by Krishna Rose
I too was a changed woman. I was now a mother and wife of John the Baptist. Jesu would occasionally glance at me out of the corner of his eye when no one was looking, but our exchanges spoke nothing of our great inner agony. At first I avoided the places where he was speaking, but very quickly his healings, miracles, and ministry became legendary, and I could no longer restrain myself. I wanted to hear him speak, even if from a distance, where I could admire and cherish him in a confidential way.
I plotted schemes to leave the crowds, while John taught and baptized his growing congregation. Slipping away unnoticed, Sarah-Tamar and I would ride my pony together, as swift as the wind, to where Jesu was speaking. Gradually, the afternoon meetings turned into all-day rallies, which turned into weekends. And eventually we left for weeks at a time—unnoticed. At first, we sat in the back, away from prying eyes, but once Martha and Lazarus became regular fixtures at Jesu’s side, I deemed it appropriate to move closer and hear the astonishing things that he spoke.
His instructions were profound, and my heart became a fertile meadow. I drank deep the things which he spoke of, for I thirsted. In my private tribulation, I had anguished alone for what felt like an eternity in Jesu’s absence. God had become my refuge and my fortress, and the Lord’s Kingdom was no longer a figment of my imagination, for my pasture bloomed in the nectar of his words.
Jesu saw me among the ladies who, allured by his charm, now eagerly followed him, though I kept a cool distance at first—I knew my place as John’s wife. Sarah-Tamar, however, warmed to Jesu quickly and could oft be seen running to him, embracing the legs of the man, who could have, by another twist of fate, been her father.
At first John didn’t notice my absence. He stayed in the desert for weeks at a time, eating nothing, utterly enthralled by his mission. However, one day I came home to find John, much to my alarm, waiting there for us, after we had returned from a week of fasting and healing in the desert. Distrusting me, he questioned me concerning my whereabouts. I was apprehensive to give the true story, so I reported that I had been with my brother and sister, which wasn’t entirely a lie.
Later that same evening, John was in a wrathful mood. I could feel him calculating and stewing, thus I avoided eye contact with him at all costs. I did not want him to catch sight of my joyousness at having spent time with the man I, in my heart of hearts, loved.
“Mariam,” he called, in a reproachful raspy voice.
“Yes, husband. How may I serve you?” I replied. I had learned in time to be in constant humble service to him, hoping he would never doubt my commitment to him.
“You were with Martha this past week?” he asked with a hint of disapproval in his voice.
“Yes, husband. Also my brother, Lazarus . . .” I replied, distracting myself as I prepared for him a warm honey tea—preaching in the desert had put severe strain on his voice.
“I hear Martha and Lazarus have been following Jesu. Have you also been hearing from him?” he quizzed.
A silence hung over us, thick as bread. You could cut it with a knife.
“Sometimes,” I replied, testing the water. “Jesu visits Bethany occasionally, and at that time, I hear his sermons,” I said, downplaying the situation. “He has gathered quite a following, but he is not as popular as you are,” I said, hoping to rebuff his reproach.
“Does he speak with you?” he asked me cautiously.
“No, John. He doesn’t speak with any of the women privately. We follow all etiquettes when we are in one another’s company,” I said truthfully.
“What things does he speak of, wife?” he said frostily.
“Many things, husband,” I answered collectedly. “Mainly he tells stories. Stories which have moral teachings. People seem to like him. But it is his miracles that people come to see,” I said, convincingly toning down my excitement.
“Really? And pray tell—what miracles does he perform, Mariam?” he asked facetiously, a disapproving frown upon his brow. I knew I was treading on dangerous ground, so I feigned stupidity.
“I can’t remember, husband. I listen only with one ear. Sarah-Tamar and I are usually helping Martha in the kitchens,” I said carefully.
“But is it very beautiful what he speaks? Does he really heal the sick?” he probed.
“What he speaks of, is no more and no less than the things you teach, husband. But yes, I have seen him heal a blind man . . . and also a leper,” I confessed.
John came to bed that night and lay his hand on mine. It was the first time he had touched me in three years. We lived as man and wife, but fortunately I had no wifely duties with him, since he was always absorbed in preaching and seemed to have distaste for all pleasures of the flesh. Perhaps it was not distaste, but fear. I sensed that since my deflowering, he trusted himself not. His passion was vast, and it terrified him. John was more comfortable in the company of men, fasting and praying with intensity. All the freedom of youth was gone from our relationship, and our conversations were strained.
“I would rather you not hear from Jesu, my good wife,” he said candidly. “It does not look good that my wife is going to hear from my cousin, when her own husband is teaching elsewhere,” he said in a chilled, husky voice.
I do not know where it began or where it ended, but it was as if all the years of suppression and unhappiness bubbled up from somewhere deep inside of me. Words came tumbling out of me like wildfire. “No, John,” I said, scrambling. “I shall not stop going to hear from him. I am happiest when I am with my family, and even you cannot stop me from going to them. I have married you, and all these years stayed silent in my unhappiness. I will not let you take this from me,” I said, asserting my independence.
