Hell, you might even be thanked by Parliament for your contributions. You got lotsa stuff like that—I've seen it all over this place."
"So you would have me rob the temples of their golden treasures? So the people of Britain can gaze upon the artifacts of other lands and feel good about themselves because they do not live in such barbaric places?"
"C'mon, Chops, you've already done that. I've seen your storeroom. Hell, you could supply twenty museums with half that stuff."
"True, I do have a rather nice collection of antiquities."
His eyes take on a dreamy look and he softly says, "Sir Charles Chen, Order of the British Empire, Knight of the Garter. Oh, wouldn't that put some of those noses ... Well, never mind," he says, shaking those thoughts out of his head. "I shall think upon your proposal. Here's Sidrah. Now off with you both."
"It is indeed a wondrous place, Sidrah. Thank you for bringing me. I wish we could have brought Ravi with us, though. I don't like the thought of his being chained up like that."
"Do not worry, Jah-kee," says Sidrah, placing her hand upon my arm, as we sit at a low table in a lush garden outside of the temple, partaking of various sweetmeats and drinks. Blossoms hang over our heads, and heady perfumes linger in the air. "Father has taken a liking to the boy. He will be fine."
Today, I have on a lovely pink silk top and a matching narrow straight-to-the-ankle skirt. I'm wearing a similar colored shawl over my head. I figure I blend in pretty well with the crowd.
Ganju Thapa sometimes goes with us on these outings, but not today. I know the man finds escorting us a distasteful duty, and he gets out of it whenever he can. This day he sends two of his underlings, and they don't seem to like it much, either. They helped launch the
Eastern Star,
true, but did not show much joy in the outing. Perhaps they don't like being on the water. Sidrah, thoroughly enjoying herself when on the sea and marveling at my sailing skill, assigned them the task of holding parasols over our heads to guard our complexions from the sun. When we landed at the beach near the temple we were to visit, the two lugs stayed with the boat, while we proceeded through a small village to the temple grounds.
"Why do you not wear your hair like mine, Sidrah?" I ask, popping yet another olive into the ever receptive Faber mouth. There are shrimp-flavored crackers to go with them, and I crunch these with great gusto. Although they took some getting used to, I now find them quite delicious. "Your father seems to like it."
Sidrah wears her hair piled high on her head, held in place with many elaborate combs. She considers, then says, "My mother was Siamese, not Chinese. This is the way we wear our hair."
Hmmm...
I sense she is being ... diplomatic.
"Besides ... ah ... Chinese women do not always wear their hair like you have yours," she says.
"Oh...?"
"No ... Only women of certain ... adventurous ways ... and men, of course."
Oh-ho! I get it now! Thanks, Cheng Shih, for branding me a bad girl. Oh, well, it's been done before, and I shall live with the mark.
"Come," she says, rising to her feet. "Let us go into the presence of Gautama Buddha."
We get up and go into the quiet of the temple.
Sidrah and I kneel before the statue of the Great Buddha that is enthroned within the place—him sitting all calm and serene, gentle smile in place, with a bowl of smoldering incense at his feet. We both had bought some sticks of the stuff from a saffron-clad monk, lit them, and had placed them in the bowl. We sat there quietly for a while—Sidrah, I'm sure, praying her Buddhist prayers, and me thinking my heathen thoughts about who I am and how I got to be here in this place.
You are surely a long way from Cheapside, girl...
There are other monks in the interior of this place and they sit in a circle and chant, and it is a most soothing sound. I close my eyes and let the sound and the smell of the incense take me, swaying,
"So you would have me rob the temples of their golden treasures? So the people of Britain can gaze upon the artifacts of other lands and feel good about themselves because they do not live in such barbaric places?"
"C'mon, Chops, you've already done that. I've seen your storeroom. Hell, you could supply twenty museums with half that stuff."
"True, I do have a rather nice collection of antiquities."
His eyes take on a dreamy look and he softly says, "Sir Charles Chen, Order of the British Empire, Knight of the Garter. Oh, wouldn't that put some of those noses ... Well, never mind," he says, shaking those thoughts out of his head. "I shall think upon your proposal. Here's Sidrah. Now off with you both."
"It is indeed a wondrous place, Sidrah. Thank you for bringing me. I wish we could have brought Ravi with us, though. I don't like the thought of his being chained up like that."
"Do not worry, Jah-kee," says Sidrah, placing her hand upon my arm, as we sit at a low table in a lush garden outside of the temple, partaking of various sweetmeats and drinks. Blossoms hang over our heads, and heady perfumes linger in the air. "Father has taken a liking to the boy. He will be fine."
Today, I have on a lovely pink silk top and a matching narrow straight-to-the-ankle skirt. I'm wearing a similar colored shawl over my head. I figure I blend in pretty well with the crowd.
Ganju Thapa sometimes goes with us on these outings, but not today. I know the man finds escorting us a distasteful duty, and he gets out of it whenever he can. This day he sends two of his underlings, and they don't seem to like it much, either. They helped launch the
Eastern Star,
true, but did not show much joy in the outing. Perhaps they don't like being on the water. Sidrah, thoroughly enjoying herself when on the sea and marveling at my sailing skill, assigned them the task of holding parasols over our heads to guard our complexions from the sun. When we landed at the beach near the temple we were to visit, the two lugs stayed with the boat, while we proceeded through a small village to the temple grounds.
"Why do you not wear your hair like mine, Sidrah?" I ask, popping yet another olive into the ever receptive Faber mouth. There are shrimp-flavored crackers to go with them, and I crunch these with great gusto. Although they took some getting used to, I now find them quite delicious. "Your father seems to like it."
Sidrah wears her hair piled high on her head, held in place with many elaborate combs. She considers, then says, "My mother was Siamese, not Chinese. This is the way we wear our hair."
Hmmm...
I sense she is being ... diplomatic.
"Besides ... ah ... Chinese women do not always wear their hair like you have yours," she says.
"Oh...?"
"No ... Only women of certain ... adventurous ways ... and men, of course."
Oh-ho! I get it now! Thanks, Cheng Shih, for branding me a bad girl. Oh, well, it's been done before, and I shall live with the mark.
"Come," she says, rising to her feet. "Let us go into the presence of Gautama Buddha."
We get up and go into the quiet of the temple.
Sidrah and I kneel before the statue of the Great Buddha that is enthroned within the place—him sitting all calm and serene, gentle smile in place, with a bowl of smoldering incense at his feet. We both had bought some sticks of the stuff from a saffron-clad monk, lit them, and had placed them in the bowl. We sat there quietly for a while—Sidrah, I'm sure, praying her Buddhist prayers, and me thinking my heathen thoughts about who I am and how I got to be here in this place.
You are surely a long way from Cheapside, girl...
There are other monks in the interior of this place and they sit in a circle and chant, and it is a most soothing sound. I close my eyes and let the sound and the smell of the incense take me, swaying,
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