greatly drawn to mystical themes. We studied the religion of Amun together, as well as Aten. Like many of our peers, I was enchanted with his charm. I admired his sensitivity and insight. He was a remarkable theologian. He blessed me with the words that later conquered everyone's heart: “I love you, Meri-Ra. Do not withhold your love from me.”
His love penetrated my heart and spread to my soul. He often invited me to join him in his place of retreat on the western side of the palace by the Nile bank, an awning supported on four columns and surrounded by lotus and palm trees. Its floor was lush grass, and in the middle there was a green mat and a cushion. Akhenaten would wake up in the darkness of the early morning hours. When the golden sun emerged behind the fields, he sang to Aten. His sweet voice still echoes in my ears, and intoxicates me like the smell of holy incense:
When the sun had risen, we wandered blissfully in the garden. “There is no joy so pure as the joy of worship.” His face glowed. But even then, Akhenaten's life was not free of pain. His failure in military training embittered him. “My father will not forgo his desire to make me a warrior, Meri-Ra,” he complained. Then he looked in the gold-framed mirror and said, “Alas! Neither beauty nor strength.”
The death of his older brother Tuthmosis left him with a scar in his soul. Only a deeper wound, the death of his beloved daughter Meketaten, made the pain of his childhood loss bearable. How he cried for his brother. Death became a mystery, a terrible question that confronted him mercilessly.
“What is death, Meri-Ra?” he asked. I remained quiet, avoiding the conventional answers he detested. “Even Ay does not know,” he continued. “Only the sun rises again after it has gone. Tuthmosis will never return.”
Thus was the eternal war he waged on weakness and grief. He set himself on a path, like the rays of the sun, promising a bright day every morning. Then one beautiful morning I met him in his place of retreat. He was rather pale, but there was something about the fixed gaze of his eyes that made him look fearless.
“The sun is nothing, Meri-Ra,” he said without returning my greeting. I did not understand what he meant. He pulled me down beside him on the straw mat and continued, “Heed my words, Meri-Ra, for I speak the truth. Last night I was intoxicated with ecstasy. The darkness of the night was my companion, so intimate, like a lovely bride. I was entranced with longing for the Creator. And there, across a thousand visions, the truth revealed itself to me, more apparent than anything seen with the eye. I heard a voice sweeter than the scent of flowers: ‘Fill thy soul with my breath,’ it said. ‘Renounce what I have not granted thee’. I am the Creator, I am the stream from which life flows. I am love, peace, and joy. Fill thy heart with my love, quench the thirst of all the tortured souls on earth.”
He was radiant with excitement, dazzling.
“Do not fear the truth, Meri-Ra,” he continued, “for in the truth you will find happiness.”
“What splendid light,” I murmured breathlessly.
“Come, live with me in the truth,” he urged me.
I sat upright. “I am with you, my Prince, until the very end.”
Akhenaten became the first priest of the One and Only God. He became my teacher and spiritual guide, eager to answer my questions even before I asked. One day I said, “I believe in your God.”
“Rejoice!” he cried. “You shall be the first priest in his temple.”
Akhenaten declared his new faith to a few of his close companions. When he married Nefertiti-and he delighted in marriage-he was most pleased that she, too, believed in the One and Only. He did not begin the denunciation of other deities until later. During his father's rule, Akhenaten did not have the power to do what he liked. Later, when he became king, his attacks came progressively. At first he renounced all the deities. Then he abolished their worship, confiscated the temples, and allotted their patrimonies to the poor. In Akhetaten I became the high priest of the One God. When my king decided to close the temples, I warned him, “You are challenging a power that has prevailed through the ages and across the land, from Nubia to the sea.”
“The priests are swindlers,” he said confidently. “They live off propagating superstition in order to exploit the poor and extort their daily bread. Their temples are brothels, and there is nothing they hold sacred but their carnal desires.”
I discovered then that within his feeble body Akhenaten possessed a power that no one had guessed at. His courage exceeded that of Haremhab and Mae, who had reputations for bravery. To everyone else he was an enigma, but to me he was as clear as the sun. He exhausted himself in the love of his God and devoted his life to the service of the One and Only, regardless of the consequences. I did not find his performance during the memorable tour of the empire surprising at all. Nor was I surprised that he kept to his message of love and peace even in the most extreme circumstances. He dwelled in the expanse of God's empire and lived by his command. For Akhenaten, the shrewdness of politicians and the power of military men was of no significance. It was only the truth that concerned him. They accused him of living an illusion, and of madness.
The truth, however, was that they were the ones who dwelled on the illusions of a corrupt world; they were a raving mob. Indeed the throne was the least of his concerns. I remember how he became morose when he was summoned from his tour to claim the throne after his father died. “I wonder if the duties of the throne will keep me away from my God?” he asked sullenly.
“But my King,” I replied eagerly, “it is but a divine purpose to put the power of the throne in the service of God, as your forefathers have done for their false deities.”
“You speak the truth, Meri-Ra.” He appeared relieved. “They sacrificed the lives of poor peasants to their gods. I shall slay evil and offer it to my God. Thus I shall be God's instrument to break the shackles of those who have no power.”
He ascended the throne to fight the most fierce of wars. He fought for the happiness of people, as his God commanded him. During that war he proved that he was stronger and more enduring than Tuthmosis III.
He proclaimed his religion in the provinces. People were exhilarated. They received him with flowers and love.
He was determined to renew every day the faith of his own men, those who were closest to him. They would stand before the throne, and when they had finished discussing the affairs of the nation with Nefertiti, Akhenaten would talk with them about religion, so that he was certain that they were deserving of God's bounty.
Meri-Ra was silent for a while. He heaved a loud sigh then continued.
