“On the contrary,” she said, suddenly understanding something for the first time. “It is because you are in my heart I can defeat you!"
He rose up above her on his wings of storm. He glared at her with fiery eyes. He roared at her with his thunderous voice.
But she was no longer afraid.
She closed her eyes, and in the middle of the whirlwind she saw another figure reaching out his arms for her. Amun-Ra, her father, come to fetch his daughter home.
* * * *
The beleaguered people of Waset and throughout the Two Lands paused with what they were doing and looked up, listening. Dared they hope the storm had passed at last? An uneasy silence had fallen on the land. The sun blazed down from a brilliant blue sky as though nothing had happened. They went to their windows. They went to their doors. They rushed out into the streets, shouting to their neighbours. The wind had dropped. The sand had settled.
Then the rejoicing began—the singing and the dancing, the kissing and the hugging.
After that, more soberly, they counted the cost of the storm and began to rebuild broken walls and smashed silos. They mourned relatives and friends who were not there to greet the return of the sun, and they buried dead animals.
Men-kheper-Ra, who had been in Kepel with his mother, returned hastily to the Two Lands, from his royal boat surveying with horror the devastated farmlands along the riverbanks. Palm trunks like fallen columns of ancient temples lay everywhere.
News was beginning to circulate again, and with it the rumour that the Pharaoh was dead.
Amenemheb and Ra-hotep both accompanied the prince to Men-nefer, and from there the decree went out that Men-kheper-Ra, son of Aa-kheper-en-Ra, grandson of Aa-kheper-ka-Ra, was taking his rightful place as sole Pharaoh of the Two Lands. He claimed the titles: “Strong bull arising in Waset", “Enduring in kingship like Ra in his heaven", “Powerful of Strength, Holy of Diadems", “King of Upper and Lower Egypt, Men-kheper-Ra, the form of Ra remains", “Son of Ra", “Beautiful of Forms", “Beloved of Hathor, lady of the turquoise", “Djehuti-mes the third". His followers called him also “Brandisher of Arms” and “Lord of Action", and identified him with Montu, the war god of Iuny and Djerty.[27]
[27—Men-kheper-Ra's titles from Sir Alan Gardiner, Egyptian Grammar, Griffith Institute, 1982, Lesson VII.]
With ruthless efficiency all who had been close to Hatshepsut were relieved of their offices, exiled or assassinated.
By the time he reached Waset, the country had swung completely in his favour, and crowds ran along the banks, singing his praises as they had once sung Hatshepsut's. Somehow he was associated with the return of the sun, and Hatshepsut with the storm. Her great deeds were forgotten, her name reviled.
* * *
Chapter 19
As the fog caused by the wind-blown sand settled, Hatshepsut found herself facing the regions of the Duat: the fields of reeds, the sacred lakes, the fiery pits, the gates guarded by interrogators—all that she had seen depicted in the funerary texts. All that she had been taught she would one day have to face.
She knelt down and placed her forehead on the ground as she had done many times in the sanctuary of Amun-Ra, but her limbs felt like air and there was no solidity beneath her.
I am noble. I am a spirit. I am ready. O all you gods and all you spirits, prepare a path for me.[28]
[28—“I am noble..."Book of the Dead, Spell 9]
The old words of the spell in the Book of Coming Forth By Day flowed from her heart as though they had been waiting all her life for this moment.
O Lords of Eternity, Founders of Everlasting! This heart belongs to one whose names are great, whose words are mighty. Treat the deeds and thoughts of this heart with understanding and mercy.[29]
[29—“O lords of eternity..."Book of the Dead, Spell 27]
She had thought to enter the Duat as Pharaoh, but suddenly she was a being like any other, her elaborate crowns and her luxurious clothes were gone, and what she had done and not done was standing in silent witness like a cloud behind her. In her hand were the three river-worn pebbles Anhai had given her, one black, one white, one grey. She had come from darkness and she was reaching towards the light, but her life on earth had been a mingling of the two. The grey pebble was her life, a mixture of good and evil. On earth she might boast and bluff, but here only the truth would serve. She laid the pebbles down. They had taught her what Anhai had intended.
