Part 19 (2/2)

My mother, in a moment of bitterness, had once blamed the Empress for taking my father away from her. Now I knew why. My father would never have become a Buddhist if not for his mother. But she had helped him in a moment of turmoil.

”And what of the family you left behind?” I asked him.

”I knew you would be well cared for at court.”

I looked away. It was not a sufficient answer. Growing up, I had felt fatherless. Suren's father, Prince Chimkin, was always nearby, but he did not take my father's place.

My father continued. ”I tried to quiet my heart, to put aside the difficulties at court. But I see now that I also lost much joy. The joy of watching you grow up.”

My heart lurched. The sorrow in his face had deepened.

”You lost Suren,” he said. ”I lost you.”

I watched as his eyes teared up. His loss, unlike mine, had been by choice. We sat in silence a few moments. My bitterness softened.

”So Buddhism does not have all the answers,” I said at last.

He tilted his head, giving my comment serious consideration. ”No one has all the answers. But it's important to keep searching. There is much wisdom in these sutras. Back when I was at court, my heart was in distress. I did not see the world the way other men did. Fighting wars cannot make the world a better place.”

He stopped to check my eyes, as if to see whether I was truly listening. I nodded.

”Every life is worthwhile. Every sentient being, including animals. Even those of the enemy soldiers you killed on the battlefield.”

I looked away, remembering. Some of the dead horses had had frozen expressions of fear. Some of those Burmese faces had looked like Little Li. At the time, I had hated them all. Did any of them have cousins, like me, who were mourning their deaths?

”The Burmese attacked us,” I said, only half convinced. ”They sent a huge army, with elephants, over the border. This battle was their fault.”

He shook his head. ”Someone always gives a good reason for war. Sometimes it even has a positive outcome. I would not want to be the Great Khan, making such decisions.”

I could see his point. I had wished so hard that I had been born a boy, the eldest grandson, possible heir to the throne. To have men kowtow to me! I had never understood how my father could give up that honor. Now I was glad I would not inherit such responsibility.

”The Great Khan,” I began. ”He has talked of sending an army to invade Christendom.” I wondered if my father had heard about Marco Polo.

”The Khan knows that Tengri, Eternal Heaven, has commanded him to complete the conquest of the world,” said my father. ”He senses his grandfather, Chinggis Khan, looking over his shoulder, expecting him to finish the work begun by our ancestors. But the Khan has begun to change his emphasis. He is spending more of his time finding ways to wisely rule the lands we already control.”

”Do you think he could be convinced not to invade Christendom?”

My father looked as if he was trying to figure out my motives. ”Christendom? Why Christendom?”

I did not have the courage, or the right words, to explain about Marco. ”I don't want to fight in any more battles. I wish I could stop them somehow.”

He laughed gently. ”You don't sound like a soldier in the Great Khan's army.”

I shook my head. ”I am not sure what to do next. I don't want to stay in the army. But I do not want to get married. Please.”

My father's eyes glowed softly. ”There is another path. You could become a nun, like my sister here, Miaoyan.” He indicated the young nun sitting by the wall.

I looked at her in surprise. I had not recognized her as one of my father's many younger sisters. I did not know her well, and without her braids, she looked different.

”Aunt Miaoyan Beki,” I said to her, bowing my head in respect.

She smiled and nodded.

”Miaoyan came to me, about a year ago, just as you have come today. She asked many questions. She became a nun just five months ago.”

I felt as if two walls were closing in on me, one on each side. I had not come here to enter a nunnery.

My father reacted to my look of consternation. ”I will not force you. This choice must come from your heart.”

Miaoyan spoke up in a soft voice. ”Emmajin Beki. This life is right for me, I know that with certainty. But living here has many restrictions. You should take your time before deciding if it's right for you.”

Their suggestion jarred me, since it was so at odds with the way I had lived my life. But in my despair, it seemed tempting to retreat to this peaceful place. I would miss Marco, but we had no future together. Perhaps I could say good-bye to him, then enter the nunnery with my heart at peace.

I promised my father I would think about it. Miaoyan said I could stay that night with her, at the nunnery nearby. It was too late to return home that day, anyway.

After leaving my father, I went, alone, to the Temple of Guanyin. As I entered the temple, my eyes went straight to the large, central statue of the G.o.ddess of mercy. In this Chinese manifestation, as Guanyin, she had a look of gentleness but seemed remote. On an altar in front of her were an incense burner, several plates of dried fruit, and some metal religious objects.

Guanyin was not really a G.o.ddess; my father had told me that. She was a bodhisattva: an ordinary woman who had meditated and studied Buddhism deeply enough to enter Nirvana, the highest state of enlightenment. But instead of entering Nirvana, she had returned to earth, to help the rest of us become more enlightened. That sacrifice was the ultimate in compa.s.sion.

b.u.t.ter candles burned steadily in the quiet.

As my eyes adjusted to the semidarkness, I began walking around the temple, trying to think clearly after the conversation. On a side wall in one nook was a brightly painted mural. Clearly, it had been added recently, to give a lively Mongolian flavor to what was otherwise a serious Chinese temple. At first the colors seemed too bright. But then I looked at the detail.

With a start, I realized that I was face to face with Tara, the Mongolian version of Guanyin. I pulled the silver amulet out of my sash; yes, the images were almost the same. But on the mural, nearly life-sized, Tara seemed alive.

This Tara looked young, with a plump face of smooth jade-white skin, arched eyebrows, a slim and graceful figure. Adorned with jewelry on her ears and neck and wrists, she sat on an open lotus, holding a blue flower on a long stem. Her expression was sweet and consoling.

Tara had an extra eye, set sideways, in her forehead, and also an eye on the palm of each hand and the sole of each foot. Each one was a thick black line, but nonetheless recognizable as an eye. Seven eyes altogether. Ever vigilant, she could see all suffering in the world. Her eyes were gentle, not judging. Yet she could see right through my rough exterior, past my bold name of Emmajin and my status as a soldier, into my soul.

As her eyes locked onto mine, I felt my turmoil melt like b.u.t.ter in hot sun. Her compa.s.sion flowed into me, through my eyes, down my throat, into the deepest parts of my body. The amulet glowed warm in my palm.

A beam of clear thinking shone into my mind. I could not flee from the world and become a nun. It was not in my nature. I needed to go back out into the world and do whatever I could to save Christendom and Marco. To make future battles unnecessary. To build a bridge between our people, the Mongols, and those from faraway lands.

I knew this suddenly, standing before the image of Tara, born of tears, whose compa.s.sion for living beings was stronger than a mother's love for her children. She had come back into the world to help people like me. She was in my father; she was in Princess Miaoyan. She was, from that moment, in me.

Breathing deeply, I lost track of time. In that place, I was not a warrior-not even a granddaughter of the Khan-or a princess who loved Marco Polo. The boundaries between me and the world around me faded. I was becoming something new, something I could not quite figure out, yet it filled me with calm.

37 Chabi's Wisdom

The next morning, I took leave of my father. I explained that I needed time to figure out what I would do, but I doubted I could become a nun. He blessed me and sent me back into the world. The tension between us had melted away.

As I was leaving, I noticed a short, wide woman dressed in elegant silks-my grandmother Chabi. Although her moon-shaped face was not beautiful, she emanated regal dignity.

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