The Night at a Ancient Cham Temple

During Vietnam war, an American medic is taken to a hamlet near an ancient religious sexual rite Cham Temple.

Actual events inspire the following story, names of persons are changed. 

In the hot sweltering heat, twenty-nine-year-old Mark Stark walked down the winding jungle path and carefully followed the Vietnamese guide in front of him.  It was sometime in the summer weekend of 1969 when a hamlet chief sent word asking if Mark could come to care for his people. Early in the morning, he received instructions to drive his ambulance from the Chu Lai military base in Vietnam toward the direction of Tam Ky, an area heavily controlled by the Viet Cong. After an hour or so of driving, he came upon a checkpoint manned by a group of Vietnamese dressed in the typical black pajamas. An English speaking Vietnamese man directed Mark to drive down a  down a rough, bumpy dirt side road until it ended. Arriving at the road end, he was met by several Vietnamese with an English speaking guide who introduced himself as Mr.Hein, who assisted Mark in getting his medical gear from the ambulance. Mark was wondering what the hell was going on, his usual medical trips to roadside hamlets were never this secretive, but he knew enough not to ask too many questions. Whatever was to happen to him was in the hands of the Vietnamese and fate.

 Mark had worked for an American Construction company in Vietnam for the past five years, two years of which he lived in a Vietnamese camp carrying for three thousand Vietnamese. He was the only foreigner who lived and worked giving medical care in his small dispensary. He learned their culture, history, and aspirations, unlike the American military-political establishments. The Vietnamese had conducted jungle guerrilla war for one thousand years against the Chinese occupation until the Chinese withdrew. Using the same strategy they defeated the French at Dien Bein Phu in May of 1954, and now it was Americans, and its allies turn to be sucked in the swamp, fighting a competent and determined Viet Cong and North Vietnamese Army.  

 Vietnam existed since 2879 BC and was ravaged by civil wars and repeatedly attacked by China, Mongols, Chams, Dutch, French, Japan,  and now fighting the Americans. It is evident to Mark that the  American planners never studied the military history of Vietnam or tried to understand them, nor did they know the South Vietnamese and less of North Vietnamese. They failed to recognize the motivating factor of the North Vietnamese desire to unite South and North Vietnam again as one nation and one people against the corrupt Southern Vietnamese government. 

There seemed to exist an unwritten gentleman's agreement between the Mark and the Vietnamese. Sometime he would be warned of an impending Viet Cong attack and cautioned not to go off the base. Also, it was understood by Mark that he or his white ambulance with large red crosses would not be a target for attack. An indiscriminate fire such as rocket attacks and road bombs or Viet Cong infiltrating the base was another matter, as no protection is guaranteed.  The construction company realized the public relations benefits an didn't object to Mark going off the military complex to treat the Vietnamese in their hamlets. Hopefully, goodwill would extend to American workers building roads and bridges along the highway, and they would not be subject to attack.  

After a two-hour walk or so, Mark suffering from the oppressive heat and sweating arrived at the outskirts of the hamlet which nestled between several hills and crisscrossing rice paddies. Vietnamese rice farmers in black pajamas, their pant leggings pulled up above the knees, struggled in the rice paddy urging their water buffalos to pull the wooden plow through the black water mud.

 Large crater holes pot marked the green fields from old and recent air and artillery attacks, which disturbed the peaceful scenery.  The thumping and chopping sounds of several olive drab Huey army helicopters escorted by attack helicopters approached, causing the group to bolt off the pathway and find concealment under the jungle foliage.

 "Better safe than sorry, don't want to be a casualty of friendly fire," Mark thought, as the choppers passed overhead focusing on a distant target objective. 

Passing a small bamboo thatched hut and squawking chickens he saw an older woman with her fingers carefully pluck-head lice from a small child sitting on her lap. The older woman bites the head of the insect spits it out, then puts the body of the head lice into the hand of the child who then flips it into her mouth while the older woman searches the child's scalp for more lice.  

