Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction Group 3 | Page 26

Rama Kushna continued: “I do not trust them! Remember how the Mongols tricked us decades ago? After all, they have many neighbours, why go to us? We must stop them!” There was agreement throughout the council. “What do you mean!” the advisor in red robes chirped loudly. “You can’t just stop them! They haven’t done anything to you yet!” There were some mild murmurs of agreement. “What? They have just swarmed our entire trading port with men. They have the potential to end all of mankind in our country!” Rama Kushna declared. “They promised to give you goods! Let’s wait for a while and see what’ll happen!” the advisor in red argued. “You can’t do that! They might suddenly pounce up on us without us noticing anytime!” Rama Kushna spat.“What do you think, Your Majesty?” The King stroked his thick beard and his pet parrot squeaked. He paused. “Well, if you put it that way...... you’re still wrong, Rama Kushna. We’ll host a banquet and consider trading.” (“trading, trading.”) Rama Kushna opened and closed his mouth repeatedly in rebuttal, but nothing came out. He rose, and darted his eyes around and concluded, “Tell me if you change your mind.” Then he limped out of the room, with his boring mojari bobbing slowly up and down as it hit the floor. The foreigners were informed about the banquet, and on the second day, Zheng He, the Grand Director, and his crew arrived at the palace. They were treated with an appetizing banquet of rather exotic foods. Waiters dressed in tight outfits scurried about, carrying plates and bowls of steaming curries and broths. Dancers with tighter outfits swayed and swung to the beat of a musician’s sitar. Most people from Calicut, including the King, couldn’t understand Arabic, so Rama Kushna was their translator. Via Ma Huan and Rama Kushna, the visitors and the people from Calicut commenced in fascinating conversations. “Dear King of Calicut, our Grand Director, Zheng He, has a letter to present to you from our emperor,” Ma Huan grandly announced. “I am honored,” the King droned, loosely wearing a smile. (“honored, honored,”) Zheng He’s buffed frame and admirable height towered over the King, and his beardless face trumped that of the King’s as well, especially his shiny eyes. There just seemed to be this aura around him. Zheng He read in Chinese in a grand voice, “You, O King, live beyond the confines of many seas. You, O King of your honorable nation, sit upon a throne occupied through successive generations by predecessors, all of whom have been styled respectful and obedient...” The letter was written in both Chinese and Arabic. “Can someone help me translate this letter?” the King said afterwards. “Your Majesty, allow me!” Rama Kushna whined and stretched out his palm like a plate towards the King. The King looked around desperately to see if there was other volunteers, but to his misfortune, there were none. He tossed the letter to Rama Kushna, who rasped out a translation. “This means that they want to take all your goods and assert dominance later over your men.” “What...!?!” (“what! wh-squawk!.eEeEeCh!”) “...did you say?!” He boomed, clutching his parrot’s neck tightly with his wrinkled hands. “They want to make Calicut a part of Ming empire and steal your treasures.”