Queen of the Heavens Read online

  “Pentu will come here every other day. You will obey him as you would me,” Mother said.

  “Yes, Mother,” I replied, with hesitation, troubled by the thought of having to spend so much time with this frightful being.

  “Come with me,” Pentu grumbled.

  I followed him past the lotus pond in front of the house to a corner of the garden. He sat cross-legged on the ground against an acacia tree, which provided support for his aged back and protection from the sun.

  “Sit as I do in front of me, and make certain your back is straight,” the scribe instructed.

  I quickly complied. Pentu fumbled through a sack he had been carrying and pulled out two long wooden boxes. One of them he gave to me.

  “This contains your reed brushes and ink. Cherish them, for they are as important to a scribe as a sword or spear is to a soldier.” He fumbled through the bag again and tossed before me three flat pieces of stone. “You will practice on these ostraca, which can be washed and used again. Perhaps someday you will be worthy enough to write on papyrus.”

  “When will that be?” I asked, excited at the prospect of being so accomplished.

  “Quiet,” the old scribe snapped. “You will speak only when I ask you questions. I taught your father. He was a good student who always listened, and I’m teaching you only as a favor to him. A girl learning how to read and write. I never heard of such nonsense.”

  My first impulse was to run away from this dreadful man if only to spite him, but I knew Mother would punish me if I did. Besides, I wanted to learn what he had to teach me. I’ll show him, I said to myself. I’ll be better at reading and writing than any of the boys he ever taught, even better than Father.

  “Hold the reed brush like this, straight up and down, with all five fingers,” Pentu ordered.

  I followed the old scribe’s instruction, or at least I thought I did.

  “No, no! Not like that,” he shouted. “Don’t bend your wrist. That’s better. Now hand me a stone.”

  I returned to Pentu the largest of the three ostraca. He dipped his brush into the ink in his writing box and drew a half circle. “This is for bread,” he said. Next to it he drew a jagged line. “This means water.” Beside that he drew what looked like a twisted piece of rope. “This is for flax from which we make our linen.” He handed the ostraca back to me. “Now copy these as I watch.”

  I tried to do so diligently on another stone, but my writing barely approximated that of the scribe’s.

  “You must hold the brush straight up and down like I told you to, Tuya, and stop slouching,” Pentu commanded. “Scribes who are careless in the way they sit and the way they hold the brush are careless in the way they write.”

  I made the adjustments and gradually my hieroglyphs improved.

  Perhaps the old scribe does know something, I had to admit.

  Pentu watched my every move, correcting even the slightest flaw in my form. Finally, after the sun disk had moved halfway across the sky and my hand ached so I could barely hold the brush, he allowed me to stop.

  “Practice until I return in two days,” Pentu ordered as he closed his scribe’s box and returned it to his sack. “Hundreds of hieroglyphs have different meanings, and different sounds that combine to make our words. Only people who are diligent can learn them and I won’t waste my time with you if you aren’t diligent,” he said as he trundled off.

  What a mean man, I said to myself. I thought again about spiting him, this time by throwing my writing tools into the lotus pond, then going to the riverbank to play leapfrog and catch the ball with my friends, but I did not. No. I’ll practice instead and show the old scribe I’m worthy of the knowledge of how to read and write.

  For the rest of the day, taking time only to eat and to rest my hand, I sat under the acacia tree practicing my first lesson on hieroglyphs. The next morning I practiced again in the garden until Mother walked over to me, accompanied by a woman.

  “This is Maya,” she said. “She is from the temple. The Sem Priest sent her. She will teach you of the Neters on the days Pentu isn’t here.”

  Maya was taller than Mother and a bit younger, with skin the color of ripened wheat. She wore a pleated black wig, black eye paint, a white skirt and shawl, and a beaded necklace that reached the top of her bare breasts. She was one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen, even more beautiful than Mother.

  “Good morning,” I said.

  “Good morning, Tuya,” she replied, smiling at me.