 

Nothing seemed to surprise Mark anymore as he had become accustomed to seeing strange customs and accepting the mysteries of Vietnam. He became very familiar with the habits and superstitions of the Vietnamese people, especially the various ethnic tribes and country people. Walking further into the hamlet a sizeable long brown Python snake draped across the steps and into the entrance and room of a thatched house. 

Mr. Hein saw the surprised look on Marks' face and said: " We keep them; they eat rats." Then giggling, Mr. Hein said: "One snake ate a baby during the night last month." 

Mark grimaced at the thought of the giant snake wrapping itself around the baby, slowly squeezing it to death than swallowing the baby whole, but he kept silent.

Arriving at the center of the hamlet, Mr. Hein told Mark to wait while he went to see the hamlet chief. Soon after that, a young man about 18 years old or so came to Mark and said in proper English: 

"My name is Nguyen; I am your interpreter and guide. Please don't worry; we have some visitors that came into the village this morning. They know about you, and you are safe. As long as you behave," Nguyen said, laughing.

 Marks survival instincts became acuter, as he realized that a Viet Cong team was in or near the hamlet. 

Mark set up under a thatched bamboo overhead sun shelter. About twenty Vietnamese young and old, rapidly gathered to be seen for treatment or to watch for entertainment. With Nguyen's help in translating, he treated the usual complaints, skin rashes, minor superficial skin scrapes, and boils,  conjunctivitis, and diarrhea. 

The hamlets chief brought his ten years old son complaining about the boy's face which Mark determined to be Tinea Versicolor, a fungus infection that caused spotting or patches of skin to become lighter in color than the surrounding skin. An easy case to treat Mark thought, and he should win many gratitude points from the hamlet chief. Mark took out a small plastic bottle of medical strength "Selsun" a creamy orange color solution and scrubbed it on the affected area and gave instructions to Nguyen to translate on how to apply the solution twice a day. Mark knew the affected skin would gradually appear normal in a few weeks.   

Suddenly the area cleared of people as four Vietnamese men clad in black pajama clothing and wearing handmade sandals made of old rubber truck tires. Two of the men were carrying AK-47 rifles. They were helping a comrade on a bamboo crutch hop over to Mark. They pointed to his right leg with tattered, ripped clothing which covered a three-inch laceration. Asking Nguyen to translate, they said the wound was about eight hours old, but how the injury was acquired was avoided, using common sense he didn't press the issue.  As the men hovered over Mark like vultures, he unwrapped the bamboo leaf bandage and cleaned off brown herb paste. He examined the wound and found the laceration depth was above the muscle fascia layer. Since it was relativity clean and it was within the twenty-four-hour window period for suturing, he could suture it. Using one of the four suture packs, Mark numbed the area with an injection of 2% Lidocaine with epinephrine, debrided tissue remnants, cleaned and checked for foreign bodies or shrapnel fragments and irrigated the wound. He then carefully sutured the wound closed and bandaged it, and provided ten days of antibiotics to prevent infection. Mark asked them to come back before he left in the morning so he could check the suture site for any inflammation.

As the Vietnamese in black were about to leave, one of them grabbed Marks white shirt collar abruptly pulling him up. 

Nguyen yelled "Dung Lai, Dung lai!" which meant "stop" in Vietnamese, An angry shouting match ensued between the  Viet Cong and Nguyen. Finally, the man quit tugging and let go of Marks white shirt, the men turned and walked back into the jungle angerly complaining. Mark looked at Nguyen, wondering what had happened. 

"They wanted to take you with them. I told them they couldn't; you volunteered to come here, are an honorable man, and protected by the hamlet and district."

 Mark wondered who was this eighteen-year-old boy who seemed to have the authority to stand up to and order the Viet Cong out of the village. His respect deepened as he realized Nguyen was his safety lifeline and counterpart and not the hamlet Cheif.

