“Perhaps, out of overzealous faithfulness,” the keeper continued, “believing their worship and petitions were more acceptable if presented from the sanctum rather than the temple. The lengths to which some faithfuls can go to secure the favor of the gods can be as unimaginable or absurd as illicitly entering the sanctum to worship. It should be the temple’s duty to address the villagers, advise them of the limits, so they don’t go overboard with their faith.”
I peered at the Zephyr, wishing I could hold it to my ears, thank it for the freedom, hear its voice, if it would be similar to Esohe’s, ask it about Esohe: can she be possibly here? Is she still living, in the winds? Is she happy? Does she have any words for me?
A Zephyr was too pious to tell a lie. If it said we had come to worship, then we had come to worship; our gods defined truth.
After a conferment among the king’s hand and palace chiefs, the trial was adjourned to the next day, and the keeper replaced the Zephyr in the box and strode out with it.
I was sentenced to four months in the fusty and dank cell for unlawful entering and was fined twenty pounds of coins; the village could not afford the faithfuls yearning to access the sanctum. I always went early to the temple on first Sabbaths to stand at the front row and see the indistinct Zephyrs on their pedestal and focus on the most familiar, those of the last phase.
In the following years, I journeyed with the pilgrims to the Sahara. The breath of the Sahara was sublime, gently slid through my every pore and slipped through my fingers like dreams, swirled from the flowing skies and from beneath the seas of cascading sands, eager to embrace me with its delight and impress its mark. Sometimes, when it was as quiet as empty, I heard it, her subtle distinct voice amidst her undulating sighs.
© Copyright 2020 Inegbenoise O. Osagie
Inegbenoise O Osagie - [BCS305 S02] Page 3