With that, I felt the full force of a blow from my husband’s back-hand on the right side of my face. I froze in fear. As I dared to look him in the eye directly, he slapped me hard again across the other cheek.
Lunging for the door, he threw robes over his hunched shoulders, muttering illegible words to himself as he fled from our house. It would be the last time I would see him alive.
When John left that night, I packed up our belongings, which were few, since John did not allow for much in the way of decoration or homely comforts. He allowed me but three dresses, all of the same drab color and cloth. Having me as his trophy wife, subdued and humbled by his control over me, made him in some way feel secure.
My face throbbed and my nose bled profusely. We fled for Bethany by pony and cart, taking with us only our bare necessities. Never again did we return to that house which was filled with woe. My brother and sister tended my wounds, and Lazarus sent word for Salome to come from the King’s palace. She and I were as sisters to one another. Salome was my confidante and intimate friend, and I hers. That was how Salome came to know of what had transpired that night.
My face was swollen and bloody, and my nose most likely broken. It was this that fueled an already existing hatred of John in Salome. With a fire lit in her heart, she executed a plan to remove John from our lives forever. Though her determined move affected a change which would change history forever, I was not pleased by what came to pass. Taking the life of anyone, has no hint of righteousness to it, not under any circumstance. Much shame and guilt befell us all that week.
John presided over a large mass of people who looked to him for their souls. He baptized sinners in water and preached repentance. Groups had even gathered around him believing him to be the savior and gatekeeper they had waited for. People were tired of their unsatisfying materialistic lives. The men were bored of the brothels and drink houses, while the women were overwhelmed by monotonous daily chores—tired of their repression.
People were thrilled by the excitement surrounding John’s sermons. Deliverance from the sins of their flesh w
as desired by many, who, afflicted with torment, flocked to John for help and inspiration. They vowed to change, and the people came in plentiful hoards for healing. Both John and Jesu had mastered this form of baptism from the Egyptians, where baptism on the banks of the River Nile was preceded by public repentance and confession of sins to a priest. This had become the fashion of paupers and aristocrats alike, for misfortune does not discriminate.
The lengthy days in the desert with John always drew a crowd. Many sincere souls came to repent, and then there were those who came to watch from a distance, aghast at hearing the regretful sins of their neighbors. Fodder for gossip in the villages was abundant, and hundreds came to view the spectacle.
John had been a strong contender for the Messianic throne, and had valid claim to its crown, having fulfilled many of the prophesies himself. He too was considered a miracle child, born of a pure mother under a powerful star. He healed the sick, was of the right lineage, and was married to a Princess in the line of Benjamin. John spoke with authority, of the coming of the Kingdom and held people entranced, helping them reclaim the rejected parts of themselves. It was critical work, but not for the faint of heart.
There were those who rallied around him believing him to be the chosen one. They understood John’s role as guardian and healer of shadows, and as such, some manipulated and tried to control John and his ministry. Multiple groups of people were vying for power, and the position of Messiah was the ultimate throne.
Jesu’s sister Salome, being the half-niece of Herod Antipas, had been given a place at court serving the new Queen, Herodias, as a daughter. Salome loved palace life, enjoying the lavish lifestyle that her mother, The Mary, had long since abandoned.
Salome then played an exacting move upon the chessboard of our lives.
Herod Antipas and Queen Herodias found John’s overbearing proclamations provoking. He often used the couple as an example of everything deplorable and scandalous, exposing them to criticism throughout the Kingdom. John and his followers took to the streets, openly denying their ability to rule—deriding them aggressively. This made John’s situation precarious at best. After he left me that fateful night, he was expeditiously arrested at the Queen’s insistence.
Just prior to his capture, John had expressed doubts regarding his cousin being the Messiah. He no longer believed in him. Salome, who was astute, could see that the followers of John were strategically placing themselves into the game which she also expertly played. She detested John and his followers, for they showed blatant resentfulness toward her brother Jesu. Salome was a strong-willed alluring woman, who knew her power lay in her beauty and her ability to charm any man her way. She expertly used her womanly wiles as a powerful move—for there was not a man in Judea who did not desire her.
Once Salome saw the injuries to my person, her grievances erupted into juvenile mischievous brutality. She leaped into action, resulting in violent savagery upon John’s life. Queen Herodias, already tired of John’s heavy insults, flew into a frenzy. Despite John’s being imprisoned, his determined sermons echoed through the halls of their palace, day and night. He could not be silenced. It was then that Salome devised a plan which would change our course of destiny forever.
Two days later, Salome returned to the palace and begged Herod Antipas for John’s head. Her open display of sensual desire, had sealed John’s fate. For Herod Antipas fell for her plan—hook, line, and sinker. Salome, being the tempestuous woman that she was, then tricked Herod Antipas into beheading John, asking for his head as a token—promising him a night of pleasure thereafter.
Salome played her part, and swiftly, her uncle removed the head of the Baptist, which had been the object of people’s veneration. John’s golden chance at Messianic advantage was silenced forever. And though she loved her brother Jesu more than life, there were other motives that fueled her hatred of John, and so it was to me, that Salome gifted the head of the Baptist.
