The Encounter

                                                    The Encounter



    Torrents of rain beat on Majah's head as she wound her way through the maze of the crowd around her.  Pouring wet, the warm rain matted her long jet-black hair against her tawny skin while rivulets of water and mud ran down her legs, streaking down as like the brown swirling river coursing around the village.

    Her feet splashed through the slippery offal and mud slipping and slowing her progress as she jostled the noisy crowds.  Rough cobblestones met her bare feet where the village streets congregated into the village square where even more people massed in crowds.  Mauve tones of sun-drenched faces glistening in the rain crossed Majah's eyes in a blur, their incessant jabbering sounding like a beehive.  The cold stone walls wove in a never ending pattern of textures forming a backdrop to the moving masses of humanity.

    Swirls of  people undulating like the river with its own rhythm coursed through the street carrying Majah along her way.  Beggars, the sick and dying lined the sides of the street no one seemingly conscious of them. Huddled in knots, families squatted in the mud eating from common bowls, shoveling  lumps of steaming rice into their mouths.  Nearby small children grabbed at tidbits falling in the mud  Clusters of people nearby grouped around bartering and haggling over goods.

    As Majah brushed by one circle of people, she heard a strange chant-like singing coming from the center.  A wrinkled old man was in the middle of the crowd squatting in the dirt weaving to and fro in a trance-like sway, singing some ancient hymn.  The words and sounds were strange to Majah's ears yet striking some unknown chord within her.  Curiously she listened for a moment then continued on her way. 

    Majah's nimble form wound through the labyrinth of twisting alleys and passages carefully trying not to spill a grain of her precious bag of rice she had just purchased.  Her father would be angry if she were to be late and he would give her a good scolding, shaking his fist and yelling at her for being late.  Majah knew it was just a ritual he would go through of no real importance but she had grown to expect it and would feel unnoticed if he were not to scold her.  Her father had been harsher to her in the past year since her mother died.  Mean as he sounded she sensed his closer love and attentiveness as if he needed her more than ever.

    .The death of her mother during childbirth still seared her mind with the memory of her agonized cries in that small dark room where she lay.  The dank corner of the room still haunted her like a dark abyss.

    Her quick feet skirted by the young men at the corner of the street where her father worked in his small shop, making shoes from hides.  Slipping into the shadows she went to the veiled opening.  Dutifully, Majah knelt as her father approached and began his usual tirade while grabbing the bag of rice.  Untying the bag he quickly poured the rice through his gnarled hands sifting for stones.  His graying hair, unlike her dark tresses, was fair like a true Aryan.  Her mother's hair was dark as night and the memory of her long tresses flooded her mind like a torrent.  The close moments with her each day were so precious to Majah, it pained her that she was gone.

    She still remembered how, like a ritual, the comb was unwrapped from its special  cloth and brought to her mother's side.  Since a child Majah had watched her mother comb the long strands of her hair, flowing in black waves down her shoulders.  As Majah grew older she was allowed to comb the ever longer tresses. She could still remember the feel of the soft folds against her cheeks when she buried her face into them.  Affectionately her mother would hold Majah against her bosom, the warm hollow of her neck receiving her face with the soft profuse curls caressing her.  The vibrant hum of her mother's chanting struck a chord in her, the ancient hymns so strange yet beautiful, radiating in swirls through her as if to beckon her, but to what she didn't know. Once she told Majah, "I want you to always keep this comb and cherish it. Your great grandmother made it."

    The comb was a wonderful object to behold.  So beautiful in white bone polished and smooth to touch with graceful figures carved on the sides.  Majah always asked to hear the story of  the carved figures even though she had heard it many times, her mother never tiring of telling it.

    Since her death the comb had never been touched again and it was still wrapped and hidden in a recess of the dark room.  Majah swore to herself to never use the comb again.

    As her father strained the rice she would watch him glancing at her.  Her father knew his precious daughter would not be with him forever.  A young girl of her beauty and health was destined to bear children for some young man.  To him, her inner beauty was important but to anyone else it was an obvious beauty shining through her torn and soiled garments.

    Majah was disdainful of the ever attentive men in spite of her awakening age and she avoided them when at all possible.  At times she would even hide to avoid their gaze.  Many a time she had scratched a roving hand if they so much as touched her.  Now with the occupation of Gandhara by the Greek soldiers it was not safe for any woman save the old and feeble.  The village was not the same anymore with the fearful Greeks around, however,  they did bring with them silver coins to spend.

