Woman in Red: Magdalene Speaks

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Woman in Red: Magdalene Speaks Page 12

by Krishna Rose


  Polarity of enthusiasm and opposition, followed him everywhere. He was the center and we were his willing wheels. Now here we were, fleeing the country of our birth, having buried the inspiration behind such mutiny! No man could prevent the turn of fate, which, by our exodus, might lead us to settle anywhere. Chills ran up my spine and the hairs on my arms stood on end, for just as Maximus had said, our entrance into Galilee had been effortless, despite the hardship of traveling long hours without rest. The Roman guards had surprisingly created no problem for us.

  Undoubtedly Galilee will be the obvious place to find us, since we have family connections here. Caiaphas may wish to assassinate us too, and I was certain he would search us out in due course of time. I thought of our unborn child and felt the familiar flutter of life within, reminding me that he or she had their own destiny to fulfill.

  Our ancestral residence was nestled within the hills of Galilee, overlooking Lake Tiberias. We had spent many enchanted summers here as children. The tall trees lining the road leading up to the main house had shed their leaves, while the rest of Galilee was in full bloom. ‘Nature grieves with us’ I thought to myself, peeking out, to catch a glimpse of our country estate.

  This house belonged to our parents and our grandparents before them. It held many treasured memories of our family seat. Now, it would be plunged into an uncertain future, as we would regrettably most likely be forced to sell. For I doubted if any of us would again return to these lands. Our future now belonged to a considerably distant country.

  Jesu had often visited our family in Galilee as a child. The Mary had been a lifelong friend of my mother, both of whom were Judean royals and future grail bearers. The Mary, had always held a special maternal place in her heart for my siblings and I since our mother had perished so young. So when she came to visit, she always brought her children, Jesu, and Salome, and later, James, and John. Jude came much later. Elizabeth, the sister of The Mary, also sometimes came to spend summers with us, accompanied by her miracle child, John. This gave us some of the motherly attention my siblings and I craved.

  As children, we had spent our summers running, climbing, and playing in the fields. Exploring the shady forest of Biriya, which was full of caves—we were honeyed in our spirited play. At the end of long days, seeking shelter from the hot sun, totally unaware of all formalities, we would lay beneath the shade of a particularly large cedar tree, in the tall grass, snacking on figs, olives, and cherries from our orchards. Often, we had ended a fun day out with a wild food fight, throwing fruit at one another in folly. Our families were amused and forgiving of our soiled appearance when we finally reappeared with our neatly pressed clothing coated with harvested fruit.

  It had been here, under this same sky, that first Jesu kissed me when we were young buds in the innocence of spring bloom. Gradually the years between us grew longer, and our meetings more awkward each time we met. But we had forged an alliance between, not only our bloodlines, but the bindings of our hearts, for we were promised to one another via rings made of sweet grass, sealed with a peck under the old cedar tree.

  And then one day he left . . . not to return until his twenty-ninth year.

  CHAPTER 9

  VULNERABILITY

  Vulnerability is to unguard one’s self in spite of feeling exposed and embarrassed, while trusting another implicitly.

  The Silk Road had taken my childhood sweetheart from me and didn’t return him for almost sixteen years. By then, much had changed. He was thirteen when he had left these lands, and was twenty-nine when he returned. By then, I was twenty-seven and married with a child—Sarah-Tamar. The Mary arranged with the King of Orissa, a Kingdom which lay in the Southern lands of the Eastern realm, for Jesu to study there among the Saints—to prepare his soul for its destiny.

  I had been but a young girl, betrothed and confounded, when my most true and loyal friend had abandoned me. Though we promised to write, as weeks turned into months, and months into years, I received fewer of his letters, which gave news of his travels. But in one such letter, he had pledged, that upon his return, he would take me as his wife. ‘Unfettered as the sacred spring, all will come to receive nourishment from our preordained union,’ he had written, and I, full of hope, then counted days until his return.

