Stories, sacrifice, and nipple-eating-crows

A couple of weeks ago I went to the Royal Palace Museum here in Luang Prabang – a monument to the monarchy that ruled Laos before the communist revolution in 1975 relocated the royal family to reeducation camps.

Mike visited this museum when he first arrived here solo in April and found it fascinating – particularly the room showcasing all the diplomatic gifts that were presented to the royal family. There are paintings in there, and china, silver, and boxes made of ivory. There is also the key to the city of Los Angeles, and (Mike’s favorite) several specks of moon-dust and a Laos flag that has been carried to the moon and back.

Personally, I wasn’t wowed by the moon-dust.

I wanted to be – after hearing about these particles of the moon several times as Mike recounted the story to various friends I was certainly eager to see them. But here’s something I bet you didn’t know: Dust from the moon looks an awful lot like dust here on earth.

When I reached this display I stared at these tiny pieces of moon for a while trying to get excited about them, but just couldn’t. I mean, it’s cool that people have figured out a way to get to the moon and all, but from what I understand there’s nothing going on up there.

No people. No plants. No life. No stories. Just wind, and dust. And whatever angle you view dust from, it still just looks like dust.

My favorite part of the day was not photographing the hydra decorating the steps of the temple at an angle that made it look like they were about to eat tourists (though that was a close second). No, my favorite part was the ten paintings and corresponding placards that told the Story of Prince Wetsantara.

Daniel Ades, backpacking here in 2006, tells the story thusly on his blog:

“When he was a young man, Prince Wetsantara, who I’ll henceforth refer to as W., gives away his white elephant while shopping in the market and people get very mad (the white elephant being a symbol of some important thing).

So, W’s old man, the king, sends the Prince into exile along with the Prince’s wife and two kids. Meanwhile, a scary-looking dude named Jajaka is looking for servants, and some ratty squealing hag tells him about W. and his kids.

One night, W’s wife has this dream that crows eat away her nipples. When she wakes up she tells W. to watch after the children very carefully while she is out foraging for food.

While she is out, Jajaka shows up and asks for W’s kids and he says, sure, take them.

A few days later, a blue Brahmin deity shows up and asks W if he can have his wife. (Now at this point, you’ve got to wonder what’s going through the wife’s head. I mean, she’s still hanging around after her husband gives away his elephant, princely inheritance, and oh, children. There have got to be some serious self-esteem issues going on there.) Anyway, W. says, sure, take her.

But then it turns out to be this big joke, cause as a reward for willingly giving up his wife, the Brahmin deity gives her back.

Meanwhile, Jajaka is taking the kids to work them to death when he stumbles upon W’s old hood. When the King sees his slightly older grandchildren, he recognizes them instantly (bravo, king) and is so overcome with joy that he buys them from Jajaka, forgives W. and invites him to return, and then immediately abdicates the throne so W. can take over.

Which is why the full title of the story, roughly translated, is “The Legend of Prince Wetsantara: The Rich Dickhead Who Gave Away All His Shit and Fell Ass Backwards Onto a Throne.”

Good story huh? It has holy elephants, child trafficking, nipple-eating-crows, a riches-to-rags-to-riches arc, and a take home lesson for women: Never marry royalty.

The slapstick version a-la-Ades is not, however, the only way to look at this story. Francesca and Henk-Yan, backpackers from 2008, tell it slightly differently (and much more circumspectly):

“Prince Wetsantara was considered the penultimate incarnation of Buddha. He had a habit of giving things away, a Buddhist way of gaining merit. The King finally disowned him when he gave away a sacred white elephant and he became a hermit. He continued his sacrificial habits, giving away his two children and finally even his wife. A God then appeared to give his wife back. He was reunited with his children and his parents, and was rewarded with a happy reign as King.”

Did the second version make you think any differently about the story? It did me. I still think Mr. Ades may be onto something, but the second version made me think more seriously about what assumptions and beliefs we hold around the notion of sacrifice.

Upon first reading it was easy for me to dismiss Prince Wetsantara as barbaric, controlling, and self-absorbed (and, believe me, the paintings that accompanied the story didn’t do anything to endear him to the reader). But the longer I spend thinking about it the more I ponder the parallels with the story of Abraham in the Bible – Abraham who laid his son Isaac upon the altar, prepared to sacrifice him, prepared to kill him.

That story has never been one of my favorites. Upon reading it I always wonder whether Isaac ever regained the slightest shred of genuine trust in his father, or God, and whether all that terrible, extreme, drama was really necessary. So I think it’s fair to say that I’ve always found the story of Abraham and Isaac more than a little disturbing. But not as disturbing as the story of Prince Wetsantara.

Why not?

Anyway, I’ve spent so long writing about Prince Wetsantara that I haven’t even gotten to my very favorite part of the story… the ten wishes granted to Prince Wetsantara’s mother in the preamble to the whole thing. So that’ll hold until next week.

Until then, may you have a good weekend. May your parents not give you away to passing strangers, and your spouse not give you away to gods. And may all nipples, everywhere, remain unmolested by crows. Amen.