transtrion

The young boy woke from his slumber; he had learned to wake up by himself as early as it was. Every bone inside his body ached with one request: go back to sleep. He could not though; he had to make sure that everything was prepared for the Morning Prayer. His tasks demanded of him to get up even before some of the less pious of the city’s citizens went to bed. He did not mind however, being accepted into the service of the temple was a great honor. He quickly put on his robes and darted for the temple. He hoped he was not late, the last time he had been it had not ended great; he was determined not to let it happen again.

It was still dark but the moonlight enabled him to at least see the outline of old Angkor Wat and steer him in the right direction. As he ran up the stairs he reminded himself to make a little less noise in his hurry, some of the monks lived inside the temple he remembered and they would not be happy if they were woken before the 4 o’clock prayer. Passing through the entrance he looked up into the utter darkness of the dome above him. He could still hear the chirping of the bats that had taken residence there, their sound reminding him of his routine. Passing the dome and hearing the bats was only the starting point of many tasks he had to complete before the end of the hour. He started to light some torches, he could not possibly work without any light.

In the center there was a great statue of the mighty Buddha, the statue was dressed with fabrics of orange and gold and in front of it were the offerings of the days passed and an urn for the incense to stand in. To the sides there were deep pools of water, each pool having a staircase down to the water’s edge. He cleared the old incense sticks and created a smooth surface to put in the new ones. As he lit a lamp, necessary for lighting the incense during the prayer, he could do nothing but feel the fatigue of his limbs and the heaviness of his eyelids. He was only a boy after all and what he craved most was to play with his friend down in the city, maybe he could visit him later. The altar was ready for service now he needed to get some water from the pools so that the chief monk could wash before prayer.

He picked up a bucket from a room close by and walked slowly towards the pool to the right of the Buddha statue. He started walking down the steep stairs, it was slippery he felt with his bare feet. One more step until the water’s edge. Suddenly the sounds of the night went quiet and everything around him was dark and cold. He felt the bottom of the pool and pushed upwards with his legs. As he reached the surface he took a deep breath half filled with water. He could not swim. What was he supposed to do? Could he shout? No, he was not allowed to be in the water in the first place, he would get into too much trouble. Time passed as he, in vain, struggled to stay above the surface. His lungs screamed for air and he felt his robes weigh him down under water.

A hand grabbed his and with a powerful tug pulled him onto the stairs of the pool. He coughed and struggled to regain his lungs normal calm. He looked up at his rescuer that was incased in a blur and blinked his eyes to try to see him clearer. It was the grand master of the temple and despite of the little temple boy’s fears he did not seem angry, in fact he was even smiling. ‘I made the same mistake when I was a temple boy’, he said calmly, ‘the others will be angry, but I say we keep this between the two of us, huh?’ he winked with one of his eye’s. ‘Go on now and finish your tasks, prayer will start very soon.’ The grand master picked up the bucket from the water’s edge, filled it and before walking back to his quarters flashed our little temple boy a smile. The boy looked down at his drenched robes and then upwards. The sun had not yet risen above the horizon but its first light was now hitting the five towers of Angkor Wat and with that light the inscriptions on the walls came to life as they always did in the light of day.

In the very same spot, 800 years later, stood a young man. He was thinking. You could practically hear the gears turning inside his head. He had found a new passion, writing was more fun than he could ever have imagined, letting him express his creativeness in a whole new way. ‘It has to be good’, he thought, ‘real good’. Even as he stood in the now ruined and lifeless city at the heart of the old Angkor Empire he started to create the first line of his story: “The young boy woke from his slumber….”

//Victor