Thais of Athens

Chapter Fourteen. Wisdom of Eridu

Warm Babylonian winter came to an end, summer drew near with its threat of heat. As there was still no news from Alexander, Lysippus decided they should all take a trip to Eridu. The sculptor joked that Euryale and Eris were going to Eridu with Ehephilos. The four friends sailed down the Euphrates, but Hesiona stayed home to wait for Nearchus. She swore this was going to be the last time she waited. The next time, she would leave him forever.

In the south the river split into many streams and flows, forming an enormous swamp almost five hundred stadiums long. Only the most experienced navigators could find the main section of the river within that labyrinth of reeds and sea grass, since it deflected to the west where sticky clay and salt flats guarded the eastern edge of the Syrian Desert. They sailed nearly fifty parsangs, or fifteen hundred stadiums, in three days without a single docking. Then the Euphrates flowed in one broad stream, heading east. After another twenty-five parsangs, the river curved around an elevated rocky plain from the north. The plain had been the location of the oldest cities in Mesopotamia. Swamps and salt flats stretched all the way to the left bank, from the east and northeast. The endless spread of quiet water, swamps and reeds, inhabited by wild boars, reached the Tigris and went on for another thousand stadiums.

On the fifth day of their voyage, they docked at an ancient, half-destroyed pier with a staircase of huge stone slabs climbing the right bank. From there, a wide road drowning in hot dust took them to the ruins of an impossibly ancient city, then further southwest to a small town atop a flat hill. Majestic ruins, a few ramshackle newer structures, and a large inn surrounded three splendid temples. Two of them, or rather the one that was damaged the least, reminded Thais of the main building of Kibela’s sanctuary as well as similar structures of both Babylon and Susa. The third temple bore traces of multiple restorative efforts and as a result had peculiar architecture. Its foundation rested upon a platform with rounded corners and brick siding. In its center, a wide staircase led toward a portico with three pillars under a heavy, pyramid-shaped roof. Beyond that rose an incredibly tall round tower with several sloping levels.

Informed about the arrival of the guests, priests and servants met the Ecbatanians at the platform, bowing to them with dignity and humility. Most of them were dark-skinned, much like Thais’ Indian friends who had visited her in Ecbatana.

After the ceremonial greeting, the guests were taken to a side wing which was designated for rest and overnight shelter, and served nuts, dates, honey, rye cakes and milk. The travelers bathed and took time to enjoy their meal.

Eventually, a tall priest entered and sat down on a bench, pointedly avoiding physical contact with the visitors. He was dressed in white and his thick beard covered his face almost to the eyes. From the corner of her eye, Thais saw Lysippus make a sign in the air and point at her with his eyes. The priest rose, clearly moved, and Lysippus drew another oval in the air. The priest, apparently affected by this sign language, made a welcoming gesture and led Thais and Lysippus through a tall, narrow passage, then into an inner room of the tower. Two more priests joined them along the way. One was a dark-skinned man with broad shoulders who appeared to have tremendous strength. The other wore a colorful garment and a blunt, narrow beard beneath a mane of curls. The latter turned out to be an interpreter. After exchanging some information, both priests expressed their desire to offer their knowledge to the Helenians. That was when Thais realized that initiated Orphics had access to the temple’s mysteries.

As if wishing to prove this to be true, Lysippus and Thais were taken down the longest passageway, its wall ornamented by vertical rows of tightly stretched silver strings of various lengths. The tall priest walked, touching various groups of strings as he went, and the strings responded with a lovely, long moaning sound, echoing along the stone passage.

“This sound lives inside every person, connecting generations,” the priest explained. “Through centuries, flying into the unknown future. If you understand this symbol there is no need to explain the other one.” The priest pointed at the deep trenches running across the passage, covered with boards which had been painted with images of animals and mythical monsters. Thais interpreted this as separation between generations, filled with darkness and ignorance, driving human beings to animal state. She wasn’t too shy to ask the Indians. The priest smiled kindly.

“The first drops of rain do not saturate the earth but they are first signs of a plentiful rain,” the second dark-skinned priest said. “You too are drops. Let us retire for conversation to a place of inviolate seclusion.”

The round hall was lit by strange torches which shed neither smoke nor soot, set on the ledges around square half-columns. Large cushions of soft, thin leather were scattered over the rugs. The room was furnished with two octagonal tables and hard stools of dark wood, which the two priests occupied. Heavy fragrant smoke from two bronze incense burners settled around the hall like blue fog.

Thais noticed colorful images of animals between the columns: tigers, rhinoceri, wild bulls. Images of elephants were most ubiquitous. The giant animals were known in Mesopotamia and sometimes brought to Babylon, but were never portrayed in the local temples, palaces or on the gates, akin the Gates of Ishtar.

“What would you like to choose as the subject of our conversation?” the dark-skinned priest asked.

“During the many years of our friendship, my pupil has asked me questions I could not answer. Perhaps you, who possess thousands of years of wisdom, would be so kind as to enlighten us both,” the great artist said modestly.

“Knowledge, akin to good,” the elder priest replied, “must not be scattered about haphazardly. Akin to wealth or military power, knowledge in the wrong hands serves to elevate one people and humiliate others. In addition, and this is very important, great discoveries — like the fact that the Sun is a sphere circled by planets, and the Earth is also a sphere that hangs in space — these can destroy faith in those gods that are only created by human imagination. A wise man’s knowledge will not destroy his faith in the grandeur of the world or the coherence of its laws, sensed so well by poets and artists. A fool, on the other hand, would lose any faith whatsoever and fall into a black pit of senseless animal existence. Fortunately, an ignorant man’s stupidity saves the careless truth seekers. They are simply not believed or they are laughed at, as happened with your philosopher Anaxagoras. He was the first Helenian to teach that the Sun was a fiery globe. Because of this ‘amusing misdirection’, even his great notion of nus, the universal intelligence, which overlaps with our philosophy, had no noticeable influence upon Helenians. Even earlier than that, you had another giant of thought, Anaximander. He taught that man is a result of a long line of transformations of animals, starting with a primordial fishlike creature. He also realized the vastness of space and inhabited worlds. There was Alcmeon, the physician and student of Pythagoras, who discovered two centuries ago that the brain was the organ of intelligence and the receptor of the senses. He also discovered that planets followed circular orbits. He also was ridiculed. But the Orphic teaching, Indian in spirit, was either taken from us Indians or from our common ancestors, which is why you are free in your possession of wisdom without the foolish conceit.”

