Young Writers Society

A/N: This is inspired by the poem Palanquin Bearers by Sarojini Naidu. In the middle, I have taken a quote from the poem as the song, so I don't take any credit for writing that.

Tonight, lays a woman on her death bed, comforted in her last moments of breath. By morn’, her soul will slip from her fingers limp grasp and ascend into the heavens. Yet, the woman smiles at her gathered subjects as they weep for her.

While frail and weak, the woman’s voice is filled with a sweet melody as she addresses her people. “Every day has its end, whether it is welcomed or dreaded. But one does not mourn for a lost day. And neither should you for death.”

She pauses, and the only sound that can be heard throughout the room is her rugged breathing. Those before her stand rigid for fear any movement would cause her delicate state to shatter and send her to her imminent fate. Thoughts of how it’s not her time – how it should not end now – fill their minds as they clutch these last few moments with her.

“I am not young. For years, death has haunted and shadowed me. Then I had feared what you do now, but it is not a curse. It is a blessing of enlightenment. This is a cause which should be celebrated as my new journey begins.”

Behind the drawn curtain, a ray of sunshine penetrates into the room, casting a silhouette of a bird sitting in the window. A wistful chirp sounds in the silence while the woman rests for another moment. Though now, the nobles and servants bow their heads at the wise words of their Empress.

“What I find most important is how I will be remembered. While I have accepted my time is limited, it has also settled within me that I did accomplish all I had hoped to. However, regret and remorse are too negative for this occasion. My last request is you remember me for what I did, not what I could’ve done.”

The song in her voice cracks and she erupts into a fit of coughs, her chest losing its steady rhythm. One man in the crowd dares to step forward. His first action is to part the drapes over the window, thus exposing a warm light from the setting sun. After recovering, the woman smiles again as he crouches down beside her bed.

He lifts her hand off her heart and kisses it gently. “My lady, you will always be remembered as our great ruler, bringing this kingdom out of its darkest of times.”

“Thank you, Ling,” she murmurs, closing her eyes. Ling nods and bows one last time, sneaking his hand away as her grasp weakens. But as her hand falls away, I still hold on as if my life depends on it. In a graceful movement, he moves his arm above his head and pulls me on to my feet.

“I can only give you two days, but that should be plenty of time.”

~*~ ~*~

Dawn light streaked across the sky in a brilliant flash as the sun reached up into the sky. While the night was chased away, the villagers met the day and soon began the final rush before the grand event. Even within the castle, servants rushed plates here and declarations there. Only the finest for the Empress, they all thought.

I, on the other hand, merely sat and observed the commotion from up in the tree branches, twirling cherry blossoms in my fingers. Spring brought these in hundreds, but their pink hue always soothed me and I never tired of their return. Seconds later a peasant boy sped under the tree, throwing petals into the air behind him.

Where he could be off to remained a mystery to me. Though, the boy intrigued me as I watched him sprint up the hill towards the castle walls. I knew for a fact the celebration would not begin for almost another hour, not until exactly thirty-five hours after the Empress's death. Still, he sprinted with such intensity that his scarf sailed behind him and his hat fought to fly into the wind.

A smile tugged at my lips at the sight of that boy of merely thirteen, and even though the calmness urged me to stay, I forced myself up. To even get my limbs to move was an effort as they wished to collapse, to give in, but now was not the time.

I closed my eyes and, with great effort, pushed myself off the ground. When I opened them once again, my eyes showed me a glorious hall lined in silver drapes. Right in the middle of all the people running across the hall stood the peasant boy, glancing around in confusion. They all paid him no mind, just as they did with me when I stepped through them.

His eyes darted from side to side as they grew wide in terror. Surely he would be late; they expected him when clocks struck seven and each second ticked away in his mind. Still, his feet were rooted to the spot. From afar, he and his family adored the castle of their kingdom, their Empress. Standing here now was overwhelming and the realization of the enormity of his task crashed upon him. I must carry my fallen Empress’s palanquin, he thought. Me, of all the men in the kingdom.

Fear grasped his heavy heart, but the moment I placed my hand on his shoulder, I could only feel warmth. A determined sense spread through his body as he clenched his fists. Faith, belief, hope all swirled into one. I pointed down the corridor looming over him and his feet set forward, almost leaving his mind behind.

At a much slower pace, I followed the boy again, watching everyone around me rushing by. Second after second, the number of servants and serfs roaming the halls dwindled to almost none. The festival would almost begin.

Finally, I am brought to the main room, with lavishing silks and carpets, piles of gold and jewels atop the rugs. With death came sorrow, but there is always resilience hiding under mourning’s mask. Her passing would not hinder this kingdom, only fueling their want to prevail, for her.