    Quietly Majah slipped out of the room into the street, already drying from the rain from the sudden but short downpour. 

    Leaving her father to tend to his work Majah went to a dark room to settle in a circle of friends mending clothes and sipping their afternoon tea.  The strong acrid tea was bitter to the tongue but warmed the belly and softened the usual crusty dry bread.  Smells of spices and bitter tea leaves permeated the small room where they sat, the meager light diffused by the  haze of smoke from nearby charcoal fires.  Dusky corners of the chamber held mounds of cloth waiting to be cut and sewn into shawls. Majah squatted down in the midst of her friends, sitting next to her best friend, Neerja.  Pulling up a pile of brightly dyed cloth, she loved the strong colors and worked with vigor on their warm and vibrant soft folds.

    Majah glanced over at Neerja to see her busily sewing and humming softly.  She was dark as night with her black tresses.  The white of her eyes shone like bright pearls against her smokey complexion.  They never conversed much for being close friends but they just enjoyed being together and sensed some common bond.  Neerja had never seen her mother as she had died when Neerja was but a baby.  Since her mother's death Majah found Neerja to be of great comfort.

    The room was alive with the busy chatter as their quick hands worked the cloth.  Piles of cloth all but hid their small forms.  Majah loved being with them but they often teased her of her lighter tone of skin she possessed, as if from another land.  Like Neerja, her friends were of darker skin and their faces fuller of  facial hair, a  mark of attractiveness.  Majah's face was smooth and delicate like a child's but with a strong character.  Her strong nose and high sculptured cheekbones were accented by her deep-set eyes bathed in shadows of lustrous brown.  Her full soft lips seemed to balance the depth of her eyes in a sensuous curve from the high cheekbones to the hollowed cheeks.  The light  tone of her face was framed by the dark tresses of her hair, swirling down around the curves of her neck and onto her slender shoulders.  This beauty was heightened by the poetic tone of her voice, her tongue expressing resonant sounds of some far-off land.

    Majah's father was of this land as was his father, but her mother was from the other side of the awesome mountains to the West where the invaders came from.  Somehow deep within her she felt a strange intangible and elusive thread with another place.  Like a recurring dream she would often times hear a foreign tongue on  the streets.  She wondered why it always touched a nerve in her mind's ear. 

    Majah envied the other women in her circle.  They never seemed to be troubled by anything other than their everyday problems.  Her heart ached for mother at times while she also felt a yearning for something deeper and unknown to her.

    Intent in thought, Majah suddenly noticed the others congregating over at the opening to the street, chattering excitedly.  They were pointing at something down the street but they quickly bolted back and whispered,  'soldiers!.'  Like frightened deer they ran off, leaving Majah standing alone.  Neerja pulling at her, said, " lets go, quick!"  But Majah was curious.

    Away from her friend,  she slipped over to the curtained opening and made her way down a small alley to the street.  Peering over a pile of musty bags she could see crowds of people filling the dusty sunlit street.  The usual hum of activity met her ears while the pulse of light and sound, so familiar to her, seemed as normal as usual.  The buzzing of the crowds slowed to a murmur as the people looked up the street to some commotion.    Squinting against the bright sun Majah pressed closer to see their dress, to see what the excitement was about. With a confident walk, their dangling swords and resplendent uniforms, it at once identified them as Greek soldiers and they were bearing down close to where she stood. 

    Curiously Majah stood frozen as they drew closer.  So intent was their viewing of the market, none of them noticed her.  Then, as two of them stopped to look at some brightly colored pottery the last soldier, the tallest of the three, he glanced up and noticed Majah.  In the brief moment of their eye contact she was at once frightened and hypnotized  by his deep steely eyes.  His gaze was not of which she was accustomed to but was of an unusual intensity and depth that gave her an uneasy yet curious  sensation.