“You mentioned ridicule,” Thais said indecisively. “We have a god named Mom, a creature of Night and the abyss of Tartar, who denies everything and laughs at everything, violating even the calm of the Olympian gods. I have seen people here for whom ridicule and destruction of all things ancient, great, and beautiful constitute the meaning of life. They also ridicule Eros, inventing base pantomimes and reducing the divine passion to the level of beastly lust. In their eyes I am simply a whore who ought to be stoned.”

“I agree with you regarding the harm brought on by ignorant ridicule,” the tall Indian replied. “But we think that the reason for it is not the existence of some specific god. Small people dwelling between the mighty states of Egypt and Mesopotamia have always lived in degradation. People who have no power compensate for the humiliation by ridiculing those who subdued them. Among the minor people, life is uncertain and swift. There is nothing permanent and there is no time to establish faith and philosophy.”

“I would add to this the similarity to monkeys,” the elder priest said. “There are many of them in our country, and some are considered sacred. However, monkeys are the idlest of all animals. Living in safety among the trees, in groves with plenty of fruit, monkeys do not need to spend time or effort in feeding themselves as do other animals, like a tiger who persistently hunts his prey, an elephant or bull forced to eat lots of grass to sustain their enormous bodies. Other animals value time and do not waste it on trifles. But the lazy monkeys quickly satisfy their appetite and seek entertainment in foolish tricks. They toss nuts to hit a tiger in the eye, defecate on an elephant’s head, then make fun of them as they giggle from a safe height, They sense their own insignificance and uselessness and take it out on other worthy animals.”

Helenians started to laugh, but the Indian was serious. Lysippus and Thais grew silent.

It was long since evening, but the conversation continued until well after midnight. Thais realized she had a need to spend several days here. She didn’t think she would ever get another opportunity to discover the wisdom of the ancient country.

Eris sat in her usual pose, her legs curled up as she waited for Thais. The Athenian collapsed onto the cushions in exhaustion and fell into a sleep filled with fantastic images of unknown gods.

Over the next few days Thais found out about the twelve Nidanas or “Reasons for Being”. Each of them was considered a consequence of a previous one, and the cause of the following one. The Great Nature or the life-giving power, Shakhty, was not all that different from the Great Mother of pre-Hellenic beliefs, having a dominant female deity. The sixth sign of the zodiac was Kagna, or the Virgin. She represented Shakhty, the Power of Nature, or Mahamaia, the Great Illusion and indicated that the primal forces must correspond to the number six and stand in the following sequence:

1. Parashakhty: the highest power of warmth and light that gives life to all things on Earth.

2. Djnanishakhty: the power of the mind and wise knowledge. It is two sided. The first is Smiriti, or memory. This is a huge power capable of bringing ancient notions and future expectations to life. The other side is foresight, the ability to see through the curtain of Maia into Time, which is one in all three of its aspects: past, present and future, and is much more complex than the time passed with the beating of one’s heart.

3. Ichchashakhty: the willpower, the currents flowing through the body and concentrated on the fulfillment of desires.

4. Kriashakhty, or the power of thought: which is material, and can have physical impact with its energy.

5. Kundalinishakhty: the life principle of all of Nature. This power undulates like a snake and combines two great contradictions of attraction and repulsion, which is why it is also called a serpent. Kundalini balances out the inner and outer aspects of life. Its forward movement inside a person gives him the power of Kama-Eros and leads to transformation.

6. Matrikashakhty: the power of speech, music, signs and letters.

Of this entire list of primal forces, the Helenians liked Kundalinishakhty the best. It was a notion close to them both, as they were spiritual artists and poets, able to relate to the dialectic teachings of Heraclitus of Ethes, Anaxagoras and Antiphontus.

Lysippus noted that the philosophers of Hebrew people considered the snake a power of evil that destroyed the happiness of the first people.

Both Indians smiled, and the elder priest said, “Our sacred book Aitarea calls your Gaea-Earth Sarporajini, or the queen of serpents, the mother of all moving things, for a serpent is a symbol of movement in the struggle between opposing forces. According to our myths, there used to be a race of snakelike people, or Nags, who numbered no more than a thousand. The people who inhabit the Earth now are the fifth race, created under the symbols of Bull and Cow. The bull is sacred in your land in the west, and the cow is sacred in ours. From the Nags my people have inherited the ability to rule over the poisonous snakes of India. Here, at our temple, there is a priestess of Nag who performs the ritual kiss of the sacred serpent. No mortal, not even one of the highest caste, can perform this ritual and remain alive.”

Thais, burning with curiosity, made the elder priest promise her a demonstration of the terrible ritual.

Much in the Indians’ stories remained unclear to Thais and Lysippus. The enormous extent of time, tracked by them from the creation of the world, went entirely against the calculations of the Egyptian, Finikian, Hebrew and Pythagorean scholars. The Hebrews had the shortest count of only six thousand years. According to the

Indian data, the first real people appeared on Earth eighteen million, six hundred, sixteen thousand, five hundred and sixteen years ago. With the same frightening precision, the Indians had calculated the length of the dark and menacing period of troubles in the history of mankind, which started after the great battle in India two thousand, seven hundred, seventy years prior, when the best of people perished. This era or, as they called it, Kali-Yuga, was to last another four hundred, twenty-nine thousand years.

“Other scholars believe it to be much shorter,” the tall Indian said. “Only a bit over five thousand years.”

Lysippus and Thais exchanged glances. Such enormous discrepancy contradicted the precision of the enormous numbers. Noting the Helenians’ confusion, the Indians continued to tell them about the precise calculations developed by their mathematicians. In the book of “solar science”, the time was segmented in a way with which the Helenians were not familiar. One hour equaled twenty-four Helenian minutes, and one minute or vikala was twenty-four seconds. The time was further fragmented by a factor of sixty, all the way down to a kashta: an unimaginably brief moment of one three hundred millionth of a second.

To Lysippus’ question, what was the use in numbers that could be neither measured nor imagined, the Indian replied that the human mind had two stages of consciousness. At the higher stage, called buddhi, a person was capable of comprehending such small measures and understanding the structure of the world made up of the smallest particles and central forces that were eternal and undefeatably strong, despite their being mere points of energy.

