Akhenaten: Dweller in Truth Read online

  “This is Amun venting his anger at last,” I said to my father.

  “You sound like those malicious priests.”

  “Tell me, Father, what really is your duty in a time like this?”

  “I don't need to be reminded of my duty, Mutnedjmet,” he replied irritably.

  I asked Nefertiti once, “Will you not do something to defend your throne?”

  “We do our best to serve the throne of the One God,” she replied. I was not convinced by her enthusiasm.

  You must not think that she spoke out of devotion. When it came to loyalty, Nefertiti was utterly lacking. She was merely afraid that if she warned her husband of the consequences of his stubbornness he would withdraw his trust from her and choose another woman to share his throne. During my attempts to talk some sense into Akhenaten's men, I discovered that Toto, the chief epistoler, had secretly harbored a loyalty to Amun. Toto became the middle man between me and the high priest of Amun. It was absolute torment. I had to choose between my family and my country and gods. By joining the priests' camp I risked the peace in my family, and even my own safety.

  “The high priest wishes to win the queen to our side,” Toto said one day. “He asked for your help.”

  “I have tried, believe me. You don't suppose I waited for the high priest to tell me something so obvious. Nefertiti, I admit, is no less foolish than the heretic.”

  The high priest convinced Queen Tiye to visit Akhetaten. When her attempts were to no avail, he came in person to deliver his last warning to Akhenaten's men. Toto did not agree with the high priest. He favored an unannounced raid upon them. “Set the heathen city on fire,” he declared.

  I so much wanted to win Haremhab, chief of security, to our side. He had insuperable power in Akhetaten. Since he had a reputation for being utterly candid, I was quite direct with him. I found, however, that he was very cautious. Perhaps he did not trust me, just as I did not fully trust him at first. Indeed, I had to discuss things with him several times before I became confident that he was in agreement with us. I waited until civil war loomed over Egypt.

  “We must reassess our strategies,” I said. Haremhab looked at me curiously, and I continued, “We cannot let Egypt burn to ashes.”

  “Did you not speak to your sister?” he asked cunningly.

  “She speaks the king's tongue. They are both insane.” My frankness startled him.

  “What do you advise?” He appeared keen.

  “Anything is permissible if it will save the country,” I replied.

  Mutnedjmet continued after a moment of silence. “It was truly a tragedy, even greater than the invasion of Egypt by the Hyksos. You must have heard several times how it all ended. Akhenaten was insane; unfortunately for all of us, he inherited the throne of Egypt and used it to exercise his morbid impulses. I place more blame on Nefertiti, for she is not lacking in reason. But she wanted only to nurse her ambition and cultivate more power. When Akhenaten's glory began to fade, she abandoned him just like that. She even tried to join his enemies; perhaps she hoped to be queen of the new throne. Look at her now, buried in dark solitude, bitter and full of regret.”

  Meri-Ra

  Meri-Ra's face was a prelude to the sadness inside him. His skin was bronzed by the sun. He was slim, rather tall, in his mid-forties. He lived alone in a small house, with no companions or servant. Meri-Ra was once the high priest of the One and Only God in Akhetaten, the city of light. I visited him in his town, Deshasha, two days north of Thebes. When he read my father's letter he asked me, smiling, “Why do you take such a burden upon yourself?”

  “To find out the truth,” I answered.

  “It is good to think that there is one person who seeks the truth,” he nodded. “Perhaps I was the only one who was driven out of Akhetaten by force. I refused to abandon my king. The voice of God was silenced, the temple was destroyed, but destiny has yet to have its final word.” Then he gazed at me with his sad brown eyes and began his story.

  I was fortunate to have been among the prince's closest companions from boyhood. Akhenaten and I were greatly drawn to mystical themes. We studied the religion of Amun together, as well as Aten. Like many of our peers, I was enchanted with his charm. I admired his sensitivity and insight. He was a remarkable theologian. He blessed me with the words that later conquered everyone's heart: “I love you, Meri-Ra. Do not withhold your love from me.”