  I was greatly relieved to see Maya smile. While I could endure the nastiness of the scribe every other day I did not want both my teachers to always be angry at me. After Mother left, Maya and I sat down on a stone bench in the shade of a great yew tree beside the lotus pond.

  “Are you a priestess?” I asked.

  “No. I’m a member of the khenerit,” she answered. “We live at the temple. We help honor the Neters by dancing, chanting and playing instruments for them.”

  “Is it fun?”

  Maya smiled again. “It is a delight. The Sem Priest tells me you have met some of the Neters.

  “Yes. Mother thought I was dying but I was really in a beautiful place. She was there,” I said as I pointed to a stone amulet attached to Maya’s necklace.

  “You mean Sekhmet, the lion goddess?”

  “Yes. She was very kind to me, but she looks like she can be very mean.”

  “No, Tuya, Sekhmet isn’t mean for she never acts with malice or without reason. She can be kind, as she was to you, but she can be ferocious to others. This is the nature of Sekhmet.”

  “Why do you wear her on your neck?”

  “She’s the consort of Ptah, and I’m from the Temple of Ptah. You see that I wear his amulet as well.”

  “Does Sekhmet eat people?”

  “She’s been known to do so. At a time long past, humans revolted against the gods, so the sun god Ra unleashed Sekhmet and she devoured every human she saw.”

  “That’s scary,” I said.

  “I told you Sekhmet could be ferocious. Soon Ra realized that if not stopped Sekhmet would destroy everyone in the earthly realm, so he concocted a potion of red ochre and beer to resemble blood and had it spread in Sekhmet’s path. She lapped up the potion, became intoxicated and stopped her killing as she entered a realm of bliss.”

  “Would Sekhmet ever want to eat me?” I asked, frightened by the thought of such a fate.

  “No,” Maya replied. “The wicked see in Sekhmet the fierceness of a lioness and fear her. The righteous see in Sekhmet the lioness’ beauty and grace. The lioness has great fangs and can kill quickly, yet she carries cubs in her mouth with the gentleness of a mother’s love. Sekhmet protects the Pharaoh and others who honor the gods. She turns her wrath only on those who dishonor them.”

  “I’ll always honor the gods. I promise,” I assured Maya.

  She reached out her hand and gently stroked my cheek.

  “I know, Tuya,” she said. “The gods have blessed you because you are worthy of their love.”

  Maya unwrapped a linen bundle she had brought. “We should not fear the divine beings, but be joyful in their presence,” she said as she handed me one of two similar items inside. “This sistrum now belongs to you. The face on the handle with cow’s ears is the goddess Hathor who is known to enjoy music and dance. The sistrum is shaped like an ankh, the symbol of life, so even its form is divine.”

  Maya picked up the other sistrum. “Shake it like this,” she said, then snapped her wrist several times in quick succession. Tiny brass disks on cross pieces mounted between the sistrum’s tear-drop opening rattled against each other. My teacher stood up, holding the sistrum at the level of her head.

  “Follow my movements, Tuya,” she said as she swirled around and around, moving to the rhythm of the sistrum, which made a sound like the wind blowing through papyrus reeds in the Nile. I tried to imitate Maya, but I lacked her grace so I stopped, embarrassed at my ineptness.

  “
Don’t worry that you don’t dance perfectly,” Maya said. “Start again and persist, and you will feel the divine energy rising inside you and directing your movements. In time you will dance with the grace of Hathor. Dance, Tuya, and keep shaking the sistrum.”

  I did as Maya suggested, and soon found myself twisting and moving my limbs and torso in ways I did not control. Before long, I lost all sense of embarrassment as bliss enveloped my entire being and I moved as freely as the breeze.

  “Wonderful, Tuya,” Maya said as we swirled throughout the garden, oblivious to everything but the joy of the dance.

  Finally, Maya slowed the pace of her movements until she stopped. I ceased dancing as well, and the two of us sat down again on the stone bench, exhausted.

  “That was fun,” I said. “It was more fun than playing with my dolls, or with the cat, or even with my friends. When I grow up can I be a dancer at the temple?”