As Mark was finishing, Nguyen brought a young man to him who was missing the forefinger of his right hand. Nguyen, in disgust, whispered in Marks' ear that the boy had taken a big knife and cut off the finger because he did not want to fight for the Viet Cong or the South Vietnam Army. Mark removed the bamboo leaf bandage and found the wound covered with some ugly black paste ingrained with matted cotton. The distal half of the finger was missing with the remaining finger badly infected with developing gangrene.  Mark asked Nguyen to tell the boy that this required surgery with amputation of at least the finger bone and joint, and he would take the boy to a military hospital in the morning. 

Nguyen said, "He is lucky he is not shot, or his head put in a small bamboo cage for hungry rats to eat his face alive." 

  

When Mark was waiting in the hamlet square, a boy kept tugging on his trouser pants,  wanting his attention. Looking down, he saw a  boy who was waist-high, bright-eyed and who carried an infectious grin on his round face. 

Nguyen said, "his name is Phuoc, he is an orphan from a tribe who lives in North Vietnam, they are born with six toes on their feet. Sometimes he is mistreated."

 Mark looked at the boy's feet, and indeed there was a sixth toe attached to each foot, his feet appeared to resemble duck's feet. Phouc adopted Mark and shadowed him everywhere. While Mark was treating patients, Phouc would run to and fro to make sure Mark had hot tea to drink and stood by wiping the sweat off of Marks' forehead while he was treating patients. 

Phouc caused some embarrassment to the hamlet elders and Mark. As Mark prepared to leave the hamlet while saying his goodbyes, Phouc suddenly rushed Mark, wrapping his small arms and legs around Marks lower leg while wailing loudly and crying, screaming something in Vietnamese. Nguyen explained that Phuoc wants to go with him. After some discussion, the elders decided that the boy should go. With reluctance and some intimidation, and another problem to deal with,  Mark agreed. Hopefully, Mark could pay a small monthly stipend to a Vietnamese family to take Phouc in and care for him.

Later Nguyen guided Mark down a winding path to a hidden valley where stood the ruins of an ancient Cham religious temple partially hidden by jungle trees and bushes. The eight hundred old Cham temple made only of brick with a small one-room "womb" chamber which contained a linga. The exterior ordained with elaborate carvings; the temple top capped with a stone phallic symbol. Near the entrance to the temple chamber, stood a four-foot-tall carved artistic phallic stone post set on a stone pedestal. This temple, however, was smaller than the one located at Phan Rang which Mark visited two years before. 

Mark and Nguyen sat on a slight rise and silently admired the relaxing scene. Off to the right was a small freshwater pond in front of a shallow cave. Mark sensed that they are still in use. 

"This is religious fertility temple, to make a woman have a baby, men and woman would come to pray, sleep and have sex in the temple," Nguyen said smiling.

 Mark knew something of the phallic worship and ancient religious sex customs. The phallic symbol was of the Hindu God Lord Shiva, the third god in the triumvirate responsible for creation. It was the Hindu religious deity connected with the worship of Siva or Vishnu, in which the Cham people worshiped and yearly had sexual orgies at the temples during the procreation Shivaratri festival. Mark imagined the temples lighted with torches and candles and the Chams performing religious rituals. Virgin girls, their nude bodies glistening in the moonlight dancing gracefully to music into the state of ecstasy to please God, and making love.   

Nguyen brought Mark out of his trance by gently laying his hand on Marks' shoulder and said, "Come, we have a meeting to go to."

 Arriving back at the hamlet square, Mark and Nguyen greeted and bowed to the hamlet chief and its elders. They joined the circle of men and sat down opposite the hamlet chief and the hamlet elders. Mark observed most were elderly but lean and in good physical shape from working in the rice fields. Most are experienced jungle fighters who had fought against the Japanese and the French and perhaps were Viet Cong who resisted the South Vietnam government and Americans and its allies.  Mark judged that the men were in a joyful, relaxed mood, the serving of rice wine and beer along with food helped. Mark knew to drink slowly and sparingly; he had to maintain his mental alertness; he could not afford to make a social mistake or inadvertently insult someone. Nguyen helped him translate back and forth throughout the evening, sometimes everybody breaking out with laughter because of a wrong translation. 