  His love penetrated my heart and spread to my soul. He often invited me to join him in his place of retreat on the western side of the palace by the Nile bank, an awning supported on four columns and surrounded by lotus and palm trees. Its floor was lush grass, and in the middle there was a green mat and a cushion. Akhenaten would wake up in the darkness of the early morning hours. When the golden sun emerged behind the fields, he sang to Aten. His sweet voice still echoes in my ears, and intoxicates me like the smell of holy incense:

  Your light, a summit in the sky,

  Aten, the living God,

  Aten, the first of life,

  When your rays appear in the East

  The world is a festival of light.

  Aten, the living Sun,

  Aten, shining above,

  Your light unifies the two lands

  And all that you created.

  You may be distant, but your rays are here on earth.

  When the sun had risen, we wandered blissfully in the garden. “There is no joy so pure as the joy of worship.” His face glowed. But even then, Akhenaten's life was not free of pain. His failure in military training embittered him. “My father will not forgo his desire to make me a warrior, Meri-Ra,” he complained. Then he looked in the gold-framed mirror and said, “Alas! Neither beauty nor strength.”

  The death of his older brother Tuthmosis left him with a scar in his soul. Only a deeper wound, the death of his beloved daughter Meketaten, made the pain of his childhood loss bearable. How he cried for his brother. Death became a mystery, a terrible question that confronted him mercilessly.

  “What is death, Meri-Ra?” he asked. I remained quiet, avoiding the conventional answers he detested. “Even Ay does not know,” he continued. “Only the sun rises again after it has gone. Tuthmosis will never return.”

  Thus was the eternal war he waged on weakness and grief. He set himself on a path, like the rays of the sun, promising a bright day every morning. Then one beautiful morning I met him in his place of retreat. He was rather pale, but there was something about the fixed gaze of his eyes that made him look fearless.

  “The sun is nothing, Meri-Ra,” he said without returning my greeting. I did not understand what he meant. He pulled me down beside him on the straw mat and continued, “Heed my words, Meri-Ra, for I speak the truth. Last night I was intoxicated with ecstasy. The darkness of the night was my companion, so intimate, like a lovely bride. I was entranced with longing for the Creator. And there, across a thousand visions, the truth revealed itself to me, more apparent than anything seen with the eye. I heard a voice sweeter than the scent of flowers: ‘Fill thy soul with my breath,’ it said. ‘Renounce what I have not granted thee’. I am the Creator, I am the stream from which life flows. I am love, peace, and joy. Fill thy heart with my love, quench the thirst of all the tortured souls on earth.”

  He was radiant with excitement, dazzling.

  “Do not fear the truth, Meri-Ra,” he continued, “for in the truth you will find happiness.”

  “What splendid light,” I murmured breathlessly.

  “Come, live with me in the truth,” he urged me.

  I sat upright. “I am with you, my Prince, until the very end.”

  Akhenaten became the first priest of the One and Only God. He became my teacher and spiritual guide, eager to answer my questions even before I asked. One day I said, “I believe in your God.”

  “Rejoice!” he cried. “You shall be the first priest in his temple.”

  Akhenaten declared his new faith to a few of his close companions. When he married Nefertiti—an
d he delighted in marriage—he was most pleased that she, too, believed in the One and Only. He did not begin the denunciation of other deities until later. During his father's rule, Akhenaten did not have the power to do what he liked. Later, when he became king, his attacks came progressively. At first he renounced all the deities. Then he abolished their worship, confiscated the temples, and allotted their patrimonies to the poor. In Akhetaten I became the high priest of the One God. When my king decided to close the temples, I warned him, “You are challenging a power that has prevailed through the ages and across the land, from Nubia to the sea.”

