Beelay
had always known he was special, even when he was a very young boy.
After all, as far as he knew, no other
child in the Thirty Cities had ever been raised as he had, by the Temple. No
other child, no matter how high-born, had been given the advantages he had
been, not even the Princes of the Blood. The Temple did help educate them, but
they weren’t raised by it as one of its own.
Beelay didn’t even know who his parents
were, had never heard anything of them, and as long as he’d known, Sister Smita
had fulfilled the role of his mother. She was a tall, spare woman with a hooked
nose and heavy eyebrows, who seemed to be severe and forbidding until she
smiled, and then her face lit up like the sun.
Beelay
adored Sister Smita. He didn’t adore Brother Khazan, thick-bodied and jowly,
who was in charge of his education. Brother Khazan was humourless and
intolerant of any kind of distraction, but he did know a tremendous amount, so
that Beelay grew to imagine that he was the most knowledgeable person in all
the Cities, if not all the worlds.
As Beelay grew older, and got to know more
of the world, he came to hear about things which puzzled him, things he hadn’t
been taught about. One day he came back to Sister Smita, frowning perplexedly.
“Who was the Tyrant?” he asked.
Sister Smita stared at him. “Why, who told
you about the Tyrant?”
Beelay shrugged. “I heard the Princes
talking. They were arguing about which of them hated the Tyrant the most.”
“Oh. Well.” Sister Smita put down the book
she was reading. “The Tyrant – you’ll get to know about him in time. He was a
very, very bad man, who did a lot of
evil things. That’s all you need to know for now.”
But, of course, that didn’t satisfy Beelay.
So when Brother Khazan came along at lesson time, he repeated the question.
Brother Khazan frowned severely. “The
Tyrant,” he said, “was the worst curse the Thirty Cities have ever had to
suffer. He was the worst curse all the worlds
ever had to suffer.”
“Curse?” Beelay asked, confused.
“I suppose you’ll have to know sooner or
later, so you might as well know now.” Brother Khazan sat down and stared at
Beelay. “You know about the war, don’t you?”
“Just that there was one, a long time ago,”
Beelay said. “And the Thirty Cities lost it.”
“Yes, we aren’t much inclined to talk about
it,” Brother Khazan said. “Actually, it wasn’t that long a time ago, less than
twenty years. And we didn’t so much lose it
as we were practically annihilated by
it. In fact, at the end of the war, there was only Capital City left, and it
was a sea of ruins, too.” He paused, looking past Beelay at the window. “And
the Tyrant was all to blame for it.”
“Who was the Tyrant?” Beelay asked.
“I’m getting to that. About forty years
ago, there was a great drought. There was famine in the Thirty Cities. The
common people were worst hit, of course. There was no work, thousands were
starving, and what little food there was...” Brother Khazan looked quickly over
his shoulders, as though there might be somebody listening. “”What food and
water there was, the nobility and the royalty kept for themselves. The Temple
too – at that time it was run by evil, greedy men. Instead of helping the people,
it hoarded food to sell when the prices rose further. It was a bad time.
“It was at that time that the Tyrant began
walking among the people. At the time he was just another junior officer from
the Navy, like a thousand others, but instead of remaining in the barracks and
being grateful for his regular meals and employment, he went out among the
seething slums. And he began to talk.
“It must have been convincing, what he
said, but of course the people were in a mood to listen. In any case, what was,
till then, a fragmented and leaderless mob rallied behind him, and quickly
became a formidable army. Armed with farm implements and obsolete weapons it
might have been, but it was huge, and it was everywhere.
“At first the royals, the nobility and even
the Temple all ignored them. The poor had always been downtrodden and had
accepted their fate – why should it be different now? They sipped their
fragrant wine, and they held their costumed parties, and they laughed. But they
did not laugh long, because the Tyrant ordered a march on the palaces.
“They came from all over. From the slums,
from the farms, even from the barracks, because the soldiers had relatives who
were suffering, too, and because the Tyrant was one of them. They came, and the
King and the nobles ordered the army and navy to crush them. But they refused.
“So the King worked out a deal. He didn’t
have a choice in the matter, really – it was either that or be overthrown. He
agreed to install the Tyrant as his premier, and hand over all but formal power
to him. In effect, the Tyrant became dictator of the Thirty Cities, with full
authority to do whatever he wanted.
“Now, of course, the drought and famine
didn’t go away just because the Tyrant had seized power. In fact, they actually
worsened, so that though the Tyrant had all the nobles’ and the Temple’s
hoarded food and money confiscated, it began to run out in time. And it became
obvious that soon the people would get restive again. And in the meantime the
other worlds were overflowing with the food we needed so much.
