“Zhekani”

 

TOP SECRET

 

Statement of Purpose

 

          This reports on my exploratory mission to make “neutral” overtures.  The recent Communist takeover of mainland China and incursions into Tibet have increased the strategic importance of this remote kingdom.  Traditionally it has been shielded from invasion and foreign influence by the surrounding mountains but as technology makes airpower effective no matter what the terrain its history of isolation and neutrality may not last forever.

 

 

Impressions

 

          I incorporate here by reference the geographical, demographic, economic and political digest appended to this report, compiled for my use by the Research Department prior to departure.

 

          What you have heard is true: at age 18 the princess is relieved of her clothing in a private ceremony and lives her days in total nudity until she marries.  But with the unexpected death of the King, whose Queen predeceased him, the young lady, being an only child, ascended the throne as monarch and it fell to her to exercise the duties of that ancient office which cannot be done in seclusion.  Gradually over the space of five years she has grown into the role and is as active as her father was.  As for marriage, I understand one had been arranged with a prince in a neighboring country but for vague diplomatic reasons was canceled, or at least put off.  We assume it was tied to a proposed alliance which has also been shelved.

 

          Presenting my credentials was a scene I cannot forget.  I have done this before and the receiving country usually makes the setting as imposing and ostentatious as possible.  This was imposing in a different way.  Struggling to walk with an even gait in my constricting ceremonial grenadier-like suit with its ridiculous Napoleonic hat and too-small boots, I was escorted into a large room, where I was left alone with a throne at the other end.  It looked like a big tuft of white and pink cotton candy with a caramel bon-bon in the middle.  As my footsteps grew nearer I saw that this country’s unclothed monarch was sitting with her arms on the arms of what looked like a big fluffy chair, her bare feet flat on the platform, knees apparently a calculated distance apart.  As I approached she stood up.

 

          I bowed and forced myself to look at her face.

 

          She accepted my book and nodded.  “I welcome you to our country and to my court.  My best wishes to your Head of State.”  It was strange to hear these standard ceremonial words delivered in such a young though even-tempered voice.  She opened the book to the salutation, then glanced at my suddenly shamed face.  With a tolerant, regal smile she said, “You may gaze upon me.  My body belongs to my people, and is a symbol of our nation.  No part of me is to be hidden.”  I found out later that these were standard “words of forgiveness” extended to discomfited foreigners.

 

          As she read the credentials my eyes could not be blamed for roaming, from her braided hair and beautiful face all the way down to her carefully clipped toenails.  Her body can only be called perfect -- slim, yet slightly muscled, evenly bronzed, firm medium-sized breasts over a concave, toned tummy.  Her hair, both on her head and on her vulva, is lush and black.

 

          She smiled as she caught my regard again, then signed the book in a graceful left-handed script.  As per the custom I kept facing her as I retreated, feeling privileged not only to meet her but to take in her beauty.

 

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          This is a constitutional monarchy, somewhat on the British model, though with a more involved monarch.  There is a six-member Cabinet, including a Prime Minister, and they meet with her monthly.  The monarch can suggest or urge, or object, and her voice carries some weight, though she can be overruled.  In turn she technically can overrule the Cabinet, but it would be disruptive to do so and it never happens.  This system has been in place since 1632, and like most such longstanding methods of governance there are nuances not readily comprehended by an outsider.

 

          To my surprise she allowed me to attend a meeting, though only after she had obtained assurances no sensitive business would be discussed.  It is held in a room in the Palace dedicated to that purpose.  The six ministers, all male except for the Keeper of the Royal Household, sit in special ceremonial dress at a long mahogany table, which she is perched on top of, cross-legged on a cushion, I suppose so that she is always elevated above them.  For these occasions she wears a small tiara -- the only thing she ever “wears”.  She calls the meeting to order but it is the Prime Minister who runs it.  The secretary, a primly dressed woman, sits next to him taking the minutes.

