‘The love of my beloved is on yonder side
A width of water is between us
And a crocodile- waiteth on the sandbank’.
Ancient Egyptian love poem.
Always. There has always been a ‘crocodile’ in my life. Not
the benign influence of our Crocodile God, Sobek, Lord of the Nile and its
bounty. Not for me his touch of protection. The favourite god of my ancestor,
Amenhotep III, had never been a part of my life. How could he have been? For I
was the daughter of the heretic pharaoh, the king who turned his back on the
old gods of Egypt – Akhenaten.
My father who came to the throne as Amenhotep IV changed
his name to Akhenaten during the eighth year of his reign. He proclaimed the
superiority of Aten over our old deity Amun –Ra. Aten became not only the only
god but the supreme god and the old gods of Egypt were returned to the shadows.
My father also shifted his capital from Thebes to a new city Akhetaten, known
today as Amarna. He was a powerful pharaoh, this son of Ra, the sun-god , who
betrayed him. The priests obeyed and feared him. But hatred remained deeply
buried in their hearts. Ask me – I know. I was to feel the bite of that
resentment years later.
I am Ankhesen paten. The third daughter of Pharoah
Akhenaten and his Great Royal Wife, Nefertiti. There was no term for ‘Queen’ in
Egypt at that time. My mother had many titles though. They fell like a cascade
of laughing water as she mock-seriously recited them to us, her daughters, “
Heiress, Great of Favours, Possessed of Charm, Exuding Happiness, Mistress of
Sweetness, Beloved One, Soothing the king’s heart in his
house, Soft spoken in all, Mistress of Upper and Lower Egypt, Great King’s
Wife, whom he loves, Lady of the Two Lands, Nefertiti…”. I can still remember
that voice, amused at all her titles.
One God, two gods, many gods. How unimportant it seemed to
us in our childhood. What was fun was the shifting from Thebes to Amarna. The
building of the beautiful palace which was to be our new home. The garden. The
lovely lakes that girded our house.The hum of boats on the Nile, the great
river which was a constant presence in our lives. The flowers, the pomegranate
trees in the gardens…
Time never stands still. Our mother was wise. She firmly
supported our father in his efforts to establish the new religion but she
secretly instructed our tutors to make us learn the ways of the old religion
also. It was interesting to learn all about the gods and their stories.
Meriaten, Mekataten my elder sisters and I would lie beside the lakes talking
about lovely Isis the Mother Goddess, Anubis, the fearsome jackal-headed god of
the dead, beautiful Hathor, the gentle cow goddess….Set , dark god of chaos
…our younger sisters, Neferneferuuaten Tasherit, Neferneferure and Setepenre
would toddle around, secure in the care of doting nursemaids. We were happy
then, though we knew it not. It would be like this always …we believed it
then…we the heirs of the turbulent Amarna rulers, the 18th Dynasty of Egypt…
Six daughters and no sons. Mother did not seem unduly
worried. “ The royal line of Egypt is continued through its daughters,” she
would tell me, her fingers often tracing the royal serpent that guarded the
Uraeus, the crown of the Pharoah, on my arm with black kohl, “ You, my Ankh,
would be an ideal Queen. Meriaten…”, she glanced across with love at my gentle
eldest sister, patiently teaching baby Setepenre to walk, “ is too kind”.
“ I am kind too”, I protested indignantly.
My mother smiled, “Yes, of course”, she replied.
My parents were devoted to each other but rulers of Egypt
always had more than one wife. My mother was not unhappy when my father married
Kyia, daughter of his Royal Chancellor, Ay. Kyia’s entrance in our household
was exciting for us, the children. Mother had told us she would be our friend
and we had no reason to disbelieve this. Kyia was loved by us but we never
called her, ‘mother’. She remained Kyia, beloved friend, to all of us.
Kyia was a happy addition to our family but she brought
about changes in the Royal nursery. She had no children and my parents decided
to adopt two of her nephews, Smekhkare and
Tutankhaten as their sons. It was decided that Smekhkare
would marry my two eldest sisters later on.