  There have always been seekers throughout the earth, who since the beginning of time, have felt the stirrings of something concealed amid the mossy trees and riverbanks—where they have looked to the beyond for answers. And in their longing, they search for the watchers and guardians who wait for us at the gates of freedom. There, they tread carefully between quiet tombs and marble statues in the valley of death, slipping between past and present. Heeding the boundless mournful cries of the downhearted, they travel down through the path of austerity, spellbound, to assist us in our pursuit of happiness.

  Listening for the echoing of secrets, they gather knowledge of the soul’s immortal veiled mysteries, which have power to wash away the plight of human misfortune—so that they might guide humankind out of darkness. Without their selfless submissive inquiry into the nature of the everlasting, the earth would be without light.

  It is without exception due to these saints’ inward traveling, that we have such a great fount of wisdom to drink from. Without their efforts, our burdens would be very great indeed. Our attempts to submit to their instructions too, are a great privilege. For in executing their call to action, we undertake to walk in their footsteps and acquire deliverance from certain peril—for all devouring death—without constraint, follows rich and poor alike. None can escape its command.

  These tears of love, like the eyes of chaste stars, are part of the great story of my waiting, which was to be my fate. I had taken it upon my young heart, to remain devout until he returned. But destiny had another plan. I could not then have fathomed all that Jesu was to become. None of us could. How could we in our youthful dizziness understand such things? Yet my soul was stirred by him, even then, and in some strange way, I knew and accepted his departure, as part of the greater scheme of things.

  Jesu composed many letters describing his education. He spoke of astrology and physics, and of their effects on humanity, as well as describing accounts of men performing miracles like walking on water and levitating above the ground. He was in the company of great minds and had been accepted as a pupil in a famed ancient temple in Orissa—where he learned of powerful elixirs which could illuminate and heal the suffering of the world.

  One letter in particular had struck me, inside of which he shared the story of Bethel—a famous black stone which had belonged to Abraham, the father of our Hebrew nation. Abraham had worshipped God in the form of a natural elliptical black stone which was celebrated as the symbol of God. Reputedly, the sacred object had been given to Abraham by the archangel Gabriel, who instructed him how to worship the Lord.

  Upon Abraham’s passing from this world, the stone was bequeathed to his grandson, Jacob. And Jacob, not realizing the spiritual significance of it, had made use of this stone as a pillow. One night, as his head rested upon the sacred object, a staircase of light materialized—famously known as Jacob’s ladder. Upon it, he saw the shining gods and angels as they came and went from Heaven.

  The plot thickened. For upon further study into the matter, Jesu discovered that Jacob had another vision, wherein God told him, “I am the Lord of Bethel, where you anointed My stone and where you made vows unto Me,” and spoke to him of a future dynastic successor who would come to be known as “Messiah” and would be a savior unto the world. From that day forth, Jacob had set about worshipping the black stone, faithfully bathing and making offerings of oil and flowers to God, in the manner as was shown to him by the angels of Heaven. He called the stone, Bethel, meaning “dwelling place of the Lord.”

  Jesu had found references of this within
the Book of Genesis which revealed that Bethel was actually the spiritual center for the descendants of Jacob—transcendent even above Jerusalem!

  Whilst on holy pilgrimage, Jesu was taken to see the black stone, Bethel, which had been safeguarded in a secret temple, worshipped, and cloistered, since the time of Jacob. The Brahmin priests who tended the deity, amazed by Jesu’s insight into matters of spirit, invited him to stay a while. One night, the priests were given a vision of the Lord, wherein Jesu was revealed to them as the prophesied descendant. ‘Bowing before me, they gifted me with the stone, telling me it was my inheritance!’ he had written.

  As heir apparent, Jesu brought the stone back with him to Judea, upon his return. It was to become a matter of grave importance and a critical key to his Messianic destiny, since Bethel held such revered value to our people. The spiritual seat of the transcendental, on earth, had been returned to us by an inevitable perfect twist of fate, as the tradition of Bethel’s worship had all but been lost within the valleys of time, and had faded from the people’s memory. Jesu appreciated that the dedicated influence of Abraham and Jacob was with him—as was the Lord. It was crucial to his potency and dominion as Messiah, for now he was without doubt, the true and righteous leader of his people.

