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Fanzi Nalar Prasetia
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15209431
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4EA14
BETWEEN
CHRIST AND ISHTAR
In the midst
of the gardens and hills which connect the city of Beirut with Lebanon there is
a small temple, very ancient, dug out of white rock , surrounded by olive, almond,
and willow trees. Although this temple is a half mile from the main highway, at
the time of my story very few people interested in relics and ancient ruins had
visited it. It was one of many interesting places hidden and forgotten in
Lebanon. Due to its seclusion, it had become a haven for worshippers and a
shrine for lonely lovers.
As one enters
this temple he sees on the wall at the east side an old Phoenician picture,
carved in the rock depicting Ishtar, goddess of love and beauty, sitting on her
throne, surrounded by seven nude virgins standing in different posses. The
first one carries a torch; the second, a guitar; the third, a censer; the
fourth a jug of wine; the fifth, a branch of roses; the sixth, a wreath of
laurel; the seventh, a bow and arrow; and all of them look at Ishtar
reverently.
In the second
wall there is another picture, more modern than the first one, symbolizing
Christ nailed to the cross, and at His side stand His sorrowful mother and Mary
Magdalene and two other women weeping. This Byzantine picture shows that it was
carved in the fifteenth or sixteenth century.
In the west
side wall there are two round transits through which the sun’s rays enter the
temple and strike the pictures and make them look as if they were painted with
gold water colour. In the middle of the temple there is a square marble with
old paintings on its sides, some of which can hardly be seen under the
petrified lumps of blood which show that the ancient people offered sacrifices
on this rock and poured perfume, wine, and oil upon it.
There is
nothing else in that little temple except deep silence, revealing to the living
the secrets of the goddess and speaking wordlessly of past generations and the
evolution of religions. Such a sight carries the poet to a world far away from
the one in which he dwells and convinces the philosopher that men were born
religious; they felt a need for that which they could not see and drew symbols,
the meaning of which divulged their hidden secrets and their desires in life
and death.
In that
unknown temple, I met Selma once every month and spent the hours with her,
looking at those strange pictures, thinking of the crucified Christ and
pondering upon the young Phoenician men and women who lived, loved and
worshipped beauty in the person of Ishtar by burning incense before her statue
and pouring perfume on her shrine, people for whom nothing is left to speak
except the name, repeated by the march of time before the face of Eternity.
It is hard to
write down in words the memories of those hours when I met Selma – those
heavenly hours, filled with pain, happiness, sorrow, hope, and misery.
We met
secretly in the old temple, remembering the old days, discussing our present,
fearing our future, and gradually bringing out the hidden secrets in the depths
of our hearts and complaining to each other of our misery and suffering, trying
to console ourselves with imaginary hopes and sorrowful dreams. Every now and
then we would become calm and wipe our tears and start smiling, forgetting
everything except Love; we embraced each other until our hearts melted; then
Selma would print a pure kiss on my forehead and fill my heart with ecstasy; I
would return the kiss as she bent her ivory neck while her cheeks became gently
red like the first ray of dawn on the forehead of hills. We silently looked at
the distant horizon where the clouds were coloured with the orange ray of
sunset.
Our
conversation was not limited to love; every now and then we drifted on to
current topics and exchanged ideas. During the course of conversation Selma
spoke of woman’s place in society, the imprint that the past generation had
left on her character, the relationship between husband and wife, and the
spiritual diseases and corruption which threatened married life. I remember her
saying: “The poets and writers are trying to understand the reality of woman,
but up to this day they have not understood the hidden secrets of her heart,
because they look upon her from behind the sexual veil and see nothing but
externals; they look upon her through the magnifying glass of hatefulness and
find nothing except weakness and submission.
In another
occasion she said, pointing to the carved pictures on the walls of the temple,
“In the heart of this rock there are two symbols depicting the essence of a
woman’s desires and revealing the hidden secrets of her soul, moving between
love and sorrow – between affection and sacrifice, between Ishtar sitting on
the throne and Mary standing by the cross. The man buys glory and reputation,
but the woman pays the price.”
No one knew
about our secret meetings except God and the flock of birds which flew over the
temple. Selma used to come in her carriage to a place named Pasha park and from
there she walked to the temple, where she found me anxiously waiting for her.
We feared not
the observer’s eyes, neither did our consciences bother us; the spirit which is
purified by fire and washed by tears is higher than what the people call shame
and disgrace; it is free from the laws of slavery and old customs against the
affections of the human heart. That spirit can proudly stand unashamed before
the throne of God.
Human society
has yielded for seventy centuries to corrupted laws until it cannot understand
the meaning of the superior and eternal laws. A man’s eyes have become
accustomed to the dim light of candles and cannot see the sunlight. Spiritual
disease is inherited from one generation to another until it has become a part
of people, who look upon it, not as a disease, but as a natural gift, showered
by God upon Adam. If those people found someone free from the germs of this
disease, they would think of him with shame and disgrace.
Those who
think evil of Selma Karamy because she left her husband’s home and met me in
the temple are the diseased and weak-minded kind who look upon the healthy and
sound as rebels. They are like insects crawling in the dark for fear of being
stepped upon by the passer-by.
The oppressed
prisoners, who can break away from his jail and does not do so, is a coward.
Selma, an innocent and oppressed prisoner, was unable to free herself from
slavery. Was she to blame because she looked through the jail window upon the
green fields and spacious sky? Will the people count her as being untruthful to
her husband because she came from his home to sit by me between Christ and
Ishtar? Let the people say what they please; Selma had passed the marshes which
submerge other spirits and had landed in a world that could not be reached by
the howling of wolves and rattling of snakes. People may say what they want
about me, for the spirit who has seen the spectre of death cannot be scared by
the faces of thieves; the soldier who has seen the swords glittering over his
head and streams of blood under his feet does not care about rocks thrown at
him by the children on the streets.
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