It was deep in the night.
Mamba Rasang lay silent in dreams. In a year of good rain the stars seemed much closer and now they glittered not so far above the monastery. Dampness filled the air. The pigeons nesting on the roof of the Medicine Buddha Hall cooed as they slept.
The kitchens lay below the Medicine Buddha Hall to its south and east so the cooing of the pigeons could be heard clearly there. The cooks all shared the one room. Ganbelig was brewing herbal medicine and Dalantai was patching clothes under the lamp.
Dalantai only had one eye and a crippled leg and his face was marked with deep scars. He was an enormous man of great strength with a terrible temper. He had not always been a monk at Mamba Rasang; formerly he was a captain of the banner prince's soldiers. Besides his great strength and courage back then he was also known for his skill as a tracker. Thus he was a favourite of the prince. But one summer twenty years past he had been implicated on trumped-up charges and subjected to torture for several days and nights. Lime was thrown in his eyes and his arms and legs were broken until at last he was dumped out in the wilderness. It was assumed he died but he was found - bruised, battered, and almost lifeless - by Lobsang Khenpo, the abbot of Mamba Rasang. Abbot Lobsang saved his life with a magical elixir and brought him back to the monastery. There he had stayed ever since, providing manual labour in the kitchens. People said he was not only blind in one eye and lame in one leg but that also his preternatural tracking abilities were now lost. But he was still incomparably strong. It would take Ganbelig half the day to stack away just one of the loads of fuelwood Dalantai carried back.
Dalantai squinted with his one good eye as he tried to thread a needle. He was not succeeding and was becoming angry. He kept at it for some while but still without threading the needle until at last, in annoyance, he threw it and the jacket into a corner of the room. He growled angrily at Ganbelig, who was sipping his medicinal herbal brew. "It's roasting hot in here but you have to have the door shut, you beggar? Did you freeze to death in your last life?"
The medicine must have been particularly bitter because at every sip Ganbelig made a strange face. He looked nervously over at Dalantai. "If you leave the door open the mosquitoes will get in ..."
"It's only mosquitoes, not ravening wolves. Open the bloody door!"
Ganbelig hurried to do as he was told.
Although Dalantai had a terrible temper, he was a source of support for Ganbelig. Earlier that year Genden Lama had come to the kitchens and ranted and raved at Ganbelig on account of some inconsequential thing. Genden had a strange ashen-pale face and so his nickname was "Whiteface Genden". Genden was arrogant and flighty by nature, although he was a decent enough doctor. The year before he'd won the wrestling competition at the great Cairn Fair at Urendushe, which made him more arrogant than ever, and now he would let his fists and feet do the talking at the slightest excuse. That day Genden had been in a filthy temper, and he cursed and swore at Ganbelig for what seemed the longest time. Ganbelig was a good-natured fellow, so to begin with he took this abuse in silence, but at last he couldn't resist returning a few curses. This only made Genden more furious, and he slapped Ganbelig so hard he knocked him to the ground. Ganbelig continued swearing even as he lay on the ground. He saw Genden lift his leg, ready to kick him, so he closed his eyes. But the kick never came, and suddenly the room fell silent.
When Ganbelig opened his eyes it seemed like a wall had risen beside him. On closer inspection it turned out Dalantai had come to stand beside him, blocking him off from Genden's assault.
"Out of my way!" Genden ordered.
"Not very heroic, is it, bullying a poor simple fellow?" said Dalantai.
"Looking for trouble when you have none from a wrestling champion; it'll be the worse for you," said Genden. Dalantai said nothing, but nor did he step aside.
Suddenly Genden attacked Dalantai, kicking and punching. Yet still Dalantai made not the slightest move. The other cooks and passing monks gathered round to enjoy the spectacle. Genden tried every trick he knew and all the wrestling skills he'd picked up, but Dalantai stood unmoved like some mighty boulder.
Genden aimed for Dalantai's face with a slapping motion, yet it was he who cried out. The watching crowd saw that Dalantai had caught Genden's wrist. He went to pull it away but could only struggle like a fox in a trap.
