Читать книгу Echoes Through Eternity - AJ Korvinus - Страница 3

Am I alive, or am I dead? My body feels so liberated, free from all the burdens of life. Yet I fear nothing for the trivial stresses I have forever pondered on now gradually dissipate into oblivion. The lightness of my body seems to fuse with my soul and becomes one. I have never felt so free before. My feet seem to glide over the rugged beauty of this terrain where I come so often to regenerate my spirit, to remind myself who I am. Here I stand at the edge of this rocky plateau overlooking the vastness of a mountainous landscape. The dense rain forest in the deep valley below spreads across the panorama like a tide of thick green soup. Despite the endless cover of the life giving foliage, there is an eerie dead silence that mystifies me. I cannot hear the chime of the bell bird, the squawk of the raven, nor can I hear the colourful sounds that usually echo under the thick canopy below … they are no longer there. This serenity that envelops me is almost unearthly. But there is one thing I can hear - the hushing sound of the wind that comes from the never-never … it permeates through me. Should I be concerned about my new state of being? I think not. Whatever that state may be, I will enjoy it as long as it lasts. Maybe I have reached the next level of enlightenment? Perhaps, but for now I shall remain here and gaze into the openness of the world in front of me. The sky so blue and inviting like an open road into time. I wonder if I were to call loud enough would my ancestors hear my voice? Then the reoccurring visions of a past life arise to remind me about a dreaded curse that had been placed upon me. The curse, I call it, brings back a mournful memory of another life. It has haunted me relentlessly from one life to next. It seems that I have been forsaken. I lower my head in grief but the tears do not flow. My gods, I have lived through so many lifetimes. Yet of all the lives I have lived, none had scorned me as deeply than a life I lived many, many centuries ago. The distant memories return again and again, without a beginning and without an end. Time moves on but not forgets. These fragments of an ancient consciousness come uninvited, a surreal force that pierces through the depth of my soul like a burning arrow, continuously reminding me of a loving memory. Remembering however, is not without consequence for it carries pain and suffering. It sits forever embedded in the wound of my soul, awakening me to the beauty, passion and anguish I once endured so many lifetimes ago. For 3500 years I have carried this weight upon me. Yet I still wonder how long I must continue to carry it. I raise my head and stare with my saddened eyes into the infinite deep blue sky. I ask myself again: if I cry into the heavens will my ancestors or perhaps my forgotten gods hear my plea? Will they lift this curse that had been placed upon me or will they allow me to continue this suffering? I had never brought wrong or ill will against them yet I am damned in this world. If falling in love was so forbidden, then my condemnation is just. As I close my eyes the memory of this past life gradually unfolds like a wilting Lotus flower. I feel entranced as an inevitable shift begins. It is almost like being caught in the event horizon of a black hole. Ten, twenty, thirty or more lifetimes flash before me as I delve deeper into the throat of time. Further I fall into another age … another place. Oh yes, I can see it clearly now as if it had only happened yesterday. I can feel the waters of the Nile washing against my fingertips like fine silk and the warm desert sun on my young face.

“Itef … nen!” A strong voice called over me. Suddenly, two powerful hands gripped my shoulders like the claws of the great falcon god pulling me back into the safety of the barge. It was my uncle Men. Regardless of his occasional outbursts, I still looked up to this great man. His well tanned face was partially shadowed by the angle of the afternoon glow of our great sun god Ra. His bold and strong complexion looked intimidating. Only those who understood him well knew that behind his stone cold facade dwelt a benevolent natured man. This time he was anything but that. He looked at me with a scowl.

“Look!” he exclaimed, pointing fiercely towards the shore. “If you are not careful, Sobek will claim you!” I turned around to see where the beast was lurking. Quickly my uncle leaned over me with his arm outstretched pointing towards the shore nearby. He whispered into my ear. “There!” Among the marshes came a large scaly creature slipping into the blue waters. It finally came to a rest, hovering silently on the surface; a deadly shadow waiting for me, the adolescent young man, to make that false move and send me overboard. Death would be swift and painful. The monstrous jaws were proned with razor sharp teeth. It would ravage human flesh unhindered and crush bone like a stick. “Respect the home of the beast and it will respect you.” Men sat back looking at me like a master does to his disobedient apprentice. He was in his 40^th year at the time, plump with good living, his head clean shaved almost priestly. The kilt he wore was baggy but made of fine fabric, unlike the rest of us with our short wraparound kilts of cheap linen. The fifteen or so men, young and not so young, once laboured for an Asiatic master called Shemrata. We worked his large plantation field by the Nile at Tjaru on the eastern Delta. Men supervised us as an overseer of workers. His loyalty to Shemrata was well rewarded and was given privileges similar to that of a nobleman. Regardless of his status, Men was supportive and fair to us all. In exchange for his decency we paid him with hard, honest labour.