 

          The first order of business at this meeting was the placing of Her Highness’s likeness on currency.  Apparently this item had been put off and put off at her request but this time the Cabinet was united in addressing it.  Despite what they took as her respect for her father’s memory, five years into her reign it is imperative that his likeness, in his white Navy suit, be finally replaced with her own.  They want to fit in, to the extent possible, with the “family of nations” and so a study of the world’s currency had been done, with the help of interns at the National University.  The Minister of Culture reported on it.  He noted that though a nude figure has been displayed in other currencies, it has typically been from classical art, never of a real person, let alone a living one.  With this in mind some thought had to be given to the presentation.  The Minister of Finance suggested that the extent of royal exposure be commensurate with the denomination, with only the monarch’s head and bare shoulders on the basic unit, progressing to full-body frontal on the highest, perhaps ascending proudly, legs widely spread with the upper foot reaching up onto a stone, with a torch in her hand.  This idea was accepted by the Ministers unanimously.  Fortunately inflation has been kept under control; in the new series the highest denomination would still be 10,000.

 

          Her Highness sat upright on her cushion throne, silent and expressionless, as the practicalities were hashed out.  Images on currency are best generated, via the silkscreen method, from photographs.  The Minister of Commerce noted that with no in-country expertise available a team of photographers would have to be brought in internationally.  They decided to splurge a little and find someone from the motion picture establishment in California.  The Minister of State was tasked with sending out feelers.  They further agreed that the staging be in front of the Palace and it be announced so that the populace can see the “shoot”.  Despite the quasi-divine nature of the monarchy, inherited from ancient times, it seems an unspoken rule that it be transparent as possible so as to give the people a sense of ownership.  Indeed the whole country seems to be fond of Her Highness (as they were of her father) and because of her youth they think of her almost possessively, a high-achieving daughter they are proud of.

 

          The Minister of Finance then proposed that some of the resulting images be put on postage.  This idea was put to spirited but respectful debate; as with many small countries stamps, sold to international collectors, are a considerable source of revenue.  It was agreed contrariwise that a different genre of photos, with a different setting, would be more appropriate and marketable.  Possible poses were discussed, casual, formal, intimate.  All through this the monarch registered no emotion.  Finally the Prime Minister, seeing that more thought was needed, tabled the discussion for next time.

 

          The next matter of business was introduced by Her Highness herself, suggesting reconsideration of the scuppered marriage to Prince Haji.  There was some tolerant exasperation; apparently she brings this up every meeting.  The Minister of State once again explained that the Prince’s parents were still upset about “the Neerim incident”, apparently a perceived insult at a formal banquet.  Her Highness thereupon said she had been present and it seemed to her a misunderstanding that she could clear up.  She was reminded that it is not proper for the monarch to directly approach the people involved.  The Minister of State, trying to sound hopeful, said he would look into it again.  I got the feeling that matters much more important to this country were actually at stake, perhaps too sensitive to be discussed with me present.

 

          Next the Keeper of the Royal Household, a middle-aged woman whose name is Shinn-te, reported that the “maintenance regimen” was going well but more time was needed to accommodate the lengthening sessions.  I had no idea what this meant but this caused Her Highness to gaze upward at the ceiling.  They went quickly onto the next on the agenda, which involved construction of a railway.  Big, floppy folios were spread on the table laying out what I assumed were the budgets and the financing and work timelines.  After some hesitation the monarch came off the cushion to inspect them; they were too big to hand up to her.  She somehow maintained a regal bearing as she crawled forward on all fours, to the end of the table, moving the big sheets around with her hands, asking questions.  She knew the project intimately, and obviously has quite a head for figures, asking why some entries had been increased, some decreased.  She suggested combining two capitalization accounts and they agreed.  All the time her breasts, pointing downward, jiggled with her motions and her words.  Her widely-spread toes flexed and unflexed, her knees well parted so as to stabilize her temporary positioning.  Once again I noticed that it is not considered improper to look at the rest of her body and not just her face.  In a way her whole body is her “crown”, every part of it as regal as every other part.  While she was engaged with the Minister of Finance, the Minister of State and the P.M. (who at that point were behind her) glanced up almost conversationally at the royal vulva and anus.

