Voices from the Other World

King Userkaf’s Forgiveness

Pharaoh Userkaf was among the most magnificent monarchs of the Fifth Dynasty, who ruled Egypt by blending justice with mercy, firmness with sagacity, and force with affection. When he first took the throne, he mustered a mighty army to march into the Western Desert. His purpose was to squelch the impudence of the wandering tribes — whom his forebears had wooed to make peace — in preying on caravans, pillaging the Delta villages, and attacking peaceful citizens. He crushed them so utterly that his army came back heavily laden with both prisoners and their herds. In this way, he bolstered his own authority, making it — and the name of Egypt— things to be feared, while saving his country’s people from the savage tribes’ evil. In the shade of peace and security, he devoted all of his care to the domestic affairs of the nation and the welfare of her children. He cut out roads and dug canals, and built for himself a great pyramid at Aswan, his royal capital. His reign was one of safety, wealth, and construction, and the king dwelt, content and confident, among his glorious subjects. His breast was gladdened by his people’s love for their king, and his days and nights were brightened by the sincerity of a band of his highest subordinates in their consuming fondness for him. They were his most excellent friends and most splendid companions: his son Sahura, the heir apparent, and Horurra, his chief vizier. There was also Samun, high priest of the god Khnum, as well as Samunra, supreme commander of the Egyptian army.

Among the customs of the upright king was to pray each morning in the Temple of Khnum. On one of these mornings, he entered the Holy of Holies and secluded himself with the deity’s statue. He kissed its foot, then prayed fervently in profound gratitude, enumerating his many gifts and blessings. He ended his prayer by saying: “Praise be to my father Khnum for having invested me with people’s love and genuine loyalty, for the love of that which he has created is the Creator’s satisfaction. There is no one happier in the world than one who brightens the hearts of others for the sake of his own happiness, and who suffers for their suffering.”

Because the people of those days worshipped the gods with hearts filled with honesty, faith, and naïveté, the deities would grace them with speech sometimes, and with miracles at others. And so it was not strange for Pharaoh to hear a heavenly voice answer him:

“I granted you wisdom, O King — so why do you place so much confidence in others?”

The king was astonished at what the god had said. Distress rising in his heart, he replied with devout humility, “O Sacred Lord, I have served my people sincerely, and they have given me their love. I have been loyal to my friends, and they are bound in loyalty to me. How could this be a cause for reproach?”

The celestial voice, exalted beyond all equal or description, answered him:

“Behold the tree rich with leaves, whose branches covered in luxuriant greenery fill up the air. See how the people take refuge in its spreading shade from the burning rays of the sun, and how they pluck its low-hanging fruit. Then look upon this same tree in winter. See how the cold winds have stripped it bare, and how all of its leaves have fallen, and how its limbs are empty and exposed like a decaying corpse which embalming has not preserved. See then how the people forsake it, cutting off its branches to throw them in the fire.”

Pharaoh returned to his palace, depressed and dejected, pondering over and over again the meaning of what the god had told him. Doubt whispered in his breast and worry ruled his heart. For the first time, he began to envision the dear faces that accompanied him over so many long years in friendship and serenity with an aura of suspicion. He detected behind their amiable chatter naught but honey-coated lies, beyond their smiles only disgusting hypocrisy, and in their shows of obedience but the marks of dread and fear. A wave of violent, malevolent thought washed over him, and he wanted to return to that happy, vanished past whose white pages were now sullied with vile imaginings. It appeared to him that his life, which he had once felt securely to be an unbroken chain of joys, had been spurned by the eye of Fate. . a revolting farce and miserable misfortune hidden by a mask of fraudulent bliss.

Prince Sahura observed the king’s strange condition. Confused and discomfited, he asked his father what was troubling his tranquility. The prince loved his father to the point of worship, and the king loved his son as the most precious thing in his world. He trusted him as he trusted himself, so he confided in him the cause of his sorrow. He told him of his fears, and apprised him of his conversation with the god Khnum. Embarrassed, the prince did not know how to banish the phantoms of suspicion from Pharaoh’s mind.