    The very strength of his presence, his bold outline against the huddled figures revealed his proud confidence as he looked at her.  All this kept Majah in rapt captivation.  Her liquid dark eyes, as in a trance, met his stern eyes, her mind unconscious of any thoughts but of utter fascination.  Like a beautiful statue, his defiant head showed handsome chiseled features but reflecting an implacable countenance.  The magnificent bronze helmet shone in the sun giving an aura of importance and authority.  Lappets of leather covered his muscled torso while his sturdy legs were adorned with beautiful bronze greaves.  He was not like anything she had ever seen before and she was in a spell staring at him.

    Then, as his friends continued on, he slowly turned to follow but briefly looked back once again to stare at Majah.

    Awakening to her fright Majah quickly ran back to the  sewing chamber, but she could not work long as the strange encounter made her feel uneasy. 

    The following day Majah's father wanted her to make her usual errands and she prepared for them.  Carefully adjusting the load of goat skins on her head her father sent her on her way, telling her to be swift. 

    Through the heat-drenched street she made her way through the crowds.  The streets seemed particularly busy as she melted into the mass of people, fighting her way through the throngs with her heavy load. 

    Pungent odors of spices and tanning filled Majah's nose.  Vendors of all descriptions filled the street chanting their wares, each trying to outdo the other. An old woman, bent and gray, waved folds of brightly colored cloth distracting Majah.  Watching the old lady, she stared at the beautiful fabrics and wondered  what it would be like to wear them.  The crowds brushing against her, in their rush, reminded her of her errand and she resignedly moved on. Besides, she was hungry and the rice vendors were too numerous to ignore.

    Her feet, hardened by the rough stone streets, took her down a short passageway and into a dusky archway, leading  to a room filled to the ceiling with hides.  Musky odors swelled from the room in waves of heat and dust.  A figure approached and she knelt to unload the goatskins.  The mans' hands reached down taking the skins off her head, careful to not touch her. 

    Free of her burden Majah darted away out into the bright sunlight and down the passageway.  The smells of curry brought her to a square and looking around she saw throngs of people milling around several groups of rice vendors.  Aimlessly wandering about and into the stream of people she drifted with the flow of the crowd.

    Suddenly a noise caught her ears and she looked to see the commotion.  Two Greek soldiers were jostling their way through the crowd.  One was shouldering through, scowling and muttering curses, his face hard and cruel.  He was not beautiful and proud of bearing like the soldier who noticed her in the market.  Why did she remember him so clearly and what did it matter?  It puzzled her.

    Those moments of his gaze left a strange effect on her.  Strange in its brief encounter, but one that sent a perplexing shudder through her.

    Eager to keep out of the way of the soldiers, Majah crossed to the opposite side of the square to look for something to eat.  One old lady caught her eye and she crossed over to her where she sat cross-legged on the cobblestone street, chanting in a tired monotony.  Sitting by the old lady, Majah pressed a coin into her bony hand and took a bowl of rice.  Looking at the coin, the woman curiously looked at it and dropped it into a fold of he shawl.  Her face was wrinkled with age but her eyes, though sunken with age, sparkled in contrast to her dark skin, parched by the relentless sun.  Her mouth was incessantly moving as if in conversation.

    About to enjoy her meal, Majah noticed the woman peering intently at her.  Nearby a young woman, frail and haggard, sat against a stone wall, nursing her child, her eyes watching Majah eat.  Pausing a moment Majah shoved the remainder of the rice to the young woman.  Eagerly she grabbed the bowl and consumed the rice quickly.

    Still staring at Majah, the old woman leaned towards her and reached for her hand.  Puzzled, Majah put her hand into the old gnarled hand.  Holding her, the woman looked deeply into Majah's eyes, then squinting she began to trace her fingers across her palm, uttering a strange tongue.  Her hands were warm and gave a vibrancy in their working across her palm.  Her bright old eyes and a faint smile crossed her face  like she was seeing something good.  Obviously she was a fortune teller.

    Majah could only see by the expression in her eyes of what good or bad was foreseen.  The old woman gave a smile and held Majah's hand to her heart.  Was this an indication of an affair of the heart?  Then tracing the extended line in her palm, the woman's eyes narrowed and darted upwards with a strange and fretful look.  Why did she drop her hand and turn so cold?  Was there something ominous in what she saw?  Majah felt a quiver of uneasiness and quickly got up to leave, smiling wanly at her.