  “The priests are swindlers,” he said confidently. “They live off propagating superstition in order to exploit the poor and extort their daily bread. Their temples are brothels, and there is nothing they hold sacred but their carnal desires.”

  I discovered then that within his feeble body Akhenaten possessed a power that no one had guessed at. His courage exceeded that of Haremhab and Mae, who had reputations for bravery. To everyone else he was an enigma, but to me he was as clear as the sun. He exhausted himself in the love of his God and devoted his life to the service of the One and Only, regardless of the consequences. I did not find his performance during the memorable tour of the empire surprising at all. Nor was I surprised that he kept to his message of love and peace even in the most extreme circumstances. He dwelled in the expanse of God's empire and lived by his command. For Akhenaten, the shrewdness of politicians and the power of military men was of no significance. It was only the truth that concerned him. They accused him of living an illusion, and of madness.

  The truth, however, was that they were the ones who dwelled on the illusions of a corrupt world; they were a raving mob. Indeed the throne was the least of his concerns. I remember how he became morose when he was summoned from his tour to claim the throne after his father died. “I wonder if the duties of the throne will keep me away from my God?” he asked sullenly.

  “But my King,” I replied eagerly, “it is but a divine purpose to put the power of the throne in the service of God, as your forefathers have done for their false deities.”

  “You speak the truth, Meri-Ra.” He appeared relieved. “They sacrificed the lives of poor peasants to their gods. I shall slay evil and offer it to my God. Thus I shall be God's instrument to break the shackles of those who have no power.”

  He ascended the throne to fight the most fierce of wars. He fought for the happiness of people, as his God commanded him. During that war he proved that he was stronger and more enduring than Tuthmosis III.

  He proclaimed his religion in the provinces. People were exhilarated. They received him with flowers and love.

  He was determined to renew every day the faith of his own men, those who were closest to him. They would stand before the throne, and when they had finished discussing the affairs of the nation with Nefertiti, Akhenaten would talk with them about religion, so that he was certain that they were deserving of God's bounty.

  Meri-Ra was silent for a while. He heaved a loud sigh then continued.

  Then clouds of grief came, one after the other, driven by winds of spite, within the country and from outside. Each man faced up to them according to the strength of his faith, and although some of them faltered, my King was not distraught. “God will not let me down,” he said. One day in the temple he asked derisively, “My men advise me to be moderate, and my God commands me to uphold the faith. Whom should I follow, Meri- Ra?” The question required no answer.

  Haremhab came to meet me in the temple when matters were at their worst. “You are the high priest of the One God, Meri-Ra, the closest of all men to the king,” he said.

  “It is but a gift from God, bestowed upon his servant,” I replied, anticipating what he was about to request.

  “The situation demands a change in policy,” he started.

  I replied firmly, “Heed only the voice of God.”

  He frowned. “I hoped we might have a reasonable discussion.”

  “Only true believers are capable of a reasonable discussion,” I replied.

  When I learned about the men's decision to abandon the king under the pretense of protecting his life, I said to Ay, “I cannot accept a return to heathen ways.”

  My King refused to compromise. It is not that he did not care about the welfare of the country, for he, too, had his plan to avoid civil war. He had intended to confront his people and the rebels alone. He was confident that he had the ability to guide them afresh to the faith. But by then, the men were convinced that he was going to be killed, and that if they did not leave they would soon pay the price with their own lives. Everyone deserted him. Armed soldiers came to take me. The guards who were left with Akhenaten were ordered to stop him if he attempted to venture out of his palace. Thus they prevented him from confronting people. He became a prisoner in his palace. Even Nefertiti left him. I cannot imagine that she left him willingly; she, too, I should think, was carried away by force. He was filled with grief for the faith that he had spent his life trying to plant in people's hearts. Then we received news that he was ill, and shortly after, he died. Actually, I doubt that his death was caused by illness. I believe that the foul hands of the priests of Amun had finally found their way into his pure, precious soul. He died without knowing that I never wanted to leave his side.

