The Pilgrimage

[The_Oan_Isles]

OOC: This RP is meant to be a prelude to Better the Devil You Know. It tells of and draws parallels between the journeys of Prince Thumim in the modern day and the ancient founder of Paxism, Prophet Besmali in the late antiquity.

Bingol Royal Palace
13 March 1991

Bingol was unusually cool and dry tonight. Princess Mebri thought it would be a good opportunity to read a story to her son Thumim. The story was called the Travels of Prophet Besmali. It was a story in the Vagumar, the second part of the Sacred Scriptures of Paxism which was allegedly written by Lord Tiraz Mawal over 3,000 years prior. It detailed the life and adventures of Prophet Besmali, the writer of the Ichtmar (the first part of the Sacred Scriptures written over 1,000 years before that). This story was contained in the section of the Vagumar called the Histories.

Thumim sat on Mebri’s lap and they embraced as they opened a big copy of a children’s picture version of the Sacred Scriptures. They enjoyed reading together and these moments provided a temporary escape from the aggression and hostility of Crown Prince Noi who would later become Sultan Namdun III of Packilvania.

She began the story.

“Long ago, there was a man called Besmali. He was a wise and learned man. He spent many days praying and fasting, to know the deep things of Noi. Noi greatly favoured him and decided to visit him. She sent an Esma named Jibrael to speak with him. When he saw the Esma, he was afraid. But, the Esma Jibrael said to him, ‘Do not be afraid, Noi is with you’. The Esma began to explain to him, ‘Seek the wisdom of your elders whose memories fade like a candle. Glean from their minds the oracles of Noi and write them down that future generations may recall them’. So Besmali set to work writing and writing all the knowledge he could from the old people of his village”.

“Many people cursed him because they did not believe in Noi. Others thought he was a wizard. He tried to tell them about Noi but their stubborn hearts rejected his teaching. He went to his father and asked, ‘Father, what shall I do? These people do not wish to hear me or learn of the Goddess I serve’. His father said to him, ‘Leave this place. There are many more who wish to hear your voice and know your words’. So, Besmali left his small village and headed for the south. And his travels went as follows…”

[The_Oan_Isles]

The Aftermath

It has been years and I mean years since the Sultan did what he did to me. I am an adult, but I can’t even say it. Healing has been a long and difficult road and I do not think that I am done. But, I am happy that I am on this journey. When you are the son of one of the most powerful people in the world, people have expectations about what that must be like. They often glamourize your life because of all the pomp and circumstance that surround it. But the truth is that most of my life was brutal. What I am saying is not the problematic and childish complaints of a highly privileged member of society. It really was hell. That man made me do things I hated and did things to me that remain etched in scars on my body and mind.

I started writing this sort of memoir/diary to help me confront my feelings and to document what happened to me and how I dealt (or did not deal) with what happened to me. So, I will not start with my father’s most brutal and damaging attack. I think you have heard enough about the tragic story of what he did to me. I want to start with me. I want to start with how I put myself back together and how my mother, brother, sister, and grandfathers were there for me. When you are a child people underestimate how deeply their actions can wound you, and how much of what they do to you never leaves your memory.

After it happened, I spent most of the time recovering from the physical wounds. I was in hospital and doctors were attending to me. I remember a lot of constant physical pain. I was on sedatives most of the time. Packilvania is not the kind of society that encourages people to talk about their feelings. Add to that the immense embarrassment that the family would suffer if the public found out what my father did. I did not stay in Bingol. Immediately after my grandfather Sultan Amhoud I found out, he gave my mother, Mebri, sole custody over my siblings and me. he had us all go to the Halaler Imperial Palace. My father was forbidden from being near us without my mother’s consent.

