by Shlomo Kalo
The very fact of her presence brought him closer, in a closer communion than any he had known, to the one object of his love, none other than his Father in Heaven and his God, who is the infinite, freedom, love. How can he explain to himself this wonderful thing, that the very presence of someone could set him free from all that surrounds him, give him wings to soar away to the highest firmament, and to touch the Holy of Holies, to melt into it and to become a part of it?
Who is this someone who is setting you free, from herself and from yourself, so that you may awake to know yourself an inseparable part of the one, all-pervading love? Is she not the only object of your love, who is taking on, through the power of her love for you and by virtue of that love – human form?
Their eyes met. And it was only then that he realised that all his former conceptions of the sublime and of the pure were utterly meaningless. For the first time in his life he encountered the truly sublime and the entirely pure, these being nothing other than the inexhaustible, limpid and deep springs of love, the love that draws out from servitude to freedom, and from darkness into a great light.
He did not remember how long they had been standing in the spacious bed-chamber, but somehow he finally became aware that both the sky and the horizon had changed colour, turning through ever deepening shades of blue to the darker hues of regal velvet, studded with diamonds.
His eyes were in hers, and her gaze was his desire and his gaze was her delight, and the world of shapes and names ceased to exist, and with it time subsided, melted away as if it never was.
When he became aware of the knocking at the door, it had ceased to be as decorous and reverential as it was supposed to be. Then he remembered that throughout that day, while they stood by the open window, staring into one another’s eyes, his glance melting into hers and her glance vanishing into the infinite freedom of his – in some place or another, under certain circumstances, and definitely without any reference to the time that had ceased to exist for them – there had indeed been persistent knocking, properly decorous and reverential at the start, but as the changes unfolded in the timeless void, so the knocking exceeded its normal limits, abandoning the last vestiges of respect and veering towards clamorous cacophony.
“Come in!” he cried.
The tall, wide door opened slowly, inch by inch, and one of the housemaids, the one responsible for the bed-chambers, peered inside and on seeing them froze where she stood, eyes gaping and tongue stuck to her palate. She remained there, petrified and dumbstruck, until he addressed her again, his voice gentle and reassuring:
“Are you the chambermaid?”
The tone of his voice did its blessed work.
“That is so, Sir!” she replied, her voice unsteady and still reflecting the shock that she had experienced on opening the door and looking into the room.
“That is so, Sir!” she repeated, this time with some of the balance restored to her voice. “Since this morning we…” she began awkwardly, paused and then resumed: “Your worships did not tell us what times would be convenient… for preparing the bed-chamber. And in the dining room too they are awaiting instructions. Clearly it is too late for the midday meal, but whatever your worships desire, so it shall be done. This is the time that we usually serve the evening meal, but we are ignorant folk, unfamiliar with the ways of the royal palace in the capital city, and we would be delighted if you would enlighten us! After all – it is dark outside, and the stars are in the sky and yet in this bed-chamber, there is light! Not a light such as candles give, nor the light of torches nor the light of a fire burning in the grate. A light such as we do not know and perhaps – it is only I, foolish and ignorant serving maid that I am, that does not know this light and has never seen the like!” Her voice shook and she was close to tears.
Nejeen hastened to say:
“You’re neither stupid nor ignorant, and what happened here, really happened! And as my lord and husband has told you – the arrangements to which you are accustomed are not to be changed. We are running a little late, and in just a few moments we shall come down to eat our evening meal. This room is entirely to my satisfaction, and you need do nothing more here until tomorrow. What is your usual time for cleaning and tidying rooms?”
“Noon,” replied the chambermaid, her confidence restored.
“Come back here tomorrow then, at noon!”
They did not part that night, or go to separate rooms. The night passed like a dream, or a fairy-tale that has never been told, or written.
The bright light of morning streamed in through the broad window that had been left open all night. A light, gusting breeze woke them with a caress, as a mother wakes her baby. He watched the white clouds drifting slowly, in ceremonious procession, across the deep blue of the sky, and they both admired once again the vista of meadows, river and groves of pine. The air shone, and the horizon sparkled in the distance like molten silver.
Having risen, they took turns bathing in the bath-house, with its three-fold arrangement of pools; the cold water of the final stage refreshed and invigorated them.
They broke their fast in an improvised dining room adjacent to the bath-house, and after thanking their attendants, went down to the stables to choose horses for themselves. Having so much time at their disposal, they could choose at their leisure. All the horses were of the finest quality, flawless thoroughbreds, well fed and properly trained.
They left the walls of the palace behind and spurred along the ridge of a gently sloping hill, on whose northern flank the inhabitants of Jahanur had built their white, somewhat decorative houses.
Generally these houses were built in the centre of a plantation or alongside an orchard or at the edge of a cultivated field. Beside each house, without exception, was a fig-tree in full bloom, and a number of the local residents were sitting at this early hour of the morning beneath their fig-trees, eating their morning snack in the shade of the branches.