 

          The next item was brought forward and she positioned herself back up on the cushion.  Several other matters were discussed, including the one topic for which she is apparently allowed executive authority, her campaign to discourage and ultimately eradicate the use of tobacco.  Her father’s fatal heart attack, at age 54, was ascribed to that addiction, and she gave a detailed but concise report on the well-thought-out project organization and immediate goals.  In general I was impressed with the efficiency of the meeting.  No long speeches were made and everyone had fingertip knowledge of the material.  I found out later that this was at the insistence of Her Highness.  With her father the meetings were longer and meandering (and smoke-filled, something that is now forbidden in the Palace).  The last item was the reading of the annual salutation from the British Governor of Singapore, which her father, attached to the Royal Navy, had assisted in liberating in 1945, earning the gratitude of all the allies, British, American, French, and Soviet.

 

          At the end the P.M. looked up at Her Highness, and she concluded the meeting with the royal benediction, which is to form a circle over her head, like a ballerina.  They all looked at her breasts which rose with the upraising of her arms, her nipples pointing forward and slightly upward as if in salute to the deities.  She said, “Zhekani.”  Which means, “May Our Good Fortune Continue”.  The rest repeated the word in unison.

 

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          With our country not yet having formal relations, not even preliminarily, we have no embassy or consulate, so I was put up at the Palace.  As I ate with staff and other visitors in the main dining room, I couldn’t help noticing how good the food was.  I understand Her Highness lives on a vegan diet and the menu is vegan too.  The dishes are not bland, as expected, nor overpowered with spices.  Suddenly I heard an approaching slapping of bare feet on the marble floor and then all rose as she ran in, sweating.  She was on her daily jog, breasts bouncing, followed by three ladies-in-waiting in track suits and sneakers.  With a royal smile she waved to everyone and darted sharply into the next hallway which leads to the rear lawn.

 

          Her body, being always exposed, seems to be thought of as a national treasure, and as such very good care is taken of it.  I’m told she is exercised two hours a day, not only jogging but weight lifting, and swimming in that long inlaid pool which is one of the things that makes the Palace such an imposing sight as one is driven up to it.  I saw her dive into it one afternoon, with a small crowd looking on, flanked by her ladies in their modest one-piece suits.  They were trained athletes before being selected; even so, she managed to keep up with what looked to me like an Olympic pace, swimming all the way to the end and after an elegant flip-turn swimming back.

 

          Her skin, of course, has to be especially cared for.  There is not much cloud cover in these mountains so public outings usually involve several hours in the sun, where she is shielded by a parasol.  But on the Palace roof she suns an hour a day, after being rubbed with lotion over every inch.  As a result she has developed a sturdy protective tan which almost seems to glow.  Her nipples seem to be always erect, with areolas browned darkly by the sun.  Her pubic hair is a little fluffed out, as if groomed that way, though this is probably due to constant exposure to the open air.

 

          She also has developed resistance to the elements.  Depending on the occasion she has been called on to dive into an icy stream, spend an hour on a hillside in shimmering heat, shuffle barefoot through the snow on a mountain trail.  The annual Review of the Soldiers is probably the most trying, where she stands alone on top of the Palace Pavilion, where it is always windy, as troops pass by, something which can take over an hour.  All while presiding in her royal nudity.

 

          She continues her father’s tradition of traveling several times a month, to every corner of her kingdom, despite the steep slopes and questionable roads.  He always wore his white Navy dress uniform, well-earned during the late War, to make himself visible to faraway onlookers.  With her of course visibility comes naturally.  Her nudity stands out all the more because this is a well-clothed culture with a strong sense of modesty.  Women as well as men are covered head to foot, men in functional tunics that seem to pay tribute to the severe robes of the monks, women in long flowing gowns, and headdresses on formal occasions.  It is not going too far to say that exposure of the body is a royal prerogative.  Equally I am impressed by how successfully she has adapted to the role that fate has thrust upon her, quite different from the protected palace life she was raised for.  She knew she was to be naked from age 18, but only for a short time and only in seclusion, seen only by her (female) attendants.  Yet as monarch she seems perfectly untroubled by being always naked in public.