It seemed to her that she was now rising and her limbs were almost as solid as they had been on earth. She could see her sandalled feet, she could feel the soft, plain linen of her dress.
“Strange,” she thought, holding out her hands before her, looking at them in wonderment.
Two figures appeared, one on each side of her, and she turned to look at them. Both were larger than she was.
Each held in one hand the sceptres that distinguished them as gods, and the ankh that was the sign of eternal life. With the other they each took hold of one of her arms and led her forward. Horus and Hathor; one with the piercing golden eyes of the far-seeing falcon, the other with the burnished sun-disk between the golden horns of the celestial cow, the great nurturing mother of the earth—two aspects of the One.
As they journeyed she saw many things that reminded her of earth—marshlands with rushes and papyrus, fields of wheat, lakes of lotus blossom—but whether they were really there or whether they were the forms manifested by her own longing, she could not tell.
At first the way was easy and pleasant, but then it seemed she had to face a series of tests. There was a burning fiery lake she had to cross, balancing on a bridge as narrow as a spear shaft. She was told she would be lost if she wavered or looked back or down, and she would be lost if she stood still. She would be safe only if she walked forward steadily and courageously with her heart pure.
"I have come to you," she murmured, "my soul behind me and authority before me. O Hathor, Lady of the Two Lands, establish my magic power for me, that by means of it I may recall what I have forgotten, and know what I have always known."[30]
[30—“I have come to you..."Book of the Dead, Spell 107]
She stepped forward.
She had called on Hathor, the Lady of Love, and she was suddenly ashamed. Had she ever loved anyone more than herself? She thought of Senmut, Neferure and her son. She had failed in love more than in anything else. Why should Hathor help her? She almost slipped and fell into the raging fire.
And then she thought about the Nameless One, "the Great God, the Self-created, the Lord of Life, who has created the secret Lords of Eternity, whose forms are hidden, whose shrines are secret, whose place is unknown".[31] The same Great God who had created other radiant beings to encircle the firmament, and still more—the gods who are on the earth, who inhabit the west and the east, the north and the south. It seemed to her she could see the hierarchy of mighty spirit forces, known and unknown, reaching upwards in magnificent splendour, and she knew that her father Amun, even united with the sun as Amun-Ra, was by no means the highest of the high. In all this careful order and design, surely there was provision for forgiveness if the heart was truly contrite, if it had learned from its mistakes and was ready to change?
[31—“The Great God..."Book of the Dead, Spell 17]
As she stepped off the bridge onto the green land, Amun-Ra was there to greet her.
“You have remembered what you have always known. You have understood it for the first time. Pass on to the Field of Rushes."
As though dreaming, Hatshepsut moved on and found herself among rushes so tall she believed she would be lost forever. She saw a mound rising from the swamp and struggled thankfully towards it through the clinging mud. But it was inhabited by demons who drove her off. She struggled on. Another mound. Another defeat. At the thirteenth mound she was desperate with thirst, but the water that flowed there was fire. Fifteen mounds in all she came upon, some with crocodiles, some with dangerous cobras named “Destruction".
A few of the mounds she managed to climb, and from these she could survey the marshland and see which way she had to go.
As she emerged from the Field of Rushes she was greeted by Djehuti. She bowed low at his feet.
"O you whose heart has never known falsehood, expel my evil," she pleaded. "Give me new stone on which to carve my story."[32]
[32—“O you whose heart..."Book of the Dead, Spell 26]
He smiled and lifted her.
"I have thrown off for you the earth which was on your flesh," he said. “Raise yourself that you may see the Book of the Sacred Words, and I will set your feet on the horizon at the place your soul desires."[33]
[33—“I have thrown off for you..."Book of the Dead, Spell 170]
From the Book of Sacred Words she learned how she was to answer the Gate Keepers of twenty-one gates, and the Forty-Two Assessors of the court of Osiris.