Casting a glance across the room, the boy stood at attention beside three other men. Each one towered over him, but he held himself high and bearing his red uniform with pride. The sloppily sewn scarf he had worn in the morning was cast aside and a thin, crimson cap replaced the top hat from before.

In front of the row stood three other men, nobles of the highest decree. Ling positioned himself beside the high priest, his posture an almost exact replicate of the boy’s. While he wore a red handkerchief in his suit pocket, the rest of his attire consisted of dull grey patchwork, hardly anything one would call suitable for the Empress’s final celebration, but as advisor to her Majesty, no one paid any heed.

The one who addressed the four men was the priest. His words were slow and carefully chosen, often ducking his head for a moment before he would continue. Much of his speech was mere jabber to my ears, unable to pick out particular words. Though his emotions rang true as his voice faltered and threatened to quit.

Finally, the boy’s eyes turned towards the third noble, the prince. As the priest choked back several new sobs, the prince cleared his throat. “Today, my brethren. Today is the day in which we honor my mother, she who has blessed our land with her excellence. Through her will and strength, we have all been united, weak and strong, rich and poor, under one nation: Besolia.

“Her spirit has brought the blessed rains of God upon our land, through prosperous crop and good fortune. In honor of her wishes, we rejoice her brilliance. A death of one does not mean all succumb to it. All persevere as she has shown us! Long live the Empress in our hearts and in our souls!”

The three men and the boy cheered, but the prince too had tears in his eyes. In a moment where the sun beat down intensely, he could feel only cold and dread. I pitied my son, as any caring mind would. Even Ling placed a comforting hand on the prince’s shoulder.

“Come, sir,” Ling urged. “The march should begin.”

With a wave of his hand, the prince dismissed the four men and they tromped off towards the grand hall. The nobles followed suit, but before he exited, Ling glanced over at me and grinned, dipping his head slightly. Then he disappeared through the hall.

Once again, my body felt heavy, struggling to move forward anymore. It continuously grew tired and weary, ready to move on. However, it was not time. Soon, but not yet.

I took a deep breath as I saw myself in the courtyard before the castle. Unlike in the room before, an atmosphere of celebration prevails as villagers cheer and sing and laugh. Some dance, some jump, some beam with joy, while others just clap along.

The road parts the two crowds to leave enough space for the palanquin to pass, the three men and the boy bearing it. Each takes slow steps in unison, even breathing as one unit, working to carry their Empress to glory. One foot forward, then next, followed with a deep exhale.

All the while, a song never leaves their lips. Even the peasants watching join along in singing:

“Lightly, O lightly we bear her along,

She sways like a flower in the wind of our song;

She skims like a bird on the foam of a stream,

She floats like a laugh from the lips of a dream.

Gaily, O gaily we glide and we sing,

We bear her along like a pearl on a string.”

The song went on for many verses as the whole kingdom appeared to sing for their fallen ruler. Every note, every word, of the melody sunk into the earth below and hit me like an embrace of love. The feeling shook me to the core so fiercely that I might’ve cried. Instead, I noticed the boy.

His breaths were heavy and shallow as he fought to stay standing to honor her as I had anticipated. Shaking from the effort, the boy struggled with each passing step like the death itself rested on his shoulders. Yet, the other men remained unfazed, causing him to worry more. Was he not worthy of this honor? Has God struck him down as an imposter?

The palanquin with the coffin soon reached me and I grabbed the outstretched pole that the boy gripped. A look of relief spread through his face when the burden lifted off of him, yet he still pushed up and sang as loud as his exhaustion allowed. Together, we marched.

For the time, my weariness had passed for this boy invigorated me, almost making me wish to be alive again to join him. That’s what he wanted more than anything: to meet his Empress. As they reached the prepared tomb and I slowly drifted away from him, the boy noticed a presence beside him, turning and almost seeing a faint silhouette of a bird perched on a woman’s shoulder, dressed in a fine silk gown and a crown on her head.

The boy smiled at me and bowed, happening to bend down with the others to place down the palanquin. As subjects flooded to the side to see their ruler one last time, I parted with the boy with a wave before turning to face Ling.

“Does he earn your blessing, my lady?”

“He does indeed for he has a very strong sense.”

“I thought so as well. Spirits need a sensitive one such as him. I will apprentice him well.”

“I am sure you will. Thank you, Death.”

Before my last words fell from my mouth, I imagine the stars gleaming in front of me. Weariness tugs at my eyes to finally let go and rejoin her. To become her again. The Empress is dead for finally it is time.