  The mysterious stone was the only possession we valued, and the only asset I had brought with me out of Jerusalem.

  Sometimes Jesu sent parcels of neatly bound texts for me to read—the Upanishads, Puranas, and Vedanta, requesting that I memorize the verses he had marked for me. These holy writs were said to be so ancient, that there was no record of when they were first inscribed, as for thousands of years they were passed from father to son, memorized in their entirety. I devoured them, for they gave me a place upon the mind, where I could meet the man that I was devoted to. But more than that, through them, I was gifted with a fascination for all refined knowledge and contemplation. Time seemed to shrink because of it.

  By the time Jesu finally returned to Jerusalem, he was a grown man, changed, with a rugged appearance, a soothing balm in his eyes, and a fire lit from within. He was still much to my liking.

  I breathed in the familiar fragrance of fresh air. I was home. Exhausted, we all went straight to bed, not knowing that the rising sun was calling forth an event which would shatter the design of human conclusion forever. Crawling quietly next to my daughter, Sarah-Tamar, who was curled up like a baby in bed, I snuggled up close to her, allowing sleep to defeat my worn-out body. Very quickly, I was engulfed in a dreamless, much-needed rest.

  A sudden light stole away my sleep as ten thousand suns shone with radiance through my window. It was as if a divine presence had appeared before me. There was a strange expectant energy afoot. I sat bolt upright, sensing something in the air—something shifting and kindling, as if spells had been busy being cast by sages in the dead of night.

  Crawling from my bed, so as not to disturb Sarah-Tamar, I fell to my knees before the window, allowing the curious glow to embrace me. Was this a sign from my husband? Had he come to me like dawn, to wake me and offer a ray of hope?

  “Who are you?” I asked, but no reply came.

  I cried, assured that it was him blessing me with his otherworldly presence. “If thy heart be true amid this storm placed upon our souls, then as the gardens gather flowers unto themselves, please gather me into your fold and bless me with a vision of you. I am longing for this—not as a light, but as a man come to suspend me above my very great sorrow. For I have become like a tree with no water,” I whispered, with hands folded together in prayer, head bowed, allowing my tears to fall freely.

  Entreating the spirit of my dead husband thus, I felt the flutter of life within my womb.

  “Within our Father’s holy chapel I have left my heart, where it shall forever remain. For the shadow of death has taken you from us and now a very great sorrow has fallen upon our family, which is too great to bear. I fear I shall forever be as a weeping tree without water and with no flowers upon its branches. You have withered me by your absence. I am broken. You leave me full of such sorrow,” I wept solemnly, closing my eyes, feeling the wretchedness that had engulfed my broken heart. “Am I forbidden any hope?” I cried. “Do my words whisper into emptiness?”

  Sighing, I fell to the floor.

  I woke to my daughter shouting for help. With my head in her lap, I opened my eyes slowly, taking deep, gasping breaths, listening to the sound of footsteps rushing to help her lift me to my bed. The blurred images of people’s faces around me, I did not recognize. It was as if I was not really there. Someone called my name to rouse me, but I had lost consciousness. I was at peace. I was surrendered to the possibility that I too might perish, embracing death like an old friend.

  It was my daughter’s fear, which shot a jolt of life into me, reviving me just enough, such that I could squeeze her hand to appease her in some way. Waking myself from my stupor, I kissed her long, delicate fingers, for her pained expression startled me. Immediately I made an effort to prop myself up so that she would worry herself no longer. Lazarus and Martha had seated themselves on either side of my bed, with concerned looks upon their faces, while the maids fussed around the room, arranging for food and tea to be brought in. I noticed that a vase of colorful spring flowers had been laid upon my dresser—no doubt a small, yet kind gesture, meant to lift my sadness. Grief had really set in. I was totally incoherent.

