Герман Садулаев - The Maya Pill

But the people are not given to know that. Eternal is the Khagan, no more need be said. There is one Khagan; and there can be no other. He rules for thousands upon thousands of years. The Khagan is not a private individual; he is an immortal figure, and his role in our land is akin to a heavenly duty.

Saat lay exhausted, covered in horseshit, in the tall steppeland grass. Lay there on his back after the day’s work was done, as was his custom, and stared up at the sky. Suddenly above him there appeared a multitude of faces, a throng of officials!

“Are you Saat, son of Nattukh, herdsman of horses?” they asked. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Even if you could find some woodcarvers to whittle changes into the plank of wood that served as your passport, still your face would give you away, anyone could tell who you were.

“The Great Bek has commanded that you be brought to the palace. It is an important matter of State!”

O how Saat wept! A matter of State—everyone knows what that means: shootings and hangings. Or beheadings, or drownings in the river, or boilings in a copper kettle, after the pulling out of veins and tearing off of fingernails.

Saat knew of no sins staining his soul. He had not wealth enough, nor power, for great sins. Nor even enough strength for a small sin, like flirting. But who is ever taken to the gallows for sinning? Sin is awash in silver and gold and has been from the beginnings of time. When they say that “virtue abhors a vacuum,” “an empty place must fill with holiness,” it’s just words; it must, in fact, not be filled; it’s the emptiness that makes it holy. But if there’s a place of execution, then there indeed “nature abhors a vacuum”: That emptiness must be filled. Verily, it will not stay empty long! And if not, then what need is there for law and rulers? Judges cast their ivory dice, and if they wind up with the number on your passport board, then you are designated the guilty man, the sinner. Lo, Saat’s number tumbled out onto the table. Such is divine providence!

So thought Saat.

The officials took him gently under the arms, bundled him in soft cloth, stuffed a soft piece of bread, no crust, into his mouth, laid him crosswise across a saddle, and bore him away from his home. Saat saw nothing, heard nothing, and made no sound, until the great bolts of the fortress gate thundered sevenfold and clattered open and he found himself standing, unswaddled, in a great hall. Saat had eaten the bread; no point in dying on an empty stomach.

Saat opened his eyes and beheld, ten paces before him, two golden thrones. The officials stepped back, forming two rows along the walls on either side of the great hall, and stood motionless, heads bowed.

On one of the thrones sat the Great Bek, white of face, black of hair, yellow of teeth, beaming a broad smile of welcome. The Great Bek’s robe was embroidered with peacocks in gold thread and adorned with rubies. A great belly had the Great Bek, it rested on his thighs. Must eat a lot, thought Saat. And why not? He holds all of Khazaria in his mouth, like a soft piece of bread!

The Great Bek arose from his shiny throne, descended from the podium, went down on his knees, and knelt on the floor in front of Saat. The officials along the walls immediately all dropped to their knees, and their weapons made a great clattering noise on the floor!

And the Great Bek spoke:

“Glory and honor to you, Saat, son of Nattukh! Following the Khazar custom, having duly meditated at the fire, having made offerings to our sorcerers and sacrifices to our gods, we, the Great Bek and Executive of Khazaria, have determined that there is no better Khagan for our realm than yourself. For you are of the generation of Ashin, son of the Khagan, uncle of the Khagan and brother of the Khagan, and you are the one to raise the golden kamcha and take your place on the throne of Ashin, at our left side.”

A great trembling overcame the son of Nattukh. But he managed to speak nonetheless: “Allow me, O Great Bek, defender of the peoples, sharp saber in the scabbard of Khazaria, heavenly light, Khagan’s equal, to speak a word in my defense! Spare my life, poor herdsman that I am, and order that my passport board be reread carefully, for this is all a simple misunderstanding! I am a widow’s son, a poor beggar! How could the blood of Ashin be flowing in me?”

The Great Bek laughed. “Do you know your own father, Saat, that you can speak thus?”

Saat was puzzled at this. “I never saw my father with my own eyes, no, but my mother spoke of the herdsman Nattukh. And my mother was an honorable woman, she only ever knew one man. And that man, her husband, died of the belly sickness when I still slumbered curled up in her womb. And my mother died too, when I was seven springs from birth. And I grew up thus, an orphan.”

“Know, Saat, that your father was the Khagan, and his brother before him was Khagan as well, and after him the son of his brother became the Khagan, and all of you are scions of the ancient Khan Ashin. But do not judge your father, for so it is ordained: The Khagan is taken from his family and they are told that he has died. The doctors carve a death certificate and return it to the family in place of a body, saying that the corpse has been requisitioned for medical study. They give the widow and orphans a copper coin, and this satisfies them. And the court’s legend keepers devise a different biography and a different genealogy, in accordance with legend.”

Saat raised his hands aloft and clutched his head. If the Great Bek wasn’t just making all of this up for his own amusement, then this was a great secret indeed! But Saat’s heart would not be still, and he spoke again:

“Great Bek! Sun in the night of history! How am I to govern a great realm, when I have not been taught? I have not known a noble education, I have not even been to trade school! Governing is a great and intricate science!”

“Who said you had to govern? To govern, issue judgment, gather tribute, make war—that is my, the Bek’s, task. You will sit by my side on this as yet empty throne, and you will keep silent. On your right I shall sit and receive ambassadors and warriors and give commands in your name. Such is our way! Yours it is to taste ripe fruits, to listen to marvelous melodies, and to visit the harem, where your wives await, seven tens of them, each one shaming the next with her beauty!”

Joy flooded over Saat, and he began to believe in his good fortune. But fear came as well: “Great Bek! I am not accustomed to such a life—how will I manage? For are not palaces the Khagan’s cradle, must he not from his infancy partake of the very best, so that it will be second nature to him? Will I not bring dishonor on myself? I have eaten only hard crusts and water from the streams and steppe grasses! My only loves were the horses! And how can I wear brocades, when my only garments have been of the coarsest cloth?”

The Great Bek grew solemn. And spoke. “It is not true that Khagans multiply in palaces. The Khagan must know how to braid a horse’s tail, must spend nights outside beneath the cold sky, must know hunger and need, must march against the enemy bearing only a sling and with no armor covering his chest. Otherwise how can he be a martyr for the Khazar land? For this is our way in Khazaria: There is the Great Bek with his warriors, and they are the zealous benefactors—they govern. And then there is the Khagan, he does not govern, but suffers day and night, prays and weeps for his homeland! And this sustains Khazaria. Rise, then, Khagan, and take your place on the shining throne! And pray that the heavens will not witness our lawlessness, and that misfortune will pass us by. And if misfortune does strike, then do not complain. For you will be the first to die; you will die a martyr’s death, washing away our sins with your tears, like salt rinsing a stain away from a white tablecloth! Such is your destiny!”