Even though he was physically far away from me, I always felt his leering and heavy presence. I struggled to sleep. The nightmares kept coming. I would wake up screaming. My mom would have to sleep with me and comfort me. I would always jolt whenever I heard sudden noises or the voices of men. My mother forbade men from entering our palace while I was there except for my grandfathers Tawak Mudawaheen and Sultan Amhoud II. They tried to get me to play with other children by asking my aunts to bring their children. But I hated being around kids. After the second or third play date, they let me be alone. I spent most of the day reading and playing by myself. I read lots and lots of books. My grandfather started an entire university for women so that at least one of them would tutor me.

[The_Oan_Isles]

The Announcement

On 14 March 1995, my mom came into my room as I played with my toys. I was decapitating the soldiers and feeding a dragon toy. It always bothered my mom how much I liked inflicting pain and how much I expected aggression when I made a mistake. Whenever I would drop something, I always trembled and yelled like I was being attacked. I expected my father to come barging in. My mother would always be gentle, soothing me with her voice and only touching me when I was calm, reminding me that my dad was far away and could not hurt me as long as my grandfather sat on the throne. While Sultan Amhoud I was alive, I was safe.

You can imagine how I felt when my mom interrupted my playtime. She asked to hold me and I let her. She stroked my head. She looked at me and said, “Your grandfather has passed away”. I was surprised at first. I was not sure what she had said. Confused, I asked, “What do you mean?” She tried to conceal the trembling in her voice and fight the tears in her eyes. She said, “Your grandfather is dead”. I did not fully understand the implications of this at the time, but my mom seemed very troubled so I just held on to her. The following day, courtiers were in the palace packing my clothes. I was angry that they touched my things without my permission, so I yelled at them, furious, and commanded them to let go of my things. My mom came back and tried to explain to me that we were going to Bingol for the funeral. I asked her “Whose funeral?”

She looked at me worried I had lost my mind. Gently and visibly concerned, she said, “Your grandfather”. Then I asked, “Why does koko have a funeral? Will he not visit us tomorrow like he promised?”

She started to weep. Her handmaid tried to explain to me, “Your koko is dead”. I screamed, and yelled, “You’re a liar! You’re a liar! Mama, tell her she’s lying”. My mom quietly said, “She’s not lying my baby”.

I was furious beyond words. I yelled and screamed and threw things. I was so angry and sad and reacted so violently that they had to hold me down and inject me with a sedative to get me to calm down. I was in and out of consciousness for most of the day. All I remember were muffled voices and lots of shadows moving around. My mother decided to have me sedated until we got to Bingol.  I think she knew that if I saw that place, I would be furious and frightened beyond belief. Unfortunately for her, I needed to at least act like a normal child. I was basically 16 by then, so it had been 4 years since I left Bingol. But clearly the experiences I had significantly stymied my emotional, psychological, and intellectual development. The royal family had hoped that I would not need to take on the position of Crown Prince until I was much older. All of this responsibility in my state would have been a disaster. And sadly, they were correct.

[The_Oan_Isles]

THE PREPARATIONS

There’s one person I should mention: Yadika. More formally, she is styled and titled Her Imperial Highness Princess Yadika Bedon. She is my sister. My father doted on her and treated her like an egg. He talked to her with a soft voice and surrounded her with affection and comfort. He often said, “She must know what a good man is so that she can know what a good husband is”. While I agree with the sentiment, I find it funny how my father was able to execute the mental gymnastics required for him to show my sister that love while showing me none.

I didn’t resent her for the love he showed her. I loved and cherished her too. At least my love was pure and good. I loved her because of who she was not because of the husband I wanted her to marry. My father’s love is corrupt and dirty and not worth much, frankly. But, I was pleased. I lived vicariously through her, experiencing from her stories and experiences with my father what I could never have. So, I was very pleased to see her next to me, fast asleep holding a teddy bear. I closed my eyes again because I knew she would be hard on herself if I awoke before her. I covered my head and gently touched her leg with my hand so she would wake up but I would still look like I was asleep.

