Cover photography by Amine M'Siouri
Chapter 1
Almost 20 years from the time this book was released that a memory I did not pursue came flooding into my conscious mind. It happened unannounced, without warning. Ever since I was a child I was attracted to certain environments and certain ages in history. Now it makes perfect sense.
At first only fragments were received with strong emotional information, downloaded from the Universe, channelled into me by the ether. It felt like it only happened a decade or two ago - the feelings were fresh and very, very real. I did not know what was happening until one day soon after I met with a hypnotherapist. Through numerous sessions more details of a past life, as he called it, were downloaded into my consciousness. It was like opening Pandora's Box, there was no turning back. There are many reasons why we are not supposed to remember another life but for some reason my soul, the eternal being was clinging onto it, desperate to remind me and to ensure I never forget.
For many years I struggled with these memories and I entered one of the most darkest times of my life. The agonising emotional pain was becoming too much to cope with. So as a therapeutic exercise I began to write my memories down. This also helped me to link the different fragments together and form a clearer picture. I relentlessly studied ancient Egyptian history to make sense of the details, to understand the memories I had remembered. Eventually, a story emerged: the love, the life and death of Itef and Tawri.
I naturally added elements to the story to give it a purpose, apart from the merciless struggles that Itef and Tawri had to endure.
So let their story be told and let their names be remembered by the Echoes Through Eternity.
MEMORIES OF ETERNITY
Am I alive, or am I dead? My body feels so liberated, free from all the burdens of life. Yet I fear nothing for the trivial stresses I have forever pondered on now gradually dissipate into oblivion. The lightness of my body seems to fuse with my soul and becomes one. I have never felt so free before. My feet seem to glide over the rugged beauty of this terrain where I come so often to regenerate my spirit, to remind myself who I am. Here I stand at the edge of this rocky plateau overlooking the vastness of a mountainous landscape. The dense rain forest in the deep valley below spreads across the panorama like a tide of thick green soup. Despite the endless cover of the life giving foliage, there is an eerie dead silence that mystifies me. I cannot hear the chime of the bell bird, the squawk of the raven, nor can I hear the colourful sounds that usually echo under the thick canopy below … they are no longer there. This serenity that envelops me is almost unearthly. But there is one thing I can hear - the hushing sound of the wind that comes from the never-never … it permeates through me. Should I be concerned about my new state of being? I think not. Whatever that state may be, I will enjoy it as long as it lasts. Maybe I have reached the next level of enlightenment? Perhaps, but for now I shall remain here and gaze into the openness of the world in front of me. The sky so blue and inviting like an open road into time. I wonder if I were to call loud enough would my ancestors hear my voice? Then the reoccurring visions of a past life arise to remind me about a dreaded curse that had been placed upon me. The curse, I call it, brings back a mournful memory of another life. It has haunted me relentlessly from one life to next. It seems that I have been forsaken. I lower my head in grief but the tears do not flow. My gods, I have lived through so many lifetimes. Yet of all the lives I have lived, none had scorned me as deeply than a life I lived many, many centuries ago. The distant memories return again and again, without a beginning and without an end. Time moves on but not forgets. These fragments of an ancient consciousness come uninvited, a surreal force that pierces through the depth of my soul like a burning arrow, continuously reminding me of a loving memory. Remembering however, is not without consequence for it carries pain and suffering. It sits forever embedded in the wound of my soul, awakening me to the beauty, passion and anguish I once endured so many lifetimes ago. For 3500 years I have carried this weight upon me. Yet I still wonder how long I must continue to carry it. I raise my head and stare with my saddened eyes into the infinite deep blue sky. I ask myself again: if I cry into the heavens will my ancestors or perhaps my forgotten gods hear my plea? Will they lift this curse that had been placed upon me or will they allow me to continue this suffering? I had never brought wrong or ill will against them yet I am damned in this world. If falling in love was so forbidden, then my condemnation is just. As I close my eyes the memory of this past life gradually unfolds like a wilting Lotus flower. I feel entranced as an inevitable shift begins. It is almost like being caught in the event horizon of a black hole. Ten, twenty, thirty or more lifetimes flash before me as I delve deeper into the throat of time. Further I fall into another age … another place. Oh yes, I can see it clearly now as if it had only happened yesterday. I can feel the waters of the Nile washing against my fingertips like fine silk and the warm desert sun on my young face.
“Itef … nen!” A strong voice called over me. Suddenly, two powerful hands gripped my shoulders like the claws of the great falcon god pulling me back into the safety of the barge. It was my uncle Men. Regardless of his occasional outbursts, I still looked up to this great man. His well tanned face was partially shadowed by the angle of the afternoon glow of our great sun god Ra. His bold and strong complexion looked intimidating. Only those who understood him well knew that behind his stone cold facade dwelt a benevolent natured man. This time he was anything but that. He looked at me with a scowl.
“Look!” he exclaimed, pointing fiercely towards the shore. “If you are not careful, Sobek will claim you!” I turned around to see where the beast was lurking. Quickly my uncle leaned over me with his arm outstretched pointing towards the shore nearby. He whispered into my ear. “There!” Among the marshes came a large scaly creature slipping into the blue waters. It finally came to a rest, hovering silently on the surface; a deadly shadow waiting for me, the adolescent young man, to make that false move and send me overboard. Death would be swift and painful. The monstrous jaws were proned with razor sharp teeth. It would ravage human flesh unhindered and crush bone like a stick. “Respect the home of the beast and it will respect you.” Men sat back looking at me like a master does to his disobedient apprentice. He was in his 40th year at the time, plump with good living, his head clean shaved almost priestly. The kilt he wore was baggy but made of fine fabric, unlike the rest of us with our short wraparound kilts of cheap linen. The fifteen or so men, young and not so young, once laboured for an Asiatic master called Shemrata. We worked his large plantation field by the Nile at Tjaru on the eastern Delta. Men supervised us as an overseer of workers. His loyalty to Shemrata was well rewarded and was given privileges similar to that of a nobleman. Regardless of his status, Men was supportive and fair to us all. In exchange for his decency we paid him with hard, honest labour.
We were content with our simple lives in Tjaru. But then one day that all changed. The new Theban King, Ahmose led his army to the north, sacking the entire Delta. Along with his foreign invaders, Shemrata fled with his wives and fortunes to the Hyksos capital of Sharuhen. Egypt … Kemet, as we knew her back then was finally given back to her people.
I stared out into the golden hills of the western desert. The cool breeze from the darkening eastern sky embraced my features as if the divine hands of Amun had laid his blessings upon me. I was fortunate to be alive at such a time … in fact I was fortunate to be alive at all for my childhood suffered great tragedies and bloodshed. I remember very little of it but I could never forget the day I first met my uncle Men. I recall walking in a labyrinth of a narrow mud brick passages as a small child. Its walls were decorated with crude ware made of clay, suspending as if waiting for their masters to return. I too was waiting, for the return of my parents. Smoke was bellowing from the far side of our small village, Sekhetwi. Our community was peacefully nestled in an oasis on the boundaries of the western desert, back from the raging waters of the Nile. That was our blessing. Every year our local god Haapi performed his miracles and brought us the veins of the inundation.