"You use chopsticks like Vietnamese," the hamlet chief said. 

Marked thanked him and replied, "the Vietnamese taught me well."

 Then the worst thing happened, the old hamlet chief having to much rice wine, dropped a piece of juicy meat from his chopsticks which fell and rolled down staining his long grey beard. The embarrassed silence became deafening; everybody stiffened as they looked at Mark. Mark pretended not to have seen the hamlet chiefs mishap. He reached with his chopsticks and picked up the biggest juicy meat he could find, brought it up to his lips and awkwardly let it slip from his chopsticks. It dropped and splashed on his white shirt to the relief and delight of the Vietnamese. Mark apologized to his host for his clumsiness as he tried to wipe the mess off his shirt. He glanced at Nguyen, who nodded at him and smiled with approval. Finishing the meal,  Nguyen offered Mark a bamboo toothpick, which he used as he covered his mouth with his other hand. Mark thought it was strange the Vietnamese considered it appalling etiquette to expose one's teeth while using a toothpick. Meanwhile, naked children ran around or clung to their parents during the feast.  

One of the Vietnamese pointed to an old man and said in Vietnamese, which Nguyen translated, " Hein is seventy-two years old, and he is a good arm wrestler, he wants to arm wrestle you!"

 The alarm bells went off in Marks' head; he better be careful how he plays this out, he thought. The Vietnamese were shouting and laughing now, encouraging Mark to arm wrestle the older man, who eagerly and with a toothless smile, accepted the challenge. A table with stools was rapidly set up with Mark and the older man sitting across from each other. The old man face was weather-worn and crinkled, with his lean muscular body showed a life of working in the rice fields under the hot sun. Mark soon discovered the older man was stronger than he expected, but he would have to be careful about how he played the game. Social etiquette determined he could not win against the older man; he could not embarrass him in public, certainly not in his hamlet. Mark and the old man arm-wrestled back and forth with the crowd cheering them on. Mark let the older man bring his arm down then forced the older man's arm back then relaxed, letting his arm fall back. Mark gently forced the older man's arm nearly down to the tabletop. The Vietnamese were screaming and shouting, encouraging the older man. 

Nguyen leaned  over and with a panicky look on his face, whispered loudly into Marks' ear, "No No Mark!" 

Mark let his arm slowly give up where both hands were now verticle. It was time to let the older man have his honor. Mark let his arm slowly drop down,  making sure his arm trembled and his face showed agony, Mark gave up, almost falling off the chair. The Vietnamese erupted in a screaming cheer, applauding,  and congratulating the older man.

Mark knew he had played the game well, in fact, to well, he was lucky that the older man's arm didn't give out too soon. Mark had the Vietnamese worried at one point that the older man would lose face. If Mark miscalculated and won the match, it could lead to weighty repercussions for him. 

 Nguyen looked at Mark with respect and said, "Very good; you scared me! Did you let the older man win? Could you have won?"

 Mark smiled at Nguyen and said nothing. Mark knew that the old man named Hein would become village campfire folklore hero, who at the age of seventy defeated a young American "gwai lo" in an arm-wrestling contest.

Mark told Nguyen that his muscles ached and he was tired from the day's events and asked Nguyen to excuse himself from the gathering. Nguyen led him down the path to the Cham temple's water pool. Nguyen took off his pajama-like clothes, walked into the pool,  and yelled: "come on,  Mark, it feels good!" Mark stripped off his clothes and joined him. The fresh running water in the warm tropical heat felt refreshing and soothing and washed away their sweat and grime of the day.  They both looked up at the wonder of the glittering stars and bright full moon. Both exchanged thoughts about love and life in general. 

Nguyen said, "we are nothing but grains of sand on the world's beaches or like the many stars in the sky. Life is short, and when I die, it must be with honor. After my death, hopefully, in my next life, my soul will come back as a better person with a happy life." 

Mark knew that Nguyen was referring to the Buddist belief in reincarnation and replied: "Me too." 

  Nguyen said, "I dream that  North and South Vietnam be one country again, not divided in two. The Vietnamese are one people"! 