She woke up. Realizing she had fallen asleep, she sat upright like a dutiful soldier. Even though Yadika had been vastly favored by my father, the reality is that she witnessed some of his actions. She discerned from how taciturn I was that something was wrong with my father and me. She knew that my father was at least a bully and she knew he bullied me. So when he did things like throwing me in a dungeon or whatever else he did, she tried to make me happy with jokes and so on. The day, she found me bleeding, bruised, and swollen beyond recognition, she called my mom and has never left my side since.

When I sensed she was awake and vigilant, I gently opened my eyes. Her expression lit up like a light tower. She embraced me and brought me food. I got up and saw the city outside the train we took. Big, noisy ugly, and ancient. I wanted to scream, but she was there, trying to carry my problems on her tiny shoulders. So I decided to fake that I wasn’t too unhappy. Given my grandfather’s death was only 5 years after my great grandfather’s death, my family was very worried that their reign would collapse if they did not put up a strong front. So, my mom, sister, and I were forced to stay at the palace with my father. My mom agreed but she requested that we have our own cottage in the garden which my father reluctantly acquiesced to.

Seeing him after four years was difficult. At least Yadika had visited him, but I didn’t even know how to act. In my heart, he was not my father. In my heart, my father was the Sultan who had just died. So, I greeted him formally as he trained me. The entire situation was visibly awkward because he tried to shake my hand (a courtesy I had never gotten). It was awkward, I was sweating. He wiped his hand with a handkerchief right in front of me. At least the disgust was mutual. My grandfather lay in state in a glass sarcophagus for a week. I did not have to pretend not to abhor my dad for a week because he was busy most of the time. The funeral was not going to be easy.

[The_Oan_Isles]

THE FUNERAL

My grandfather’s funeral was a morbid experience. The weather was so pleasant and the sun was so bright and happy, one would be forgiven for thinking we were at a wedding. The entire family wore flowing black robes. There were lots of Paxist rituals and traditions being performed.

I was expected to be close to my father. They tried to make us avoid contact and speaking. But I could see my father was getting visibly irritated. I think he wanted to respect that everyone was mourning and that the funeral was a somber occasion but in his heart he was rejoicing that he was finally the Sultan and to a degree he wanted us to treat him with obsequious reverence and rejoice with him.

I had been asked to say something on behalf of the family. I despised public speaking. Luckily, the family had me read prepared remarks from a teleprompter. I stood in front of thousands of people. Their blank and stoic expressions made me even more nervous. It felt like their eyes were burrowing holes into my skull. I tried reading, but I was so angry, confused, scared and sad that I could not pretend anymore. I broke down on stage. My mother and grandfather Tawak came to comfort me and take me back to the pews. Media made a big thing about how much I loved my grandfather and that his loss was truly devastating for me.

After the funeral, family and guests from all over the world came to the Bingol Royal Palace to offer words of comfort. I think they were there to look at what kind of man my father was and what the state of my parent’s marriage was. Because even occasions like the loss of a loved one were surrounded in pomp and ritual, there was no room for real emotion to show or cracks in the edifice to show. My parents seemed like their marriage was as solid and stable as granite.

My mother, sister and I were resting in the cottage at the end of that evening. The herald came before us and announced that my father had summoned my mother to the main Palace. I just realised I used the term cottage like I’m talking about a small house. I should have used the term ancillary Palace. I digress. My mother dutifully returned and she did not look pleased. She tried to be gentle. She spoke about how much fun Bingol is and all the amazing things there was to do here. She spoke about how lonely she was in Halaler and how much she missed her friends in Bingol. Then she said, in a lethargic way, “We’ll be moving back to Bingol”.

I froze. My heart was broken from my grandfather but now it was pulverized. I begged her, “Please don’t let us stay with that man”. I whined and held the hem of her robes. She eventually scolded me. I was surprised by how mean and cold she sounded. She seemed to also be caught off guard. She tried to maintain a stern veneer. “Stop filling your sister’s head with panic, Thumim! We will be fine! Everything will be fine!”