He had been my childhood friend and husband. And though our relationship was far from ideal, despite it all, I would never have wished such a fate to befall him. I was frightened by the horror of what she had done.
After John was beheaded, some of his followers took it unto themselves to claim their martyred leader as the anointed Messiah. They were anxious, and vehemently craved Jesu’s ruin. Strategically, to damage Jesu’s reputation, they circulated rumors among the people that he was a Messianic pretender, a magician, and a charlatan. At which point, the Sanhedrin took it upon themselves to use the rumors to checkmate and seal the removal of the new King from the game of thrones.
The board of sovereign rule which they also expertly played and exploited, was theirs by unquestionable right. It was a clever move, though a loathsome one. One which would ultimately humiliate and haunt them all—life after life. For not only did Jesu’s name and teachings not vanish with his crucifixion, but his undeniable fame went on to extend far and wide, swelling, and growing for centuries to come.
Jesu too played an expert game himself, much like his grandfather, King Herod the Great. He held a candle to any who, with ill-intent, attempted to repudiate him. Jesu directly placed himself in line to be crucified, for then and only then would he indisputably be accepted as Messiah, without any doubt—when he resurrected. It was an incisive means of guarding the word of God.
Our dearest, most trustworthy friend Judas gave Jesu to the priests for a pocket of gold. But what they didn’t count on, was that Jesu had carefully planned his every move. He knew that to survive the test of time, scripture would have to be altogether and absolutely fulfilled on all counts, and he was determined to consummate and unmitigatedly complete that which had to be done, for the Lord’s sake.
The expectant followers of John were anticipating their Master’s resurrection, yet it was to be his cousin Jesu who would ultimately overshadow him in death.
Jesu rode ceremoniously into Jerusalem on a donkey on that fateful day, so that all would recognize him as the anointed Messiah. Everyone knew what this action meant. He was placing himself in line, and he played the game masterfully. John’s disciples resented Jesu for boldly positioning himself where John had once stood. There was obvious hostility between the two groups. And while a few of John’s followers came to Jesu, most remained hostile, albeit aggressive.
The fight for royal power and spiritual dominion, was to become the real source of war between families and religious groups, long into the future.
I became a widow, yet I also became a free woman. I had my own wealth, my own name, and friends who looked to me for spiritual guidance. Jesu came to Bethany upon hearing of his cousin’s death. In shock, we were all much aggrieved.
“Why, Marjan? Why would Salome ask for John’s head?” Jesu asked me, stricken with sorrow.
“Because John ill-treated me, Jesu. Your cousin . . . beat me. Salome saw what he did . . . and protected me” I said shamefully, turning to face him so he could see proof thereof—my face still blackened.
“He did what?” he said jumping to his feet. Marching to my side, he caught hold of me as I lost consciousness in his arms. When I woke, shaking, I wept into his shawl as he clung to me—as he always should have.
“I have lived in sinful misery these past years with John, with no recourse,” I cried. “And though I loved him little, his untimely death was a rash and reckless move on your sister’s part,” I sniffed. “I had no idea she would do such a wretched thing. I swear it, Jesu.”
“How did you come to be married to someone you loved so little?” Jesu asked me in a voice laden with hurt, a twitch in his eye.
“Father . . . he . . . forced the marriage on me,” I said, visibly distressed. “Since that day, I have lived my life like a tiger in a cage,” I sobbed.
Jesu lifted my bruised, swollen face and pull
ed me to him. And as I wept into the safety of his chest, his arms folded around me tightly. “You are mine now, Marjan. God has set you free. I will arrange it with Elizabeth, and you shall be released from John’s family, since he has no brothers. I, as his cousin, will by law take you as my wife. It shall be as it was always meant to be. I believed you had fallen in love with my cousin . . .” he said hurtfully.
“It had crossed my mind, that John might try to win your affections in my absence. And I have to admit, I was devastated when I heard the news of your marriage by way of a letter from my brother, James. But I put my pain from me to focus on the mission at hand,” he said restlessly.
“Marjan, you need fear nothing—for not a blade of grass moves without the Lord’s sanction. Stay with your family, perform burial rites, and soon thereafter we shall make arrangements for our first marriage. What do you say, Mariam? Will you accept me? Will you take me to be yours?” he said modestly. “I have been too long without you in my life. Now I am a man who is whole, for you complete me,” he beamed.
“Yes, Jesu” I gushed, “of course I will! That’s all that I ever wanted.”
And so it was, that fate finally moved in my favor, and Jesu and I were soon thereafter betrothed.
Elizabeth turned from us—her son murdered at Salome’s hands, her daughter-in-law remarried to Jesu, John’s rival, and my husband now the forerunner for Messianic coronation. She lived alone, grief-stricken, and never again spoke to me again. She blamed me for her son’s death.
The Mary was delighted to have me as her legal daughter. She had always secretly hoped that Jesu and I would marry. It had long since seemed that fate had decided another path for the two of us.
Though all were confounded by what had transpired, our family’s circumstances were to change all too quickly. For the Sanhedrin, now had a clear plan to liberate themselves of Jesu and his brethren. John was but one thorn in their side, and now, since he was removed, the spotlight was marked to pursue another.