Black Tiger Read Free

the hill tribes myself. Our itinerary took us to many parts of the country. We visited remote rural areas, making scheduled and spontaneous stops. We were on the road for the best part of two weeks. We roughed it, staying at temples and the homes of local dignitaries, even having roadside picnics at scenic spots, where the staff would set up trestle buffet tables under a silken canopy. We enjoyed feasts of noodles, fresh fruit, and refreshing iced tea. I quite enjoyed the break in routine, if the truth be told.
    I could see how delighted everyone was. My people flocked to see me. Some had trekked for days through hills or jungle. Their devotion was most gratifying. They prostrated themselves in the red dust, some gabbling in excitement, many weeping for joy. I felt their eager eyes devour me; their hearts imbibed my essence as though they sucked the marrow from my venerable bones. By the time our travels were nearing their end, I was weak from happiness and exhaustion.
    We had reached a remote jungle area in the north where the countryside was poor. Someone whispered, ‘The temple here has a novelty that may interest Your Majesty. They have an Akha novice.’
    This caught my attention at once, as I had never met a tame tribesman. It struck me that such a person could be useful in bringing other hill tribes to heel. Monks had lined up formally on the steps to greet us. My gaze was immediately caught by a figure looming in the background, larger than all the rest, in the white robes of an anagarika, a novice. The other monks dropped their eyes and stared respectfully at the ground, but this young man’s eyes glared into mine before they looked away. I sensed the wariness of my attendants, but I stepped forward nonetheless, and examined the anagarika. He towered over me, not moving a muscle under my scrutiny, his stillness almost intimidating. Despite his tribal features, the young man was not only exceptionally impressive of build, but also distinguished of bearing. He did not grovel. Again he stared directly into my own myopic eyes. I could not penetrate his gaze but sensed some creature lurking in the depths. In an unworthy flash of superstition, I felt I had glimpsed a demon, and for a moment I was sick with dread.
    ‘I think your studies have not yet freed you from ambition,’ I chided gently, recovering my poise. ‘Ambition chains us to the earth, like all desires.’
    ‘Majesty,’ he said, his yellow wolf’s eyes still devouring mine, ‘I have no ambition but to serve you. To die for you.’
    Suddenly I was sharply focused. ‘Well, one must hope the latter will not prove necessary,’ I said lightly. ‘But serve Us you shall.’
    January 21, 1962
    We were to return to Bangkok by helicopter. I had been looking forward to this flight after the exertions of the royal progress. As our helicopter took off with the usual deafening clatter, the Akha clapped his hands over his ears, shaking his head like a dog with a bee in its ear, but he soon adjusted and peered down at the green and red landscape, as though bidding it farewell.
    In Bangkok I handed the young tribesman over to the charge of one of my many uncles, Worawong. The Akha was not the first of my acquisitions to be entrusted to his care. My uncle muttered irritably through his moustache that there was no such thing as an educated tribesman. My uncle further commented on the need to knock the nonsense out of him.
    After distinguished basic training, Sya Dam was attached to the elite loyal Border Patrol Police, where a tame tribesman could certainly prove useful, but only if his allegiance were unshakeable. On the eve of his first assignment, I suggested my staff place him in Immigration, after which, if he proved loyal, to place him in Customs and Excise.
    My uncle suggested I put him in Overseas Liaison, where the incentives were almost irresistible. Indeed, each successive post offered unlimited temptations. Those who sought favours brought limousines laden