Peals of laughter from the crowd left Genden smarting in shame and his powder-white face flushed crimson. If he had left it at that things might have ended better for him, but he would not concede defeat. Since he could not beat his opponent in a fist fight he turned to words instead. "You filthy one-eyed bastard!" he snarled before spitting in Dalantai's face.
There came a muffled cracking sound. Genden let out a terrible howl before slumping to the floor. His wrist had been broken and one of his hands hung loose. Dalantai had snapped it with one bare hand. The crowd could hardly bear to look at the sorry sight. When Dalantai let go of him Genden dropped heavily like a sack of rice to lie flat out unconscious on the floor. This is how Genden lost the use of one of his hands.
"I suppose the other wrestlers at Urendushe last year were all women," muttered Dalantai, then he turned and left.
If weak and cowardly Ganbelig was a frequent victim of bullying before, after this incident it happened a great deal less. At least no one dared bully Ganbelig with Dalantai nearby. This made Ganbelig very grateful to Dalantai, even if at the same time he feared him.
"Are you not going to go to sleep?" Ganbelig asked.
"When it's time to sleep I'll go without you telling me when."
Ganbelig dared not speak again. He huddled up under his robe. Dalantai leaned against the frame of the door looking up at a sky filled with glittering stars. He stood there for a long time.
It was twenty years since he came to Mamba Rasang. Twenty years wasn't an incredibly long time but none of the common folk of the banner even remembered he had ever existed. People saw him only as someone who got to live at Mamba Rasang in exchange for hard labour, a person with an odd manner who was very strong, but in the end nothing more than a rough servant. No one would ever connect him with that captain of the guard at the Prince of the Banner's yamen twenty years back and nor was anyone particularly concerned with what secrets were hidden in the deep recesses of this underling's heart. The inhuman torture he suffered twenty years ago damaged Dalantai's memory, and the subsequent two decades living as a monastery servant also greatly changed his habits and way of thinking. Yet there were still things that had happened in this corner of the world that he could not help recalling . . .
It was late at night now, the sky a riddle of stars, even the cooing of the pigeons on the roof of the Medicine Buddha Hall no longer to be heard. Yet from far off in the mountains came the call of a turtledove, while high above the kitchens the dark shape of some larger bird passed. A thin, cruel smile showed on Dalantai's deeply scarred face. While the turtledove in the hills called to its mate, another bird circled above Mamba Rasang hunting for prey. Only a fool would imagine the monastery was peaceful and still; still waters run deep, and perhaps Mamba Rasang was a very deep pool indeed . . .
Ganbelig's stomach began to ache again. He rose and hurried outside with his robe draped over his shoulders. It was some while before he returned, clutching his stomach. He took a seat.
Dalantai looked at him. "Still no better?"
"Still not right, what that medicine Wangdan prescribed was I don't know." Ganbelig smiled. "How's about you let me have a bit of a smoke? They say it's good for pain."
Dalantai was a lay brother and still smoked. Sometimes he would let Ganbelig have a few puffs. Over time, Ganbelig had become addicted. Dalantai tossed his pipe over. Ganbelig perked up at once and was soon sucking greedily on the pipe. He regarded Dalantai through eyes screwed small in pleasure.
"So what do you think has happened to Wangdan then?" Ganbelig's question was an attempt to draw Dalantai into conversation. When he felt lonely, Ganbelig liked to chat with Dalantai, but whether or not that happened depended entirely on the latter's mood. If Dalantai was willing to talk the pair might chat half the night, but if Dalantai ignored him Ganbelig would just go quietly to sleep.
"How do you know anything has happened to him?" Dalantai said.
Seeing no signs of anger from Dalantai, Ganbelig warmed to his task. He got onto the kang bed and sat cross-legged before lighting Dalantai's pipe again. "If you think about it, there are all sorts of strange happenings here at Mamba Rasang. Forty-six years I've been here now and I've seen it all. Mind, there are things I know in my heart but for the most part no word of it can pass my lips."