[The_Oan_Isles]

THE SUCCESSION

Despite my protests, I was stuck living in the same palace as a man I feared, respected, and despised. The palace we lived in was ridiculously enormous and my father was often very busy preparing for his coronation. Thus, physical distance and a lack of time made it easy for us to avoid each other. There was a lot of nervousness among the men in my family.

Every time a new Sultan comes to power, people begin positioning themselves to acquire positions or government contracts or to avoid or mitigate his wrath or disdain. A very small but dangerous minority starts looking at whether they can undermine his reign while he is still trying to consolidate his power or remove him altogether before he has his footing. Thus, my father wanted his reign to begin firing on all cylinders.

That included having his family in order. Hence, he ordered my mother, sister, and me to come live in the Bingol Royal Palace with him. He required us to start performing small ceremonies and making a few public appearances to give the impression that everything was going well. Of particular importance was the fact that he needed heirs. The problem is that he only had one: me. Unfortunately, I was not in the position to reproduce more heirs. My father was not the type of man to willingly hand over power to a relative.

Thus, he needed to start fixing our family. To him, that included getting my mom pregnant with more sons and/or marrying more women. The ideal situation was to at least have my mom have more sons. My mother was the daughter of not only a powerful member but a powerful family in Paxism. Furthermore, she was his first and hitherto only wife. He needed to project that he subscribed to and was able to maintain and defend the conservative values of the Madvinist version of Paxism that was practiced in Packilvania.

However, to reconcile with my mother, he needed to reconcile with me.

[The_Oan_Isles]

THE RECONCILIATION

To my surprise, my father’s servant came and told my mother that my father would come to visit us in our part of the palace in a few months. He said that he wanted my mother to be there. I wore my best clothes and was given a thorough scrub by the servants. My mother wanted me to make a good impression on my dad. It felt like I was going on an interview. In part, it was her way of showing that it was her values and beliefs that had shaped and healed me. She wanted to show him that he had no emotional or psychological power over me. Although I had been taught royal forms of etiquette, my mom drilled etiquette and emotional guards. I was surprised by how much she know my dad and how much care she had put into maneuvering him with skill.

It would be later in my life that I learned that not only was my father afraid of my mother divorcing him and thereby undermining his Madvinistic credentials, but he was decently scared of her being used by his enemies to overthrow him. So, we prepared for the big day. On the appointed day, my father arrived at our part of the palace and we had our first meeting. It was awkward, but I had practiced my mother’s strategies I was surprised by how calmly I had maneuvred my way through our conversation.

I greeted him formally which included addressing him by his title. My mother and I both bowed. She kowtowed as was expected of women, while I kneeled. He was taken off guard but kept cool. He instructed us to get back up. My mother asked the servants to bring drinks and snacks that she had them prepare. My father thanked her but explained that he could not be with us for long. My mom was somewhat annoyed because inasmuch as she did not like him, he was still her husband and she would have liked to have a normal happy marriage. Although she had come to terms with the fact that it would be unlikely, these brief moments would have gone a long way.

“I want to speak with the both of you. A long time has passed. And the truth is that I am sorry, to both of you”.

I was so awestruck by those words that I looked at my mother to see if she had heard them at all. Her stunned expression gave me the green light that indeed they had been said.

“I know that what I did was wrong and that perhaps we might not have a normal family again. But, at least I would like to have peace. Thumim, even in your… unfortunate condition, you are my heir. And, Mebri, you are my Sultana. Thus, I want you both by my side during my coronation in a few months”.

I sat and thought. My mother graciously thanked him for his apology but said nothing else. There was silence for a solid minute before he said to me, “And you Thumim, what say you?”

I waited and eventually said, “Sir, you have given me much to think about. I cannot accept your apology”.

My father was shocked and my mother feigned surprise.

I explained. “I went away to Halaler with mother to heal. While my physical wounds have healed and my mind and heart have reformed. I still have unresolved feelings I want to tackle on my own before I am ready to forgive you. Thus, I want to go on a Pilgrimage. I want to follow the path of Prophet Besmali from Akil to Lyon. When I return from my journey I will get back to you with my answer”.