“So then the Tyrant decided on war as the
only option.
“You know, of course, that the Thirty
Cities have a strong army and navy? Well, they’re only a shadow of what we had
then. At that time, our armed forces were the strongest in all the worlds, so
much so that the rest had a military alliance against us. But they also had the
food we lacked, the food we needed. The Tyrant decided to seize them by force.
“Could he have acted differently?
Undoubtedly, he could. If he’d asked for aid, the worlds would have responded.
If he’d offered favourable trade terms in return, they’d have responded with
enthusiasm. Who wouldn’t have wanted to trade with the Thirty? But he was too
proud, and, besides, his experiences had taught him that violence works. And,
of course, he had absolute power, so he didn’t have to listen to anybody. So he
went to war.
“It was a terrible war. I tell you that
it’s a measure of the ability and the bravery of our army and navy that, alone,
they fought all the Alliance to a standstill. They might even have won – in
fact, it’s almost certain that they would
have won – if it were anyone else but the Tyrant in control.
“What did he do, you ask? He ordered the
wholesale extermination of people in the conquered territories, to take their
lands and resources for ourselves, and as a measure to strike terror among the
enemies.
“Of course it did no such thing. It only
served to strengthen their resolve, to make them determined to defeat us. And,
also, many of our generals and admirals refused to obey that order. They said
it wasn’t part of war to be killing unarmed civilians. And the Tyrant responded
by having them arrested and executed as traitors.
“I need scarcely tell you what followed.
With the best military leaders executed, and the army busy killing civilians instead
of fighting, the Alliance mounted offensive after successful offensive. And the
Tyrant, by now completely surrounded by sycophants who told him what he wanted
to hear, thought anyone who didn’t agree with him was a traitor. So, as the war
turned against the Thirty Cities, he increasingly turned against his own people
– against us.
“He even turned against the Temple, and
eliminated the Head Priest and the top leadership of both the Brotherhood and
the Sisterhood. As a matter of fact, that wasn’t a bad thing, because they were
the people who were completely corrupt. But he didn’t do it because of that,
but because the Temple didn’t obey his authority unquestioningly, as he wanted.
“Even then, it might not have been too late
to achieve some kind of peace. But the Alliance now developed a weapon against
which we had, at the time, no defence, and against which we had no chance to
develop a defence. One by one, our bases and fleets were wiped out, until we
were left with only the cities themselves. And then, of course, the enemy
attacked the cities, and began to destroy them one by one.
“By this time, of course, the people had
turned completely against the Tyrant, but were helpless against his troops.
Even at the last, when the Alliance’s forces had surrounded Capital City, more
of his men were busy arresting and killing people who were suspected of
plotting against him than were fighting the enemy. And it was only at the very
end, when Alliance armoured crawlers were rolling down the avenues of Capital
City, that the people finally rose up, beat off the Tyrant’s remaining
soldiers, and stormed his palace, determined to exact vengeance before the
chance was forever lost to them.”
“And did they?” Beelay asked, fascinated.
“No,” Brother Khazan sighed, shaking his
head regretfully. “If they had, the people might have had closure. No, the
Tyrant had the last laugh. All that was found was his partly charred corpse.
He’d killed himself and had his body burned, before the people could lay hands
on him.”
“I don’t understand,” Beelay said. “If he
died, that was the end of it, wasn’t it?”
“I see you don’t understand.” Brother
Khazan shook his head reprovingly. “It’s about punishment. The Tyrant deserved
to die for his crimes, true, but as the result of a proper trial, so that he
could fully answer for his crimes. By killing himself, he escaped that.” He
glared at Beelay. “Do you understand now why the princes were competing to hate
him?”
“I think so,” Beelay ventured. “But that
would mean that all of us would have to hate the Tyrant eternally, because he’d
escaped punishment? Isn’t that rather sad and dark?”
“You’re probably right,” Brother Khazan
acknowledged. “Anyway, the upshot was that the war was blamed on the Tyrant and
his regime. The royal family was, of course, completely discredited too. In
fact the only remaining authority was the Temple; and the new leadership of the
Temple, and of the Brotherhood and the Sisterhood, stood completely and
unambiguously for justice. The Alliance knew it, and knew, too, that the Temple
hated the Tyrant. So they handed over the reins of power to the Temple, and the
royal family and the nobility remained as they were, mere figureheads.