It seemed that some of them noticed the two strange riders and hurried to inform the leader of the council, the silver-haired and agreeable Avarnam. He was not slow to arrive on the scene, his elderly and rather overweight mare panting and wheezing as if every step was an effort. He met them as they descended from the ridge, heading for one of the most picturesque streams they had ever seen.
“Be blessed in the name of God the most High!” Avarnam greeted them, raising his arm in an unconventional gesture, his face aglow.
“Blessings and all good things to you and to the good people of Jahanur!” he answered him cordially.
“If I may be of any service to your worships, it will be my delight and my most profound satisfaction!”
And before anyone could respond to these words, startling in their sincerity, Avarnam went on to say:
“As for the census of residents of Jahanur, it has already been done – a scroll has been prepared and will be delivered to you this very day, at the palace, by a representative of the community. According to this scroll, we have a population today of one thousand two hundred and sixty-one souls, men and women. And they are all the privileged descendants of those twelve ancient families, who lived in the past, the distant past I should say, in the ancient city of Ur, Ur of the Chaldees that is,” he explained, and added: “In the aftermath of a certain episode, they abandoned the place and came to these hills and built the fertile and the prosperous township of Jahanur, the happy and the peace-loving settlement that you see today!”
At the mention of Ur of the Chaldees, the two of them exchanged bemused glances.
“This Ur of the Chaldees that you describe as ‘ancient’ – was it not prosperous in its time, and an agreeable place to live?”
“It seems that not everything was managed as it should be, and they did not all walk in the ways of virtue. And then that episode occurred of which I spoke – and a shattering and traumatic episode it was – and the twelve families, which exist today as they existed then, left their houses on the plain, houses built of clay, and climbe
d these hills and built for themselves the houses of stone and of wood that you have seen!” He stretched out his short arm in an expansive gesture, pointing to the houses with their friendly white facades, strewn across the slope of the hill at their feet.
“And our flock earned the blessing of Almighty God and flourished by His grace and has prospered ever since to this very day, and with the consent of the Holy One, will continue to flourish and prosper until the end of all generations!”
“Which ‘Almighty God’ is this?” he asked with great interest.
“The Creator of Heaven and Earth and all that is in them!” Avarnam answered him cheerfully, his resonant voice expressing a childlike innocence.
Hitherto she had refrained from taking any part in the conversation, assuming that in Jahanur, as in most eastern communities, women were excluded from men’s conversations, and any contribution they made was likely to be ignored. But seeing the sincerity in Avarnam’s face and the pure expression of his eyes, she felt confident enough to ask a question:
“Are the gods of Babylon your gods?”
Avarnam turned to her and without any change in his pleasant manner, in his air of fellowship and willingness to serve, he answered her:
“No, your ladyship! We differ from the Babylonians and their gods are not our gods, and their style of worship is not our style of worship!”
“Meaning?” he asked with mounting interest.
“We are forbidden to set up any image to any god, least of all to our God, Creator of Heaven and Earth and all that is in them. He must not be represented in any physical form.”
“Since when has this ordinance existed?”
“Not since yesterday, or the day before!” Avarnam chuckled pleasantly, and while puckering his broad forehead as if trying to calculate times and dates he continued: “It has been our rule for many years, Excellency. And this is not to the liking of the Chaldeans living in the valley of the Tigris and the Euphrates who have claimed, with some justification, that we belong to them and are a part of their nation, as their language is our language. And we for our part claim, also with some justification, that although we have common roots there are also differences that divide us, and no faith is to be forced on us, least of all a faith that is not to our taste, that is fundamentally opposed to our conceptions and to the tradition in which we were nurtured – an ancient tradition indeed!” Avarnam declared with emphasis, still smiling his broad and captivating smile, expressing warmth, innocence and above all, a sincere willingness to serve and to oblige.
They both came to the conclusion, independently of one another, that Avarnam, leader of the council of Jahanur, was a most agreeable companion, and an affable interlocutor.
He went on to say:
“Not everything has proceeded smoothly. The Chaldeans, as is well known, are a people of resolute opinions, a nation of conquerors and valiant warriors, and they do not tolerate dissenters who refuse to accept their discipline, and bear their yoke – even if it is a small and peaceable community such as ours, doing no harm to anyone.” Avarnam sighed and his plump mare shifted beneath him impatiently. He soothed her, patting her neck, and added:
“Nevertheless, they have not succeeded in imposing their will on us and we have not changed our religion – the same today as it has always been, although we have experienced setbacks and been treated like outcasts.”
“And who has prevented the Chaldeans from imposing their will upon you and forcing you to change your religion?” he asked.
Avarnam turned his snow-white head to stare at him with a look of bewilderment, as if wondering how such a question could even be asked, the answer being so obvious and self-evident, and he replied with two simple words:
“Our God.”
After the brief silence that followed, Avarnam went on to say.
“Our God, in whose hands are all things, and from whose hands all things come, He it was who defended our forefathers from the Chaldeans and from all the other troubles of the world, and He it is who guards us to this very day against anyone who would try to induce us to abandon our faith in Him for the sake of another religion.”