 

          The Minister of State let me leaf through a large binder containing much not widely known information on this remote country.  For my present purpose I note the many photos therein of the smiling monarch posing with governmental staff, business people, sports teams, schoolchildren, university students, at graduation at the National University giving the traditional monarch’s speech, and with nuns, monks, women’s and men’s clubs, and even with a class of art students for whom she posed, a great honor for them.  She smiles along with the art students in their university uniforms as they hold up their charcoal renditions of her, done with varying degrees of proficiency.

 

          You will be interested that one photo was of last year’s formal banquet in honor of an envoy from Red China.  I do not share the suspicion that this was a prelude to formal diplomatic relations.  It was simply a good idea to show respect for such a powerful neighbor.  From what I understand the Chinese more or less invited themselves.  Amusingly, there is a partition between the guest of honor and Her Highness, such that they can converse face to face without him having to view her nudity.  What a complicated gavotte, both literal and diplomatic, led up to that moment!  I tried to confirm the rumor that they refused the Chinese request that she be clothed for the occasion, but got nowhere.  As you know I could not be seen to be overly inquisitive.

 

          I was allowed a short session in which to ask her questions.  Again I found myself standing in front of her throne, this time with the P.M. to the side.  With a gentle, “official” smile she answered briefly but politely.

 

          “Aside from Cabinet meetings, do you ever wear a crown?”

 

          “It was placed on my head by Lama Hentraka at my coronation. Also I wear it once a year when I open the Chamber of Elders (their Parliament).  Otherwise my body is my crown.”  Which, as I’ve noted, is very apparent.

 

          “So at coronation you became Queen Timtup?”  I figured it was permissible to use her birth name.

 

          “I am still Princess until I marry and can be clothed.  At that time” -- here she paused -- “I will be Queen.  And still the monarch, with my husband assisting.”

 

          “There are no current plans for marriage.  Surely you will not be -- like this -- indefinitely?”

 

          “We are taking it year by year.  Obviously the bloodline has to be continued.”

 

          “Have you ever been requested, on any occasion, to wear clothes?”

 

          The P.M. answered this time, gruffly.  “It would be perceived as a grave insult.”  She seemed to pause, then chimed in.  “No such request could ever be honored.”  Which did not really answer my question.

 

          My last was, “Is there any -- monarchical message you wish to convey to those to whom I report?”

 

          The following words seemed especially well rehearsed.  “Though in the present circumstances no alliance or arrangement, political or otherwise, can be made, we welcome your friendship and your envoy will always be received with the same hospitality.”

 

          Finally I said, in words carefully composed, “I am scheduled to leave after your Review of the Soldiers.  I am grateful for your hospitality, the warm welcome extended to me personally by you, your ministers and your people . . . and I especially enjoyed the type of cuisine served here at the Palace, which might succeed in finally weaning me off hamburgers.”

 

          For once I saw a spontaneous smile, this time erupting into a girlish, low-throated giggle.  Her breasts shook, and in this moment of relaxation she brought one foot up to cross over her knee, flexing her carefully pedicured toes.  The P.M. smiled broadly and perhaps with relief.

 

          Then she cleared her throat, and after a brief eye-flick at the P.M., she said, “At the Review of the Soldiers you may join me on the reviewing stand.”  I have become good at reading diplomatic poker faces and, glancing over at the P.M.’s reaction, I could tell that he had objected to this invitation, but she extended it anyway.  Some things, indeed, the monarch can decide for herself.  I expressed my gratitude with a deep bow.

 

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          I was invited on one of her tours, to visit the railway construction already mentioned, specifically the digging of a right-of-way alongside a mountain.  This was heavy blasting and excavating work, and the smoke plus heat was oppressive.  Nevertheless she graciously greeted the workmen who were obviously thrilled to meet her and touch her hand.  It is apparently not forbidden here, as it is elsewhere, to touch the monarch’s person, though of course she was initiating all the touching.  To do this she departed from the carpet set in front of her and climbed fearlessly and almost casually over a mound of rocks, still upright as if balancing a pile of books on her head.  Her feet are so tough by now that it seemed no strain.  She accepted a hard hat from one of the sweating miners and though she could not put it on she posed next to him, holding the hat up as if it was an extra crown she was proud to own.