    Beams of sunlight cut through the smokey courtyard casting a pallor on the sullen faces of the huddled figures teeming around her reminding Majah she should be on her way.  In the shadows, she kept out of the heat to go down an alley looking for a different way home.  New avenues met her eyes and the noise of the crowds gradually melted away with the tortuous windings of the alleys.  Some were no more than narrow openings between buildings and were difficult to pass through with only occasional niches at the sides.  Like an endless maze the alleys meandered on and on causing Majah to quicken her pace lest it became dark with dusk.

    Then, approaching an unusually long dim passage, it led to a  small courtyard.  Though open to the sky the surrounding walls were so dark with age it almost seemed like night.  The courtyard, with an old dead tree in the center, appeared abandoned and lost. Majah felt like an intruder in this strange and lonely place. 

    An ominous feeling swept through her briefly.  Clutching her shawl around her she proceeded into the courtyard. In the dank space she could see on the far side two portals exiting out of the courtyard.  With the lowering sun, long shadows painted the old walls with somber shades of muted colors making the stillness ever more evident.  As she crept along the wall in the shadows Majah noticed paintings unraveling down the length of the wall showing dancing figures.  They were old and dusty but they still glowed with rich deep colors vibrant with life.  The pictures seemed to speak of love and somehow it brought to mind the stories her mother used to tell.

    Then a shadow crossed her path.  The gnarled old tree in the middle of the courtyard bent its crooked old branch over her and she quickly moved on.  Pausing a moment she ran to the furthest opening, the larger of the two.  This passage was even darker and it had many connecting avenues off  both sides.  Some were rooms, dark and musty giving off a stale dusty odor.  Now walking uneasily, it seemed even more quiet and Majah felt uncomfortable and she began to regret coming this way.  The shuffle of her feet on the stone walk was the only sound to be heard.  The scampering of a rat made her jump and her heart pounded with apprehension  The dark alley grew even more ominous and she darted from opening to opening which all seemed to be threatening.  Majah turned a corner to see a long corridor which appeared lighter towards the end giving her a sense of relief.

    Suddenly a hand grabbed her from behind, pulling her back and twisting her around.  Thrown off balance Majah could only see a shadow of a large figure looming above her.  Before she could regain her balance she was shoved then pulled into one of the recesses.  Her struggles became intense trying to break free from his brute strength.  Still unable to see her assailant Majah was dragged into a corner of a room onto the dirt floor strewn with straw.  Her struggles were becoming frantic as he now pinned her down, he arms behind her, his face drawing nearer.  Still unable to see her assailant in the dim light his silhouette loomed above her menacingly.  Fighting to break loose she  struggled into a corner and caught a small ray of light slicing through the darkness.  Breaking one arm loose she grabbed what she thought was a window sill.  Her back pressed against the corner she realized the light was not from a  window but a narrow slot not high enough for a grip but casting a narrow beam of light into the room. 

    It was then that Majah caught a glimpse of his figure and she saw a gleam of something bright glinting at his waist.  The object was a dangling sword and suddenly she could see from it's shape it was a Greek sword.  Horrified, Majah knew it was a Greek soldier.

    Before she could scream out his hand caught her mouth and pushed her down against the floor.  Still writhing to free herself, his strong body pinned her down making her efforts more futile.  Surprisingly, though strong and firm of action, he almost seemed to avoid hurting her in his struggles.  His face drew closer and his features focused into view in the dimness.  Then Majah caught her breath as she saw it appeared to be the soldier who saw her in the market.  Frozen with fear and exhaustion she lay heaving with breath, staring into his face.  He seemed to want to say something but just looked into her eyes and drew her closer.

    Ceasing to struggle any further she felt the hulk of his figure envelope her and his head buried into the curve of her neck, drawing her against his strength. Now she knew it was the soldier who had stared at her so intently and she sensed a strange feeling towards him, afraid but wanting to see him better and see his eyes, to see his thoughts.  His urgency burned into her and the searing pain gradually turned into another feeling which she had never experienced before. She tried to escape from it but could not, as if drew her into it, like a whirlpool.  His savage power was brutal yet it gave Majah a  warm primal feeling which was hard to ignore.  Her hands unconsciously clasped the curls of hair tumbling down his neck, undulating like waves of grain like her mother's tresses, so smooth and sensuous to touch.  Majah pressed her face against his and a warm feeling of peace ran down her body.  A penetrating feeling of warmth overcame her pain as she clung to him in a sudden surrender to her feral instincts.  Like falling into a dark abyss, she lost all sense of being.  Undulating waves of black tresses caressed her in sensuous rhythms like the tide washing the shore. 