  Once more Meri-Ra was silent. He gazed at me for a long time, then he said, “Akhenaten did not and will not die. For he has found the eternal truth. The day will come when he will be victorious. He heard the voice of God promise that He would never forsake him.”

  Meri-Ra reached over to open a drawer beside him. He produced a scroll of papyrus and handed it to me. “This is a record of all his religious teachings and his songs,” he said. “Study it, young man. Perhaps your truth-loving heart will find some solace in his words. You did not start this journey for no reason.”

  Mae

  I went to meet Mae in Rano Kolboura on the border where he lived in a tent among his Border Army soldiers. During Akhenaten's time he had been commander of the armed forces, and had deservedly maintained his position in the new era. He was an older man, of giant stature and solemn features. He struck me as rather vain. He read my father's letter and appeared keen to talk. I suppose I had provided him with a chance to vent his feelings, isolated as he was in this remote place.

  The heretic! A vile, low-born man who humbled the strongest of men by his perversity. The drums of war were silenced, the flags of glory lowered; the sound of music ascended from the throne of the pharaohs. I, commander of armed forces, was forced to remain idle as the empire was torn to pieces and gradually fell into the hands of the enemies and the rebels. When our faithful friends and allies cried for help, I could not aid them and their cries vanished into thin air. Because of Akhenaten we lost our military honor. We became an object of derision, and an easy prey for bandits.

  Fortunately, I was never one of his close friends. But duty required that I go to Akhetaten occasionally. On every visit I wondered how such a distorted creature was able to deceive men like Ay, Haremhab, and Nakht. I have always been loyal to the gods and traditions of my country, and was extremely angry the day I heard about his alleged new god. When Akhenaten ordered the closing of the temples I was certain that a terrible curse would befall us all. During a visit to Thebes the high priest came to see me in my palace one night.

  “I hope that I am not embarrassing you with this visit,” he said.

  “It is an honor and my palace is at your command.” He seemed astonished at my openness.

  He thanked me then said, “You are redeemed, Mae. People have lost their solace. They used to take refuge in their gods, made them offerings and received their blessings. In times of trouble they hurried to the priests for guidance in life and the hereafter. Poor souls, look at them now, lost like stray sheep.”

  “What good is complaining?” I asked irritably. “Is it not our duty to rid the country of his madness?”

  “If
we do as you advise, we shall face a crushing war,” he replied after a moment's thought.

  “Is there no solution then?”

  “To convince the men closest to him.”

  “A far-fetched hope.”

  “We must not resort to the desperate measures you propose before we exhaust all other options.”

  “I can promise you the support of the armed forces when you need it,” I said.

  Winning over the men in Akhenaten's chamber, however, would have required more time than we had. Civil war had already begun to threaten the country. Nothing could be done but to salvage what remained beneath the ruins.

  People asked themselves why the sweet dream had turned into a nightmare. I believe that a tragedy was bound to happen, and that its secret lay in the weakness of the heretic, his weakness of mind and body. His mother spoiled him and sheltered him from the reality of his sickness. Consequently he was excruciatingly jealous when he compared himself with his more distinguished peers, like Haremhab, Nakht, and Bek. The contrast was demeaning. He concealed his shame behind a curtain of feminine meekness and sweetness, and secretly nurtured a desire to destroy every single strong figure, be it god or priest, so that he could be the sole power. Some of the men recognized his weakness of spirit, and found in it a stepping stone to their ambitions. They were quick to join his religion, not out of fear of his power or faith in his religion, not out of fear of his power or faith in his god, but out of greed. His weakness was an invitation to the greedy and the ill-willed. They sang with him in the temple, then turned around and stripped the poor of what little they had. When the people began to rebel, he sent them messages of love instead of the army. At last, when death threatened them, they abandoned him and joined forces with his enemies, loaded with loot. That is why when the high priest of Amun wanted to negotiate, I protested.