Priest of Sin: An Ancient Tale of Mortal Sin - Softcover

Burhan, Mohammed Y.

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1466916486 ISBN 13: 9781466916487

Verlag: Trafford, 2012

Inhaltsangabe

A busy man receives a call from his mother one day, beckoning him to visit. Upon his arrival, she admits that she feels ill, but she cannot clarify the symptoms or source. She begins to speak of an old memory of an ancient book, discovered by her father and hidden in the attic. Recovering the book, she gives it to her son-whose curiosity gets the best of him. The man descends into the story told by this ancient book. According to the translator, the tales it contains occurred before the birth of Jesus Christ. The stories are the firsthand accounts of five scribes who witnessed a temple servant whose life was anything but sinless. The servant's name was Tor. Many days of Tor's life existed within the space of the temple's Holy of Holies, where he kept watch over the altars and idols. Tor had his doubts, however-some of the same doubts we have today. Who is God? What does He want from us, and why are we here? It takes a long journey, filled with strife, for Tor to discover his own answers, in a story that proves that, no matter how devout he may be, no man is perfect.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Novelist, poet, and journalist born in Syria. He has published six books in Arabic:

Historical Drama: An Academic Study in TV Production

Incomplete Texts: Poetry and Short Stories.

Priest of Sin: Historical Novel

Heart’s Healer: Historical Novel

Taste of lightness: Poetry and Short Stories

House of Hatred: Historical Novel

His novel House of Hatred has been translated into Mandarin and published in China.

His works were subject to academic thesis in Middle Eastern universities. And many literary studies and reviews about his work were published in several Arabic newspapers.

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Priest of Sin

An Ancient Tale of Mortal SinBy Mohammed Y. Burhan

Trafford Publishing

Copyright © 2012 Mohammed Y. Burhan
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4669-1648-7

Contents

Prologue...............................................................1Chapter 1..............................................................11The Testimony of Hermes, the Sage......................................11Chapter 2..............................................................47The Testimony of Patrissa, the Temple's Cantatrice.....................47Chapter 3..............................................................84The Testimony of the Manetho Boat Builder..............................84Chapter 4..............................................................124The Testimony of Hilkiah, the Temple's Amur............................124Chapter 5..............................................................176The Second Testimony of Hermes, the Sage...............................176

Chapter One

The Testimony of Hermes, the Sage

I am Hermes, the sage, the faithful servant of Ra. I witness that I saw, I witness that I heard, and I witness that the falseness in my speech comes from the many confusing aspects and the confused memory, but surely not from mine heart, as there, deep inside myself, nothing but the truth dwells.

What happened had happened. I never can change it, as I am not the one to make destiny happen, but in this testimony I am telling what exactly happened. I am confessing everything that I know without keeping to myself what might protect me from being punished when the subjective hands could reach these papers.

My story with Tor is my story with the village of Sakhibo itself.

One day, in the month of Hatour, the terrible phoenixlike wind blew the routes away with its sandy wings, making a continuous whooping that sounded like wailing. The sky was overcast, and the clouds veiled the roofs of the houses. That afternoon, a horrible storm blew for three hours. It was a bad omen, I thought, as not one drop of rain fell down the squeezing whirls.

I arrived in Sakhibo. The village was on bended knees, praying for some rain—rain that might save her from a night so gloomy that the deity alone would know how vicious it was.

Darkness started swallowing the last lights of the day, and the gloomy people retired to their houses, watchfully waiting for what might happen.

I was the only one down the route walking in haste, seeking the palace of the village master. I was carrying the piles of my sacred books over my shoulders—those were the fruit of my long journeys on my way to the deity. I was full of hope that this place would be home to my eternal comfort.

I thought, It is yours now, Sage, to have some rest. God himself gets tired and looks for a settee under the shadows of the sacred trees to catch his breath. As for you, Sage, you never have been tired over the past forty years. You never have moaned or complained while extending your wisdom to every corner of the world. From south to north, from east to west, you have been to tens of cities and villages. Hundreds of followers and students have gathered around you. They learned from you, and you learned something from each land you visited until not one question could find a way to your heart.

It is high time, Sage, to have some rest.

My steps became heavier as the storm pushed me back. I managed to resist till I came across a rock that I thought would protect me from the crazy phoenix. I stopped to shake off the sands in the folds of my worn-out linen dress and in my long beard.

That was where I met him for the first time.

At first, I heard a heavy crash down to the earth. Someone was swearing at god Thoth under his breath and blaming him for that heavy burden.

I looked behind the rock where the sound came from, to see the well-built and dark-skinned man struggling to repack a big bundle of papyrus reeds that had fallen off his back and scattered on the ground before him. He didn't expect to see someone there, so his face paled and he swallowed his tongue as he tried to say something.

I began. "Why, son, are you swearing at Thoth? Don't you know that he is the great god of writing and that he is the god who taught us wisdom?"

He hesitated but said, "That is why I swear at him. He always makes me suffer!"

I knew then that this poor man panting before me was one of the servants of the temple whom the House of Life overburdened with work.

Collecting the reeds of papyrus is very hard work, but a very important one for the House of Life. From these reeds, they make the papyrus paper to record the statements of the crops and the storehouses, and on them the priests of the temple pen their teachings as well.

To be responsible for preparing the stuff for the others to use for a great work, in which you will not be mentioned, is the essence of injustice. No one would ever ask about the one who collected and piled up the reeds of the papyrus and made them into paper, but those who penned over the ready-made paper will surely be spoken highly of and their writings will be overexaggerated.

Issues like these must have embittered this man's life, as he was one of the many people who devoted themselves and offered their hard work and sweat to the temple, to eventually achieve a work signed by the others and to have their efforts come to nothing. Their monthly salary was a handful of grain, eggs, fruits, and many blaming looks from the high priests for the tiniest misdeed. These looks often turned into a jail sentence in the dark room.

I looked at Tor in a pitiful eye as we sat behind the rock. I wanted him to feel this pity in order to taste forgiveness. I asked him to repeat after me: "Oh, God, when you sail far there in the sky and disappear in the horizon of eternity, don't consider my evil deed. It was thrown on my tongue by the devil of Seth. I didn't say my heart. Thoth, the sacred master of speech, you write down my scroll in the Day of the Scale. Let unwritten be my unintended errors. Intercede with Osiris on my behalf, as you are the best to intercede."

The servant echoed my words and my sublime voice.

I asked, "What is your name, son?"

"Tor."

"Come on, Tor. Do something good to compensate for your evil speech and take me to the palace of the master, the ruler of this village."

Tor repacked the papyrus reeds and hung the knife and the scythe down them and looked up at the stormy way that was starting to fold the drizzle in the dusk.

We walked in haste to avoid the dark routes, as we had no torch to have our way enlightened. And for a little while I, the one walking on the footsteps of the exhausted servant, imagined that the very far end of the route was so branchy like a labyrinth.

Our feet sank lower and lower in the mud, and with every step I felt the drops of rain over my face. The rain had a light, rosy color, and its consistency was as heavy and sticky as blood. Was it really blood, or was it just my prophecy?

I know now that I will see Tor in my mind's eye every year in Hatour when Sakhibo has to face these armies of the savage winds. I will recall that contented hermit who realized his own prophecy and was satisfied to have had a curse from the deity that he considered to be a blessing. How can I forget his determined question the night he fled from Sakhibo, when he came to me like a thief, threw his question, and left? "Father, when will this curse be over and I be done with everything?"

I lied that night. I told him it was a test that would be over...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Trafford
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2012
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 1466916486
• ISBN 13: 9781466916487
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 204
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
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