“In any case, remember this: the Temple
stands for justice as much as the Tyrant stood for evil. And it’s our duty –
all of us – to see that justice is done. Do you understand?”
“Of course,” Beelay said, wondering if he
did understand.
“Good,” Brother Khazan nodded approvingly.
“Tomorrow, we’ll go and visit the Tyrant’s palace.”
*****************************
“Is this it?”
“It is,” Sister Smita confirmed. “Are you
disappointed?”
“I don’t know.” Beelay tilted his head back
to look up at the ruins, which looked disconcerting and ugly on one side of the
Great Square. “It seems rather a pathetic place, really. Just stone and broken
walls.”
“Don’t be fooled by appearances,” Sister
Smita said grimly. “From here, the Tyrant spread his evil over the worlds, and
then over his own people, the Thirty Cities who had suffered for his sake,
believed in him, and done him no harm.” She turned to look at Beelay. “The
Temple decided to keep this in ruins so that it would stay as a reminder to
everyone of the price we all had to pay...and as a warning.”
Brother Khazan appeared at the top of the
rubble-strewn steps and beckoned. “Not that there’s much to see,” he said. “Watch
your step there.”
“The Tyrant’s corpse was found there,”
Brother Khazan said once, pointing, as they passed through a room the roof of
which was open to the sky. “He’d ordered his men to burn him after his suicide,
but they didn’t make much of a job of it.”
“Still, he escaped what he deserved,”
Sister Smita said grimly.
“Is there a picture of him somewhere?”
Beelay asked curiously. “I’d like to know what he looked like.”
“No,” Sister Smita said brusquely. “We’ve
destroyed them. The Tyrant used his likeness to create a cult of personality,
so we destroyed the pictures. Now come, it’s time we went home.”
So they did.
****************************
Years
passed. Beelay grew into a fine young man, and one day decided he wanted to
join the Brotherhood.
But Brother Khazan shook his head
decisively. “The Brotherhood isn’t for you,” he said. “You wouldn’t be able to
submit your personality to it like we all have to do. You have too much spirit
to be able to confine it in the life of a Brother.”
“But...” Beelay began to protest, but
Sister Smita also chimed in.
“You don’t really know what a Brother’s
life is like, Beelay. Whatever he thinks or wants doesn’t matter. What he would
like to do doesn’t matter. He has only one – just one – duty, and that is to
the Temple. All other considerations...including his own happiness...aren’t
even secondary. They’re merely immaterial.”
“It’s the same for the Sisterhood,” Brother
Khazan added. “It’s not the sort of life you could adjust to.”
“He’s right. You have other things to do,
better things. With your personality, you’d be perfect as a soldier. You’re by
nature an officer, a leader of men.”
And Beelay thought about this, finally
perceiving that they were right. So he joined the military academy as an officer
cadet, and soon distinguished himself, so much so that his instructors all
commended him in their reports. Finally, he was commissioned as a junior officer,
and it was the proudest day of his life when Brother Khazan and Sister Smita watched
as he saluted along with the other new officers and pinned the rank badge on
his collar.
And so more years passed, and imperceptibly
grew into over a decade; and Beelay rose through the ranks, slowly but
steadily, until, on the eve of his thirtieth birthday, he was unexpectedly made
a general.
It happened that he had been ordered to the office of the Generalissimo himself for a special briefing. “There is a revolt brewing,” the senior man said, toying with his chestful of medals. “The rebels are organising in the countryside, and getting ready to strike at the cities. It’s up to you to stop them.”
“I, sir?” Beelay was flabbergasted. “Why
me?”
“I know you’re young for the job. You’re
the only officer I know with the talent and the energy, though, which is why I
chose you.” He had fumbled in a box and brought out a general’s badges. “Here’s
your new rank. It’s temporary for now, but when...not if, when...you succeed, I’ll
confirm the promotion.”
So Beelay went out to the countryside and
took command of the troops there, only to discover that the rebellion was far
more widespread, deep-rooted and dangerous than he had ever imagined. More and
more, the violence spread, forcing him to respond with even greater violence.
And then, one day, the rebels took a city.
It wasn’t a large city - one of the lesser
of the Thirty. But the rebels had taken it by storm, held it completely, and
threatened now to sweep on to capture others, and in time perhaps strike at the
Capital City itself. Beelay pondered what to do.
There was only one thing to do, actually,
and finally Beelay forced himself to do it.
He ordered the destruction of the city,
along with all the people and the rebels in it. And so, after bitter and
prolonged fighting, it was done.