She stood at last before Osiris, the Lord of Resurrection, and her heart was placed on the scales against Maat's feather, the feather of cosmic order and truth. Trembling, she watched the golden pans move up, move down, as though they would never settle.
Amun-Ra stepped forward from the shadows and spoke for her. He told how she had restored the temples of Egypt, how she had brought incense from the land of Punt that the sacred scent might delight the nostrils of the gods, how the Two Lands had been at peace during her reign, and how she had ruled with truth and justice.
“Mostly,” Hatshepsut added silently. “But there are things I would change if I had a second chance."
Osiris looked into her eyes as though he had read her thoughts. And then Mut stepped forward, the consort of Amun. How often had Hatshepsut worn the vulture crown of Mut, the folded golden wings around her head, the strong and far-seeing eyes above the forehead.
"My Lord, Foremost of the Westerners, Judge of the Dead," the great goddess said, and everyone in the hall turned to listen. There was a coldness in her eyes and Hatshepsut trembled. Had she offended her? She had supervised the rituals that took Amun to the temple of Mut at all the festivals so that the great couple could be together; she had honoured their son Khonsu, a moon god, in his own temple at Ipet-Esut; and the three, father, mother and son, featured together in temples throughout the land. But she had never felt love for Mut as she had for Amun. Mut had always seemed so stern to her, standing behind Amun when he offered the scimitar of war, known sometimes as “Mistress of the Nine Bows", the nine enemies of Khemet.
"My husband Amun loves this child of the earth above all others," she continued. “And has brought her safely through every danger and every trial. But is it just that she should stand before you declaiming innocence when she has all but destroyed the rule of Maat in her land?"
"Speak, Lady."
"The Nameless One in the Void was neither male nor female, but alone. Movement and change and evolution were introduced as the One chose to become Two. Male energy and female energy were created to be complementary—eternally in opposition, yet eternally dependent on each other. Since the Two Lands came into being, King and Queen have kept the ancient order, the essential balance. This child of earth took the throne alone and ruled without balance."
“In my own body I represented the two forces,” Hatshepsut protested. “I wore the male beard. I ruled as man, yet in my nature I was woman. Surely the union of the two in one echoes more closely the Order behind the order?"
"When the Two were One, there was the Void. Nothing moved. Nothing happened. Nothing changed."
“I—I did not rule alone.” Hatshepsut was beginning to be very frightened. In her dreams sometimes she had stood before hard-faced accusers who had taxed her with this very crime. “My counsellors were male."
"They were not equal. They were subordinate."
“Many kings have ruled, keeping their great royal wives subordinate,” Hatshepsut said defensively.
"No one who rules alone, without Maat, stands before Osiris justified."
Amun stepped forward.
"Wife," he said, "Hatshepsut did not rule alone. I ruled at her side. The balance of male energy and female energy was well kept, as was the balance of earth energy and divine energy."
The great god and the great goddess faced each other, male and female, perfectly balanced. Around them the silence and the stillness was absolute. Nothing moved. Nothing stirred.
At last Amun bowed his head as though he acknowledged that Mut had spoken truth, and with that minute movement it seemed as though the whole universe had started up again, whirling and whirring, fighting and loving.
Djehuti stepped forward now and raised his hand.
"I think we can all agree that Mut is right in that the interaction of male and female energy is needed for the evolution of all things, but Amun has demonstrated that movement and action and change can only come about if, within that overall balance, there is a continual give and take—one stepping down, the other rising, one rising, the other stepping down."
Suddenly the hall was full of laughter and Amun and Mut kissed.
“But what about me?” thought Hatshepsut desperately. It was almost as though she had been forgotten. To herself she had justified the taking of the throne a hundred times. She had never admitted once that it had been wrong. She knew she had benefited the land. She knew she had been a good pharaoh. Now she was not so sure it had been enough. Now she did not know if her action would be found acceptable to the gods. Would it not be ironic if she was refused her place with the gods among the stars? If she was truthful with herself, one of her reasons for becoming Pharaoh was because she wanted to be raised up after death. She wanted to sail in Ra's mighty golden boat across the heavens as Pharaoh “justified” and “true of voice", powerful and remembered forever.