We were content with our simple lives in Tjaru. But then one day that all changed. The new Theban King, Ahmose led his army to the north, sacking the entire Delta. Along with his foreign invaders, Shemrata fled with his wives and fortunes to the Hyksos capital of Sharuhen. Egypt … Kemet, as we knew her back then was finally given back to her people.

I stared out into the golden hills of the western desert. The cool breeze from the darkening eastern sky embraced my features as if the divine hands of Amun had laid his blessings upon me. I was fortunate to be alive at such a time … in fact I was fortunate to be alive at all for my childhood suffered great tragedies and bloodshed. I remember very little of it but I could never forget the day I first met my uncle Men. I recall walking in a labyrinth of a narrow mud brick passages as a small child. Its walls were decorated with crude ware made of clay, suspending as if waiting for their masters to return. I too was waiting, for the return of my parents. Smoke was bellowing from the far side of our small village, Sekhetwi. Our community was peacefully nestled in an oasis on the boundaries of the western desert, back from the raging waters of the Nile. That was our blessing. Every year our local god Haapi performed his miracles and brought us the veins of the inundation. The Nile stretched its torrential arms towards us, snaking around to the northern and southern end of our little village. When Haapi subsided the waters he gave us two fertile fields at both ends of our village for our people to live and prosper. Our god had never brought chaos to Sekhetwi. Then, one day in my third year, an Asiatic hoard came and reduced my village to ashes. I remember searching for my parents, running back and forth to our large wooden door that was darkened by the shadow of our reed braided roof. I was waiting desperately for my mother and father to open it, to hold me in their comforting arms and tell me that everything was going to be just the way it had always been, safe and cheerful. I did not know that I would never see them again. I can still hear my cries, “Mewt … iti … mother … father!” Then a figure appeared from the smoke, walking towards me like a god. It was Men. He had walked into the aftermath, the brutal onslaught of innocent people.

Men was a trader of cheap goods from Thebes who frequently visited Sekhetwi. He knew that his goods would trade well at our village and did not mind the long travel. He was always welcome at our homes. For the simple farmers and fisherman Theban goods were regarded with high respect; after all they were blessed by the gods themselves. It was told that the great lord Amun resided in a great temple at Thebes. Men had clearly taken advantage of the Sekhetwian honour to make his small fortunes. It was not wrongful, we all knew of these old tactics for it was a common method used among the Theban traders. Suddenly, Men had lost his most prosperous trade center. His regulars were scattered among the muddy ashes and ruins like gutted animals, hacked open from throat to belly. Such merciless slaughter of men, women and children for not paying tribute to the Hyksos ruler Aauserra Apepi. Yet the barbarian hoard were unaware that one tiny corner of the village was untouched by their carnage. Men had found the soul survivor of the ravaged Sekhetwi - a naked little boy drenched in muddy soot crying hopelessly for his departed parents. The blood-dyed soil of my village etched deeply into his dread-filled eyes. He did not have the heart to leave me for the vultures. Instead he took me into his arms and fostered me like a son.

I was taken to Thebes where we only stayed temporarily to gather goods for his trade expeditions. We had no home, only the welcoming shade of a palm tree offered us shelter under its fronds. These continuous ventures for survival excluded Men from the time needed to establish a proper family. Other than the mortal pleasures in bed he could offer little else to a good woman. Trading was so much part of his life that it was in his blood. Eventually I too would be taught the cheap art of trading and bartering. Together we traveled great distances in search of wealth and glory. But our dreams were soon crushed. Aauserra Apepi had imposed a new tax upon us. Anyone who endeavored on a journey to lower Kemet had to pay tribute to the Hyksos king and his men. Traders especially had to pay handsomely. We were at a loss and there were little opportunities left for us in Thebes. Soon we heard that Queen Ahhotep was recruiting a grand army. Her son Ahmose was nearly ready to take throne. Words of an uprising spread quickly across Kemet like a plague. It was said that the new king, blessed by the lord Amun, would embark on a victorious campaign to the north and crush the Asiatic ‘Shepherd Kings’. The eldest king’s brother Kamose, had previously attempted to free Kemet from the Hyksos rule after the death of his father, king Seqenenra Taa. Kamose’s campaign failed and the eldest son of king Taa fell.