By then, though, the rebel forces had
attacked another city, and when they were beaten back from it, they attacked another.
Step by step they grew formidable, until Beelay realised that unless he could
destroy their base of support, the Thirty Cities might fall.
So he turned his attention to the villages
and farms, the hamlets in the woods, which had spawned the rebels and which now
seethed with their fanaticism. Using the same techniques he had perfected in
the destruction of the cities, he began to wipe them out one by one, without
pity. He destroyed the villages, killed the people, used the livestock to feed
his army, and burned down the crop. Before finally moving on, his army poisoned
the wells and the land to deny even the possibility of their use to the rebels.
And at last, after many years of brutal
fighting, victory was his. Small numbers of rebels still fought on, but the
devastated countryside was pacified, as were the ruins of eleven of the Thirty
Cities. And Beelay was summoned to Capital City, for his reward. And so, one
day, he found himself stepping out of his vehicle on to the Great Square, for
the first time in many years.
Sister Smita was there, much older and
wizened, but with her back still straight and the jut of her jaw just as he’d
remembered it. And Brother Khazan, now walking with the aid of a cane, but with
the same pugnacious expression on his face as always. Beelay hugged Sister
Smita and shook hands carefully with Brother Khazan.
“It’s nice of you two to meet me,” he said.
“It’s not nice,” Brother Khazan said. “It’s
necessary.”
“Necessary?”
“Yes.” Sister Smita took him by the arm. “Come
along,” she said. “We have a couple of things to tell you.”
“What things?” Feeling the familiar grip of
her still strong fingers, Beelay allowed himself to be drawn along the side of
the Great Square until they stood in front of the ruins of the Tyrant’s palace.
“It won’t take long,” Sister Smita said. “But
you need to hear us out before you go to the ceremony.”
“Yes,” Brother Khazan nodded heavily. “Beelay,
do you remember how you grew up with us in the Temple?”
“Why, yes, of course I do.”
“Did it ever occur to you to wonder why you
were the only child the Temple ever chose to raise as it did?”
Beelay shrugged. “Many times. But I was
afraid to ask, I suppose, at first. And later it just didn’t seem to matter
anymore.” He paused. “Why? Is it something about my parents? My...real parents?”
“Well, in a sense, yes,” Sister Smita said.
She tugged at his sleeve again, and he found himself following her up the
Tyrant’s steps. “The only thing about your real parents was that...there were
none.”
“What do you mean?” Beelay asked. “How can
I have had no parents?”
“Because,” Brother Khazan said, behind his
shoulder, “you are a clone.”
“A...clone?” Beelay felt as though
something inside him had turned to stone.
“Yes, a clone,” Sister Smita said. “I bore
you in my womb, and brought you forth, but you were a clone, not my baby. We
have to do a lot of things we don’t want, in the Sisterhood, as I believe
Khazan told you once a long time ago.”
“Then whose...whose clone am I?”
“Whose do you suppose?” Brother Khazan
asked. “We found the Tyrant’s body right here, as I once told you. It hadn’t
been destroyed completely...and it was still quite fresh.”
“And he hadn’t paid for his sins,” Sister
Smita said, a diamond edge in her voice. “He’d escaped his punishment. Remember that.”
Beelay opened his mouth but nothing came
out.
“So the Temple decided to create a clone.
Not immediately, but only after things might settle down. A clone, which would,
being of the Tyrant’s tissue, be part of the Tyrant himself. And so it was
done.”
“You’re a very accurate copy,” Brother
Khazan said. “I saw the Tyrant with my own eyes. If the two of you stood side
by side, people would think you identical twins.”
“But don’t think the Brotherhood is ever
unmerciful,” Sister Smita said. “We didn’t condemn you out of hand. We let you
choose your own destiny. And when you had the chance, you acted just as cruelly
as the Tyrant, and with equally little cause.”
They were approaching the central chamber
of the ruined old palace. Their footsteps clicked on the stone, accompanied by
the tapping of Brother Khazan’s cane.
“Today,” the old monk said quietly, “You
are hated precisely as much as the
Tyrant was in the last days of his rule.”
“Here
we are,” Sister Smita said, tapping on the central chamber’s sagging bronze
door. “You can go in now.”
Beelay took a deep breath and shrugged off
her hand. Throwing his shoulders back, he straightened his uniform and stepped
forward.
As he pushed open the door behind which his
reward awaited, he did not forget to smile.
Copyright B Purkayastha 2013