The Helenians learned about the great physician Jivak, who lived three hundred years before and possessed a stone that could show a body’s internal organs. They also learned of another healer who protected people from smallpox by making a small scratch and rubbing into it some blood from a person who had survived the disease.

“Then why don’t physicians use this method today?” Thais exclaimed. “You speak of it as something half-forgotten.”

The elder priest gazed at her silently while the younger cried out with indignation. “You must not say such things, beautiful initiated one! All this and many other things constitute a mystery locked in ancient books. If it is forgotten, then such is the will of gods and Karma. When we, the priests of the highest caste, discover that a person of a lower caste has overheard the reading of the sacred books, we pour molten lead into his ears.”

“Then how do you carry out the distribution of the knowledge?” Thais asked acidly. “You have only just spoken of the perils of ignorance.”

“We care not about the distribution, but about preservation of the knowledge among those who are meant to possess it,” the tall priest replied.

“Among one caste? And what of the others? Are they to be kept ignorant?”

“Yes. To fulfill their destiny. If they do it well they will be born into a higher caste in their next life.”

“Knowledge preserved by a small group will invariably grow weaker and become forgotten,” Lysippus interrupted. “Closed circles that are castes are only good for breeding animals, not people. The Spartans tried creating a breed of warriors, and even succeeded at it. But all things in life change faster than people can anticipate. The life of war put the Lacedemonians at the brink of extinction.”

“We have not one, but many castes, as is necessary for human existence,” the Indian objected.

“Still, I find the Helenian approach toward people more consistent. In your sacred books and philosophic writings, you place humans at the same level as gods; however, in reality you breed them like livestock and keep them ignorant,” Lysippus said firmly.

“Do Helenians not acknowledge the nobility of one’s origins?” the elder priest asked, frowning.

“They do. But there is one basic difference. We believe that a nobleman can be born anywhere and that he deserves any knowledge, art and skill he wishes to learn and use. If he finds an equally good mate, the noble line of their descendants would be equally welcome in an Athenian palace as they would be in a house of a Chalhidian farmer. Good and bad can originate anywhere. It is common to believe that particularly outstanding individuals are born of gods and goddesses.”

“But you have slaves whom you do not consider human, and humiliate to the level of animals,” the Indian exclaimed.

Thais wanted to object, but Lysippus stopped her by gently squeezing her hand. He rose and left the Athenian alone with the Indians, then followed the familiar path to his room. He returned with a large chest made of purple amaranth wood with ornate golden corners. Having placed it carefully on the octagonal table, the sculptor opened the clasp. He revealed a strange mechanism: a combination of gears and levers of various sizes. Silver rings were marked with letters and symbols.

The Indians leaned over the chest, obviously interested.

“A follower of Pythagoreans, Heraclitus of Pont, who was close to Aristotle, discovered that the globe of Gaea revolves around itself, akin to a top, and that its axis is tipped with respect to the plane traveled by the Sun and its planets. This mechanism was built to calculate the movement of planets, without which navigation and prediction of the future could not exist. Here is someone’s mind that established itself one time, having designed this mechanism, to be followed by the other’s hands and the tables inscribed on the cover. People who use it are free from long calculations and have time for higher pursuits.”

The stunned priests grew quiet. Lysippus took advantage of their dismay and said, “We Helenians, instead of punishing the seekers of knowledge with molten lead, open wide the porticos and gardens of our academies and schools of philosophy. We are catching up with you who started comprehending the world several thousands of years earlier.”

“That is because there are so few of you and you are forced to preserve your students in order to ensure the passage of the torch of knowledge. But there are so many of us. If we shout out our knowledge in a town square it will be instantly distorted by the ignorant and turned against true scholars. In Kriashakhty and Kundalini we have discovered secrets of personal strength and we carefully guard the technique of its learning and usage. It would cause great trouble if this knowledge were to end up with a person of imperfect Karma.”

This is when Thais discovered the law of Karma, or retribution. Karma made Nemesis, daughter of the Night and the Helenian goddess of fair punishment, look naïve, small and weak.

In the colossal cosmic mechanism, whose workings were at the basis of the world, all things — gods, people and animals — were subject to Karma. They must all live out their errors, imperfections and particularly their crimes in a series of incarnations, their fate growing better or worse depending on their personal and social behavior. Lying and deceit, especially captured in books, constituted terrible crimes because they resulted in harmful consequences for many people and could take thousands of years to eliminate. Destruction of beauty was also considered to be one of the worst crimes. When someone forbade something to someone else, he took upon himself the Karma of his subject, whatever it might be.

“Then by keeping knowledge from the lower castes, you take their ignorance upon yourselves? That of millions of people?” Thais asked suddenly.

The elder priest reeled back and the tall Indian’s eyes flashed in anger.

“It is no worse than you Helenians for not letting your slaves study,” the elder Indian replied. “There are so few of you who are free, and so many of them. Their numbers grow greater each day. That is why your world will soon perish, despite your great conquests.”

Lysippus had to stop the Athenian once again when she wanted to disagree. Thais paced herself, reasoning that each faith had its weaknesses. Attacking them might have been appropriate in a public dispute, but not in a peaceful conversation. Instead of arguing further, the Athenian finally dared ask a question that had tormented her for a long time.

“My teacher, the great artist Lysippus, reproached me cruelly for one misdeed and even distanced himself from me for an entire year. Beauty is the only thing that ties people to life and makes them both value it and struggle against its challenges, diseases and dangers. People who destroy, distort or ridicule beauty must not live. They must be destroyed like rabid dogs for they are the carriers of incurable disease. Artists are like wizards who bring beauty to life, but are also held more responsible than those who are blind, because they can see. That was what Lysippus told me three years ago.”

“Your teacher is entirely correct and in complete agreement with the law of Karma,” the dark-skinned priest said.

“Thus when I destroyed the beautiful palaces of Persepolis, I destined myself to terrible punishments in this and future lives?” Thais asked sadly.

“Are you that woman?” the Indians asked, gazing at their guest curiously.