Mark nodded and understood, and knew not to question Nguyen political affiliations or ask Nguyen if he was Viet Cong.

 

The North Vietnamese and Viet Cong were fighting to make a divided Vietnam into one country, while the United States was divided and appeared to be breaking up.  

Mark wondered if his country would survive the turmoil: Martin Luther King and Robert Kenedy being assassinated within three months of each other in 1968. Military television news showed burning cities, riots,  and mass demonstrations almost weekly. At times Mark thought that he wouldn't have a country to return to, and he would be forgotten and hiding in the jungles of Vietnam. He shared none of these worries to Nguyen.       

"You are not like other Gwai Lo's, you treat the Vietnamese with respect and listen," Nguyen said.

 Mark did not take offense to the  Chinese term "gwai lo," which meant in English "ghost man or the  white devil." Mark knew this was the way Chinese pheasants tried to describe to their rulers the first time they saw strange white-faced Europeans with different colored beards and hair.  

Nguyen laughing said, "I think  God was going to make you Vietnamese, but he made a mistake and  put you into a  gwai lo's body!" Mark took that as a compliment and said, "yes and born on the other side of the world."

 Both became silent, and each pondered his good fortune or not, his future life and how death would come: on the battlefield or of old age in a warm bed.  

 Mark was surprised when several young men and girls appeared out of the moonlight and slipped quietly into the pool and then gently splashed water on each other while giggling and talking to each other.  Nguyen introduced "Hai," a striking, slender, tall Vietnamese girl with an angelic face with a pleasant warm smile. The Vietnamese youth playfully turned their attention to mark, splashing water on him, then gently touched and brushed up against him while excitedly chatting to each other.

"They all talk, saying you are very handsome," Nguyen said.

 Mark feeling somewhat self-conscious, replied, "Oh no, this gwai lo has a long nose and big ears!"

 Nguyen translated this into Vietnamese, and everybody laughed. Someone squeezed mark from behind and hung on to his shoulders; he hoped it was the girl, Hai. Others while giggling and talking joined together hugging or hanging on to mark, who became aroused, and then someone's hand explored his sex. 

Nguyen laughing said, "They say you are as big as that one"!

 Nguyen pointed to the erect artistic phallic stone post in front of the temple. Mark,  with embarrassment, raised his hand and pinched his small pinky finger and said,

 "No! Mine is this big!"  Everybody roared with laughter.  

Mark understood it was easier for Asian and Western cultures to cross the social-sexual norms, especially the Asians who had fewer sexual hang-ups than most westerners; most importantly the years of war with imminent death lifted or suspended sexual restraints. 

War, sex, and death; Mark himself once experienced sexual urges when facing death. He recalled the incoming rockets that bracketed him as he was running for cover and felt the concussion blasts and heat as he dived into a shallow pit for protection. Shaking with excitement, fear, and the exhilaration of being alive, he brushed off the rocks and dirt that covered him and was embarrassed to find that he had an erection. 

Mark now overstimulated, found respite when Nguyen said, "come with me you, will get a body massage," and led him to the nearby cave where he laid down on a bamboo mat cushioned by leaves.

 A boy lite candles than straddled Marks hips than kneaded his sore taut back and shoulder muscles, then the boy using the candles heated several glass cups and applied them to Marks back and shoulder muscles which he removed after twenty minutes with a sucking sound leaving reddish and dark blue round cup welts. 

Nguyen came back with a drink and gave it to mark,  saying, "this is a Chinese medicine; it will relax you and make you feel good." 

The hot syrup of herbs and bark tasted bitter and musty to mark who protested its taste as he drank it. Soon Mark fell into complete relaxation that he never experienced before;  his mind escaped all the fears and worries of war; he was at peace with himself; he was not of this world. 

Mark,  in his heightened sensory state, became aware that there were several soothing, gentle hands massaging him. Mark, for some reason, became on guard and tried to sit up. 

He heard Nguyen say, "relax, enjoy, tomorrow or next week,  you may meet death, live life now."