At the same time Raia, Lieutenant of the Chariotry , sent
his daughter Tuya, to train as my maid. Soon Tuya and I became great friends.
Another child, Horemheb, a few years older then us, also joined us in the
nursery. Son of a great friend of my father’s, the pharaoh wanted bring up
Horem with his children.
So there we were “the Children of the Storm” as our
nursemaids would say indulgently. And yes, we were always noisy as children
are, playing ball, practicing darts and javelin throwing, tossing around
balls…I was the noisiest , Tutankhaten , the quietest , Smekhkare, the slyest
and Horem protectively watching over us all.
I, impulsive and always speaking before I thought, had
never liked Smekhkare. There was something sly about this boy, four years older
than me and the same age as Horem. He knew I disliked him. But this dislike
turned into hatred after what happened to Kyia.
Everyone at the court knew that Kyia and my father never
had a normal married life. He was fond enough of her, I suppose. But my father
had never loved anyone in his life but my mother. He was devoted to one god, he
was devoted to one wife. Probably he should have never married again. But then
again, the customs of the time…
It was not Kyia’s fault that she fell in love. My mother, I
think knew about it and was sympathetic. It was not Kyia’s fault that she
preferred another man to the Pharaoh who never had time for her, but it was her
fault that she forgot she was the Younger Lady of Egypt, consort of the King.
And Smekhkare, the Sly, betrayed her. Not to the king. For
if he had told my father, the result would not have been so terrible. No, he
went to Ay, the Chancellor, a monstrous human being, who told the Pharaoh in
the open court, what his wife had done and how he was betrayed. Ay told the
King. Ay who was Kyia’s own father and who knew what the sentence had to be
because the King was shamed publicly, had no mercy for his daughter. Kyia was
sentenced to death. And the manner of her death was to be chosen by Smekhkare ,
the Crown Prince.
Kyia loved all of us children. But Smekhkare chose the most
cruel death for her. Egyptians had always been fascinated by the afterlife.
Even in life, we built great pyramids, splendid tombs to house us, after we
died. Our bodies would be preserved and wrapped in linen in the fantastic
pyramids. What death did Smekhkare choose for poor loving Kyia, stupid to have
loved where she should have not, a fool to have been caught? Smekhakare chose
that she should be turned into a living mummy, mummified while she was still
breathing and alive…
Oh, think of it, think of it…Killed so brutally for loving
someone…placed on a flat board, her abdomen slit by a sharp knife…her organs
drawn out, while she was still breathing, stomach, liver, spleen…her insides
filled with palm wine and dry river salt…her brain hooked out through the
nose…oh, that she died fast! Oh, after so many years, when I think of it, I
pray that Kyia died fast.
‘We praise the Golden One
The Lady Of Heaven, Lady of Fragrance Eyes
of the Sun, the Great Goddess Mistress of all the Gods.
Lady of Turquoise, Mistress of Joy, Mistress
of Music
That she may give us fine children, Happiness and a good husband’.
Epithets of Hathor
Meriaten, my eldest sister. She who was truly good and
gentle, so like the Goddess Hathor, the kind goddess of marriage, hearth and home,
whom she worshipped. She was in truth the Golden One, the best of us sisters.
But they married her to Smenkhkare, the Cruel, they wed her to him after my
mother died.
Nefertiti had pleaded on bended knees for the life of Kyia,
before the Pharoah, the man who had never refused her anything. But he did not
grant her this. How could he when Ay, Kyia’s father, wept crocodile tears in
front of the king and begged that his daughter not be pardoned, that Just
Prince Smenkhkare’s punishment stand? So the deed was done.
And after that I stormed to my mother that my sisters could
not marry the Crown Prince. I begged her to listen. I wept. She listened
attentively as always but sadly too, I think. She could not overturn the
decision of the king. The Eldest Royal Daughter always married the Crown
Prince. A Princess of Egypt was never allowed to marry a foreign prince. Never.