After a long silence, the elder priest spoke. And his words, pronounced with much gravity and certainty, gave comfort to the Athenian. “Those who wish to rule build traps for gullible people, and for the rest of us because we yearn for miracles and all things unusual. Those who want to control people’s minds construct traps by playing numbers, symbols and formulas, spheres and sounds, giving them semblance to the keys of knowledge. Those who wish to control emotions the way tyrants and politicians do, especially emotions of the mob, build enormous palaces that humble people and take over their emotions. A man who wanders into such a trap loses his individuality and dignity. The palaces of Portipora, as we call Persepolis, served as just such traps. You correctly guessed as much and served as the weapon of Karma, as the evil contained in a punishment sometimes serves the good. I would acquit you of Lysippus’ charges.”

“I realized that myself and forgave her,” the sculptor agreed.

“And didn’t explain to me?” Thais reproached.

“I realized it not with my mind, but with my feelings. Only our teachers from India who know Karma were able to put it into words for us,” Lysippus bowed, pressing his hands to his forehead after the Asian fashion.

The priests bowed even lower in response.

Thais returned to her room earlier than usual that day.

Eris moved a small table with food toward her, waited for the Athenian to satisfy her hunger then beckoned to follow her, smiling only with her eyes. Moving in silence, she led Thais to a staircase that served as transition from the front section of the temple to the main tower. Artemis Acsiopena stood framed by two staircases on a wide pedestal in front of a deep, unlit niche. Rays of light fell from small side windows high above and crossed in front of the statue, making the darkness behind her appear deeper. Bronze glistened as if Artemis had only just emerged from the darkness of the night, following the tracks of some criminal. Ehephilos was sitting at the foot of the pedestal with his eyes raised to his creation in prayer. He was so deep in thought that he didn’t move and didn’t sense the women’s arrival. Thais and Eris stepped back quietly and returned to their room.

“You destroyed him, khalkeokordios, you copper heart,” the Athenian said angrily, as she glared at the black priestess. “Now he will not be able to continue sculpting.”

“He is destroying himself,” Eris said indifferently. “He feels as if he must sculpt me, like a statue, according to his desires.”

“Then why did you let him …”

“In gratitude for the art and for the glorious dream about me.”

“But a great artist cannot drag himself after you like a slave.”

“He cannot,” Eris agreed.

“Then what are his options?”

Eris shrugged. “I am not asking for love.”

“No, but you inspire it. You are akin to a sword undercutting men’s lives.”

“What do you wish me to do, Mistress?” Eris asked, using her former subservient tone. The Athenian read sad determination in the blue eyes.

Thais held her and whispered a few gentle words. Eris huddled against her like a younger sister, losing her goddess-like serenity for a moment. Thais patted her head and smoothed down the thick mane of her hair, then went to Lysippus.

The great sculptor became seriously concerned with the fate of his best pupil and took Thais to see the priests.

“You spoke of knowledge as salvation,” he began, once the four of them were settled in the round hall. “According to you, the suffering that exists in the world would have decreased many fold had people spent more time pondering troubles that originated from ignorance. This very accurate statement coexists for you with inhumane laws of the mystery of knowledge. However, in addition to one’s mind, there are also one’s feelings. What do you know of them? How can one conquer Eros? We are losing a great sculptor, the one who created the statue purchased by your temple.”

“If you mean the goddess of the night Ratri, she is not for the temple. She is only kept here before being sent forth to India.”

“We consider her the goddess of the moon, health and women, equal to Aphrodite,” Thais said.

“Our goddess of love and beauty, Lakshmi, is only one light side of the deity. The dark side is the goddess of destruction and death, the punishing Kali. Before, in the ancient times, when each deity was both benevolent and menacing, they were combined in the image of the night goddess Ratri, whom I serve,” the dark-skinned priest said.

“How can you worship only the female goddess if your gods send heavenly beauties to crush the might of scholars?” Lysippus asked. “In that respect, your religion appears evolved to me, for it places men on equal footing with gods, but it also appears primitive, because its deities use beauty as a weapon of unworthy seduction.”

“I do not see anything unworthy in such seduction,” the priest said, smiling. “After all, it is not a mere yakshini, a demon of lust, who carries it out, but a celestial beauty imbued with arts and high intelligence, much like her,” he said, glancing at Thais.

Mischief long contained suddenly took over Thais, and she directed a long, passionate gaze at the priest.

“What was I talking about?” the priest muttered, then rubbed his forehead, trying to remember. “Ah yes. There are two ways toward perfection and enlightenment, both of them secret. One is asceticism, a complete denial of all desires, a path of deep thought connecting the lower consciousness with the higher one. First and foremost it requires elimination of the merest thought of that which you call Eros. That is where a woman with her power is an enemy.”

“As in the Hebrew faith where she is the reason of the original sin, destruction of paradise and other troubles.”

“No, not like that. Besides, you apparently do not know the depth of their religion, which secretly follows Babylonian wisdom. You do not know Cabala. We do not have a personal god at the height of philosophy of the sacred Upanishads. There is only Parabrahman, the reality of all-encompassing Cosmos. In a similar way, there is no personal menacing Jehovah in Cabala, but there is Eyn-Soph, the endless and limitless existence. The absolute Truth appears in the form of a nude woman named Sephira. Together with the male beginning Hokma, wisdom, and female mind Bina, Sephira forms a threesome, or the crown of Kater, the head of Truth. Women are allowed into sanctuaries. The Kadeshim maidens are sacred in their nudity and dedicated to god, akin to our temple dancers, Finikian and Babylonian women, to say nothing of your priestesses of Aphrodite, Rhea and Demeter. There are many similarities between ancient faiths, originating from the same place and headed in the same direction.”

“Then why do the Jewish priests shout at us, calling us idol-worshipers and hating our laws and notions?”

“There are Eulokhian writings of high wisdom. There are also writings about an all-powerful god occupied only with the affairs of men, like a supreme ruler of Earth. Those writings were composed five hundred years later. The purpose of the latter religion is preservation of an ancient but small nation surrounded by enemies. In it you will find first of all the notion of sin, with which you Helenian and we Indians are equally unfamiliar. The sole purpose of love for procreation is considered to be one’s sacred duty among our people. Since the ancient times our women were never separated from men, and have always been equally free. That is what our sacred Vedas tell us. How can we consider impure a passion that is as natural as life itself, in whose fires future generations are born?”

“Then why do your gods keep scholars from rising into the higher world? Why do they send apsaras, the heavenly hetaerae, to interfere with them?” Thais asked, and pointed up, making both priests smile.

