In The House of the Cedars of Lebanon

By Sheila M. Curtin

Finally came the end of summer, and end to the southern monsoons and their unbearable humidity, oppressive days, and sleepless nights. As the stifling heat lifted so also did the mood of the Pyu Myannamar, causing a noticeable increase in activity in their cities and towns, with a similar increase in travel and trade. Already merchants and traders crowded the port of Akyb, seeking sturdy ships and reliable caravans to transport their caches of spices and emeralds to ports west of the Andaman Sea, to cities of trade in the Arabias, Persia and Sumeria. Thakram Viyakumm, merchant and trader of emeralds and spices, left his home in the quiet forest adjoining the port city near daybreak, and joined others of similar intent as they sat astride quiet and somber elephants traveling the stone roads at the forests' edge. The season for trade had once again arrived, and so Thakram left his sleeping family in the quiet dawn and started toward Akyb, to commission a ship for passage across the Bay of Bengal. And so would begin the long journey to the Arabias, where he would trade spices and emeralds for Arabian incense and Chinese silk. These foreign commodities would be sold upon return to his native shore, earning him a not-too-modest profit for his trouble.

This particular trip was special, it was to be a gift for his eldest and favorite daughter, Ananka, who was at present studying J'ain scripture and other required academics under the instruction of a J'ainist monk. Included in Thakram's plans was an extraordinary surprise, not only would she travel with him to the Arabias, they would also visit The House of the Cedars of Lebanon, wherein was located the Great Library, as well as the court of the great King Solomon.

Ananka began her day as usual, sitting at a small cedar table in the courtyard of her father's house, surrounded by brightly painted rooms separated by tiled walls and flower gardens. Under the shade of a small tamarind tree, she recited the history of the Pyu civilization from the time of the ancients to the present. Her instructor, the wise and learned monk Sri Dashaya, paced the stone courtyard slowly and thoughtfully with his head bowed, a long green reed held tightly behind his back. He would tap the ground sharply with his instrument were she to hesitate at any verse, or misquote any information imparted by angel,  Jinn or prophet in the long and illustrious history of the Pyu Myannamar.

Upon completion of her verses, the monk proceeded to the next lesson, the dreaded foreign language. Ananka found it quite difficult to master the sounds and characters of the Sumerian language, an absolute requirement if she wished to travel abroad. The cuneiform characters all seemed alike to her, with their tails bending this way and that, some looped, some straight, the characters' only discernable distinction, and the more she tried to decipher them the more she confused their meanings. Sri Dashaya, as was his custom at the late hour, began to lose patience with her lack of success, and with a sharp tap of his reed, quite near her big toe, brought both the lesson and his pupil's embarrassed stammering to an abrupt end. We will begin again tomorrow he smarted, and Ananka sighed in exasperation as the monk threatened yet future lessons in the required foreign tongue.

It was well past the dinner hour when the trumpeting of approaching elephants signaled her father's return, the hour so late that already the evening fires were being lit to ward off jaguars and baboons roaming the darkening forest. These two animals, more than any other of the forest creatures, were inclined to invade the home at night, with its numerous rooms spaced in a square about the wide and lengthy courtyard, separated by numerous gardens, and covered by one contiguous tiled roof.

One of her brothers had caught an impala with his bow in the morning forest, and having carried his trophy about his shoulders for the greater part of the morning, finally allowed the cooks to skin and prepare the animal for the evening meal. His tale of the hunt was retold each time anyone reached for a piece of the roasted venison, and his deeds grew geometrically in boldness and prowess with each telling, until by the time the last of the household had finished their meal the tale was unrecognizable from the original. Thakram was greeted with the much revised version upon his return home.