"Oh, so you're the man who knows what's what, are you? And what is it you know exactly? Tell me, I'd love to hear it." Dalantai's tone was sarcastic.
Ganbelig seemed to be encouraged. Still with his legs crossed under him he shuffled forward to come closer to Dalantai. "So many things, it's hard to know where to begin. Like ...well, let's talk about this Wangdan. I suspected all along that trouble would find that beggar."
"Is that so? Why would that be?"
"His character is so poor. As a doctor his medical skills are fine and good but if a patient won't reward him as he likes, he'd rather let them die than save them."
"And you've seen this?"
"Oh yes, there was that time ..." Ganbelig was into his stride now. "There was this time when Wangdan's uncle was sick and asked him to come and see him. Wangdan went and he took a fancy to one of the horses he saw tethered to the hitching post. So when he went in and took his uncle's pulse he said what a fine horse this one of his uncle's was. But it so happened that his uncle was a miserly man so while he knew exactly what his nephew was hinting at, all he did was mumble some vague replies without ever once mentioning the horse. Wangdan brewed a dose of medicine for his uncle to drink and settled down to stay. The second day his uncle's condition showed no signs of improvement. Wangdan took his pulse again and said how recently he'd been thinking of buying a horse. His uncle still said nothing. Wangdan brewed more medicine for him. By the third day Wangdan was much more direct. He asked, what's worth more to you, your health or your wealth? His uncle glared angrily at him but still did not say a word. And so it went on. Every day Wangdan would take his uncle's pulse, brew him some medicine and talk about the horse, but his uncle never gave in. This carried on until the eighth day, when at last his uncle could take the pain no more and finally agreed to let Wangdan have the horse if he would hurry up and cure him. They say Wangdan smiled and told his uncle he had been watching to see how long he could hold out, eight days as it turned out. Then he reached into his bag and took out two doses of medicine he'd long since made up. By the time his uncle had taken those and the pain had gone away Wangdan was riding his uncle's horse and leading his own and already on the road back to the monastery ...Do you see now? That's the sort of man our Wangdan is."
"I heard that story too though it was told a little different. I heard that Wangdan gave his uncle those two doses on the sixth day, not the eighth." Dalantai was being sarcastic again.
"That's not right, it was the eighth day." Ganbelig flushed red as he defended his account.
"All right then, if you say the eighth day, the eighth day it is. What other strange tales does Mamba Rasang have?"
"Do you know the name of the mountain to the north of Mamba Rasang?"
"Everyone knows that, it's Tuhai Mountain."
"Ah, but why is it called Tuhai Mountain?"
"You tell me."
"Well, it's a deep business, let me tell you. Our Ordos Right Middle Banner was once a rich place but disaster followed disaster and each year was worse than the last. The Prince of the Banner Dongrebu Seleng invited a famous geomancer to survey the land. After travelling to every part of the banner this feng shui master said it resembled a steelyard. The banner yamen was the pan of the scales, the Dorbenuuander plateau was its arm and a mountain at the southern end of the Alpas range was its sliding weight. The prince was surprised and asked which mountain this was. The geomancer led the prince to the foot of a mountain, the very mountain we sit on now. And so from that day forward this mountain was called Tuhai Mountain, that is, sliding-weight mountain. Mamba Rasang, our college of medicine, was moved from its old site at the Tashi Sela Juu Monastery and refounded on the side of Tuhai Mountain. Did you know that? Mamba Rasang sits on the banner's sliding weight, whereas the yamen is in the pan of the scales. If you go by weight the slide is heavier and the pan will be lighter. That is how mighty our Mamba Rasang is ..." Ganbelig chuckled.
"That's all old news to me. What else?"
"Plenty! Do you know who has the tome of secret formulae?"
"What tome?"
"You've not heard of Mamba Rasang's tome of secret formulae?"
"You mean the codex? Of course I've heard of it."