She looked at the scales in despair. The pans had come to rest. They were almost evenly balanced, but not quite. Would she be flung into the Void and cease to be? She had never been so afraid, so doubtful of herself and what she had done.
It was as though a million years passed as she waited for the verdict. And then Osiris smiled and she knew she would be saved. Divine mercy had tempered divine justice.
Look at me, rejoice over me, for behold I am on high! I have come into being. A shape has been provided for me. The path is open to me towards the Imperishable Stars.[34]
[34—“Look at me, rejoice..."Book of the Dead, Spell 180]
But then Djehuti stepped forward and held up his hand. "Follow me," he said. Hatshepsut hesitated. The floor was strewn with lotus blossom, the flower of renewal and rebirth—but the expression in his eyes told her that not everything was settled yet. She followed the god until she came to an empty hall where there were three doors. She knew that her future lay through one of them. She read the first inscription.
This is the way of the Great Illuminator who shines forth from the Void, who is greatly feared. Power of Powers, Mighty and Majestic. This is the way of Union with the One; of assumption into the Highest.[35]
[35—“This is the way of the Great Illuminator..."Book of the Dead, Spell 15.]
The door had three bolts. She looked at them and knew that it was beyond her present strength or skill to draw them. Though she had dreamed of passing through this door, she was not yet ready to do so.
She turned her attention to what was written above the second door, which had two bolts.
This is the way of Horus, he who flies high among the stars, yet returns to earth as spirit to guide and help those who have no wings.
Above the third door was written:
This is the way of Osiris: the renewal of life upon earth, the continual cycle of life—the seed, the plant, the fruit, the death, the seed, the plant, the fruit, the death ...
She noticed that on this door there was only one bolt. She had often dreamed of being a shining spirit among the gods and the stars forever. But now she was not sure. She wanted to be Hatshepsut again. She longed to lie with Senmut, talking as they used to talk. She longed to walk among the rustling
trees at Djeser Djeseru. She did not want to leave the earth.
If she chose the second door she could stay close to earth, her ka passing in and out of her tomb and her mortuary temple, no one seeing, no one knowing, guiding the fortunes of her people still. But she would not feel the cool of the evening breeze over the river. She would not feel a man's arms around her.
Perhaps the path of reincarnation would be best. But what if she did not meet her daughter and her son and her lover again? What if they had not passed through the tests or, if they had chosen a different door? What if she walked on earth again in flesh and blood, alone?
She hovered between the second and the third door in an agony of indecision.
At last she put her hand on one of the bolts of the Horus door. Through this one she would have no physical body but she would be able to pass in and out of her tomb, still taking an active part in the lives of her people. Had not flesh brought her suffering and pain? Had it not brought her frustration and failure? She would be happier without it.
Djehuti restrained her with a touch of the arm.
"Wait. See what there is to see before you make your decision."
He touched the door with two fingers. Through two holes that appeared where his fingers had touched she could look through the door onto the world that she had known. She saw her temple, Djeser Djeseru. But why were there so many workmen busy there? She had left it very nearly completed.
Puzzled, she strained to see more clearly. Men-kheper-Ra was directing the work, and beside him stood Men-soneb in the robes of the High Priest of Amun-Ra. She could hear the ringing of hammers and chisels on stone. Why were they working on the reliefs that were already complete?
And then she saw what they were doing and she had never known such anger and despair. They were hacking out her name. They were mutilating her image wherever it appeared. She was being removed from the memory of the earth. The great temple she had built was being changed so that future generations would think it had been the work of Men-kheper-Ra and his father and his grandfather. It would be as though she had never been, and Hatshepsut-who-had-never-been could no longer take any part in the life of her people. They could not call her to their assistance, because she had no name to call. Without a name, without the proper ceremonies and the images, her ka, the earth soul personal to Hatshepsut, was being prevented from entering the earth realm again.
Hatshepsut: Daughter of Amun Page 29