  “Of course,” my teacher said. “The sisterhood of the khenerit would welcome a wonderful girl like you, but I suspect the Neters have a different future planned for you that will be even more grand.”

  Maya rested a bit, hugged me, then rose. “Practice dancing with the sistrum. In two days I’ll return with tambourines. After that, I’ll teach you to play the lute, the harp and the flute.”

  “All those instruments? That’s a lot.” I said, overwhelmed by the thought of having so much to practice, along with my hieroglyphs.

  Maya smiled her divine smile once again. “Learning how to entertain the gods is not work but pleasure, Tuya. You will find this to be so.”

  After Maya left, I danced again until I tired, then practiced my writing. The next day Pentu came to the house to teach me more hieroglyphs, and the day after that Maya returned with the tambourines, and we danced together once again.

  Through the harvest and the inundation of the Nile I learned more and more from my two teachers. Pentu concentrated on the formal hieroglyphs used on temple walls and in holy manuscripts, but he also taught me the simplified hieratic used in record keeping and correspondence. I found I enjoyed practicing writing, although not the time I spent with the old scribe. He was always gruff and angry. I looked forward, however, to the time I spent with Maya for she was always kind to me. I quickly discovered that learning to honor the gods was a pleasure, as she said it would be.

  Along with dancing and playing instruments, Maya taught me chants and songs and prayers and the proper ways to perform oblations to the Neters. I particularly enjoyed honoring Sekhmet. I would chant the sounds Sa, Sakem, Sahoo to manifest Sekhmet’s power in the earthly realm. As I chanted, I would pour fresh water over the family’s small statue of the deity, which Mother allowed me to keep in my room. I would then dance or play the harp before her.

  Because of my studies I had little time to spend with my friends, but found I did not miss them.

  “You’re no fun anymore, Tuya,” my best friend Peshet complained to me one day as I sat by the riverbank practicing hieroglyphs, ignoring her and the other children. For me, it was my friends who were no fun. I knew so much more than they did that I became bored with them and their silly games.

  I enjoyed the solitude when I practiced my hieroglyphs and instruments, yet I did have one longing. I desired to return to the realm of the Neters. I would sit by the lotus pond under the yew tree and try to will my ba from my body so that it might once again make the journey, but I was unable to and became quite frustrated when I failed.

  “Are the Neters angry with me?” I asked Maya one day after a lesson on playing the harp. “Is that why they haven’t invited me to be with them again?”

  “No,” Maya assured me. “The Neters reveal themselves to us in many different ways, but it is they who decide when this will be. The Neters love us always, but we must show them we are worthy of their trust. Be patient, and trust that they are with you. If you do this, Tuya, you will meet them again.”

  Some months later, I lay in bed in the darkness of night and closed my eyes, exhausted from a day of dancing and playing my instruments. In a flash, a brilliant white light flooded my body. The white turned to red, then orange, yellow, green, blue and finally indigo.

  What is happening? I wondered. Am I ill? Is a demon entering me? No. The colors are too beautiful.

  On the field of indigo that now filled my consciousness, circles formed with edges touching. In each circle were six petals of shifting colors attached at a central point. Soon I realized that the edge of each petal helped form the edge of a circle, which in turn helped form the edge of a petal in an intricate pattern that encompassed all.

  I heard a woman’s voice. “It is the Flower of Life, Tuya. The petals are connected, as everything is connected in the divine Oneness of the Cosmos.”

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  “I am Isis.”

  “Where are you, Isis? I don’t see you.”

  “That is because I am within you.”

  “What do you mean you are within me?”

  “My essence has entered you so I may again walk among humans and help bring light to their world.”

  “Why have you chosen to enter me and not another?”

  “Because you are pure of heart. Honor the divine within yourself, Tuya. Later, I will tell you more.”

  “Isis,” I said, but the goddess was silent. “Isis, are you there?” I asked again, but she did not answer.