The Dynasty must always remain pure and intact. That was the Law. My father,
who had overturned Ra himself, could not repeal this Law. Not even for his daughters
who were dear to him. And so my mother refused me this.
Mekataten, my second eldest sister was lucky. Death claimed
her, before Smenkhkare could. The god Anubis stalked our palace that year,
taking with him my three youngest sisters and Mekataten. Lastly, he claimed our
mother. And grinning, walked out of the palace, leaving Meri and me alone.
So alone. For now they said, I was to marry the Crown
Prince as one of his brides had died. And then Tutankkhaten, just a young boy
at the time, went to the Pharoah and asked for my hand in marriage. I would
love him forever for this.
So we were married , Meri to Smenkhkare and I to
Tutankaten. Meri was Crown Princess, and I
– I was happy. Our father smiled and blessed us, but I
noticed that his hands shook and his mouth trembled as he looked on us. The
Pharoah was truly lost without my mother.
Meri. My sister. Bruises on her body, which she would
hastily hide from me. Special linen robes in rainbow colours, that she designed
to hide her arms. Wigs with fringes that she wore so that the blows to her
forehead, would not be noticed. But I noticed, my sister. Beloved daughter of
the Pharoah, she had now been reduced to a brittle toy.
My sister bore a child, a daughter – Meritaten-ta-sherif.
But she could take no pleasure in her child who became mine. I would not let
her go near her father.Tuya and I protected her fiercely. And then one day
Akhenaten died and Smenkhkare became Pharaoh. My Meri was Great Royal
Wife. The purple shadows under her eyes deepened.She spoke
less. Her daughter called me, ‘mother’ and toddled merrily around the
palace.Her father did not know that she existed, for which I daily thanked
whichever God there was.
Horemheb, our old playfellow had risen to great heights in
the Pharoah’s Army. Now ranked just below a general, he moved constantly with
Smenkhkare. One night, he came silently to our apartments, “The Lady needs
you”, he said, “come now”.
I rose hastily, “What…”, I began. My husband was quicker.
He seized my hand and looked at Horem, “Come on”, he breathed.
We sped to Meri’s apartments and entered a scene of horror.
Meri’s cat hung lifelessly on the beams. And Smenkhkare lay on the floor,
scratches standing out lividly on his face, stabbed in the throat. Dead. Meri
was sitting quietly nearby.
Horem gripped Tutankkhaten’s hand. “ I’m outside. No one
will come in “, he whispered and left the room.
I knelt beside my sister and chafed her hands. “ I –
killed- him”, she said, quietly, ‘ I killed him. He was slashing – me- with a
knife. You do not know. You do not know.
But Risha-came-to save me. Small Risha scratched him with her claws. Risha
tried to save me. Risha tried. And then-he-wrung- her neck and hanged her. He
laughed. He laughed. And I-I stabbed him”. I held my sister and wept softly.
Tutankkhaten was Pharaoh now.
But my husband looked at me, “Smenkhkare can not have
died”, he said quietly. He came gently to my sister and took off her wig. I
flinched. Her short hair was matted in bloody weals on her scalp.
Tutankkhaten said, “Meri has died and Smenkhkare lives. Can
you make her act her role? You will have to, otherwise we will not be able to
save her”. I nodded dumbly.
Horem was the one who burnt Smenkhakare’s body so that it
was unidentifiable. Everybody believed that the Queen had died in a palace
fire. ‘Smenkhare’ was wounded and crazed with grief. We did not have to keep up
the charade for long. Meri descended into madness. Tuya and I nursed her
constantly. My gentle sister died, babbling ceaselessly, endlessly of our
childhood games, our walks in the sheltered gardens where the trees breathed
fragrance to the winds.. .
I was the last living heir of the great Ankhenaten.
And Tutankkhaten was king.
‘Amun, King of the Gods, Lord of the Silent
Who comes at the voice of the poor… Who
gives bread to him who has none..