“We call it the higher world not because it is located somewhere up above, but because of its nature compared to our world,” the dark-skinned priest said. “I have already started telling you about the two different paths one must follow to achieve perfection. Again, the first path is that of clarity of thought, the elimination of all physical desires, including one’s desire to live. But the ancient dark-skinned people of India, from whom I originate, developed a different path. It is a philosophy that is the origin of all Indian learning, and is particularly useful during the modern era of ignorance, jealousy and anger, called Kali-Yuga. It contains the deepest knowledge and the most powerful ability to control the powers of the human body. It is called Tantra. Briefly, its essence is that a man must experience all of life’s primary desires to their fullest in order to live through them and become free of them in the briefest time.”

“Are you a follower of Tantra?” Thais asked.

The priest nodded.

“And are you now free of all temptations and desires?” she asked, giving the priest such an expressive look that all muscles of his powerful body became strained.

He took a full breath and continued. “Tantra does not deny desire, especially Eros. Rather it recognizes it as a moving power of life and an opportunity for spiritual elevation. We never deny others in this elevation, remembering the story of Brahma.”

The Indian told them a charming legend about the love of a heavenly apsara to Brahma, the main god of the Indian trinity. Occupied with observation and enlightenment, he did not respond to her call. Then the apsara cursed him, predicting that he would receive less respect from the faithful than all other gods. Brahma went to the other god of the trinity Vishnu and the latter explained to him that a grave sin had been committed. In order to correct it, he would have to become the apsara’s lover and carry out thirty other acts of purification, because a woman is the greatest treasure and the working hands of Nature-Shakhty. A man denying a woman’s passion, no matter who she was, commits a grave sin. That was why the followers of Tantra worshiped Shakhty and were greatly advanced in Eros.

“Both men and women?”

“Indeed,” the priest replied. “Action is vital. Desire alone is not enough. In order to reach the great spiritual elevation that frees one from one’s brief primitive desires, those who carry out the ritual, both he and she — or at least one of them — must undergo long preparation of body and all senses.”

“We also go through a long training,” Thais noted.

“I do not know what it is like,” the dark-skinned priest said. “If you watch the serpent’s kiss you will realize the power of our Tantric ways for yourself.”

“When can I see it?” Thais asked impatiently.

“As soon as now.”

“May I send for my friend?”

Thais, Lysippus and Eris descended down a narrow staircase into a large cellar under the tower. The interpreter remained upstairs. The Helenians knew the Persian language tolerably well, and the Indians spoke it fluently.

In a spacious square room, brightly lit by the smokeless Indian torches, they were greeted by two pale-faced and one dark-skinned, short and stocky young woman of about thirty, who looked much like the elder priest.

“My sister,” he said, guessing his guests’ thoughts. “She is our Nagini, the ruler of serpents.”

“Is she initiated into Tantra?” Thais asked.

“She would die without,” the priest replied sternly. “She will not only carry out the ritual, but all the required preparations. Sit.”

They settled onto a cool stone bench near a wall. A fourth girl appeared, carrying a large, flat bowl filled with warm scented milk and a handful of fragrant herbs. The ruler of serpents shed her clothes, then rubbed down her entire bronze colored body with the herbs soaked in the milk. She pinned up her hair and put on a soft leather apron that covered her from collarbone to knees.

Never looking at the visitors and keeping her expression calm and serious, the ruler of serpents approached the heavy metal door carrying a golden cup filled with milk. At her sign, a grate was lowered, separating her from her assistants and guests.

The girls started playing instruments similar to flutes. One played the quiet, melodious main theme while the other punctuated it with a rhythm of whistling sounds. The short dark-skinned priestess started singing in a high-pitched voice, making a sharp vibrating whistle in place of a refrain. She opened the door and spread out her arms, still holding the cup. The black emptiness of a cave loomed behind the door, though a gap glowed faintly at the other end of it, indicating a narrow passage to daylight. For some time the priestess sang, accompanied by the flutes. Or rather it seemed like a long time to Thais, who was waiting for something terrible to happen.

Suddenly the dark-skinned woman leaned forward and placed the cup beyond the threshold of the door. The flutists stopped playing. Everyone could clearly hear the rustling of a heavy body sliding over a stone floor. A wide, flat head peeked out from the darkness of the cave. Two clear eyes tinged with crimson looked over everyone carefully, as Thais had imagined they would. The head with square scales, similar to a soldier’s chest armor, briefly dipped into the milk and the priestess called with a melodious, whistling sound.

A giant male serpent slipped into the cellar. He was twenty elbows in length with a greenish black back which became deep olive on the sides. The usually brave Athenian felt a chill run down her spine. She sought and found Eris’ hand, who responded with an anxious squeeze of her fingers.

The serpent coiled himself up, directing his pitiless and fearless gaze at the priestess, who bowed to him respectfully. Continuing to sing, she raised her arms high above her head with her palms folded together. She raised onto her tiptoes, then started rocking from side to side, flexing her sides, her legs pressed firmly together, maintaining incredible balance. The rocking movement increased in frequency. The enormous serpent matched it as he slithered and coiled on the floor, raising his head until it was level with the priestess’ head. Only then did Thais notice three ribbons braided into the woman’s hair, each of them armed with rows of polished, glittering needles. The serpent rocked in rhythm with the priestess, approaching slowly.

Suddenly she held out her right hand and patted the monster’s head, dashing with fantastic swiftness away from the opened maw that struck at the spot where her face has been only a fraction of a second prior.

The rocking and singing continued. The priestess moved her feet with the skill and control of a dancer as she approached the serpent. Having reached the right moment, she took his head into her hands, kissed it, then darted away again. The serpent struck with the barely perceptible speed, but each time the ruler of serpents guessed his intentions exactly and moved away even faster. Three times the young woman kissed the serpent’s head, evading his bite with incomprehensible ease, or offering him the edge of her apron, into which he sunk his long, poisonous fangs.

Finally, the irritated serpent rose up in a spiral, struck at the woman, missed and froze, then rocked and aimed again. The priestess bent her back, clapped her hands and in one lightning fast movement pressed her lips to the serpent’s mouth. The snake struck at that second, but this time he did not stop. He chased after the priestess, but incredibly, she managed to evade him, slipping through the narrow door behind the grate, which had been opened and shut by a fourth assistant in advance.

