‘His standing grew among the villagers. Not the usual respect granted by tenants to their landlords but something else, personal and rare – the awe and reverence that mystics and miracle workers evoke. Nathan began to preach to the villagers. Leave your pagan ways behind. Worship the one true Lord, the Creator, the Sustainer, the Giver. For Nathan, the miracle of the growing crops was proof not only of the truth of what he was saying but of his own elevated, special station in the eyes of the Lord. You should have seen his face the day he set out for the harvest. Flushed with happiness, the eager villagers surrounded him, scythes in hands, already visualising the riches to come, the meals, the celebrations, the overflowing stores. But suddenly the sky darkened, the heavens cleaved open and the river broke its bank in a flash flood. Before their very eyes, the crop was completely destroyed.
‘Let us pause here for a minute, young lady. Tell me which is more difficult and more painful – to be deprived altogether or to reach out for your prize, it is there so close, within reach, already yours it seems, and then have it, at the very last minute, snatched away from you? Which is the greatest trial?’
‘The second,’ said Iman, but she wasn’t sure if this was the correct answer.
It must have been because the Hoopoe continued, ‘Nathan was distraught. He lost his composure and his good sense. He did the worst thing ever. He raised his fist up in anger against Heaven. He spoke words he would spend the rest of his life regretting. Suddenly, the river water receded, the sky cleared and the sun broke over the destroyed crops. Oh the guilt, deep and wretched. More so than the loss of the harvest. If it were not another sin, he would have thrown himself in the river. But he threw something else instead. A key. And where did this key come from? Let me tell you.
‘Nathan ordered the blacksmith to forge large heavy chains. Standing in front of the villagers, he wrapped the chains around his ankles and up over his shoulders, tight around his waist. “I am going away,” he said out loud. “I will walk to Jerusalem to seek forgiveness for the crime I’ve committed. That will be my penance.’’ He secured the chains with a heavy lock and twisted the key into the lock. Then he threw the key into the river and set off.
‘A young lad hurried after him, ‘‘I’ll come with you. I will serve you and keep you company on the way.” Nathan welcomed his company, someone familiar on a journey to unknown places with new languages. The two walked and walked. It is always a longer road than one thinks; even after you start walking and cover considerable distance, it stretches further. The chains dragged Nathan, but he pushed to catch up with the brisker strides of his young companion. Whenever they came upon other travellers on the road, the lad would explain Nathan’s chains. He was talkative and often, to Nathan’s embarrassment, boasted about Nathan’s wealth and nobility. ‘‘All sorts of people travel on these roads – criminals, thieves and those desperate enough to do anything,’’ said Nathan. ‘‘It is not right that you boast to the likes of them.’’ As a result, one day Nathan and the lad were attacked and robbed. All the money Nathan was carrying to fund the journey was stolen.
‘Arriving at the next village, they decided that the best strategy was to split up. Individually, it would be easier to find work and shelter, or beg for food. Nathan was welcomed into the workshop of a carpenter and given food. Curious about Nathan’s chains, he drew him into conversation. When he heard all about Nathan’s predicament, the carpenter said, “If you are travelling to find redemption, I would advise you to travel alone. Have you not heard the story of the brave hunter and the bear? Let me tell it to you.”
‘The carpenter took away the empty dish in front of Nathan, sat down and said, “A brave hunter once rescued a bear from the jaws of a mighty dragon. The bear was filled with gratitude and followed the hunter with devotion. The two became companions, sharing meals and hunting together. In town, when the hunter went to sell his wares and buy sugar, bread and tobacco, people marvelled at how docile the bear was, as faithful to the hunter as a dog would be. However, some of them warned him, saying, the fondness of fools – meaning the bear – is deceiving. He dismissed these words as envy. On a particularly hot night when many flies were buzzing around, the hunter lay down to sleep in a clearing in the forest. The flies annoyed him, fluttering around his nostrils and disturbing his sleep. Seeing this, the faithful bear sat next to the hunter and swatted the flies
