In a letter to co-writer William D. Howells in 1899, Mark Twain wrote: “The dog is a gentleman; I hope to go to his heaven, not man’s.” In another letter, this time to his friend Albert Bigelow Paine in 1910, he added: “Heaven goes by favor. If it went by merit, you would stay out and your dog would go in.” On the subject of cats, Carl Van Vechten wrote in his study of domestic cats, The Tiger in the House: “With a cat you stand on much the same footing that you stand with a fine and dignified friend; if you forfeit his respect and confidence the relationship suffers. The cat, it is well to remember, remains the friend of man because it pleases him to do so and not because he must.”
Ronald Duncan’s poem “The Horse,” written in 1954, showcases his reverence for the grace and excellence of the animal, asking: “Where in this wide world can man find nobility without pride, friendship without envy or beauty without vanity?” The impulse is not unlike Emily Dickinson’s in “Hope is the Thing with Feathers,” where she personifies hope as a bird, finding in a small creature the vessel for something vast.
Writers have long acknowledged the brilliance and companionship that animals offer us, despite every difference in species and form. In them, we find a soul that radiates something we can draw inspiration, hope, and friendship from.
The Princess of Himmapan, at its core, is a story about the importance of connection, of letting people in, and of the dangers of isolation in times of distress. Sabrina Victoria extends this theme to the relationship between humans and animals, and to the question of whether we value them as we value a human friend. King Paing, at the start, does not:
He’d never stayed with the animals much before — but, if there was one thing he never understood, it was Zeya’s love for his cat. It could barely speak, and all it did was wander the palace. Paing never cared much about animals apart from what they could provide humans — for transportation and food — but maybe they could offer so much more than that (81).
As the story progresses, King Paing finds himself changed. Even his subjects begin to notice where his attention has gone. As the weight of the kingdom bears down on him, he finds unexpected relief among the stable animals. It begins practically enough: the stable girl has left, and he takes it upon himself to fill her role. He replenishes the horses’ feed, nurses an infection on a goat’s leg, tends to the chickens, and watches them with a quiet attentiveness he had not known in himself before. Not long after, he finds himself longing for the simplicity of the stable over the complexity of the throne.
Paing soon begins sleeping in the stables and spending most of his days there in seclusion. He grows closest to Dodo, a dog he finds himself talking to and taking counsel from, even in the absence of any reply.
Dodo nodded and ate the rambutan without sparing one bite. King Paing leaned against the stable wall and wondered how long he could stay inside here before there was another problem he had to fix.
King Paing sighed. “I just wish he’d tell me what he’s doing. Or where he goes. I’m his father, after all.”
The animals shifted quietly around him, their warmth grounding him. He smiled (139).
There is a particular comfort in being heard, especially by a presence that cannot judge. Even in our most desolate moments, in grief, confusion, and the loss of control, we seek something that will simply acknowledge our pain without changing how it sees us. Animals offer that certainty. Their idea of us does not shift with our emotions.
She shut the stable door, and King Paing stared at it for a long moment before his knees gave way and he sank to the floor beside Dodo. His hands shook as he buried his face in the dog’s fur. He didn’t say a word. He just felt the grief take him captive again — just like it did years before (159).
Through King Paing and the animals he comes to love, The Princess of Himmapan reminds us that friendship is not confined to the bonds between people. It can be found in any heart that opens itself to another being and finds genuine value in their existence.
By Catherine Fangon