Empress Orchid - Anchee Min [51]
“Why does each god sit in his own booth?” I asked.
“Because they deserve attention for who they are,” the monk replied. “For example, the venerable Tsongkapa was the founding father of Yellow Sect Buddhism. He is the one who sits on a golden chair against that wall with a hundred small copies of himself. Beneath his feet is a Buddhist sutra in Manchu.”
My eyes went to the deep end of the hall where a large vertical silk painting was on display. It was a portrait of Emperor Chien Lung in a Buddhist robe. I asked the monk if Chien Lung, my grandfather-in-law, had been a believer. The monk informed me that not only was he a devoted Buddhist, he was also an adept in the Mee Tsung religion, which originally was a branch of Buddhism. “His Majesty spoke Tibetan and read sutras in the Tibetan language as well,” the monk said, and went back to tapping his mooyu.
I was exhausted. Now I understood why the other concubines wouldn’t come.
The monk rose from his chanting mat and said that it was time to move on. I followed him to an altar in an open court. He led me to kneel in front of a block of marble and started chanting again.
It was noon and the sun beat directly on my back. I prayed for the ceremony to be over.
According to An-te-hai, this should have been the last act. The monk was beside me on his knees, and his beard was touching the ground. After three deep bows he got up. He opened a manuscript of recorded deeds and began to read, in Mandarin, the names of ancestors followed by descriptions of their lives. The descriptions were almost uniform, all praise and no criticism. Words like “virtue” and “honor” were in every paragraph. The monk told me to knock my forehead on the ground five times for every new name. I followed his instructions.
The names on the monk’s list seemed endless and my forehead was becoming raw. The strength to continue came only from my understanding that the end was near.
But I was wrong.
The monk continued his reading. My nose was a few inches from his feet, and I could see their calluses. My forehead must be bleeding by now, I thought. I bit my lip. Finally he was done with his list, but then he said that I had to repeat the same ceremony in the Manchu language.
I prayed that An-te-hai would rescue me. Where was he?
The monk had begun in Manchu. He droned on, and I could understand nothing except for the names of the emperors. Unconsciousness was about to claim me when I saw An-te-hai. He rushed toward me and helped me rise.
“I am sorry, my lady. I didn’t know that this monk would keep reading until his victim passed out. I thought my brothers were joking when they told me about him.”
“May we leave now?” I asked.
“I am afraid not, my lady. Your good deed will not be recorded unless it is completed properly.”
“I shall not survive this!”
“Don’t worry,” An-te-hai whispered. “I have just offered a handsome bribe. He assured me that the rest of the ceremony will take little time.”
Stone gods lined the edge of the site, an open space with one wall to the west. A fifty-foot flagpole stood to the southeast. On top of the pole was a bird feeder. Birds were said to deliver the Emperor’s messages to the spirits. There was a strange object hanging on the wall. As I walked closer I was able to tell that it was a dust-colored cotton bag.
“The bag belonged to the dynasty’s founding father, King Nurhachi,” the senior monk explained. “Inside are the bones of the king’s father and grandfather. Nurhachi carried them back to the tribe to be buried after the two men were slaughtered by the enemy.”
The monk clapped his hands. Two women whose faces were caked with mud appeared. “The witches of the Shaman tribes,” the monk introduced. The women’s robes were thick with patterns of black spiders. Their