Father of the orphan, husband of the widow
Though the servant offends him, he is
merciful’
Epithets and attributes of Amun Re
Yes, I did it. I was a traitor to Egypt. I never looked
before I leaped. And I was alone and so afraid. So frightened. I wrote a letter
to the Hittite king, the powerful Suppiluliuma I and in it I said,
“My
husband has died and I have no son. They say that you have many sons. You might
give me one of your sons to become my husband. I would not wish to take one of
my subjects as a husband…I am afraid”.
Naturally the Hittite king was suspicious. No Queen of
Egypt had ever written to a hostile foreign power like this. No Queen of Egypt
ever would again.While the whole of Egypt mourned my husband, and he was being
prepared for burial, Suppilulima I sent his chamberlain secretly to me.
Desperate, I scribbled another letter and send it through my own chamberlain,
my trusted Hani,
“If
I had a son would I write to a country in a manner which is humiliating to me
and my country? He who was my husband is dead and a child I have not…Give me
one of your sons and in Egypt he will be king”.
It was a shriek for help and this time the Hittite king
believed me.
We had reigned for ten years Tutankhaten and I.During this
time Egypt had gone back to her old gods and we had helped in the transition.
My husband wanted peace in the country and so did I. God or gods dwelt in the
hearts of people. Did the ways of worship matter? So, it was without bloodshed
that we returned to another way of life. The old way, where the God, Amun Re
reigned over a pantheon of gods and goddesses. We returned to our old capital
Thebes, leaving behind my beloved Amarna. Tutankhaten changed his name to
Tutankhamun and I became Ankhsenamun or “She lives through Amun” .
The King was loved by his people but I was not. My father
was branded as a heretic and the speaking of his name was forbidden. The
priests were having their revenge. And there was I, Great Royal Wife of their
beloved Pharaoh, but daughter of the ‘damned one’. I was hated by the people
but my husband was my shield,always.
We had two daughters, Tutankhamun and I but neither of my
children lived. I did not even get to hold them in my arms. But my husband
overruled the priests and had our daughters laid to rest in the great burial
chamber he was preparing for himself. Had he lived, the people would have
accepted me…had he lived…
And then one day he was there and the next day he was
not…He went out for a ride with Horemheb, returned home, complaining of a great
thirst. His cup-bearer brought wine for him and he quaffed it down. Minutes
later, he came to our chambers, complaining of a headache. And before I could
go to him, he collapsed and died…
Egypt mourned for their nineteen year old pharaoh and I
…what did I do? I became afraid. Ay looked at me and rubbed his hands. He
wanted to be the next pharaoh, I knew.
Horemheb was inscrutable as usual. General Horemheb now,
head of the army, the second most powerful man in the land. After Chancellor
Ay, himself.
I looked at these two men and I was afraid. I trembled at
shadows in my room. I spoke to my dead husband, asking him what to do. And I
wrote to the Hittite king.
Suppiluliuma sent his son Zannanza to Egypt, but he was
murdered on the way. And so was my loyal chamberlain, Hanu. My hopes of
salvation was gone and I had lost another of my friends. I now had so few of
them left.
And now the whispers began. The Queen had invited enemies
into the country. The queen had been with the King before his death. The Queen
was a traitor . Was she a murderer too? Was she the one who killed the king,
the king who had been like a father to his people, like the great Amun Ra
himself? Had she killed the king?
Would I kill Tutankhamun? We had grown-up together, loved
each other so much. And yet the people believed. My people whom I had loved and
loved still.
Ay had almost become pharaoh now. He came to me,
seventy-years old, a wily man and proposed marriage. Otherwise, he said
regretfully, there was some talk of execution. I refused him, though I quaked
with fear inside. Ay needed to marry me, what better way to the throne for one
of common blood, than to marry the late Pharaoh’s widow? And after he married
me, I could die, there were so many ways.