The clang of metal, the thud of the serpent’s body and the angry beast’s hissing reverberated along Thais’ nerves like a force of nature.

“What happens now?” she exclaimed in the Attic dialect, causing the Indians to glance at her with surprise.

Lysippus translated and the elder priest chuckled. “Nothing. We shall leave, the torches will be put out, and Nag will return to his cave. There is a platform where he can warm himself in the sun. The door will be shut while he is out there.”

“Is he very poisonous?” Thais asked.

“Come closer to my sister,” the priest replied.

Respectfully, and not without trepidation the Athenian approached the woman, who stood without anxiety or arrogance, regarding the Helenians. Sensing a strong smell which resembled that of a crushed corn lily leaf, Thais saw that the snake ruler’s apron was covered in yellow green liquid which dripped slowly to the floor.

“Poison,” the priest said. “With each strike, Nag prepares to bite and sprays it from his teeth.”

“Is this poison very strong?” Lysippus asked.

“This is one of the largest and most poisonous snakes in India. It can kill a horse or an elephant in one minute. A man or a tiger can live longer, up to two minutes, using your time scale. This poison is enough to kill thirty people.”

“Is he tame at all?” Eris asked.

“Nag cannot be tamed. The creature knows no gratitude, attachment, fear or anxiety. He is devoid of nearly all feelings typical for a creature with warm blood, and is like the worst kind of people in that respect. Only the incredible skill of our Nagini saves her from death, which waits for her at each moment.”

“Then why does she do this?” Thais glanced at the priestess, who was carefully rolling up the poison-covered apron. She looked like an ancient bronze statue with the strong outlines of a woman used to hard labor on the farm.

“Each one of us needs to test himself in the art, especially if it is dangerous and unknown to other people. In addition, the power of the Tantric training gives her reliable protection.”

“If Tantra can influence feelings, heart and body so strongly, can you cure the young artist of the overbearing and hopeless love for my friend?”

“Artists reside in the middle, between the ascetics and the followers of Tantra. Poetic thought does not fear temptation because its position is rooted in love, which is desire, and desire is a hope for continued life. True poetry discards all falsehoods and in that is akin to asceticism, but it also burns in the fire of Eros toward a lover or a Muse. This dual ability of an artist makes the cure difficult. But we shall try.”

“What is the essence of the healing process?”

“Each thought has an outward expression if one’s attention is strongly focused upon it. Persistent desire causes the necessary result.”

“Do you mean satep-sa? Hypnosis?”

“That too. However, it is more important to emphasize his yearning for Khado-Lilith, hidden in the heart of each man. Just like you Helenians, we have a legend of several races of people who preceded the current one. Helenians believe in races of the golden, silver and copper ages, which proves the common origins of such myths. There is one essential difference. We consider prior races to be more heavenly in origin, while you consider them more earthbound than contemporary people and therefore less evolved.”

“You are incorrect, priest,” Lysippus interrupted. “Are the titans and titanides inferior to the living people? Prometheus and his followers sacrificed themselves to save people from ignorance.”

“ … And ended up only increasing their suffering with increased responsibility, having given them a dream of free will, but not elevated them from the darkness of limited life,” the tall priest added.

“According to our myths, Chronos devours his children from Rhea-Gaea. Uranus also slaughters them. In other words, Time and Heaven wipe their fruits from the face of Earth. Does the legend mean that Earth, Nature or Shakhty are incapable of creating truly godlike people?”

“It means that humankind must ultimately recreate itself, evolving in knowledge and self-perfection. Our sacred texts speak of prior races of creatures who were spirits. I will not speak of the first three, as they are distant from us. Immediately preceding us was the fourth race with beautiful women of heavenly origin. Hebrew mythology does not acknowledge the series of various races but only includes once-created pairs of people, identical to modern humans.

However, they too have a legend that the first of men, Adam, had another wife before his human wife, Eve. Her name was Lilith. The legend made her into a harmful demon, beautiful but constantly causing harm to Eve until God sent three angels who exiled Lilith to the desert.

“Indian Liliths are different. They too can fly through the air, but they are endlessly kind toward people. The queen of these forewomen we call Khado. Then she was called Sangie Khado, and her beauty surpassed all imagination. Unlike the apsaras, Khado did not possess intelligence. They only had emotions. The dream of a beautiful human body and inhuman power of Eros lives among us as the memory of these Liliths.”

“I heard from the eastern people the legend of peri, the heavenly beauties born of fire. They also fly through the air and descend to their chosen mortal lovers,” Thais said, remembering her stay at the lakes near Persepolis.

“Undoubtedly it too is an echo of the memory of Lilith,” the elder priest said, paying increasingly greater attention to Thais. “Our task is to awaken this memory in the artist’s heart, guide it, and let the particularly skilled sacred dancers do the rest, displacing in the heart of the artist his deadly passion toward a model not wishing to unite her fate with his.”

“I have seen a real Lilith of the ancient Mesopotamians near the Euphrates.” Thais told them about the small sanctuary along the mountain path with the image of a winged woman in the niche over the altar. “I think of all the ancient female images, that goddess had the most perfect body. May I peek at your skilled dancers?”

The elder priest smiled indulgently, struck a small bronze disk and nodded at the interpreter, ordering him to leave the room. The Babylonian smoothed down his beard and rushed out. Apparently, the chosen temple dancers did not appear before just anyone. Eris suddenly remembered something and rushed off as well.

Two girls appeared from behind a hidden door between the statues of two elephants. The dancers wore identical metallic jewelry on their dark smooth bodies including wide, slanting gold sashes, necklaces, anklets, large round earrings and tiaras with glittering rubies in their short coarse hair. Their faces were as motionless as masks. With their narrow, slanting eyes, short noses and wide, full mouths, the two looked like twins. The peculiar build of their bodies was also much alike. They had narrow shoulders, slender arms, small pert breasts and thin torsos. This nearly maidenly fragility was in sharp contrast to the lower portion of the body. They were massive, with wide, thick hips and muscular legs, falling just short of giving the impression of brute force. From explanations made by the elder priest, the Helenians derived that these girls were from the distant eastern mountains beyond the River of Sands. They embodied most clearly the duality of people with their ethereally light upper bodies and massive lower halves, filled with earthy power.