Ganbelig was speaking of one of the treasures of Mamba Rasang, passed down through generations.
The story begins in the years of the fall of the Yuan Dynasty and the rise of the Ming. When Toghon Temur relocated his capital north to Yingchang a codex was rescued from the flames of Xanadu and after passing through many hands came to Ordos. For many years the tome was preserved amongst the common people but after the rebuilding of Mamba Rasang in the north of Ordos the codex was brought to the monastery for safe-keeping. The book was closely guarded, for there were many who greatly desired it. Only the abbot of Mamba Rasang knew exactly who had the codex and where it was kept. This information was passed to his successor by each abbot as he grew old. However, Lobsang Khenpo, the predecessor of the current abbot, had died suddenly of illness aged fifty-three. It was said he had not been able to tell his successor where the codex was kept. And so the great mystery of Mamba Rasang was born, and along with it all manner of covetous thoughts and wild guesswork.
"I don't know where the book is. Do you?" Dalantai asked.
"No, I don't either."
"What's the point of talking about something you don't know?"
"Why not if I feel like it?"
As if fearful of being overheard, Ganbelig glanced outside.
"I don't see what the big deal is or why you're making this song and dance. If you want to talk about it go ahead; if you don't just forget it." Dalantai was growing impatient.
"Well, listen to this. There's one very odd thing." Ganbelig began smoking his third pipe. "There are big brick compounds to the north-east and north-west of Mamba Rasang, as I suppose you know." Ganbelig was wreathed in tobacco smoke.
"Who doesn't?"
"And you know who lives in these two compounds?"
"Everyone knows that too. One is the banner prince's wife, Ulen Tagas, and the other is the prince's brother, the Deputy of the East and his wife Subudal Dari."
"And why are these ladies staying there?"
"They say it's because they're sick and being treated, don't they?"
"Treated for what?"
"Infertility is what I heard."
"Do you get it now? This is the oddest business of all!"
"I don't see what's so odd about it."
"You still don't get it. Why would the wives of both the Prince of the Banner and his older brother both be unable to conceive?" As he asked Dalantai the question Ganbelig smiled like the greatest of wise men, all the while still sucking greedily at the pipe.
"How would I know why someone's wife can't have kids?"
"Well, of course there are women who can't have children, there's a few in most places. That's not anything out of the ordinary in itself. But ...listen carefully to this, the wives of two brothers both being unable to conceive, now that is something odd. How come these sisters-in-law have the same malady?"
"I don't know. Are you going to tell me you do?"
"What I'm trying to say is ...goodness, why can't you see what I mean? Like with a flock of ewes, some will get pregnant and some won't. But if none of them get pregnant, you know for sure what your problem is, don't you?"
"Well it wouldn't be the fault of the ewes; it'll be your ram that's not up to the job."
"So neither of these great ladies can bear a child, would you say it's because their husbands aren't up to the job? But that would be odd too, both husbands just happening to have the same malady. Is that likely? To my mind there must be something else behind all this and like it as not it's someone done something underhanded to these two ladies."
"So you're saying someone has done something so that these two women can't conceive? Who would be able to do that?"
"Well, you and me couldn't manage it of course, but there are them as could."
"Who?"
"Doctors, of course. There's no shortage of doctors at Mamba Rasang. Now do you see what I'm getting at?"
"You are saying that some doctor from Mamba Rasang has prescribed physic for the ladies Ulen Tagas and Subudal Dari that has stopped them from being able to bear children?"
"Just so."
"What would be the point of doing that?"
"Now that, I don't know."
"All right, let's admit that this business is a pretty odd affair. What other strange things do you know of?"
Ganbelig wasn't interested. It would be no use telling a lout like Dalantai anyway, he thought.
After pondering for some while, Dalantai stood up and looked hard at Ganbelig. "Well, if you've finished what you have to say, now I have a few words to say to you. What you've just told me, don't you go telling anyone else, whatever you do. It could bring a whole heap of trouble. Right, you get off to sleep. And give me my pipe back too."