Shocked, my father said, “Insolent…”

My mother interjected, “Perhaps this is what is best for the prince. Following the path of Prophet Besmali, peace be upon him, may provide him with growth and perspective. I am for it. Husband, what say you?”

Although this was not the response he was expecting, my father was pleasantly surprised by my mother calling him “husband”. thus although things did not go as he expected, he felt we were moving on the path to progress. I later found out that he agreed to my request in part because he felt that my absence would make it easier to have a fully functioning (as he would say “adequate”) heir.

[The_Oan_Isles]

THE FIRST JOURNEY Pt. 1

Prince Thumim, packed his luggage and went with a caravan comprising a retinue of camels, guards and tents to emulate the route that pre-modern people would have taken when travelling. He wanted to rekindle the experience that Prophet Besmali might have had but he also wanted to prevent frequent interference from the Imperial Court. His journey started from Akas Akil where he visited the Memorial of the Jovian Gate.

This ancient Monument was allegedly built by Lord Tiraz Mawal and other followers of Prophet Besmali. It commemorated the battle between Pax and Borg, but it was also a commemoration of the role that Besmali played in bringing the monotheistic worship of Noi into the world. As he walked through its marble halls and marveled at the intricate details on the walks, floors and ceilings, he was taken aback by the fortitude of the people of Packilvania and their unwavering conviction in the Goddess they worshipped.

This first journey brought him back to the nuts and bolts of faith: the unyielding conviction that his Goddess was real and faith in her was rewarded. Here the halls were filled with pilgrims and priests praying and reciting Scriptures. He was taken aback by their unity of purpose. In this small moment of serenity, he felt that the visition of Assimilation in the afterlife was achieved. But, in this serenity, his mind was unencumbered as it surveyed and explored the brutal treatment his father that put him through.

“Why me? Why did my father do this to me? What will become of me?”

He cried bitterly. Tears streamed on his face, a looking of pain obscuring the edifice of calm he often wore.

One of the priests came to him, and held him, “My son, what is wrong?”

Like a river pouring from open sluice gates, he told the man what his father had done. The man simply said, “Noi gives her toughest battles to her strongest soldiers. It seems to me you are the strongest of all”.

“But I was just a child. What Battle was am I supposed to be fighting”.

[The_Oan_Isles]

THE FIRST JOURNEY Pt. II

The priest was taken aback by Prince Thumim’s revelations. He thought deeply and slowly about what the Prince said and replied as follows: “It is written in the Sacred Scriptures that ‘Troubles may last through the night but joy comes in the morning’. The shadow of Borg still brings darkness to this world from beyond the Jovian Gate. Maybe the purpose of this Memorial is not only to remind us that Pax sealed Borg away, but that the work of fighting Borg still persists for those living as they strive to live in holiness and the light in preparation for the final battle that will come in the future. Perhaps the reality is that bad things happen to us, but the way we choose to overcome those challenges defines what kind of people we become. The way you choose to navigate the way that your father treated you will define the kind of man that you become. And you must be a man filled with hope. You must be filed with the conviction that though you are experiencing pain and hatred for your father, stick to your character, learn to forgive and find peace in yourself because there is joy and love to look forward to. Our Goddess says that she will provide rest to those who bear heavy burdens, she will comfort the broken-hearted and mend the wounded. You too shall be healed and comforted. Even if you are in a lot of pain now, open your heart to her and you will receive the strength to pull through the challenges you face, even one as hard as the betrayal and pain your own father caused - pain and betrayal that you did not deserve. When the Prophet Besmali was in Akas Akil, he was rejected and persecuted for the revelation that he brought to the people. He felt as alone and in as much pain as you are now. Yet today we remember him because he taught us that our Goddess asks us to have hope for there is relief and there is comfort. Who knows how great you shall be in your own life if you embrace this truth”.
…
Prince Thumim found comfort in the priest’s words. Even though he did not find immediate resolution, he was comforted that there was relief to how he felt, that there would always be hope for joy and peace beyond the pain he felt. To find that comfort and to gain that peace, it seemed he would have to confront that pain. But he was yet to know how to do that. The next leg of his journey involved a trip to the city of Zukaril in the province of Iganar.