 Mark nodded and laid back down.  Someone asked him to turn over on his back, with one rubbing his chest and abdomen while someone else caressed his thighs and legs. As he became aroused,  a girl laid down,  placing her head on his chest and nuzzled his n*****s. It was Hai, the girl he admired in the pool.

 Waves of desires overcame Mark as Hai lay on top and fondled him. While other hands gently caressed him, Hai, took Mark to the state of ecstasy, they climaxed together, and then she fell exhausted on him. After resting Mark and Hai were given refreshing cups of that bitter Chinese medicine which flung them back into sexual awareness and desire. Hands caressed him in places that were never touched before.

Someone gave him pain by pinching him; he arched upward,  trying to meet her as if in combat, experiencing the ecstasy and agony of love, they consumed each other and collapsed. The night of passion was over. 

Someone with a familiar voice whispered, "Next life,  I will be your wife,  I will be your husband." Mark fell into an exhaustive deep sleep.

The sun was rising as Mark and Nguyen were bathing in the pool. Mark looked around for Hai. Nguyen looking at Mark said,

"Hai and the others are gone, they won't be back. It's best you forget about last night; keep it forever in your dreams."

 Mark looked around at the Cham temple and cave and knew its influence; he had somehow participated in a thousand-year-old rite.  

As Mark was preparing to leave the hamlet Chief,  and several elders approached him. Nguyen translated their appreciation for him taking care of his people and staying at their hamlet. 

Nguyen said, "they wish to give you a gift which will protect you in your life." 

Mark unwrapped the small bamboo leaf which contained a three-fourth inch round gold Buddha pendant for a neck chain. Mark felt guilty, how could the village afford this? He could not accept this gold Buddha piece! As he started to protest, 

Nguyen warned him by saying, "You cannot refuse, you insult the hamlet chief, do not refuse, accept it!" Mark gratefully accepted the gold Buddha piece, and from there on,  he wore around his neck as a protective medallion.

The black-dressed Viet Cong didn't show up for wound check as expected; they had moved toward the Laotian border for safety. But Phouc, the six-toe boy and the boy who chopped off his forefinger were ready to go back to the Chu Lai military base with Mark. They left with their guides for the march back to Marks ambulance and the drive to Chu Lai base before dusk as the night belonged to the armed Viet Cong. Nobody in their right mind would be out here without the firepower and plenty of it. 

Enemy rockets with a whistling noise slammed down as Mark hit the floor of his dispensary. As he looked out the open door, he heard a loud WHUMP and saw a "V" vortex compression wave with flying dirt and rocks followed by tingling and rattling of shrapnel tearing into the corrugated tin roof. Another rocket slammed into a nearby wooden buildings roof sending wood chunks flying upward.  Mark ran looking for cover before his dispensary was torn apart by a direct hit. He ran from the incoming enemy rockets which seem to chase him than they slammed down with an explosive WHUMP, showering him with dirt and rocks. He could hardly move his legs as if they were stuck in quicksand, screaming with fear he dove into a ditch.

 With a loud thud, he slammed down on to the hardwood bedroom floor and felt the pain in his hip as he realized he had dived out of his bed. Pulling himself up, he limped to the bathroom and rinsed his now aged face with cold water. Still, in a daze, he wondered about his dream of Hai and the Cham Temple. Was it a dream, did it happen? He then looked into the mirror and saw dangling from a chain, the gold Buddist medal given to him by the hamlet chief so many years ago in the jungles of Vietnam.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

You are made the story come alive. Men and women who served and worked in Vietnam. Had to be hard-skinned people. I liked the detailed and how you described each situation. A powerful story shared my friend. I will save and read again.
Coyote

[Clem]

Vic,

This is an excellent and intense story. Many, most of the medical terms went beyond my knowledge, but that didn’t matter. The end was very interesting. I liked it.

The boy with the finger caused me to reflect on the old MASH programs.

I’ll be reading more of your stories

Sing a special forces medic was no walk in the park. We you forced to keep your dog alive for a month in order to qualify?