After Ganbelig had fallen asleep Dalantai also went to lie down on the kang bed. But he found it impossible to sleep. He felt quite agitated. All he could think of was Wangdan and what could have happened to him. The bare truth was that it was no concern of his if Wangdan had disappeared, or even for that matter if he was dead. He was little inclined to give much thought to the various strange things that were going on at Mamba Rasang. Twenty years earlier he had become caught up in that business at the prince's mansion and had almost paid with his life as a consequence. Although it had left him crippled, he had the good fortune to be saved by Master Lobsang, so at least he was still alive. He had no intention of minding other people's business ever again.
Yet reluctant as he was, he could not help thinking about this odd business.
Wangdan's disappearance had been discovered at midday and come nightfall the news had already caused quite a commotion. By then he had heard how the previous night Ganbelig had gone to Wangdan to get medicine for a stomach ache to find the doctor-monk reading and drinking tea, and how afterwards Chultemiin had seen a woman stranger leading Wangdan down the mountain. So we knew that a woman had come late in the night to take Wangdan down the mountain to visit someone sick. Then when Yechil had gone to fetch water, he had come back with Wangdan's hat, boot, and medicine bag, which told you something had happened after he got down the mountain. But what? Dalantai had gone down the mountain himself that afternoon and saw that confusion of hoofprints and footprints from several horses and men. It set him to thinking, and he could not take his mind off the affair. He wanted to understand what happened. If it was a robbery why had none of the things in Wangdan's quarters been touched? If it was revenge then who would be the deadly enemy of a doctor-monk? If you looked at it like that, the implication was that Wangdan had got wrapped up in some business that no one else knew anything about. So what business would that be?
Although all sorts of puzzling things had happened at Mamba Rasang, few stopped to think about how these riddles might be interlinked and what deeper purposes might lie behind them. After every incident the monks would discuss it for a time, with all sorts of guessing and even some out-and-out embroidery of the facts to create a fable. Then after a few months had passed the matter would be dropped and never mentioned again. And if someone did recall it to mind, others would say, "Oh, did that really happen?" Dalantai was not like these others, he saw the possibility of one guiding principle behind all the various goings-on and the likelihood of a connection between all that had happened. This made him think that the disappearance of Wangdan was likely to be linked in some way to other recent events at Mamba Rasang and things that had happened there in the more distant past.
Well, so be it, Dalantai thought, if that's what people want to get up to then let them, it's nothing to do with me. He closed his eyes to sleep. Had he not almost ended up in his grave twenty years ago because of something that was really nothing to do with him?
Those events of two decades past came swimming back into his mind.
Strong winds blew hard rains that night twenty years ago when the old Prince of the Banner Baylar summoned his commander Dalantai to the residence the prince shared with his junior consort, Chemed Tsering. Dalantai had left his station at the banner yamen and struggled through the storm to find on his arrival Chemed Tsering in tears in her room, her three-year-old son clutching at her knees and the prince pacing back and forth in a state of high anxiety. A closer look at the prince's face revealed that he too had been weeping.
Dalantai was somewhat taken aback.
"Ah, my good Dalantai, you are well aware of the struggles for place that we have in this banner ..." The prince's voice came half-choked in distress.
Dalantai said nothing but knew full well what the prince was talking about. The prince had two wives. The prince feared his senior wife, a strident and overbearing woman who was niece to the chief of the whole league, one with powerful backers. His second consort, however, he doted on absolutely. So the prince was caught between two wives, one he loved and one he feared, and the bitterness and jealousy between the women was only growing worse. Their contestation had stirred much trouble both within the yamen and beyond. The rivalry grew fiercer after the second consort Chemed Tsering gave birth to a son. If the prince doted upon his second consort, how much greater still was his love for their son Chindamani. The prince's senior wife had also given him two sons, already grown men in their twenties and now waiting to inherit the cap badge and feather that marked a banner prince. What had begun as a contest between the two women for the old prince's affections became a struggle for the succession. Three sons but only one crown, and it seemed that nothing was to be ruled out in the fight to inherit it. Envy, hatred, and dark schemes proliferated. The most recent had been the poisoning of Chemed Tsering and her son. The contest between the wives had now become a mortal struggle. Dalantai was one of the prince's most trusted captains and of course knew all about these events, even if little was spoken of them.