Instead, the king continued to dwell on these thoughts, and said to his intended successor, “I cannot make an example of the deceivers without tangible proof of their duplicity. But I have arrived at a means by which I might expose their secret selves. So listen to me, my son: Starting tomorrow, I shall undertake a journey to the land of Punt. During my absence, you shall be charged with care of the State. Wait some days, then declare yourself sovereign over the Valley of the Nile. Entice my closest associates with high position and money. Make them promises and be generous with them — so that they lower their shield of submissiveness and obedience. By this means, we may see what is truly inside them.”

But the prince’s heart recoiled from Pharaoh’s plan. He remonstrated, saying, “I beg you, my lord, not to persuade me to take a position by which my youthful rebellion will be known to both heaven and earth! Nor to accept your long absence, which would rob my heart of its peace, and deprive the people of your care and vigilance.”

But the king prevailed over the prince’s anxieties, convincing him to bow to his wishes out of a sense of subservience. Userkaf then went to the youthful Queen Tey — she was not the heir apparent’s mother, who had died a long time before — to bid her good-bye. He also bid good-bye to his dear dog, Zay. Then he set out on a merchant ship to the sacred land of Punt, the source of fragrant incense. There he dwelt for not a little while, wandering among her lush, fertile valleys. Everywhere that he set down his foot, he received the honor and hospitality befitting one of Pharaoh’s subjects.

Yet Userkaf could not cease thinking about what he might encounter from his subjects and his companions upon his return. Whenever ill-thought tormented him, and deadly dreams and apprehensions appeared to him, he sought relief in beautiful memories, to evoke the feeling of trust they had given him, and to seek patience and repose from their inspiration. And when his breast was weighed down by worry and evil whisperings, and his heart stricken by homesickness, he longed to return to his native land.

So he gathered his scant baggage and sailed on an Egyptian ship, stepping once more onto the shore of that country to which he had offered the flower of his life for the sake of her welfare. He headed straight from the dock to the nearest village, where — dressed as a foreigner — he mixed, unrecognized, among its people. One day he asked a group of them, “O you men, who is your king?”

A young man with a sunburned face answered him, twirling an axe in his arms, “The blessed one’s name is ‘Sahura.’ ”

“And how do you see him?”

The young man answered with a passion to which his friends said, “Amen”:

“He comes to our aid if the Nile is too low, and helps us if calamity worsens, and all turns to gloom.”

The king then asked, “And how do you remember Userkaf?”

“Well enough — if he were still on the scene, and he were still our king.”

Pharaoh sighed, and asked in a wistful voice, “How can you abandon him, when he had been for you a most laudable ruler and guide?”

The youth threw him a nasty look, then said, as he gave him his back, “Sedition is an evil cursed by the gods.”

The king left the village in a melancholy way, heading toward the Nile and the seat of his realm. Looking up, he found himself facing the Temple of Khnum. He asked to meet Samun, the high priest, and was invited to enter the inner sanctum. When the high priest saw him, he knew him despite his alien attire. Overwhelmed with amazement and anguish, he shouted out hoarsely, “My lord, King Userkaf!”

The king smiled a bitter, sardonic smile, “How can you call me your lord the king when you have given your blessing to a childish usurper who has stolen my throne?”

The high priest stammered, trembling and looking away, “My lord, what can a weak man do who is not used to fighting?”

“Fighting is not a duty to which all men are bound, but loyalty is incumbent upon all men of virtue. So how can you continue in service to one who has betrayed your lord and benefactor?”

The embarrassment of the king’s old friend increased and perplexity gripped him; he did not answer. So Pharaoh said to him, “Are you able, Samun, to repent for your sin by declaring the illegality of my son Sahura’s rule, and to offer a service that, by its execution, would encourage me to restore my trust in you of old?”

But the high priest was horrified, and implored him, “I cannot, my lord. . My duty is to serve my God, not to bring down kings.”

Userkaf fell silent for a moment, following with his two stern eyes the eyes of the priest, which avoided his own. Then the king turned his back on him abruptly, and left the temple, sick in his soul, his chest tightening, while he gnawed at his fingers in grief and chagrin.