  Suddenly, I realized I was no longer looking at the Flower of Life, but had become a petal in it. The flower began to swirl, at first slowly, then faster and faster until the swirling reached an incredible speed. In an instant, my consciousness passed through the vortex the flower had formed and emerged in a shimmering sea of violet of a richness and purity I had never encountered in the earthly realm. My consciousness floated in this violet bliss, unaware of my body or of time.

  I could stay like this forever, I thought, but gradually the violet began to fade. No. I don’t want to leave here. Isis, allow me to stay, I pleaded, but all turned to black and I slipped into a deep sleep.

  The next morning, I awoke alert but bewildered. Maya had been correct. The Neters would reveal themselves to me, but at times of their choosing, not mine.

  III

  “Tell me about Isis,” I said to Maya as we sat under the yew tree the next morning.

  “She is Queen of the Heavens whose love knows no bounds,” Maya replied. “She’s married to her twin brother Osiris and stands behind him as he presides over The Judgment of the Dead.”

  “Is this The Judgment Maat told me about when I was with the Neters?” I asked.

  “I’m sure it is, Tuya. When our bodies die, our souls will enter the Great Double Hall of Truth where first we will answer for our actions in life before forty-two assessor gods. Anubis will then place our heart on a balance and weigh it against Maat’s feather. If our heart weighs less than the feather, Osiris will welcome us into the realm of bliss…”

  “And if our heart weighs more,” I interrupted, “a demon will eat it. I don’t have to worry about the demon because Isis told me I’m pure of heart.”

  “I’m sure you are, my dear. When did Isis tell you this?”

  “Last night. As I lay in bed I heard Isis’ voice, but I didn’t see her. She said she had entered my body so she could walk among us and again bring light to the world.”

  An expression of concern crossed Maya’s face.

  “Are you certain, Tuya? Perhaps you only imagined Isis spoke with you.”

  “I’m certain. She talked to me, just like you are talking to me.”

  “Did she tell you anything else?”

  “No, but she said she would tell me more later. After she spoke, I found myself in this violet place. It was very peaceful and I didn’t want to leave, but everything turned black and I fell asleep.”

  Maya sat silently for some time.

  “You don’t believe me, do you,” I said.

  My teacher put her arm around my shoulders and gave me a hug to e
ase my dejection.

  “I do believe you,” Maya assured me. “I knew from the day I first met you that you were born to serve the world. For now, though, let this be our secret.”

  “Why?”

  “Because people wouldn’t understand, Tuya. It’s one thing to speak with the Neters, and for them to speak to us as they do through the oracles, but to say a goddess is walking the Earth inside you is quite another matter. People might think you are not blessed by the Neters but cursed by a demon.”

  “But I want to tell Mother and Father and my friends that Isis is inside me.”

  “You must not speak of this to anyone,” Maya said with a sharpness in her voice I had never before heard. “Isis will reveal herself to the world at the proper time, but Isis must choose when this will be, not you. Please, Tuya. Promise me you will remain silent.”

  I knew my teacher loved me, so I trusted her to guide me well.

  “Yes, Maya, I promise,” I said.

  “Good, Tuya. Now let us play the lute. Isis will enjoy the music.”

  I kept my word to Maya, and spoke to no one about the amazing night during which Isis entered my being. I waited patiently for Isis to speak again, but she remained silent. Weeks turned to months, but still Isis said nothing, even though each day I prayed to the statue of Isis that was in our home and asked her to reveal more. I waited through another inundation of the Nile, and yet another, and still Isis did not speak. I wondered sometimes whether Isis had left me, but Maya told me not to worry.

  “Whatever happens, you will still have the blessing of that divine evening when the Queen of the Heavens introduced you to her love,” Maya said, “but be patient, Tuya, and put your trust in Isis. Everything happens at the proper time.”

  My studies kept my mind occupied and helped me to be patient. I became quite adept at hieroglyphs, as I knew I would. Father was so pleased with my progress he even bought me papyrus manuscripts that Pentu used in my reading lessons. One of them contained the two-hundred spells chanted after someone dies to help guide the soul through the perils of the afterworld and into the realm of bliss.