Chemed Tsering was still crying. If only the twenty-something girl had married a commoner rather than this prince forty years her senior, thought Dalantai, how much easier her life would be.
"We have just received a letter from the League Chief." The prince's voice still broke as he spoke. "He accuses Chemed Tsering of colluding with bandits on the frontier and say he is to investigate the business thoroughly and punish severely. I imagine you can see what is going to happen next, Dalantai? The lives of this woman and her child are in grave danger."
Dalantai felt an acid pricking at the back of his nose.
"What if my son doesn't inherit and I'm no longer consort to the prince? What if I take the boy and flee?" Chemed Tsering still wept as she spoke.
"Oh my poor lady, this is too na?ve. If you and the boy leave me, leave this compound, then you will have even less chance of seeing another sunrise." The prince turned to Dalantai. "I have something I want you to do for me."
Dalantai went down on one knee to await the prince's instructions.
"It seems we are going to find it hard to avoid further incidents, so tonight I want you to take the boy and find a place where we can keep him from threats to his life ..."
Dalantai was astounded. Where would he take the boy and how would he protect him?
"Take the boy to some other place and find strangers who will raise him. If he has a strong fate he might yet grow to be a man."
Chemed Tsering wiped away tears. "I don't want you to hesitate. The prince and I have made our minds up. Whoever you give my boy to, you must not tell them anything about who he is."
"But ...what about later?" Dalantai looked at the prince.
"I will write a letter saying who the boy is and have it stitched into his undergarments. If later on the boy reads the letter he will know who he is."
"And I shall write a letter to the persons who will raise my boy, asking them to treat him well." Tears streaked Chemed Tsering's face.
So the prince and his lady each wrote a letter and Chemed Tsering sewed them into her son Chindamani's undershirt. Dalantai picked the boy up and made for the door. Chemed Tsering gave a cry but then fell silent. Dalantai realised she had fainted away.
Dalantai held the wailing and struggling child tight and rode as fast as he could through the storm-tossed night. He was crying too. Dalantai was then just past thirty, still unmarried. He had been an orphan and had never known the meaning of a mother's love but still he could not but be moved to tears.
Dalantai galloped through the wild wind and driving rain for the longest time. Then a flash of lightning revealed a small tent with horses tied up beside it. He could tell it was travellers stopped for the night so he pulled up his horse to a halt.
"Hello there," he called out.
"Hello." The voice from the tent had a strong Alasha accent from the far west.
"Could you see your way to lighting a lamp?"
"On a night of rain like this ..." The person in the tent muttered. "Come in and have a seat. It might leak a bit but it is a tent and it's a sight better than being out there getting soaked."
Dalantai carried the boy into the tent. The person lit a lamp, revealing himself to be a man of middle years.
"Rain like this and you've got a boy with you?" The man seemed surprised.
"I had no choice. The wife's dead and I have to bring this one up by myself. But I won't even be able to do that any more."
"Eh? Why ever not?"
"I've broke the law and banner troops are on my tail after my head."
"So what are you going to do about the child?"
"Perhaps it was fate that led me here to you on a night like this. I beg of you, take my boy and raise him up to be a man."
The man stared at Dalantai in complete astonishment. "Such an important thing as this and on such a night as this, without so much as three words of discussion and you give your boy over to a stranger. You're an odd one, right enough."
"It's not about being odd, it's about having no other way at all."
The man was so angry his lips trembled. "You can dump your little bastard where you like as far as I care, just so long as it's not here with me!"