Thais questioned whether they could dance. “Women of small height are always more agile than those akin to coras and imperious statues. I know nothing of these people from the distant eastern mountains and steppes that were never reached by Alexander’s scouts.”

After a brief order, one of the girls sat on the floor with her legs crossed and started rhythmically clapping her hands, her glittering bracelets ringing loudly. The other girl started dancing with the kind of expressiveness that only came from talent refined by years of training. Unlike the dances of the West, the legs took little part in the movement, but arms, head and torso performed astonishingly graceful undulations, and fingers opened akin to flowers.

Thais burst into applause. The dancers stopped, then vanished after a sign from the priest.

“They are so singular, these girls,” Thais said. “But I do not understand their allure. There is no harmony, no likeness to the Kharitas.”

“Ah, I understand,” Lysippus suddenly said. “You see, a man knows that these women combine two opposing powers of Eros.”

“Do you agree, teacher?” Thais doubted it. “Then why do you always follow perfection in your art?”

“In the art of beauty, yes,” Lysippus replied. “But the laws of Eros are different.”

“I think I understand,” Thais said with a shrug. “Do you think Ehephilos feels the same way?”

“I think these slant-eyed girls will cure him,” Lysippus smiled.

“Do you think Cleophrades would have liked them too? He worked so hard on the Anadiomena, having picked me. Why?”

“I cannot speak for he who has crossed the River of Forgetfulness. I think you are not Lilith, but what they call their celestial hetaerae: apsara. Only a few who are capable can possess you and take everything you have to give. For everyone else there are the endlessly forgiving, mad and passionate Liliths. Any one of us can be chosen by them. The knowledge of Lilith’s generosity toward all men troubles our hearts and draws us irresistibly with the memory of past centuries.”

“And who is Eris in your opinion?”

“She is certainly not Lilith. She is ruthless to weakness and intolerant of inability. Ehephilos became infatuated with the embodiment of an image. Unfortunately for him, the image and the model turned out to be one and the same.”

“Cleophrades spoke of his infatuation with me.”

“It was worse for him than for Ehephilos. At least Ehephilos is young.”

“According to you I can no longer be loved? Thank you, my friend.”

“Do not attempt to reproach me for attempting to sort out your mood. You know that anyone would fall at your feet if you wished it so. This priest who had learned and overcame it all is struck by you. How easy it is for someone such as you. Just a few glances and poses. That is too bad, for you cannot respond to him as Lilith. A feeling worthy of an apsara sits in you like a tip of a spear. I suppose you were Alexander’s lover and gave him all power of Eros.”

Thais blushed. “What of Ptolemy?”

“You bore him a son. That means his Eros for you is stronger than yours for him, otherwise there would have been a daughter.”

“And what if it were equal?”

“Then I don’t know. It could have turned out either way. Come. Our hosts are politely waiting for us to depart.”

They thanked the priests, repeated their request for Ehephilos and walked through the dark temple to their rooms. Four torches burning near the door marked how much time was left till dawn.

“Thank you, Lysippus. When you are with me, I am not afraid to do something stupid,” Thais said. “Your wisdom…”

“Wisdom, Athenian, brings little pleasure to its owner. There are few wise people. Wisdom comes gradually to those who are not susceptible to flattery and are capable of dismissing lies. Years pass and you suddenly discover in yourself the absence of old desires and realization of your place in life. Self-limitation comes, care in your actions, foresight of consequences, all of which makes you wise. It is not happiness in your poetic notion, not at all. People recover from anxiety and anger by singing and dancing, knowing nothing about their essence. One must not pontificate much on the subject of gods and people, for silence is a true language of wisdom. Open hearts understand it well. It is even less wise to speak truths to people who prefer miracles and shortcuts that do not exist. All there is, is a gradual ascent. But here is what I can tell you with certainty, as the greatest wisdom: adoration is the fastest way to ruin the one it is directed at.”

“Do you mean adoration of a woman?”

“Not at all. That is a natural celebration of beauty and Eros. I speak of the groveling before kings and army leaders who hold people’s fates in their hands, be it for a long time or for a moment. It does not matter.”

“Are you thinking about Alexander?”

“Imagine for a moment being a man admired by millions of people. All different kinds of people: truthful ones and liars, noble and subservient souls, courageous men and cowards. Truly, one must possess divine power not to break down and betray one’s own dreams.”

“To betray one’s destiny?”

“He who betrays his country is considered deserving of death by all people. But do people not see those who betray their own soul? After all, such traitors no longer possess truthfulness. Such a person cannot be relied on for anything. He will go from bad to worse and his inner evil will grow. Many speak of my honesty. I really do try to be that way invariably, never telling secrets and never trying to find out that which others do not wish to tell me. A great crime grows from a chain of small errors and misdeeds, and great dignity worthy of gods is born of countless acts of restraint and control over one’s self.”

“So you think …”

“Evaluate only yourself. That is difficult. When it comes to judging outstanding and especially great people, rely on time and people. Doing the right thing is not enough. One must also recognize when they ought to be done. We cannot board a boat that has already passed by or the one that has yet to arrive. Knowing what to do is only half the matter, the other half is to know the right time to do the deed. There is an appropriate time for all things, but most people miss it.”

“Did Alexander miss his time?”

“No, I suspect that he did what he did too early. But once again you make me judge that which occupies you most. Go to bed.”

Thais obeyed. She told Eris how the priests of the Eridu temple had taken upon themselves the task of striking the mad love for her from Ehephilos’ heart. The black priestess showed neither joy nor sadness for this. Thais tried to imagine what it was like for her. If it had been Thais, she would have been at least a little bit saddened by the loss by an unloved, but still remarkable and devoted admirer. But all Eris could think of was Nagini, the ruler of snakes. Her impenetrable soul was struck by the terrible ritual with the huge poisonous snake, of which she’d never heard before. Thais was also overwhelmed. The moment she closed her eyes before going to sleep, she clearly saw the young Indian woman and the colossal snake in a deadly dance, like a bronze sculptural group.