 

          It was, as I say, an uncomfortable journey.  Like everyone else I was glad to get back to the Palace and shower myself off.  The rooms here, though small and not equipped with modern conveniences like electricity or telephones, are quaint and comfortable.  Despite the culture’s general disapproval of alcohol there is a well-stocked bar in an alcove hidden next to the front hall, one assumes for the convenience of foreigners.  I chatted with the bartender, who is originally from Siam, and a few visiting businessmen.  There was some heavy drinking going on, perhaps to compensate for not being allowed to smoke, and I confined my conversation to the less inebriated.  A banker from London was there, involved with the railway project.  As he put it, “These people are small-timers but unusually honest and punctilious.”  The size of the account did not really warrant his traveling such a distance but he enjoyed visiting here -- no doubt in large part because of the young and attractive monarch who is always nude.  Such a fact, as noted, is not widely known, and perhaps it is best that way.  Perhaps that was another reason for her hesitation as to putting her image on currency and stamps.

​

          I ventured to the banker that her nudity might be taken in the wrong way, at least by Westerners.  He agreed (I share that concern).  A scholar from Burma, who was in the country to make notes of local Buddhist shrines, told me that in the minds of the people here her naked body has become a symbol of her country and is not thought of in a sexual way.  Rather, her lack of clothing denotes purity and honesty (as in “the naked truth”); also a freedom from assertions of status which clothes unavoidably signify.  We were joined by an American businessman resident in Japan.  Lubricated a bit by alcohol, they speculated what her own opinions might be as to the clothes-wearing world she stands apart from.  Possibly she sees the wearing of clothes as a human weakness that must be gently tolerated.  She seems careful not to insinuate that she is superior in her nudity, if that is what she really thinks, though they doubted it.  All royalty are required to act and speak a certain way in public, and she seems comfortable with her role (as opposed to, say, certain British monarchs we remember).  In fact according to those in the Palace who deal with her outside the public eye, she is as reserved in private as she is in public, modest and soft-spoken to the point of being actually shy.  When not called upon for her duties she tends to stay in her suite.  She prays in private every night to her personal shrine (during which she is not to be disturbed).  She has had a typical “classical” education, having studied abroad as a child, knows several languages, and reads a lot, being a curious person.  Her main interest and concern seems to be the physical well-being of her people; she has studied widely in the fields of nutrition and diet, just as Emperor Hirohito has an interest in marine biology.  Perhaps, like him, she will write a scholarly paper someday.

 

          Later that night when I was getting ready for bed I heard gentle splashing outside.  I was fairly close to the pool, being on the second floor, and I saw Her Highness swimming there, alone, the moonlight hitting her sleek wetness as she dove and surfaced like a dolphin and with a dolphin’s grace and agility.  In school, boys used to swim naked (they don’t any more) and I remember how good it felt.  I was close enough to see, for the second time, a spontaneous smile, as she enjoyed a pleasure she no doubt deserved.

 

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Postscript

 

          The above, completed my last night in the Palace, is being sent by regular channels without the “Top Secret” designation, because failing to send some kind of report would arouse suspicion.  What follows is added to the Top Secret version for reasons that will become evident.

​

          As noted, I was invited to share the reviewing stand with Her Highness atop the Palace Pavilion at the Review of the Soldiers.  Of course I was not on the top stand, but one a little lower to the side.  We were about ten feet apart and glanced at each other as the troops filed by, far below.  There was no one up there but us two.  For someone of my humble standing this was an unexpected honor.

 

          It may be called “Review of the Soldiers” but it is mostly not soldiers.  The armed forces of this country are just a few hundred.  What she was “reviewing” seemed to consist of religious orders, fraternal organizations, and schools, in neatly ordered procession with interspersed bands of musicians playing traditional drums and flutes.  Every half minute or so she waved approvingly, almost a stereotypical royal wave like you see from the newly ascended Queen Elizabeth.