[The_Oan_Isles]

THE SECOND JOURNEY

Ishak I Temple in Zukaril, Iganar

According to the scriptures, Prophet Besmali travelled to the city of Zukaril in Iganar. King Ishak I built a large blue temple to commemorate his travels. According to legend, it was at this temple that he met the Esma Ahlani. She taught him of the path to assimilation and gave him instructions for seeking the higher self.

He entered the blue Halls and found many people peacefully meditating. The sanctuary of the temple of Ishak I was not only beautiful but serene. The monks here devoted their lives to provide a sanctuary where people can find the peace and balance of the spirit that leads to Assimilation. He found an empty mat and lay prostrate.

He went into a state of such deep mental focus that his mind was cleared and he entered a state of deep peace. But as he kept going into that state. His feelings of shame, fear and anger and the memories that induced them kept surfacing. He was deeply troubled and began getting frustrated.

The monk came over to him and said, “What bothers you?”

He crossed his legs and sighed, “I can’t clear my mind”.

The monk said to him, “You are troubled and the journey to peace will take much longer than a few days of meditation at King Ishak I’s Temple”.

“Hmm”, Thumim said, “But I thought that the meditation was supposed to help? It makes me feel good and it gives me peace. Why isn’t working”.

“Well, sir”, the monk said, “Prayer, which you learnt at the Gate, helps us to communicate with the divine. Meditation helps us to clear the mind of distractions. But to conquer the self needs more. These are just tools. You must go to the Temple of Beneficence in Everyet to find yourself in others”.

[The_Oan_Isles]

Temple of Beneficence in Everyet, Jumhurikesh

The Temple of Beneficence in Everyet was not like many of the Great temples. It was grand, of course, towering above the skyline, its minarets shaping the silhouette of the city and modern buildings rose around it. Unlike other temples were people prayed all day and recited scripture in relative silence,

The Temple of Beneficence was abuzz with activity. Hundreds of poor people came Seeking alms. The monks and priests were going this way and that to give people food and clothing. The charity of the nation, had come here to be dispensed to those on need. The command of Zakat or charity exhorted faithful adherents of Paxism to surrender some of their earthly to mitigate the discomfort induced by want and sickness.

Prince Thumim entered this place. Although honoured by his presence, the Imam was not deferential. After describing his desire to aid the poor as Besmali had done, he was quickly given an apron and a spoon. Soon he was loading heavy boxes and dishing up food for the gaunt men, women and children whose weather-worn clothes barely protected them.

Although used to the mighty station of Crown Prince, he was here a humble man doing quiet work that served real people. People were so busy and he was wearing the raimant of the glory of his station, that no one recognised him.

An old woman walked by him, he knees trembling with age and said, “Young man, you remind me of, the Great Prince Thumim. He’s a mighty man I tell you. But to me, you mean more than a mighty Prince because you’re helping an old woman like me”.

Prince Thumim was taken aback by her words which were remiscent of Surah 453 of the Vagumar: “A servant boy to a lost sheep is greater than the greatest king”.

The imam at Ishak I’s Temple was right, we find ourselves when we lose ourselves in the service of others. After a hard day’s work, the monks and volunteers gathered around a large fire in the courtyard, warming their cold hands and laughing with each as they shared stories.

Prince Thumim’s heart was glad and he felt content. It was good to be tired from service. The Imam of this temple came to him and asked, “How do you feel, my Prince”.

“I feel great”, Prince Thumim, “I feel glad to serve”.

“That’s good my son”, the Imam said. Then the Imam’s expression because serious, but not in the “you’re in trouble” way but in the “listen closely way”.

