Nhan Tower

Every morning, a child in Tuy Hòa opened their eyes and saw the tower.

It stood there, on the hill above the river. The child could see it from the bedroom window, a reddish-brown stroke against the bright sky. On the way to school, one glance up, and there was the tower. Walking to the market with Mother, one turn of the head, and there was the tower. On the bridge over the Đà Rằng River, with the wind tangling the child's hair, the tower was still there, quiet on the top of Nhạn Mountain.

The child knew that tower as well as the door of their own home. Knew it so well, in fact, that they hardly saw it anymore.

Then one morning, the child's parents announced that the whole family would climb up to the tower that day.

The road up Nhạn Mountain wound back and forth on a gentle slope. The mountain is not tall, only a little over 60 meters. But with every step, the family watched the city grow smaller below. The roofs sank lower. The sound of traffic faded away. The higher they climbed, the more freely the wind blew up from the river, cool and salty.

Then the family reached the courtyard of the tower, right at the top of the mountain. Here, for the first time, the tower the child had looked at every day of their life stood right in front of the child.

It was far taller than the child had imagined. Its red brick body rose straight into the sky for about 24 meters more, as if it wanted to touch the clouds. Standing at its foot and looking up, the child had to tip their head all the way back. From the streets below, the tower had been no bigger than a fingertip. Up here, it was a whole mountain of brick.

Then the child turned around and looked out. And fell silent.

All of Tuy Hòa lay neatly below. The streets the child walked to school every day were now only thin lines. The Đà Rằng River spread out wide, glittering in the sun, curving toward the river mouth. And farther still, at the edge of the sky, was the sea. A band of deep blue, quietly breathing.

Father sat down beside the child and said softly that this tower had been watching this view for nearly a thousand years.

The Cham built the tower around the late 11th or early 12th century, in the architectural style of Champa. The Cham are a people of south-central Vietnam whose ancestors lived in the ancient kingdom of Champa. So the tower stood here looking down at the river long before there was a city. Long before the bridge, and long, long before the child's house.

The family tried to picture it. Long ago, down below, there was a Cham fishing village. Every dawn, the fishermen rowed out through the river mouth, heading for the open sea. Before they set off, they looked up at the tower on the mountain and sent up a prayer for a safe trip.

And in the afternoon, when the boats came back, weary after a whole day of wind and waves, the first thing the fishermen searched for on the horizon was the tower. Seeing the tower meant they were nearly home. It was the landmark that guided them back, for generation after generation.

A thought came to the child. Perhaps the tower they saw every morning had once been the tower that people searched for, to find their way home.

Grandmother, sitting nearby, went on in a warm voice. The Cham raised this tower to worship Shiva, one of their great gods. The tip at the very top of the tower takes the shape of a Shivalinga, a sacred symbol of Shiva. This whole tall tower, from its base to its roof, is built entirely of brick. And here is the strange part. The rows of brick fit so tightly together that they form almost a single block, without the mortar that ordinary buildings use. That technique belonged to the Cham, and even today many researchers have not fully explained it.

The child reached out and gently touched the brick wall, warm from the sun. The bricks were a deep red, their faces worn smooth over the years. The joints between them were so thin they were almost invisible. The child tried to imagine the hands of the Cham builders of long ago, setting each brick in exactly the right place, tightly and patiently.

Nearly a thousand years have passed, and the tower still stands firm on the mountaintop.

Grandmother added one more thing, her eyes lighting up. The tower is so treasured that people see it as the symbol of this whole land of Phú Yên. Whenever anyone mentions Phú Yên, the first thing that comes to mind is the Nhạn Tower.

She went on, her voice full of pride. In 1988, it was recognized as a national monument. Then in 2018, the state raised it to the rank of special national monument. Not many places have earned that.

Afternoon came, and the sunlight slanted lower. The family got ready to go down the mountain. The child stood at the edge of the courtyard and looked down at the city once more.

That morning, from down below, the tower had been only a small stroke on the horizon. But from up here, all of Tuy Hòa was a painting. The river, the bridge, the rooftops and the distant sea, all held in a single view.

The child smiled. Now the child knew what the tower had always known. Home, seen from high above, is more beautiful than words can say.

And tomorrow, waking up and seeing the tower through the window, the child would never look at it the same way again.