He proceeded hurriedly to the palace of the vizier Horurra, demanding permission to see him. But the servants mocked his wretched appearance, and started to throw him out. He begged and pleaded with them, but this only made them more arrogant. He then told them that he was a friend of the minister’s, and mentioned a name that proved his intimacy — so they let him inside. When the vizier’s gaze fell on the man coming toward him, he stood stiff with fright, his limbs frozen and his eyes open wide, and he gasped without thinking, “My lord!”

“May the God treat you kindly, my dear friend, Horurra,” said the king.

“Did anyone see you enter my house?” the vizier asked, his heart dismayed.

The king pondered the reason behind this question, and said, beginning to sink into woe and despair, “Yes, my friend — the servants and the guards who gather at your door.”

“Did any one of them recognize you?”

“I know not,” the king replied.

The vizier sighed, “What a calamity if the king knew of your visit to my house.”

“Do you fear this upstart?”

“How could I not?” said the vizier. “You had best leave my palace by the back door.”

“My dear friend, Horurra — are you turning me away?”

“Please forgive me, but I’m in difficult straits — I implore you in the name of our old friendship.”

Pharaoh laughed derisively, seeing his chief minister in an anxious state that he could only bewail. He saw that hope was useless, and that there was no choice but to quit the palace from the rear entrance, as his friend had wished. So he did depart, as the anguish and regret welled up within his breast.

Of all his friends, none remained but General Samunra. Despite all the failure he had just experienced, the king’s bitter forebodings did not vanquish his unshakeable confidence in his commander-in-chief, who was a gallant, noble, and utterly earnest man. The gods had singled him out with a nature that neither treachery nor worldly goods could seduce. So, placing his last hopes upon him, Userkaf asked for permission to go in to see him. When his eyes fell upon him, the king’s heart yearned for him and he called out, opening his arms wide to embrace him, “O General Samunra, don’t you remember me?”

Flabbergasted, the commander stood up in alarm saying, “My lord, King Userkaf!”

“Yes, it is he himself, in all his misery and remorse.”

The general did not see the king’s open arms, while his face showed the signs of hardness and severity. He asked his former suzerain sternly, “Does His Majesty the King know of your entering his kingdom?”

Userkaf was taken aback; his arms dropped in deep disappointment.

“No,” he said tersely.

“What did you come to do in Egypt?”

“I came to call out for help to my old friends.”

The general approached the king, saying in a military voice, “My duty as commander of the Egyptian Army requires that I arrest you in the name of Pharaoh.”

“Do you not realize that I am the legitimate king?”

The general said, as he laid his hand upon Userkaf’s shoulder, “Egypt has only one king: I know no other.”

Convinced that argument was futile, Pharaoh surrendered himself to Samunra. He followed him to the royal palace, where the commander entered the great hall of the throne, halting before the king. Userkaf looked upon his son seated in his own place, around him his own men of state. At their head were Horurra and Samun: he knew that these two had gone straight to Sahura together to tell of his own appearance. And within himself he lauded the two of them coming to give witness. With them, the general would testify to Userkaf’s return to the throne, pledging him the loyalty entrusted to the faithful hands of his son. Together they had tasted the shame and disgrace that had tortured their wicked souls — and now were driven to repentance.

The king gazed at his son with a meaningful smile. But just as he was about to speak, he heard a dog’s loud barking. He saw Zay cutting through the ranks of the guards, rushing up to him with irresistible force. Pharaoh stroked him with his hands, treating him with a deep concern that bespoke his ardent love and yearning. At the same time, he was not able to control his rage or to calm his mind except with a mighty effort. Then — yielding at last to his fury — he strode firmly up to the throne until he stood before the guards. He looked upon his son with consternation, saying, “Rise, my son, for my experiment is finished. Invite me to appear before these hypocrites.”

But his son did not rise, nor vacate his place for him. Instead, he said to him, with the majesty of authority, “What have you come to do here? You — the man to whom the gods gave a vast kingdom — but who disdained his right, and went to dally in the land of Punt?”