    With a sudden awakening Majah felt him pull away from her, pausing but a moment to look into her face with a fleeting look of recognition.  Clumsily he pulled himself together looming above her.  Her eyes were now better to see in the dimness and his proud Greek features were strongly evident, his tunic little hiding his muscular body.  Sitting up she clutched her shawl and stared up at him waiting for him to say something.  Then in an instant he turned and disappeared out into the corridor.

    The cold floor and aching pain awoke Majah to reality and realizing what had happened, she broke into convulsive sobs.

    The chores for her father, done with an instinctive regularity, her mind raced with thoughts and feelings of the strange encounter.  Two days had passed since but the experience still possessed her intensely.  Why was she so obsessed by the feelings and sensations which kept running through her mind?  The assault was violent and humiliating yet a persuasive part of her kept recreating the entire dark scene.  Majah now realized she was really wondering more about him and her new feelings he had awoken in her.

    On the walk home she felt a foreboding in passing the area of the encounter but something drew her towards it, like a morbid curiosity.  The passageways were quiet and uninhabited as before as her footsteps echoed in the stillness.  Her heart pounded  as she wound her way through the alley, her feet taking her instinctively to the same lonely courtyard; dusky and beckoning in its mystic way.  At an archway Majah looked down the dark stone alley leading to a mellow glow of light at the end.  Approaching the end she noticed it was the familiar courtyard which had the two exits.  Suddenly a shuffling of feet on the cobblestone caught her ears and startled she pressed her back against the nearest wall behind a column.  In the shadows a figure appeared and passed nearby.  It was an old lady, bent and low, oblivious to Majah.  Strangely, even in the dim light, it looked like the gray old woman from whom Majah had purchased the rice. 

    After her passing Majah stepped into the alley and continued on her way.  In the courtyard the same larger exit met her eyes and a chill ran down her as she approached it. She had not gone far but a sense of not beiig alone gripped her.  In the darkness, the silhouette of a man appeared against the courtyard.  Although she could not make out who it was she somehow knew it was him and a shiver passed through her.  Majah stood frozen, peering intently at the dark form who seemed to be just staring back at her.  Seeing him caused a tumultuous beating in her heart and she pressed her hand to her breast to quiet it.  Approaching her slowly his eyes seemed to beckon her.  His closeness once again revealed his tall stature causing a trembling in her and she wanted to turn and run but she couldn't move.  A feeling of fear and apprehension gripped her.  Something kept her from running and it paralyzed her.  Then suddenly he slowly walked towards her and she could see his his familiar dangling sword.  Before she could act he stood close to her and grasped her arm but his grasp was too strong and Majah felt herself being pulled closer to him, her heart pounding.  As he towered over her the intensity of his eyes bore down on her  Though firm of grip he seemed to be almost gentle as he drew her nearer.  Tense with fright Majah submissively let him pull her closer and he led her to a dusky corner behind the  archway  Pressed against him she tried to look into his eyes  Surprisingly he was gentle as he held her cheek against his.  Never before  had she yielded to a man but she felt no resistance to bear as he drew her down to the floor besides him.  Though there was a sureness in it all he was gentle and she felt the fear subsiding in her, letting his strong hands caress her.  His warmth gave her a peaceful sensation and she wrapped her arms around him, her hands feeling the curly strands of hair at his neck.  Pressing her face against his shoulder she shuddered with a warm flood of pleasure in his unyielding strength bearing into her.  A strange but wonderful glow permeated her very being with their physical presence and Majah felt secure in his firmness.

    Finally submitting to him, Majah traced her hands through his tresses, stroking the soft curls with a gentle fondness.  The curls tumbled into her hands washing waves of radiant passion through her, ebbing and flowing in a tranquil rhythm.  Holding him tight she cried and felt a flowing release of intense soft beauty.  His head on her shoulder she buried her face into his black waves of hair, then drawing him down to her breast his alabaster skin contrasted with her lustrous brown body.  A moving oneness held her, powerless but to submit to the beauty of their love.  A soothing softness enfolded her, her body and soul as one transcended into  an ethereal state of beauty, a beauty of supreme sublimity.  Time melted into a dark dream and a serenity wrapped her into soft folds.  The peacefulness was soon shattered by a rude awakening as he got up  and an emptiness woke her into reality.