Dalantai took out twenty taels of silver and placed them in front of the man, then knelt and made ritual prostrations. He said, "I don't want the boy brought along to gaol with me to have his head cut off. So I must leave him with you. If you want to, you can take him with you. If you don't want to, then just leave him here. A tiny lad like him in rain like this won't last long anyway. If that's how it is, once you get back to Alasha I'd ask you to use one of these taels of silver to have sutras chanted for the boy so he can have a better rebirth."
The man was absolutely furious now. "I've been a herder all my life but I've never come across a beast like you. No, that's not right, you're worse than a beast, a beast will still love its own." The man shook with anger. "Well then, I will take the boy, but as for you, you beast, I want you gone." He tossed the silver out of the tent as well.
Dalantai left. He could hear the man in the tent behind. "You've never even asked my name. Truly you are a beast. You don't want to know who you've trusted your child to? Mark you, my name is Regolmud from Alasha. As for you, may the lightning strike you down!"
Dawn was breaking when Dalantai returned to the banner yamen. He was taken without ever having a chance to see the prince. He was tortured for several days then dumped out in the wilderness close to death. By great fortune he was found by Lobsang Khenpo, who saved his life and brought him back to Mamba Rasang. Not long after, he heard that Chemed Tsering had died after a sudden illness. Dalantai knew the cause. A while after that he heard a man from Alasha with a young boy had been pursued by banner troops and were forced to take refuge in Mamba Rasang. Lobsang Khenpo gave instructions that they be led down the mountain by secret paths and helped across the Yellow River so they could return to Alasha.
That was when Dalantai came to Mamba Rasang, and now twenty years had passed.
Dalantai would sometimes wonder about the boy Chindamani. He would surely be living away off somewhere. As the years passed Dalantai's memory of the boy grew hazy, but a few years back he had found his thoughts turning often to Chindamani, sometimes occupying them to the exclusion of all else.
The banner prince's wife Ulen Tagas and his sister-in-law Subudal Dari sometimes came to Mamba Rasang and would stay several weeks. Everyone knew the women were seeking a cure for their infertility. Everyone also knew about the prince and his brother. They had fought for the banner crown and the younger brother had beaten the elder and taken the throne. What everyone seemed to have forgotten was that the prince and his brother also had a younger half-brother by a different mother called Chindamani.
Dalantai had not forgotten. More than that, he had thought long upon the matter.
There was a story from a few years back. When Ulen Tagas and Subudal Dari were at Mamba Rasang taking their medicines they would sometimes instruct one of the cooks to prepare them a meal. One day come noon Ulen Tagas asked for dumplings of meat and wild onion while Subudal Dari asked for a meat broth. The orders arrived in the kitchen at the same time. The cooks set to work at once to satisfy the two important ladies. Ganbelig with his soot-smeared face grinned and said, "It doesn't really matter what two old hens who won't lay eat." The cooks all laughed. "If you can't have a child well then you can't, I don't see why they get in such a state over it," said one of the other cooks. "Of course they do," replied another. "If they don't produce a boy there'll be no one to inherit the prince's crown." The cooks all laughed again.
Dalantai didn't laugh though. An idea occurred to him.
If the two ladies remained infertile, what would happen if Chindamani were to reappear? The prince was turning forty this year and his brother was already past fifty. If they were to pass away without children and should a half-brother called Chindamani turn up, the banner crown would of course go to the boy. What if that really happened?
Dalantai followed his train of thought. What if that really happened? Perhaps there was some other reason why the two ladies had been struck barren? Whatever the case, their inability to produce an heir opened up the opportunity for Chindamani to take the crown. Could it be that someone had deliberately stopped the two women from having children to bring the boy to power? Mamba Rasang did not lack for skilled men of medicine . . .
From that day onward Chindamani was often in Dalantai's thoughts. Sometimes he could feel the boy sitting on some far-off mountainside looking towards Mamba Rasang. Sometimes it felt like the boy was here at the monastery, as if he could hear the sound of him breathing quite clearly.
These thoughts kept Dalantai from sleep. Far away on the mountain, the doves were still calling . . .