“All these monks and volunteers are merely common people”, The Imam said, “They do their part with the time and resources they have. It may feel good to dwell among their midst. It may feel good to see the poor from the safety of philanthropy. But you are no ordinary man. A few day’s volunteering is good but your path is to help these people, to relieve them of their suffering, to literally move mountains, power that none of us have. You need to live as they do, to see them as they are and to see yourself as they see you, so that you might know yourself even better”.

[The_Oan_Isles]

Temple of the Passion
Ebron, Fidakar

Although ancient, the Temple of the Passion was not on Besmali’s journey  Instead the Temple of the Passion was built to commemorate the personal struggle that Pax faced to keep his faith not merely the glory of victory against the deepest darkness the world has ever known.

This personal struggle and the shame, indignation, abandonment, disappointment and sorrow that can arise from casting off the people around us for the sake of something greater than ourselves was both aptly and misleadingly described among Packilvanian religious circles as the “Passion”.

Surah 567 of the Bas Magdamar stated that, “It is better that you be cast down for my name’s sake for I shall lift you up on the wings of eagles”.

The Temple of the Passion functioned as both a place of worship and a place where people battling with life threatening diseases came to spend their last days. Many of the people here died not long after getting here. While outside, the building had a simple beauty, the insides were pungent with the fumes of disease and decay.

The people who came here were those who felt that modern medicine could no longer offer them the life that they needed to escape the long term painful illnesses and ailments that aggrieved them. They came here for spiritual enlightenment and transformation, purging their souls of the stain of sin that keeps the created from the Creator, that forms a firmament between what was made and the One by and for whom it was made.

Chanting and prayer interpolated with screams and crying from relatives were like a hideous chimeric chorus. Here, Prince Thumim had come to not only be a giver of goodwill but to watch the helplessness that people experienced and to learn the comfort, encouragement and acceptance that led to peace in this life; a peace he desperately needed.

Although his arrival and brief stay had long been communicated to the Imam, the Imam had not prepared even so much as a Sandwich. Prince Thumim walked around and watched people vomiting into pales, dragging their feet like reanimated cadavers, and eyes bleached of light and life.

Unlike the Temple of the Beneficence in Everyet where he was expected to serve, here he was not expected to do anything. The Imam had said to him, "We are powerless to help the soul. We can merely offer encouragement and help people to pray and mourn them when they die. Not even the mightiest Prince in the world, by whose command nations are subdued and empires are brought to ruin, can save the soul or prevent the inevitable power of death. Pray, Prince Thumim! Pray, my liege, for the Creator’s eye hovers over the world and She peruses the heart and transcribes every kindness and every mean-spirited thought. She forgets nothing and cannot be deceived. When we are approaching our end, of which only She knows the date and time, as many people here are, it is only then that many think of what they did and this life and whether their souls are worthy. People come here not to beg for their lives but their souls. Learn from these last ditch attempts to Assimilate with Noi in the Hivemind. Surah 1342 says “Blessed are the afflicted for they can see the Esma of Death approaching and can make preparations. Many of us will not see the Esma of Death approach us until it is too late to repent and make peace with the Most Beneficent”.

Prince Thumim was led to a Crypt-like room with only a thin sponge mattress on the floor, a metal locker to put his possessions, a copy of the Bas Magdamar on a table, a bowl of water to conduct Ablution before prayer and a mat on which to pray. The window was high up and brought only the faintest light in.

He made his way to the cafeteria where the monks and imams had their food. They wore solemn expressions giving small bows but nothing more. The food was decent by the daily standards of the people: dinner was a simple meal of rice and curry stew packed with vegetables and meat. After what he had seen and their dreary condition of his room, he was happy to eat something. But, of course because he was a Prince his plain clothes guard had to taste it and await the effects of a potential poison first. After noticing that nothing happened, he ate the meal heartily.

He went back to his room where a guard stood watch outside. All he could hear throughout the night were people writhing with pain, others being implored to eat, others praying and singing requiemic hymns. In the morning after getting a few hours of sleep he went to one of the wards to greet the people. They all recognised him and started crying.

