Mika's Song, Chapter 26
As soon as Mika mounted Master Ghasaan's camel, the riders urged their beasts into a gallop. Very soon they saw the campfires of a village ahead, and then in the silvery light, the flat roofs of the town. It was a town much smaller than Jerusalem, and with no wall. At first, it appeared as though the light from the star were setting the whole town alight, but as they came closer, the shaft of light seemed to narrow itself to one area near the edge of the town.
As soon as Mika mounted Master Ghasaan's camel, the riders urged their beasts into a gallop. Very soon they saw the campfires of a village ahead, and then in the silvery light, the flat roofs of the town. It was a town much smaller than Jerusalem, and with no wall. At first, it appeared as though the light from the star were setting the whole town alight, but as they came closer, the shaft of light seemed to narrow itself to one area near the edge of the town.
As they came still closer, they found that the light of the star clearly lit up the flat roof of a particular mud-brick home. The camels halted outside the humble dwelling and Mika didn't wait for them to kneel before he slid to the ground. There were no walls or guards to keep him out, no servants' quarters where he should be banished. Only the rugged wooden gate in the mud wall, and even now, Master Toutak was calling at it. A moment later the gate opened, and Mika saw a young man peer out.
"We have come to worship the child born king of the Yisra'el," said Master Toutak, expectantly, "Is he here?"
The man opened the gate wide and Mika saw him smiling in the semi-darkness. The Maga moved foward eagerly, bearing the gifts they had brought. Master Bobac leaned heavily on Yousuf, and Mika held his other arm. Then came the butler and cook timidly. Once inside the courtyard the man kept squinting up at the light in wonder.
"It is the star the brought us here," Master Toutak explained. "Is the child truly here? Is Meshiak here?"
"Please, come and see for yourself," the man pushed open a low door at the other end of the courtyard and warm candlelight, in contrast to the silvery light of the star, spilled out onto the eager faces of the Maga.
The house was very much as small and humble as his own home, and with a pang of shame he imagined the Maga, with their fine robes, coming into his house. He wondered later how they all managed to squeeze themselves in. By the time he and Master Bobac and Yousuf brought up the rear, the other eleven Maga were on their knees, faces to the floor, their gifts laid before them. Mika lowed himself with the others, but was too curious to drop his face to the floor.
He saw a pretty young woman who couldn't be much older than his sister, just wiping her hands on a towel. She sat on a stool and pulled a tiny, naked child onto her lap. No fine robes. No golden chain around his neck. No servants. And yet looking at that tiny round face and those large curious eyes, Mika knew deep in his heart that this was indeed a king. That this was his King.
With the greatest yearning, he wished he had something to give the little boy. He thought of the gold coin, which might have actually meant something to this poor family. He thought back home to the half a dozen odd toys he had carved for himself at one time or another. Baba could have carved him a little lamb. Suddenly, Mika turned and ran back towards the camels.
When he returned, he was carrying his precious dap. For a moment he had thought about giving the instrument to the child, but it was so old and stained and marked from the long journey he was ashamed to do so. When he came back to the door of the house, the child was fussing and trying to bury his face in his mother's bosom. Mika stepped past the men closest to the door, and the child's mother glanced up.
"Please, may I play for him?" Mika asked, "I--I'm a poor boy, too." He went on, lowering his gaze, "I have no gift to bring. But I'll play my best for him!"
The pretty young mother nodded shyly and the little king peeked out at Mika.
Mika kneeled and taking a deep breath, began to strum with his thumb agains the hardened leather. The baby sat up. Then Mika's fingers got into the business, and soon his small hand was fairly dancing across the surface of the dap. All the joy and reverence in his heart poured through the merry tune, and the brass rings jingled like the silver light of the star lighting the roof outside. Now the baby smiled at him and squirmed down off his mother's lap. In a minute he heard Yousuf's setar join in somewhere behind him. Mika would have told you later that he thought he heard, high up in the night sky, other voices joining the song, voices that once sang to a band of frightened shepherds on a hillside nearby.
