|
|
 |
 |
| Sunday, 9 May 2004 |
 |
|
 |
Magazine |  |
| News Business Features Editorial
|
Short story : The Nazarene by Jeannette Cabraal It was a warm day. In the sweltering heat of the noonday sun under a tree that lent its shade sat the Nazarene in a reflective mood. The stillness of the raw afternoon was shattered by raucous voices. A mob on the rampage? It broke into his pensive mood and lifting his head he saw a crowd shoving a young woman into his presence. "She was caught in adultery" they screamed incriminatingly testingly wondering what the saintly preacher had to say. "Let him who is without stain cast the first stone" and stooping he begins to scribble on the sand continuously. One by one the accusers glanced at his scrawl identifying their own culpable offences and stealthly slipped away. Lifting his head he saw the young woman wretched and bowed in her shame. "Has no one condemned thee?" he queried gently "No Rabbi" she murmured. "Neither do I. Go and sin no more". One quick shameful glance of remorse at the Nazarene and she slipped away as quietly as her accusers. Crowd It was a late afternoon. A crowd had gathered around the young Nazarene. A motley crowd of critics, faithful followers, suspicious looking individuals, those ready to point an accusing finger, looking for loopholes in his preaching whereby they could condemn him. There was a stir among the crowd. There broke into his presence the young woman of the other day. Throwing herself at his feet she broke open a box of alabaster and anointed his feet with its perfumed contents with tears of repentance and wiped with her cascading hair. Here was grist to the mill of those who were look ing out to condemn. There was a smirk on the faces of those around as they questioned his passivity in allowing such a woman to kiss his feet. "I came to you. You offered no water for my feet. But she has bathed my feet with her tears of repentance and wiped them with her hair. She has anointed my feet wjeith perfumed oils". The anointing was symbolic of the wish burial rites in preparing the body for burial. They narrowed their eyes, they looked at each other nodding meaningfully. Thunder It was late evening. A sombre atmosphere prevailed. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Lightning streaked the sky. Silhouetted against the disturbed sky in the gathering gloom stood three crosses on a hill. The central cross bore the limp form of the Nazarene. She stood at the feet of the cross. He who gave her his infinite sympathy now needed hers. She gazed at the broken form in sympathetic anguish. Anoint It was a promising morn. The light golden rays filtered through the enveloping haze. She went with quick steps carrying unctions to anoint the corpse as befitting the Jewish custom. She stood aghast. The stone was rolled away. A white robed gardener stood. "Where have they taken the master?" she agitatedly queried. "Mary! he said "Rabbi!" she beamed in recognition. Her repentance had earned for her the magnificent joy of being the first to whom he appeared. The forgiving Nazarene had redeemed her. |
|
News | Business | Features
| Editorial | Security
| Produced by Lake House |
