Victory City(7)

Hukka nodded his assent. “Build them,” he said.

Then they entered the city and, as night fell, found themselves at the dawn of time, and in the midst of the chaos which is the first condition of all new universes. By now many of their new progeny had fallen asleep, in the street, on the doorstep of the palace, in the shadow of the temple, everywhere. There was also a rank odor in the air, because hundreds of the citizens had fouled their garments. Those who were not asleep were like sleepwalkers, empty people with empty eyes, walking the streets like automata, buying fruit at the fruit stalls without knowing what they were putting in their baskets, or selling the fruits without knowing what they were called, or, at the stalls offering religious paraphernalia, buying and selling enamel eyes, pink and white with black irises, selling and buying these and many other trinkets to be used in the temple’s daily devotions, without knowing which deities liked to receive what offerings, or why. It was night now, but even in the darkness the sleepwalkers continued buying, selling, roaming the confused streets, and their glazed presences were even more alarming than the stinking sleepers.

The new king, Hukka, was dismayed at the condition of his subjects. “It looks like that witch has given us a kingdom of subhumans,” he cried. “These people are as brainless as cows, and they don’t even have udders to give us milk.”

Bukka, the more imaginative of the two brothers, put a consoling hand on Hukka’s shoulder. “Calm down,” he said. “Even human babies take some time to emerge from their mothers and start breathing air. And when they emerge they have no idea what to do, and so they cry, they laugh, they piss and shit, and they wait for their parents to take care of everything. I think what’s happening here is that our city is still in the process of being born, and all these people, including all the grown-ups, are babies right now, and we just have to hope that they grow up fast, because we don’t have mothers to care for them.”

“And if you’re right, what are we supposed to do with this half-born crowd?” Hukka wanted to know.

“We wait,” Bukka told him, having no better idea to offer. “This is the first lesson of your new kingship: patience. We must allow our new citizens—our new subjects—to become real, to grow into their newly created selves. Do they even know their names? Where do they think they came from? It’s a problem. Maybe they will change quickly. Maybe by the morning they will have become men and women, and we can talk about everything. Until then, there’s nothing to be done.”

The full moon burst out of the sky like a descending angel and bathed the new world in milky light. And on that moon-blessed night at the beginning of the beginning the Sangama brothers understood that the act of creation was only the first of many necessary acts, that even the powerful magic of the seeds could not provide everything that was needed. They themselves were exhausted, worn out by everything they had wrought, and so they made their way into the palace.

Here different rules seemed to apply. As they approached the arched gate into the first courtyard they saw a full complement of servitors standing before them like statues, equerries and grooms frozen beside their immobile horses, musicians on a stage leaning into their silent instruments, and any number of household servants and aides, dressed in such finery as was appropriate for those who served a king—cockaded turbans, brocaded coats, shoes that curled up at their pointed toes, necklaces, and rings. No sooner had Hukka and Bukka passed through the gate than the scene sprang to life, and all was bustle and hum. Courtiers rushed forward to escort them, and these were not the big babies of the city streets, but grown men and women, well-spoken and knowledgeable, and fully competent to carry out their duties. A flunky approached Hukka carrying a crown on a red velvet cushion, and Hukka set it happily on his head, noting that it was a perfect fit. He received the service of the palace staff as if it was his right and his due, but Bukka, walking a step or two behind him, had other thoughts. Looks like even the magic seeds have one rule for the rulers and another for the ruled, he reflected. But if the ruled continue to be unruly it won’t be easy to rule them.

The bedroom suites were so lavishly appointed that the question of who slept where was resolved without much discussion, and there were lords of the bedchamber to bring them their nightgowns and show them the wardrobes filled with royal garments appropriate to their stature. But they were too tired to take in much about their new home, or to be interested in concubines, and within moments they were both fast asleep.

In the morning things were different. “How is the city today?” Hukka asked the courtier who came into his bedroom to draw back the curtains. This individual turned and bowed deeply. “Perfect, as always, sire,” he replied. “The city thrives under Your Majesty’s rule, today and every day.”

Hukka and Bukka summoned horses and rode out to see the state of things for themselves. They were astonished to find a metropolis bustling about its business, thronged with adults behaving like grown-ups and children running around their feet as children should. It was as if everyone had lived here for years, as if the adults had been children there, and grown to adulthood, and married, and raised children of their own; as if they possessed memories and histories, and formed a long-established community, a city of love and death, tears and laughter, loyalty and betrayal, and everything else that human nature contains, everything that, when added together, adds up to the meaning of life, all conjured up out of nothing by the magic seeds. The noises of the city—street vendors, horses’ hooves, the clatter of carts, songs and arguments—filled the air. In the military cantonment a formidable army stood at the ready, awaiting its lords’ commands.