Of his three wives Tra Ji Nga was the most learned, and in all the years and all his efforts she had borne him only one child, a daughter, Ananka, a quiet, thoughtful girl who sought the mysteries of mathematics and the sciences with a zeal that rivaled only the temple scribes. And while the rest of his thirteen children loved to hunt, or to work with glass or precious stones, only Ananka sought to discover the hidden relationships that made things so. When he completed his bath and toilet he crossed the courtyard to Tra Ji Nga's rooms, and called her to him as he reclined upon the broad silk pillows furnishing her private room. She had been sleeping, but she came to him quietly when she heard him call, and lay beside him anticipating his needs. For a while Thakram lay on his side looking at his wife, her hair, the shape of her lips, the width of her hips. He stretched out his hand to touch her, warm and soft, and pulled her close against him, feeling her heart beat and flutter in her chest, like the tiny bird that fluttered in the bronze cage hanging in her garden. In a moment he was inside her, making love to her, and in a moment more it was his heart that fluttered wildly, like the wings of the tiny bird. When he regained his strength he took her by the hand and walked naked with her to the bath, and pulled her close to him again as he sat in the steaming water beside her. He stroked her hair as she rested her head on his chest, and it was then that he told her of his plans to take Ananka with him to the Arabias. Tra Ji Nga was understandably alarmed, Ananka was her only child, and in her opinion too young to travel so far from home, but there was nothing she could do, really, but accede to her husband's wishes, and when he finally fell asleep beside her she stole away to the rooms of her daughter, to yet find comfort in the sight of her only child's sleeping form.

The days and nights passed quickly, and suddenly the day of departure arrived, the day for father and daughter to begin their years-long journey, and the house was animated with the movements and sounds of servants and wives preparing Thakram's goods and commodities for travel to the Arabias.

Ananka sat on top a gray elephant in a covered settee shielded by blue and gold silk curtains, waiting for her father to arrive and signal the caravan to begin their procession to the port of Akyb. Her mother stood dutifully to the side of the road with her father's two other wives and members of his household, watching as the elephants were loaded with spices, cinnamon, ginger, pepper, and paprika, items as precious and costly as the emeralds and spun glass he would trade and sell upon arrival to the Arabias. Thakram finally emerged from his rooms with two of his servants, and after speaking briefly with each of his wives, was helped onto his elephant and gave the signal to proceed. Ananka parted her curtains seeking one more glance of her mother, and called out to her for one last embrace. Tra Ji Nga ran to the side of her daughter's elephant, and removing one of her gold bangles, handed it up to the driver to give to her only child. It still held her mother's warmth when Ananka placed it on her arm.

The port of Akyb was a place of much excitement and commotion, with merchants and traders from many different nations crowding the stone streets, seeking caravans or ships en route to the Arabias and the Persias. Thakram secured his entourage and merchandise in rooms he had rented near the harbor, and left them to attend to errands necessary to their extended trip. In addition to some required purchases, he sought an artisan skilled in working fine gold, to commission a gift for his daughter to present at the Court of Solomon. After several inquiries he was directed to the shop of Thumanni Dawkaj, a goldsmith artisan, renowned in west Burma for his works of spun gold. It was rumored among the craftsmen that Thumanni was really a Jinn in human form, sent to teach man the workings of precious metals, but what Thakram found before him when he entered the artisan's shop appeared to be only flesh. What Thakram desired was a fine gold vase, with as much detail and beauty as Thumanni could apply. The artisan assured Thakram his purchase would be ready within two days' time.

Two days was all Thakram could allow to wait for completion of the vase, or his travel plans would be all but ruined. He had already commissioned a ship to carry his entourage to Kolkata, on the western side of the Bay of Bengal. From there they would travel via the Ganges River to Delhi, and join a caravan to the port of Thatta on the Arabian Sea. From the port of Thatta it was possible to travel to any place in the Arabias or the Middle East. When two days had passed he returned to the shop of Thumanni to retrieve the vase he had commissioned.

What Thumanni brought forth and displayed before him could scarcely be believed by his own eyes. The vase was exquisite in beauty and detail, spun gold, light as a feather and strong as steel. Not a drop of moisture could escape between the fine golden threads, so tightly were they woven together. Prayers for wisdom, temperance, and tranquility were inscribed within, spun together with the golden threads as they criss-crossed from side to side like a web. Truly one of a kind. A work of art. It was so beautiful, containing such detail, perhaps it would be noticed by the great king himself. Thumanni began to explain the various inscriptions and