Numerous shafts of firelight pierce the bamboo walls of my heavily decorated room. My eyes fly open but I stay still. Fear is the only negative feeling that I am extremely familiar with. Wars among tribes are constant. After a while, loud footsteps overwhelm the violent current from the nearby river. The voice of my father giving my servants sterns instructions somehow calms me. I’ve never seen him but I know his voice well. Our formal conversations always happen with a partition separating us. That definite rule, a law that only my kin dares implement, makes me the most valuable treasure in the kingdom and among the tribes.
What I look like, only Mother knows. After giving birth to me, I was hidden from everyone; even my father and my brothers hadn’t laid eyes on me. Other kingdoms give their priests special permissions to correspond with their living scribes but ours does not. Performing my predestined obligation grants my noble family the highest honor and prestige. Even the citizens are willing to fight on my command. It’s a pleasure, knowing the significance of my existence.
“Mother, last night. . .”
Mother lifts her head and her eyes confirm that what I heard, Father’s urgent voice and the clash of metal against metal, are indeed real. The Sultan’s troops took advantage of the storm last night and more lives were sacrificed to protect the kingdom.
“Kinnara, have you ever dreamt of watching the sea?” she asks, refocusing on her weaving. Her slender fingers expertly tackle the stubborn threads. Loneliness seemed to grip her voice and I understand. We share the same fate. She was a Binukot but Father granted her the warmth of the sun and the freedom to see the world, until sixteen years ago. I wonder if she regrets having me.
“Mother, I am contented. I do not wish to be anyone I am not and I do not want anything that is not meant for me.”
If she’s testing me, I’m confident that I passed. I wish my answer makes her happy. Happy, contented, loneliness; I know all these words but really, I’m not too sure I understand what they actually mean. And although I know what curiosity is supposed to be like, unfortunately I am not interested. Knowing nothing about the normal world except from my mother’s stories is by no means a problem in my standpoint. Weaving and being the living scribe of the kingdom by memorizing the epics and songs of the tribe would certainly not be a burden to me.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
“Banog,” I call one of my servants, my eldest brother, who is standing guard outside my room. “Summon our Father.”
Without a word, Banog leaves and Bukaw takes his post. I watch their shadows move and disappear. Mother silently continues her weaving and maybe, praying, because I am too. Desperately even. We’re in the middle of a crisis after all.
After a while, Banog returns and informs me that Father is on a journey to negotiate with the hostile tribe. There’s a hint of worry in his voice but his concerns to me are insignificant.
“Do you know that the sea is salty?” Mother asks me again. Something is definitely wrong and her doubts are affecting me. I stare at her.
“Do you hate me, Mother?” I ask her those things but in my chest, there’s only a tangled ball of threads. “I do not appreciate your messing with my resolve.”
Hate. These words spilling from my mouth are words borrowed from those epic tales that I’d memorized.
She shakes her head, crying, but I cannot sympathize with her. I’ve never cried. I have nothing to cry about. Maybe those tears are the evidence of her hate, because that emotion is believed to weigh heavily. She must be suffering.
She embraces me and whispers to my ear the most terrifying fate that awaits me. My mind goes blank and all I hear is the creaking of the bamboo floor and the murmurs of the nearby river. The boiled bananas I ate for snack almost escape me.
“I am too late after all,” I croak. I am aware of the possibility but I cannot believe my father went ahead for the final resort. He severed the thread and sacrificed me.
He sold me. He betrayed me.
I heave a sigh to rid myself of the unfamiliar dark-coloured emotions entangling with the plain white threads. Then I smile, carefully wiping away my mother’s tears. Fearing for my own is an act of selfishness. I’m not raised so I could live for my sake. The Heavens blessed me with a beauty for the benefit of the kingdom. My only option is to save the lives of my people.
“I will submit to the Sultan. It’s the right thing to do,” I declare. Mother violently shakes her head with her fingers digging on my shoulders and her eyes so big. It’s strange, as if she’s a different person.
“You are the treasure of our tribe, Kinnara. I cannot allow that monster to taint and enslave you!”
“He’s going to wipe us out. A farming tribe cannot stand for too long against a tribe that breathes war.”
I am the objective all along, anyway. Father chose to keep the reason hidden but I know. They killed our people and burned down their houses. Even the animals were not spared. There was no looting involved, only a clear message. The wars happened because the Sultan wants the most valuable Binukot among the kingdoms. By obtaining me, they’d be capable of achieving the greatest political power and rise to the top of the pyramid.
“Mother, I am afraid too, but I will cast it aside. I will let you bear these fears for both of us.”
I believe it is the end of my mother’s protests. I know she’s worried because of what I am but the Sultan recognizes that fact and still wants me. That gives me hope.