“And what was the event that prompted your ancestors to dispense with idols and pictorial representations of the divine, to believe in God Most High, Creator of Heaven and Earth and all that is in them – and to abandon the ancient Ur of the Chaldees and move to the hills, founding the new Jahanur?” he asked.
“It is a fascinating story!” Avarnam declared emphatically, the broad, infectious smile returning to his face. “If you would like to know all the details as they are recorded in our ancient texts, you are welcome to visit the office of the community scribe and archivist, who records the chronicles of Jahanur and is an unrivalled expert in the interpretation of ancient writings. And he has it all preserved on parchment scrolls and on clay tablets. And as I said before, I shall be glad to be of service to you in any way I can!”
They made their way down to the building which housed all the municipal offices of the resort town, along narrow tracks winding between groves and orchards, crossing fast-flowing streams and lush meadows.
“What is the livelihood of the people of Jahanur?” he asked.
“Since time immemorial the people of Jahanur have been fruit-growers and tillers of the soil. They made all their own tools, everything needed for the home as well as for the field and the orchard, and sometimes they even traded with the surplus produce. As you see, every effort has been made to avoid contact with the outside world, disturbing no one and being disturbed by no one. Those who trade with other places are a very small minority, and most people born in Jahanur live here happily all their lives, finally being laid to rest in the ground that is celebrated in song. And if you need to know the extent of our loyalty to the Chaldean state and to His Majesty, it has never occurred to us to defy him in any way, and we shall continue to pay the tribute that is levied, punctually and in whatever medium is required – whether it be silver or gold, or textiles or wine or corn or fruit. Just so long as the Chaldeans leave us to ourselves, not stirring up religious dissension, opposing our true faith with their vain superstitions, and persecuting us for no fault of ours!” Avarnam looked back at him with an earnest, inquisitive expression.
And he replied in a tone of calm, genial assurance:
“I shall convey to the King what you have said, and my own impressions too I shall set before him. And how is it that a small town such as this, with a population of one thousand, two hundred and sixty-one, has a scribe and chronicler of its own?”
“Oh, that is a tradition among us, instituted after that extraordinary event that you will soon be hearing about, and it is a noble profession, requiring special skills, dedication and patience and above all, a strong and uncompromising devotion to the truth. It is the duty of the scribe and chronicler,” – Avarnam warmed to his theme – “to inquire deeply and without prejudice into events and sayings until he arrives at the truth, and then he must record the truth, even if it is uncomfortable for him. And this is the proud inheritance of the Jaharan family, our family of scribes and copyists, whose scions have never omitted a letter, or added a single dot, or deviated to the tiniest degree from the texts that they transcribe. And all this work is done in a spirit of reverence, for the sake of Heaven, and every father in this family who teaches his son the sacred art, is also serving as a living example for him, of steadfast devotion to the truth.”
“And who supports the scribe and his family?” she asked.
Without turning to face her, Avarnam replied:
“They support themselves. They have fields and orchards, and compiling chronicles does not occupy too much of their time. It is something that they do for the sheer pleasure of it – and as an act of reverence.”
“And they have no slaves to assist them?” she persisted.
The leader of the council of Jahanur tugged at the reins and brought his mare to a standstill; she was glad of the respite, and took deep gulps o
f air into her elderly lungs.
“There you have touched on another of the principles that separate us from the Chaldeans and perhaps – from all other nations in the world!” And looking up towards the horizon, he explained:
“This faith of ours in one God, the God Most High, Creator of Heaven and Earth and all that is in them – is incompatible with slavery. It is a known fact that all human beings are brothers, sons of one Father, and how can you allow yourself to enslave your brother, taking from him the crop that he has planted with the sweat of his brow, and harvested with his own hands, allocating a meagre share to him and keeping for yourself the fruits of his labours? This is neither our inclination, nor our tradition!” he declared firmly, adding with an air of cheerful satisfaction: “You see? Without any recourse to slavery, our town has flourished and prospered, and all public matters are properly administered. And something else you should know: not one member of the council, not even the leader of the council, seeks any reward for his services to the public. All are happy to work in the Name of God, and for the sake of Heaven. And there are blessings everywhere!” he concluded, gently coaxing his mare into motion; reluctantly she resumed her clumsy gait.
“So you mean, you lack for nothing?” he asked.
“We lack for nothing, so it has always been and so it will always be, as long as we serve our God in faith and gladly obey His commandments.”
Again they exchanged glances, with astonishment and wonderment in their eyes, and something resembling reverence.
Before the sun had risen to its zenith, they halted their horses at the foot of a low building, constructed of stone and freshly plastered, dismounted and hitched the reins to an iron ring beside the door. Avarnam knocked on the wide door, waited a moment and knocked again, this time with more vigour.
“Perhaps the scribe is working today in his field or his orchard, and has no leisure for his other activities,” he suggested.