    Like from a slumber he gently pulled away from Majah.  Looking into his dark eyes she tried to see his thoughts and feelings.  Pausing a moment he stood up.  Against his legs, not wanting him to leave, she pleaded with him, but his face said no.  Reluctantly she reached to pick up the cold steel sword and handed it to him.  Their hands touched and she felt a hesitant soft touch from him.  Before she could say anything he was gone.

    Days passed with a fleeting swiftness.  Though still fearful of him she felt drawn to him not knowing why but feeling some power within her, pulling her.

    Each day they secretly met and abandoned the harsh cruelty of the world and entered their furtive but warm corner.  Never speaking, their very souls peered into one another.  Her father, not beyond noticing a change in his daughter, never thought much of it and he became used to her longer absences.  Even Majah seemed to notice a change in herself, a subtle yet poignant warmth exuded with her smiling eyes.  She wanted to tell Neerja of their secret affair but she dared not.

    Majah felt an inner strength and peace around her secret world but as time passed into weeks a new feeling gnawed at her.  The furtive secrecy was becoming more insecure to her and each day she worried if he would not be there to meet her.  New instincts within her told her she should be with him all the more, sharing their lives together, but it was not to be.  As a soldier he was on duty and not free to lead a life as he pleased.

    At night curling up in her bed of straw she looked across the darkness to see he father asleep in their cubicle.  Always secure in his closeness Majah now felt a new yearning, a warm but aching feeling she should be curled up tight against her soldier, in his protective hold.  Something new was stirring deeply in her head and she slept restlessly with each passing night.

    Each day,cleaning their cubicle, Majah busily swept the offal and straw from the rough stone floor, chasing the goats out as she worked.  It was hot and dusty and she felt very tired.  The cold floor was of little comfort. Trying to rest she pulled a pile of straw around her legs.  Into a quick sleep she felt drawn into a warm whirlpool of crashing waves.  The waves were soft and perfumed but flowed around her ever higher and they began to suffocate her  Fretfully she fought to keep from drowning.  Just as the last wave pulled her down, with ebbing strength, she reached up desperately grabbing at the darkness only to find nothing.  Then a haunting chant filled her ears and like a magic wand, it picked her from the waves.

    As she woke up, Majah shook her head and sat up, trying to clear her mind of the fretful  dream.  Looking about the room she was about to leave when something caught her eyes high up the wall.  Above the window she saw a small shelf she had not noticed before.  In a small niche, her fingers pulled out a small fold of cloth. At once Majah knew it was the comb she had hid long ago.  She had not touched it since her mother's death and the wad of cloth was dusty, still wound around the comb.  Squatting down in a corner she slowly unfolded the secret treasure.  There, in it's simple beauty, laid the comb.  With it came a flood of memories, bittersweet memories, and tears welled in her eyes. She held it in her hand, pressing it to her cheek, wet with tears.  After she placed it back on the shelf, Majah slipped into her shawl and left the room.

    The sun beat relentlessly on her but somehow it felt different to her. A washing warmth seemed to flow over her, giving her a new energy.  Soon she found herself humming an incantation but she realized it was unknown to her.  Majah darted between the small children playing around the street, their dark eyes brightening their  dusty soiled faces.  Little by little she found herself longing for her soldier.  Most of her waking hours were spent with thoughts of him, dense with vague feelings for him.  This tormented her as she knew her father would violently oppose this foreigner, let alone permit this illicit love.  All reasoning in her mind wafted away like a zephyr when the thoughts of him tugged at her heart, causing gentle delusions of unexplained submissiveness to him.  Pangs of shame shuddered her at times when home with her father in the evenings, but soon they were forgotten.  The desire to see him her soldier now pervaded her with a force she was not able to question.