  Sarah-Tamar sat behind me rubbing oil of rose into my tangled hair, tenderly combing through the knots which had grown like weeds—witnesses of my deep confusion. It’s aroma stirred me in memories of her childhood.

  A sudden knock at the door startled me from my apathy—it was The Mary. “Daughter!” she said excitedly, “your Uncle Joseph has come. He comes with others. Are you well enough to greet him?”

  Everyone ran downstairs eagerly, while Sarah-Tamar and I followed behind slowly, as if still in a dream. Loyally, my daughter held onto my arm, fearful that I might fall. I had not seen my uncle since he had left to bury Jesu, while I had gone into the city to spread a lie. I was in a particularly peculiar situation, for I had not yet told The Mary or the others that I had seen Jesu alive. Now, how would I justify such a lie, when for three days I had traveled with them in the caravan in silence? We would need a new strategy and my uncle would no doubt save me from the storm which brewed in my mind.

  Four men on horses approached, while my uncle waved from what looked like an old, worn-out caravan, pulled by two strong black stallions. A beaming grin on his face, he waved to us, whooping loudly. Everyone ran to him. Except me. Jumping down from the cart, he took us all in his arms, one by one, grateful to be reunited with his family. “Thank the Lord,” Martha gushed, while I stood behind, pale-faced, still dazed and confused.

  “Praise be to the Lord, for He is most glorious! Go see who is with me, Mariam,” he said, breathless with excitement, pointing to the back of the caravan. ‘Could it be?’

  Peeping between the heavy velvet curtains, in the dim light filtering through, I saw someone lying on a makeshift bed covered with blankets. I stopped for a moment, unsure of myself, for whoever it was, they did not move. My heart raced. ‘Jesu?’

  The stranger’s eyes blinked open slowly and I heard a familiar voice beckon me. I crept inside. “Come to me,” the man’s voice said weakly. “I have returned.”

  Beyond compare, they were the best words out of any person’s mouth—ever! Chills made my hairs stand on end. Sobbing, I cried, “Can it be you? Pray my love, speak once more, so I know you are real! My prayers have been answered, praise God! I have been half-mad with grief!” I wept, searching his face, peeling back his hair so that I could see him more clearly.

  “It is I, Marjan. Fear not. I could not leave . . . and now the covenant is satisfied,” he croaked, smiling cheekily out of one side
of his mouth. “Why do you marvel, wife? Did you lose faith in me?” he asked, from beneath his happy tears. “Husband, you have no idea how delighted I am!” I said, kissing his rugged face over and over again blissfully. Groaning, he wiped blood from his forehead, which slowly trickled down like raindrops on a window.

  “I went to the Lord and fulfilled my covenant,” he said, as a solitary tear rolled down from his bloody eye. “And though our Father has restored me, I am not yet fully healed,” he said, stroking my face tenderly, bandages hanging down from his wrist.

  Suddenly the reality of his desperate physical condition dawned on me. Pulling back the covers, I saw the heavily blood-soaked cloths, which concealed his deplorable wounds. ‘His fight is far from over.’

  The Mary’s elated face appeared through the drawn curtains, “Show me! Show me my son!” she cried, quivering—elated at the sight of her living son and heir. “Mother, I am alive!” he said, eyeing her delightedly. “God is good my son, we give thanks and praise to Him,” she sobbed. “Mother, I have a great hunger, can you please arrange for me to eat and drink something?” he asked, much to her great pleasure.

  I was too excited to think straight. Crying happy tears, planting kisses on him over and over again—I was unable to contain my emotion.

  I knew each and every wound and bruise on his body, and I understood that he must be in great physical discomfort. “It’s a miracle! My son, is alive! He has returned! God is great and merciful. Praise Him, from whom all blessings flow!” The Mary announced.

  Thrilled, everyone began hysterically howling, reduced to tears, as my uncle and his men carried Jesu into the house on a stretcher. I noted how pale and wilted he looked. Once he was in the light of day, his immeasurable frailty was plain, despite his cheerful disposition.

 

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