“I have seen enough death,” Men said to me. Shortly after his statement we journeyed north. He had finally lost faith in the Theban rulers.

When we arrived into Hyksos domain it was in Tjaru where we found honest work at Shemrata's plantation field.

Many seasons had passed since I placed my feet on Theban grounds. Finally our gods have returned to restore Maat, the balance back to the two lands of Kemet. Even the stars seemed much brighter than ever as if they too were jubilant. I lay watching them, my head resting upon my hand. It was hard to believe that in the next day we would arrive in Thebes. Suddenly I felt a swelling sensation in the pit of my stomach. The word Thebes brought a name to my heart: Tawri. Her memory had haunted me ever since we left the city of the gods. It was her farewell kiss I could not forget. She was so beautiful then … I wondered what she looked like after so many absent seasons. We were the best of friends when we were children. Tawri, the only girl in my circle of friends was also the only noble child who dared play with the underclass. My other friends, Peti and Hapu were of a long line of peasant families, but they were decent boys. Tawri always said that the noble children were dull and mean. She found refuge and understanding among the commoners. We admired her dearly.

Her parents were nobles, well respected among the royal family. The father, Ramose held a high rank in the military. He had fought beside king Ahmose in the north and in the south against the Nubians. It was in the southern campaign where a Nubian bowman released a darting arrow into Ramose’s right leg, wrenching his tendons beyond the healing abilities of any medicine man. The Kermeese Nubians had mastered a horrible method into their arrows - a series of blunt scales descended perpendicular down the edges of poorly worked copper heads. As the arrow pierced through the body it destroyed everything in its path, tearing flesh and organs, leaving the victim’s bloody interior suspending inside out. Apart from his devastating injuries, Ramose returned from Nubia with a hoard of gold and honourary rewards granted by the king himself. Ramose retired from the army as a very wealthy man. His wife Nebet was the beautiful daughter of Mery-Amun, a high priest of the Amun cult during the reign of Seqenenra-Taa. Nebet had joined the circle of the God’s Wife beside the king’s wife, Ahmose-Nefertari.

The grand villa of Ramose and Nebet was located on the boundaries of the noble township in lower Thebes. Everything was disciplined in the Ramose household. It was assumed that their beloved daughter had finally blended in with the other noble children. But that was far from the truth. She could no longer stand the sight of spoiled, wealthy brats. Instead Tawri would run long distances to meet the triad of young commoners in marshes on the outskirts of Thebes. I can still smell the stench of vegetable decay as we played among a blanket of entangled vegetation the Nile had carried up during the inundation. There we built palaces and fortresses made of palm fronds, reeds and papyrus stems. We were her loyal soldiers and she was our queen. When Ra grew high and the warm desert air swept in, we would bathe in the murky canals fed by the river Nile. Then one day Tawri and I met secretly under the cool canopy of Nile palms. The gentle, moist breeze whisked our voices as we spoke pleasantly to each other. She told me of her real name, Neferura - the beauty of Ra, an exquisite noble name given up in spite for a name unknown among the upper class. Tawri no longer wanted the pleasures of the aristocratic life. I recall her words as if spoken only yesterday: “When I am with you, I am free. So treat me as you would any other common girl.” She came closer and her lips gently whispered into my ear. “You are the one I favour.” She repeated these words gazing into my eyes as if I should remember them always. “You are the one I favour, Itef.” Then she kissed me, sprang to her feet and ran away, occasionally glancing back smiling. That day was the day I would cherish deep in my heart. We were so consumed by our feeling for one another, thus oblivious to anything else around us. Little did we know about the lurking presence, hidden behind the marshes, observing our every move. Our secret had been violated by serpent eyes. Someone, a guardian from the Ramose household had followed Tawri through the looming shadows of the Theben streets. It was the last we ever met. Since then, her delightful expression, her gentle voice remained only in my dreams.

I watched the moon rise with weary eyes. Its gleaming strength washed the desert with an eerie light, giving contour to the ragged escarpments. I felt my heart beat slow as my body prepared for rest. My drowsiness played hallucinations with my eyes. The smooth curves of the dunes seem like naked bodies lying in the desert sand. I listen to the trills and squeals of night birds in the distance.

“If I were to meet her, will she still remember me? Will I still be the one she favours?” My will was strong as an ox, even though my heart was not. I had to remember that we lived in a new world, a unified Kemet. We had fought off our enemies into distant lands. I was certain that our ancestors were gazing upon us with pride in our moment of glory. It was a time to live and rejoice.