiva, it’s not that you don’t have any feelings, you just can’t cry in front of others. Someone as sensitive as you, who feels too much, too deeply, should not be following a religion that forces people to extinguish all their emotions…
I continue to stand there in silence, ignoring the urges to rush forward and comfort him by recalling Kumarayana’s words. Rajiva, I do not want my presence to become a burden to you, so I will just stand here and guard you from afar.
The lyrics to Chyi Yu [or Qi Yu]’s song “The Story of the Weeping Camel” come to my mind then. Amongst all her songs, this is the one that moved me the most. Back then, I was moved by the beautiful but sad love story told in the novel of the same name by Sanmao*. But now, in this desolate night, as I watch that lonely figure ahead trying to hold back sobs because he thinks he is not allowed to cry, the lyrics feel even more sorrowful, more painful than usual. The heart runs and runs as it tries to escape but is unable to, so it can only stand there helplessly and endures the pain.
* Sanmao was the pseudonym of Chen Mao Ping (1943-1991), a Taiwanese novelist, translator and writer. One of her most famous works was an autobiographical travelogues titled “The Stories of Sahara”, where she recounted how she met her Spanish husband, Jose, and the life they led in Spanish-controlled Western Sahara.
“I am filled with both happiness and pain
Leaving may be the only way to love you
I learned how to give, but not how to collect
Forgetting is perhaps the most sincere blessing we can give to each other.
Those eyes, gentle as they are since birth
And yet even crying is cursed upon
But if the tears don’t flow,
How can the loneliness ebb away?
The sand is blowing, my sight is but a blur
My steps falter in the darkness
Lost in the desert,
My heart is the North Star,
Leading me on without a word.
The sand is blowing, I can no longer hear
The memories of our love calling back
You and me dare not to love, dare not to hate,
So we let the heartless wind erase our footprints.”
* [T/N: I couldn’t find any English translation, so this is a rather rough one I did based on both the Vietnamese ver. and Google Translate, forgive me.]
I sing the song over and over again in my heart as the tears fall, as the night winds come and chill me to the bone. Rajiva, look at how great your influence is. Though I want to sing, I can’t utter a single word. I want to cry, but I cannot make any sounds. Rajiva, you are not alone in this night, because I am right here beside you, crying with you. Allow me this one chance to cry because of you, to let out the tears I’ve accumulated these past twenty-four years. After this, let us not cry any longer, let just allow the heartless wind to erase the footprints we once left on this desert that is life.
It is not until dawn approaches that he finally returns, seemingly exhausted and with no soul left. The temperature is close to freezing. When I stand up to follow him, I realize there is almost no trace of heat left in my body.
Unknowingly, the summer has passed and autumn has arrived.