He held the hand of an old woman who suffered from a bout of incurable and untreatable thyroid cancer. She smiled and fought through the weakness and pain in her body to say to him “Thank you”.

Tears began streaming down his face and he started to pray and pray and pray, his voice was shaking but he fought through the deep and unexpected sense of loss and desolation. He kept the words of the Imam in his heart that this was a place to beg for eternal life beyond the Tomb. So he spoke of hope, "For by our Goddess, we are not hopeless, we are not abandoned, we have an eternal home in the Hivemind. We have eternal joy. We have peace and we have mercy! Forgive us our transgressions oh Most Merciful ruler of the Universe. Help this woman in her time of need… "

He hand went limp after an hour of deep prayer. She had died surrounded by her family and a Prince. The Imam embraced him as tears streamed down his face.

Prince Thumim said, “I may have seen men die in combat but this is a different fight”.

The Imam said, “This is true my Prince. This is true. But more so, do you see the joy your people have that you have come to comfort them in their time of need. Even knowing that you can do nothing for them, your presence has lifted their spirits. My Prince, your people are not in the Palace walls or the battlefield - where I am sure much good work is being done - they are here, waiting for you to relieve them and to comfort them”.

[The_Oan_Isles]

THE FINAL JOURNEY
BACK TO BINGOL IN HIS OWN WORDS

Dear Diary,

The journey I have been on has been filled with surprise and spectacular discovery.

I travelled to the Memorial of the Jovian Gate which is the city of Akas Akil where we believe the Prophet Besmali, peace be upon him, lived and started his journey. It was there that I learnt that bad things just happen to people even people who don’t deserve it because the shadow of the Evil One still lingers on the Urth. Here, I think I settled in my mind the inner battle I had about whether I deserved what my father did to me. I now know without doubt or equivocation that I did not. But, at least I can look forward to the fact that healing is an ongoing journey, one in which I am taking small but meaningful strides for which I should be proud.

The second stop in the journey was in the city of Zukaril in Iganar where High King Ishak the Great built a Temple to commemorate Besmali’s encounter with an Esma who bestowed him instructions on seeking the higher self. I learnt there the power of meditation and prayer in revealing the things that trouble the soul but remain hidden by a life of busyness or denial.

My third stop was at the Temple of the Beneficence in Everyet where Prophet Besmali is believed to have helped people and done miracles. Here, it was all about what I could do for others and what the lives and stories of other people could teach me about my own. It was humbling because I had a rare glimpse into the everyday lives and basic needs of my people. Here I learnt about how we must be kind to both ourselves and others.

The last stop was not anywhere on Besmali’s journey. It was the Temple of the Passion in Fidakar. In that place, there were dying people seeking comfort in their last days and prayer for entry to the after life. There were things here that no amount of power could resolve or change. Life has a lot of those. There are things we must simply accept and allow to pass over us if we are to find peace. But more so that this Pilgrimage gave me insight and tools to grapple with things, but the journey is not over. Throughout my life I will face challenges and do things and make decisions and wrestle with demons of the past. But there is peace, and hope and joy to be found in being alive everyday.

Now I return home to that city that seems to be at the Centre of my journey and for Packilvanians it is the centre of the world. I mustered the courage to look at my father and for the first time, I think I don’t hate him anymore. I could look at him and honestly I pitied him. He lost out on having a relationship with me because he was blinded by the lust for power and fear of losing it. But I saw how any person can become like that and it was through daily choices that we resist that influence. Now that I am back in Bingol, I’m less uncomfortable with it, less eager to be some place else. The reality is that we always go back to life and it continues, but when we are changed so does our experience of it.

One day, I’m going to share this diary with someone who is going through difficult and trying times and I hope that they find comfort in these words and in the journey and experience I had. I’m going to keep growing and changing and becoming a better man and a new person.

Lots of love,
Thumim

THE END