A king finds himself seeking the company of his stable animals, finding more camaraderie with them than with anyone in his immediate family or circle of friends. A prince doubts his ability to serve his people, despite the counsel of his lover and his various newfound alliances. A warrior grows desperate for the recognition of the citizens she protects. Beyond the environmental hazards the people of Mandalay endure, one bears witness to the emotional toll their leaders and protectors carry in silence.
King Paing, Prince Zeya, and the Warrior Ratana each tread the responsibilities that come with their titles with hesitation. A loneliness veils the palace and its citizens, an ailment that comes with the despair of their present circumstances. At one moment, children play in the streets, chasing one another, tripping and giggling over their latest game. The adults go about their routines as the streets bustle with life. Then, in an instant, footsteps stampede toward the nearest shelter. Blotches of red appear on every patch of skin where rain has touched. The children who were laughing moments ago have gone frightened, screaming. The sky has turned against the people of Mandalay as acid rain begins to fall. Half the kingdom has gone down in ashes, and rambutans have become their sole sustenance.
Feelings of isolation come as easily as bad news to a failing kingdom like Mandalay. Despite desperate attempts to pull the people out of murky water, King Paing seeking the aid of neighboring kingdoms, Prince Zeya being granted access to magic seeds and water, Ratana protecting and tending to the people during every crisis, the gravity of their decisions weighs them down into a pit that molds itself around them, becoming a cage that prevents them from asking others to share the burden.
In turn, the king pursues the animals in his kingdom, treating them as a substitute for purpose. If he can care for them, he has proved himself worthy of his title. Prince Zeya pushes away the people he cares for, under the guise of protecting them from the truth and sparing them the stress of problems he believes they cannot bear. And Ratana begins to question her own abilities. As fickle and volatile as the weather in Mandalay, the feeling of being alone strikes without warning.
The Princess of Himmapan lays bare the reality of power. It is a thin, delicate thread hanging between misuse and progress, and the hands suspending it grow all the more vulnerable to distraction and isolation. This is evident not only in the three central characters but also in Queen Phailin, whose decisions, framed as acts of betterment for her own kingdom of Ayutthaya, lead her to issue commands that are harsh and unjustifiable.
At their tensest moments, the characters break under the weight of decisions that could crush not only themselves but also the people who depend on them.
At its core, The Princess of Himmapan is a story about trying, about treading through darkness with only your arms outstretched before you. But as the narrative unfolds, one finds that responsibility is a boulder that rolls with far greater ease when pushed uphill by more than one pair of hands. We watch good people make desperate decisions out of a selfless desire to see those they love improve. We watch them learn to ask for help and come to understand that doing so does not diminish their worthiness to lead.
"Your love could hold up the world." These are King Paing's words of comfort to Prince Zeya, spoken after the prince's tears, brought on by the overwhelming state of Mandalay, deepen into hopelessness. But the same words could be said of the king himself, of Ratana, and of every character who stepped outside their own safety to save something greater than themselves.
The characters not only work to save Mandalay from its gradual decay but also salvage and strengthen their relationships with one another before those bonds become something estranged and beyond repair. The instinct to face the world alone often stems from fear of rejection and judgment. But the right company makes it easier to ask for counsel. The Princess of Himmapan proves that letting people in, allowing yourself to feel the support and love of those around you, and accepting help in return, is the key to survival. One person cannot build a kingdom alone. And one person cannot save and protect it alone either.
By Catherine Fangon