    Again they met in the same dusky corner and silently expressed their love.  Making love softly with a lack of urgency but still strong desires, desires of a fuller meaning, one that each sensed instinctively.  Gently he cradled her small form in his steely arms and she forgot he was a cold soldier of fortune, radiating a warmth to her with his tenderness.  In her shawl, Majah pulled out the precious comb, unwrapping it from the cloth.  With a reverence she drew it to his head and stroked it through the black curls. Her arms around his neck she drew herself to him burying her face into him, her lustrous brown skin melting into him.  A flood of memories swept through Majah, her eyes growing wet with tears, a numbing filling her very soul.  Drawing her tawny head to his cheek he buried a flood of kisses into her dark tresses, both now clinging to one another in prophetic desperation.  She could feel his heart beating against hers, her soft warmth pressing tightly to his chest, her mind numb with utter serenity.  Holding her face close to him she tried to say something but nothing was said.  Majah could see a pleading in his eyes and like the fortune teller, she could see an ominous look, one that frightened her.  She buried her face into him not wanting to see his eyes, his look of despair, clinging to him and soothing him with caressing strokes.

    Finally he pulled away but Majah clung to him until he had to gently pull her arms away.  Standing up he stared down at her as Majah wrapped her arms around his legs.  Even in the dim light he could see a glistening of tears streaking down her cheeks.  Coldly and abruptly he broke free and disappeared into the darkness.

    The next morning Majah woke after a fitful night of sleep. Brushing the straw off, she arose and pulled her shawl around her shoulders and looked around for he father.  It was late and he was gone. With strands of hair matting her face, beads of sweat trickled down her forehead from the oppressive heat.

    Majah stepped into the sunlit street to see throngs of people, humming with activity in the market. It was the day after fasting and the crowds were hungry shopping for food. Above the noise she heard another commotion and she threaded her way through the people to see what it was.  Approaching the main square she noticed a cloud of dust hovering above the crowd, a haze of dusty heat boiling in the sun's rays. People were watching something and a glint of sunlight caught he eyes.

    Majah stretched on her toes to peer between the multitudinous heads and she could see the shiny reflection of the sun on bronze helmets.  Greek soldiers were assembling in the middle of the square. At the front she could now see the soldiers were lining up and they appeared to be in full dress with their packs, ready to leave. Behind there were a pack of donkeys with loads on their backs, soldiers cinching their ponderous loads down, the donkeys braying raucously above the din of the crowd.

    Gradually it dawned on her that the Greek soldiers were apparently assembling for a major trek.  Were they leaving for good?  Her heart sank as she nervously look up and down the assemblage to find her soldier. Then, in the confusion of the mass of soldiers, she saw in back the familiar proud stature of her love. He was shouting commands and pushing men into order and the mass of them were becoming an orderly line, their shining bronze helmets lining up perfectly.  Majah was fretful.

    Running and darting between the people to the end where he was, her heart pounded with apprehension.  Then, but an arm's length away, she reached out to touch him but she dared not.  He was shouting orders and the line of soldiers began to march.  Running to keep abreast she wove to catch his eye but to no avail. The last night he must have known but he couldn't tell her. Majah was frantic.

    The last night he had left her so suddenly she now realized his shortness with her.  Her heart sank with  grief, the fear of losing him, to never see him again.  Still stumbling through the crowds to keep up, tears began to well up in her eyes, streaking down her soiled cheeks, the dust turning muddy like a river. Now at the stone wall, Majah could go no further.

    The soldiers were leaving the portal and marching out into the hills.  Crowds of people pushed around her shouting and chanting in joyous glee to see them leave.  Alone in the crowd Majah stood numb in sorrow with an aching heart not knowing what to do.  Quickly she ran to a corner where stairs led up to a parapet. Up the stone stairs, she breathlessly clambered to the top and crouched to the parapet looking over the field.  The bloc of soldiers was rapidly getting smaller as they marched steadily to the hills, the dust rising in clouds behind them.  She could still see him, so tall and straight, marching at the side keeping their ranks.  She ached to see his eyes, to see him turn his head and look back, but it was too late. He was gone.

    No more was she able to be held by him to feel his warmth, his beating heart.  Tears filled Majah's eyes blurring her vision and a throbbing pain arose in her breast, a throb so intense she was consumed by it.  The last vision of him faded with the smaller cloud of dust rising over the hill of their departure. The dust shimmered in the low rising sun now warming the morning air.

    Majah slumped to the stone floor sobbing quietly, tears running down her tawny cheeks as she pressed her hand against her belly, now so strangely warm, stroking it like the  flowing locks of hair.



                                                The End