The son’s speech settled on his father like a sentence. His eyes widened and his amazement grew to madness; his stupefied face kept turning back and forth between his haughty son and his gloating men. Losing his tolerance, Sahura burst out cruelly.

“I am now entitled to sever your head from your body. But I have not forgotten that you are my father. I would prefer to avoid this crime that our traditions condemn. Therefore — having opened my breast for you patiently — I grant you a day to prepare yourself. You will then go to the land of Nubia. ”

His retinue extolled the charitable act of the king, their tongues ceaselessly showering him with prayers of praise. As for Userkaf, his sense of tribulation intensified until his own tongue was tied and his limbs were paralyzed. Meanwhile, his dog Zay sensed his pain; he kept on barking and tugging on his cloak that was covered with dust from his wanderings.

The king then roused himself against his weakness, and spoke to his son, “And Queen Tey?”

“She is now the queen of contented Egypt.”

The king sighed and asked, “May I be so bold as to ask that Zay might accompany me?”

“That I grant you — his barking annoys us.”

So the king left the land of Egypt in guilt and sadness, humiliated by his misfortune. As he headed into exile, his faithful dog followed him. He arrived in the land of Nubia, where he lived among its mountains in fearful isolation, speaking to no one. But as his cares and angst pressed down upon him, the solitary creature that showed him love and devotion, bearing the pangs of deprivation patiently for his sake, gave voice to his complaints.

The governor of Nubia did not leave him alone for long. He visited him and invited him to visit as well, withholding from him neither warmth nor welcome. He wasted no time in revealing his hidden self. Userkaf found him a grumbler who saw his station in Nubia as an offense against his person, which showed a lack of appreciation for his services and qualifications. And therefrom glimmered in the heart of the king a gleam of hope. He exploited the governor’s discontent, indulging his delusions, until the disgruntled man consented to dispatch Nubian and Egyptian troops northward, with Pharaoh at their lead. Sahura readied his own army to rebuke them: the two armies met in a decisive battle — in which Userkaf triumphed. He entered his capital as a conquering king, arrested his son and his friends of yore, and threw them into the dungeon.

When Queen Tey learned of the victory of her former husband’s army she succumbed to terror, and took her own life — thus robbing Userkaf of the opportunity to avenge himself upon her. But, in reality, the king was not ready to make any decisions, nor to decree the fate of any of his prisoners until his anger had cooled and the intoxication of his victory had subsided. He took the time to review, to contemplate, and to consider. He stayed up a long evening thinking and reflecting, until, finally, he was guided to an opinion.

In the morning, he commanded his son and his companions to come to him upon his throne. They all prostrated themselves, averting their glances, debased and vanquished by their own obsequiousness. The king regarded them for a long time, an ambiguous smile upon his lips. Then he addressed them, with a shocking serenity.

“I have forgiven you — all of you.”

Bafflement swept over them — they could not believe their ears. They stared in awe at the king seated upon his throne, exchanging looks of confounded incredulity. Pharaoh spoke to them again in his wondrous calm, “I know what I am saying — I have indeed pardoned you all. Return to your posts and direct yourselves to your tasks with the purpose and sincerity with which I have charged you.”

The governor of Nubia was unable to restrain himself. “You would pardon, my lord,” he said, “those who usurped your throne, and drove you from your kingdom without mercy? You would forgive them, my lord, whose robes are still splotched with the blood of those that they slew in fighting you?”

The king said, still smiling, “Who would be my new heir apparent? And who would be a more pious priest than Samun, or a more able vizier than Horurra, or a more skillful commander than Samunra? If only Queen Tey had not hastened to put an end to herself — for I would love that she were seated next to me on this throne once more. As for sincerity, my dear governor, I have come to the point of thinking the worst of all men. I hold no more trust in you than in these others — for all people seek refuge in the shade of the leafy tree, but when winter strips it bare they forsake it without regret. Therefore it would gain me nothing to put these people to death. On the contrary — for I would find no one better to take their places.”

And so King Userkaf lived the rest of his life at an emotional remove from the world. He knew no intimates in his palace at Aswan — not from the teeming masses of his people, nor from his covetous royal courtiers. There was only his loyal friend, Zay.