Fiction
Nebamun
was determined and nothing could deter him now.
Now was his opportunity. Antony
had gone back to Rome being summoned by Caesar.
Cleopatra would be alone. Nebamun
could offer her his heart. Offer his
heart to the goddess of love whom age cannot wither or custom cannot stale –
that was how one of Antony’s commanders described her the other day.
Let
her trample upon his heart if she so chooses.
Nebamun was the devotee and Cleopatra was the goddess. The goddess can choose what to do with the
devotee and it is the bounden duty of the devotee to obey, to make whatever
sacrifice the goddess demands.
He
stood outside Cleopatra’s royal chamber waiting until she came out.
“Your
Majesty,” Nebamun drew Cleopatra’s attention when she was about to pass him by as
if he never existed. Queens don’t pay
attention to ordinary soldiers even if they stand in places where they are not
expected.
“Yes,”
said Cleopatra staring at him. “What do
you want? Why are you standing here
outside my chamber?”
“I
wish to speak to you alone,” said Nebamun.
“What
about?”
“My
heart’s deepest desire. A devotee’s most
fervent prayer.”
“What
do you mean?”
“You
are my goddess, Your Majesty. I am your
devotee standing before you with a supplication. Be merciful enough to grand my wish.”
Cleopatra
stared into his eyes before ordering her maids to leave them alone.
“What
is your wish?”
“I
have been worshipping you with my whole heart and soul. Please grant my wish to worship you with my
body.”
Cleopatra
was too stunned to decide whether to flare up or laugh out.
“How
dare you? This is intolerable audacity!”
“You
call it audacity, Your Majesty, but I call it worship. I’m your devotee; you’re my goddess.”
Their
eyes met again. Determination and
devotion were overflowing in Nebamun’s gaze.
His body language was a queer mixture of those of a soldier’s and
devotee’s. A unique combination. A rare lover.
Cleopatra’s eyes began to sparkle with mischief.
“I
will grant your wish,” she said to Nebamun whose heart skipped a beat. “But on a condition.”
What
do conditions matter to a devotee?
Nebamun waited eagerly.
“You
won’t live to see the next morning.”
What
does the next morning matter to a devotee?
Cleopatra’s
chamber opened itself to Nebamun that night.
There
was a strange shade of crimson in the sky when the sun rose the next morning
from the Red Sea. The executioner
reported that Nebamun died without an iota of regret. “Rather,” said the executioner, “I have never
met a man who seemed more contented than that.”
Wonderful, Matheikal! Why to come back after unison with Goddess to live a miserable life thereafter!
ReplyDelete"Having conquered certain heights you wouldn't wish to come down..." as Richard Bach said.
DeleteI enjoyed reading this piece
ReplyDeleteGlad to hear that, Chaitali.
DeleteWhat is death if you are granted your the wish you live for. Nice story.
ReplyDeleteBoth death and power are wish fulfilments. Thanks.
DeleteDevotion..in the truest form....it's like accomplishing " Nirvana" ..after which death doesn't matter...
ReplyDeleteI'm not sure why I wrote this story, Maniparna.
DeleteHeart with content feeling is what all look for.
ReplyDeleteYes, in the end that sense of fulfilment is all that matters.
DeleteHmm.. Passion can really blind its follower.. Some passions are worth dying for but some I doubt..
ReplyDeleteYou are right. But it's the individual's choice, in the end. Some individuals become tragic heroes in stories because of their choice.
Delete