“No, Minister, this is fine. Work on it and keep me informed. I want to see all these materials, and I want a weekly progress report. You are doing a good job. Keep it up. Come over for breakfast the day after tomorrow, let’s say, at nine and bring the materials I want. Good luck.” The phone went dead.
“That was a good call,” thought the Minister. “Things were looking up,” thought the President. Things did look up, and in so many ways, none of them could even comprehend for now. Was history turning a new leaf?
Ulaanbaatar
President Arban Vagabundi put the phone into the cradle, poured himself a stiff brandy and settled down in the winged chair to continue reading the most fascinating document he ever read. If it were a book of fiction, it would be fascinating, but as a real document, it was triple exciting, if not more. It was more than the history itself. It was the truth. It should’ve been called “The truth, according to Batu Khan.” The words of Batu Khan could have been his own if he lived back then and was as powerful as the Great Khan. Well, not too many people were that powerful. Just a few, just a few… Even the most powerful kings of the time were more limited than the Mongol rulers. The Roman Caesars could not even dream of the power Batu Khan had. He was like a god, more than a god. He was a Mongolian Khan, and for the Mongols, that was more than a God. What a story. What a legend.
The President liked to think of himself as a descendant of the great khans of the past. Every Mongol was a descendant of great khans in one way or another, but Arban believed that he was a reincarnation of one of them and maybe even Batu’s. He ordered lunch to be delivered to his office and went back to reading. He wanted to know more. He wanted to know everything. President Vagabundi had never ordered the true Mongolian steak calling it the “savage food of the savages,” but this time, he did. It was a piece of raw meat (any meat could be used, but the horse meat was traditional) placed under the saddle of a horse while someone was riding it hard. The meat would get marinated in horse’s sweat in the warm environment. The hotter outside, the better. It would become a strangely smelling quite different in taste but extremely tender delicacy. The horse sweat was the tenderizer. For some, it was revolting, but for a few, it was a rare pleasure. It was not the Mongolian beef served in American restaurants but something else that came through the ages and from the Mongolian steppes.
That was raw foul-smelling meat with a sharp distinguished taste. Even the Mongols of the steppes rarely ate it in the modern days. It was too pungent and quite rough on the gentle souls of the modern Mongols. But, the President wanted to experience the words coming from ancient history to the full extent of its meaning. Savages and the savage food. Everything counted. The surroundings counted. The feelings counted. The smell, the taste, weapons, costumes, customs, pictures, and the images of the violence unprecedented in history made this experience almost real. They were like the wild animals tearing the prey apart while it was still alive. Nothing ever slowed the killing frenzy down. Even the weather could help to recreate the deeper sense of feeling when you try to understand the past events. This time the weather was willing to contribute. The ice storm with a lot of snow and an extreme wind started a few days ago growing stronger, more violent, and very loud. It was almost like it was trying to communicate something to the people, and people had to stop whatever they were doing and listen. There was a lesson in it, a morsel of wisdom. Was it the gods, the gods of war, the gods of Mongolia or Batu Khan trying to make them see it his way, the right way. The Mongolian way… This weather and this room with all the artifacts from the Mongolian past were setting the right mood, and that counted. It all counted. And, everything spoke to the President, sometimes whispering but often loud and clear. The main message, though, was loud and clear. Everything was important if to understand the real meaning of the written words. Was it the unprecedented violence of the Mongols? Was it common? Did not the others do the same things at a different time and maybe even in the larger proportions? Were the Mongols any different from the others, or just more forceful?
Who was right, and who was wrong? Just how do we measure that? Who has won and who had lost? Is that the number of the dead? Or, the living? On which side? Was that the war crimes? Was not war crime by itself? How do you fight the war wearing the white gloves, without killing, pillaging, raping, and doing the rest of the fun things? Fun… Why did you come here in the first place? Was that the part of the fun or the necessity? Could one killing be righteous and another one not? Mercy killing? How do you define that? Could one rape be acceptable and the other demanding the punishment? Was it who raped whom, or the circumstances? What punishment was fit for any of the war crimes? Should that be death for any crime committed or not prevented, or a slight fine because of the war? Should you be punished for taking the boots from the dead? He did not need it any longer. Was that a defendable excuse? Should we punish everyone for everything or not for lesser crimes? Then, where do we stop? Would you prevent war crime if you could? What does it mean “if you could”? You had a weapon and a rank. Why did not you use it? “The war made me do it,” you could hear that in one courtroom after another. The media repeats it even chance it has. “The devil took over me.” “I could not resist.” “I am just a weak man.” That could be a legitimate excuse for all we know. Or, just an excuse. Could that be an excuse at all? Could we accept the war as an excuse for anything? Could a bigger crime be an excuse for the smaller ones? Accept the smaller charges and cooperate.