 

          This was an event that called upon her reserves of stamina and endurance.  It was one of those uncommon cloudy days with a stiff wind blowing down from the mountains, and with us being on top of the Pavilion there was nothing to shield us from it.  I had been warned and was fully bundled in my overcoat, gloves and thermal boots.  Not so, of course, the monarch.  She was goose-pimpled and before long was shivering, her nipples dark pebbles on puckered areolas.  Probably none of these details were visible to the crowd far below.

 

          Suddenly she said, “I hate this.”

 

          I couldn’t believe what I had heard.  Maybe the wind had distorted her words.  “I beg your pardon?”

 

          “I hate this.  I hate being naked.  I hate being cold.  I hate everyone seeing me!”  While giving another wave she was reduced to pathetic whimpering.  “Please, O Buddha, give me clothes!”  She sounded like a pleading schoolgirl.  The abrupt transformation from the forceful and confident young monarch I had been observing, was jarring.

 

          It was not my place to be seen conversing with her on the stand.  So I tried to look at her while turning my head as little as possible.  I saw that she was in tears.  “What?”

 

          “Every night I pray for clothes.  Or pray at least to not care about every little bit of me being on display.  But it doesn’t happen!  Every morning I wake up and I’m naked!  And everyone’s looking at me!  And I can’t cover myself!  I still cringe like that very first time.  It’s been five years . . . five years!”  She was sobbing now, somehow while still keeping her head still and giving another royal wave.  “Every time I see someone with clothes on I want to rip them off and put them on me!  And I’m so cold!”  More sobbing.  “I . . . can’t take it any more!”

 

          Speechless myself, I let her continue.

 

          “I want my Haji!  We write each other through back channels.  I love him, and I want him, and I . . . want . . . clothes!”  Her voice broke.  As she waved again.

 

          “Shinn-te tries to blunt my desire, she and Lakshmi and Patama say they are releasing my . . . ‘yin’ energy . . . with their tongues.  I have d - discovered sexual climax but it is so terribly shaming with them watching, over and over.  And it is no substitute for a man.”

 

          I figured I could be more forward.  “Surely as the monarch you can change the rules.”

 

          “My people need me as I am.  Did you hear about the Gangi incident?”

 

          No, I hadn’t.

 

          As she waved again with a shivering arm she said, “A c - cartoonist depicted me with clothes on.  He was convicted of treason.”

 

          Treason!

 

          “I signed the order of imprisonment but that night I hid the cartoon under my pillow and cried.  I still look at it and dream.  Ohhh . . . clothes . . . please . . .”

 

          At this another icy wind blew upon us and she shook more violently.  I thought of taking my coat off and getting cold too, in solidarity, but that would cause great offense to the Ministers who were watching us from below.  Fortunately the end of the parade came into view, a color guard.  We would be downstairs and in the warm reception room in about ten minutes.

 

          I said, “Why are you telling this to me, of all people?”

 

          “There is no one in my country I can unb - burden myself to.  I c - can’t let them down.”  She cleared her throat, having regained her composure, or as much as one can while shivering.  “Thank you for -- listening.  I feel b - better now.”

 

          I thought of what we could possibly do to help her in her dire distress.  Marriage to Haji is the solution to her ordeal but how can we urge it?  Our influence in the region is so attenuated that I don’t know where we could begin.  Also at present it is against our national interest to try to influence matters in the region one way or the other.

 

          It is clear however that what she told me absolutely cannot leak.  She seemed to read my mind.  Shiveringly she said, “You are a d - diplomat.  I t - trust your discretion --- OHHH!”

 

          A biting Himalayan wind stung her, causing her knees to knock against each other.  The pimples on her bare buttocks seemed to get bigger.  Stamping her numb bare feet on the cold concrete, breasts tightly bouncing, she struggled to stay standing as she gave a final wave and then the benediction, shivering arms finally meeting over her head.  “Zh - zhekani!” she yelled in a quavering voice.

 

          The responding shout from below, as her countrymen gazed up upon their beloved young monarch, was deafening as well as in its way inspiring.  “ZHEKANI!!!”

 

          Miserably I mumbled, “Zhekani.”

 

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