And then, thankfully, I discovered I was pregnant. Ay was
perturbed. There could be an heir to the throne. But he found a way. I would be
sent to my aunt, Mutnedjmet’s house in the country where my child would be
born. But Ay would say that he had married me thus ensuring his legitimate
right to the throne. The child would be Ay’s and I would be…dead?
Suddenly I longed to be out of the palace. This place
of evil whispers was smothering me. I could not breathe. I could escape. I
could plan with my aunt. I would be safe in her house. Mutnedjmet welcomed me
warmly. Youngest sister of my mother, she and I could have been twins, we were
so much alike. My trusted maid, Tuya, was with me. She was married now to Seti,
a soldier in the army. I healed among the people, the very few people, I could
trust. My daughter was born and I was terrified again. What would happen to
her? We had so many enemies. My aunt and Tuya calmed my fears. But they would
not disappear.
Till one day Horemheb came to see me. I could not trust him.
He was perhaps not what he had been, the kind friend of my childhood. The
comrade whom Tutankhamun had trusted. One of the men who had saved Meri. Had he
killed my husband?
Tuya brought my child into the room and I looked at Horem.
“ Isn’t Tuya’s child lovely?”, I blurted out, “My baby died”. There was a
silence in the room. “I’m sorry”, said Horemheb formally , and then he left.
I breathed a sigh of relief. I had saved my child. I looked
at Tuya, who was still in shock. “ Tuya, she is your child now as Meri’s
daughter is. Please help me and save her”. My friend nodded mutely and Aunt
Mutnedjmet sighed. She was also relieved.
Ay ruled as Pharaoh for four years and I stayed hidden in
the country. Not a life for a headstrong
Princess, you would say. Perhaps. But it was a safe one.
And if I could, I would fulfill Tutankhamun’s dream of making Egypt a power in
the world. And the only way I could do that was by staying alive.
‘…He shall thunder in the sky and be feared’
The judging of Horus and Set
My aunt Mutnedjmet, who had healed me and banished my
fears, died suddenly and I was bereft. Wearily I sent the body of another loved
one to be prepared for burial. And then Horemheb came to me.
“ Ay is dying”, he announced, “ And I shall be the next
Pharaoh”.
Had this man murdered my husband? Slain the man who had
trusted him? I looked at him warily, “ Have you been nominated as Pharoah?”.
“No”, said the Commander-in-Chief of Egypt’s army with supreme
confidence, “But I will be.” How much did I know of Horem? Nothing, for it had
always been Tutankhamun for me. In my mind, my thoughts, my heart. Always.
“Do you remember the death of Smenkhkare?,” I stiffened, “
No, I have not come to blackmail you. But we will play it the same way again.
Ankhsenamun will have died and not Mutnedjmet. Ankhsenamun will be lost in the
pages of history but Mutnedjmet will marry Pharoah Horemheb”.
I opened my mouth to protest but closed it again.
Tutankhamun’s dream could come true. Our dream for Egypt.
I married him. And he did become Pharoah. He ruled for
twenty-seven years. And under his reign Egypt became stable again.
Sometimes I think. And then it does not do to think too
much. Ankhsenamun, she who would not marry a subject, has vanished into the
pages of history. It is Mutnedjmet who reigns beside Horemheb..
My cluster of titles rain around me, .. “Singer of Hathor,
Singer of Amun, King’s Great Wife, Lady of the South and North, Mistress of the
Two Lands…” I seem to hear a well remembered voice out of the distant past,
mocking at her range of titles…
I had written Tutankhamun love letters in gold, which
decorate every wall of his great tomb, yes, even when I was writing to the
Hittite king, even when I was trapped in terror for my life… There will be no
love letters written by me ever again.
Horemheb is a good king. Feared and respected.
They say in Egypt, that even if your body and image was
destroyed, if your name remained, you would always be there…
The crocodile bit my heart in two. What remained? What
name?
Mutnedjmet? Or as the sands around the pyramids whisper,
Ankhsenapaten…Ankhsenamun….Ankhsenamun…once there was
Ankhsenamun…..