A few days had passed since their arrival at Eridu when a hot western wind swept in. Thais slept poorly during the hot nights. The wind from the Syrian desert rustled and whistled with irritating monotony through countless gaps and windows in the temple ceiling, bringing with it relaxation of body and depression of soul. It continued to blow the next day, never strengthening, never weakening. The Athenian was overcome by melancholy. Her existence seemed aimless to her. She was filled with the memories of those who were gone, the deeply hidden love, the long wait for Ptolemy, the role of a mistress of a big house and a guardian of shared riches that were essentially war loot. She could increase the wealth, but what for? She could … She could do many things but she kept returning to the question: what for? Did the surges of strong emotion make her tired of the usual enthusiasm with which she tackled every task? Perhaps she grew old and could no longer be on fire as before, riding at breakneck speed, being moved to tears at the sight of beauty, listening to stories and songs with bated breath?

Eris became much like her mistress. The two of them spent their days sprawled naked on leather cushions, resting their chins on their crossed arms and silently staring at the wall, which was decorated with patterns of blue paint.

Lysippus was hiding somewhere in the bowels of the temple, and Ehephilos was taken away so they could “beat the love out of him”, his teacher said, somewhat crassly.

A few days passed. Or perhaps an entire month? The regular flow of time no longer existed for Thais. Many things connected with the past, present and future lost their meanings. All this became serenely mixed in Thais’ newly balanced heart, without grief or enthusiasm, expectation or joy, piercing memories or regrets of things that could not be.

Lysippus reappeared one day, chuckling at something. He found them reclining lazily, side by side, snacking on cakes with cream with great gusto. Peering at them carefully, the sculptor found no change except dimples on their cheeks and true Olympian calm.

“Why are you laughing, teacher?” Thais asked indifferently.

“Healed!” Lysippus laughed openly.

“Who is healed? We are?”

“You have nothing to be healed from. Ehephilos. He decided to stay at Eridu.”

Thais became interested and rose on one elbow. Eris glanced at Lysippus.

“He wants to stay at Eridu and make statues of these whatever they are, the slant-eyed Liliths.”

“Then he really is healed,” Thais said, laughing. “But you are losing a student, Lysippus.”

“He is not lost for the art and that is the main thing,” the sculptor replied. “By the way, they want to buy the Anadiomena by Cleophrades. They offer double its weight in gold, which is now more valuable than silver. One stater, which was worth two drachma, is now worth a four drachma owl. Many Helenian merchants are going bankrupt.”

“Then sell it,” Thais said calmly.

Lysippus stared at Thais in amazement. “What of Alexander’s wish?”

“I think when Alexander returns, he will have too much on his hands to think about the Anadiomena. Remember the enormous number of people waiting for him in Babylon. And in addition to people there are mountains of papers, petitions and reports from his gigantic empire. Especially if he also adds India to it.”

“He won’t,” Lysippus said with certainty.

“I have no idea how much the Anadiomena is worth.”

“A lot. They probably will not give as much as my teacher Polycleitus’ Diadumenus was paid. The entire world knows that it was bought for one hundred talants, and that was in the olden days when money was worth more. The Anadiomena is so beautiful that, including the value of silver, she will sell for no less than thirty talants.”

“That is a huge price. What do sculptors charge in general?” Thais asked in amazement.

“For models and classic subjects a good sculptor takes two thousand drachmas, for statues and bas-reliefs it can be up to ten thousand.”

“But that is only a talant and a half.”

“Can one compare the exceptional creation by Cleophrades to good but ordinary work?” the sculptor objected. “Should we hold back with the Anadiomena then?”

“Let us wait,” Thais agreed, thinking of something else. Lysippus was surprised by the absence of strong emotion the mention of Alexander used to cause.

The Athenian picked up a silver bell given to her by the elder priest and shook it. He appeared a few minutes later and stopped in the doorway. Thais invited him to sit down and inquired about the health of his younger associate.

“He is gravely ill. He is not fit to perform the high Tantric rituals with her,” he said, nodding toward Eris.

“I have a big favor to ask, priest. It is time for us to leave the temple, and I wish to test myself one more time.”

“Speak.”

“I wish to receive a kiss of the snake, like your ruler of serpents.”

“She is mad. You made her into manolis, a maenadae consumed by insanity!” Lysippus exclaimed, yelling so loudly the priest looked at him with reproach.

“You feel capable of performing this terrible ritual?” the Indian asked seriously.

“Yes,” Thais said with certainty and the careless courage Lysippus remembered from long before.

“You are killing her,” the sculptor told the priest. “You are a murderer if you allow this.”

The priest shook his head. “There is a reason she has this desire. One must measure his strengths before carrying out life’s tasks, for life is an art and not cunning. It is for open eyes and hearts. It is possible that she will perish. Then such is her predetermined Karma, to stop her life at this age. If she does not perish, the trial will multiply her strength. So it shall be.”

“Me, too.” Eris stood next to Thais.

“You may come too. I had no doubt of your wish.”

Lysippus, speechless with terror and indignation.

Thais and Eris descended into the dungeon. The ruler of snakes undressed them and took off all their jewelry, then rubbed them down with milk and corn lily and put aprons on them. The naturally musical Athenian took but a few minutes to learn the simple tune. Eros took more time, but as they were both dancers they captured the rhythm right away.

The ruler of snakes summoned her monster and Thais went in first for the deadly game. When the serpent rose, tipping its scaled head forward, Thais heard whispering in a strange language, pressed her lips to the monster’s nose, and backed away swiftly. The serpent dashed after her, spilling poison all over her apron, but Thais was already out of his reach, albeit shivering from the experience.

The serpent was given some milk, and Eris stepped forth. The black priestess decided not to wait and as soon as the serpent rose on his tail, she smooched him loudly on the nose and pulled away, not getting a single drop of poison on herself. The ruler of snakes cried out in surprise and the enraged monster threw himself after her. The Indian woman escaped his fangs, splashed milk into his face from the second cup in her hands, shoved Thais and Eris behind the grate and sighed with relief.

Thais kissed her and gave her an expensive bracelet. The same evening the elder priest gave Eris an incredibly rare necklace made of the fangs of the largest snakes ever captured in the Indian jungle. Thais also received a valuable gift: a necklace made of talons of black gryphs, set in gold and strung on a chain.

“This is an attribute of a guardian of secret paths leading to the east, beyond the mountains,” the priest explained.

“What about mine?” Eris asked.

“As appropriate, yours is a symbol of courage, stamina and giving,” the Indian replied. looking at the black priestess with much greater respect than before.

In addition, the elder priest gave Thais a goblet of transparent chalcedony with the snake dance carved on it.