The tiny king, clapped his hands, bounced a little on his chubby legs, and then fell abruptly on the hard clay floor. Not missing a beat, he clambered forward on his hands and knees, and putting his hand on Mika's arm, pulled himself into a standing position again. The music slowed as Mika's heart thumped in his chest and he stared wide-eyed into the tiny face so near his. The child watched his fingers for a moment, then reached out and thumped his chubby hands on the instrument. Mika laughed, interrupting his song. The baby looked at him, suddenly serious. Then, oh so gently, the little King, the great Deliverer, lifted a chubby hand and poked Mika in the mouth.
********************
Many months had passed since the Maga Caravan had left the lonely little mountain village of Asu. Already it was nearly time for the second harvest since their departure. It was evening and the humble goat herder was just putting up the goats and anticipating a warm dinner with his family when a shout was heard from the road. He looked up suddenly and saw what he had feared he would never see again--the camels of his masters. But that was not all. In front of the camels, feet pounding the earth and hair blowing in the wind, was a boy not quite so small as the one whom he had left sleeping in the stable nearly two years prior, but very very much like him. The goatman started to run, too. With a tremendous leap, the boy lunged into the arms of his father, who's leathery face was both smiling and weeping. Then the boy's mother cascaded into the frenzy, followed by his siblings. Mika was home.
"We have come to worship the child born king of the Yisra'el," said Master Toutak, expectantly, "Is he here?"
The man opened the gate wide and Mika saw him smiling in the semi-darkness. The Maga moved foward eagerly, bearing the gifts they had brought. Master Bobac leaned heavily on Yousuf, and Mika held his other arm. Then came the butler and cook timidly. Once inside the courtyard the man kept squinting up at the light in wonder.
"It is the star the brought us here," Master Toutak explained. "Is the child truly here? Is Meshiak here?"
"Please, come and see for yourself," the man pushed open a low door at the other end of the courtyard and warm candlelight, in contrast to the silvery light of the star, spilled out onto the eager faces of the Maga.
The house was very much as small and humble as his own home, and with a pang of shame he imagined the Maga, with their fine robes, coming into his house. He wondered later how they all managed to squeeze themselves in. By the time he and Master Bobac and Yousuf brought up the rear, the other eleven Maga were on their knees, faces to the floor, their gifts laid before them. Mika lowed himself with the others, but was too curious to drop his face to the floor.
He saw a pretty young woman who couldn't be much older than his sister, just wiping her hands on a towel. She sat on a stool and pulled a tiny, naked child onto her lap. No fine robes. No golden chain around his neck. No servants. And yet looking at that tiny round face and those large curious eyes, Mika knew deep in his heart that this was indeed a king. That this was his King.
With the greatest yearning, he wished he had something to give the little boy. He thought of the gold coin, which might have actually meant something to this poor family. He thought back home to the half a dozen odd toys he had carved for himself at one time or another. Baba could have carved him a little lamb. Suddenly, Mika turned and ran back towards the camels.
When he returned, he was carrying his precious dap. For a moment he had thought about giving the instrument to the child, but it was so old and stained and marked from the long journey he was ashamed to do so. When he came back to the door of the house, the child was fussing and trying to bury his face in his mother's bosom. Mika stepped past the men closest to the door, and the child's mother glanced up.
"Please, may I play for him?" Mika asked, "I--I'm a poor boy, too." He went on, lowering his gaze, "I have no gift to bring. But I'll play my best for him!"
The pretty young mother nodded shyly and the little king peeked out at Mika.
Mika kneeled and taking a deep breath, began to strum with his thumb agains the hardened leather. The baby sat up. Then Mika's fingers got into the business, and soon his small hand was fairly dancing across the surface of the dap. All the joy and reverence in his heart poured through the merry tune, and the brass rings jingled like the silver light of the star lighting the roof outside. Now the baby smiled at him and squirmed down off his mother's lap. In a minute he heard Yousuf's setar join in somewhere behind him. Mika would have told you later that he thought he heard, high up in the night sky, other voices joining the song, voices that once sang to a band of frightened shepherds on a hillside nearby.
The tiny king, clapped his hands, bounced a little on his chubby legs, and then fell abruptly on the hard clay floor. Not missing a beat, he clambered forward on his hands and knees, and putting his hand on Mika's arm, pulled himself into a standing position again. The music slowed as Mika's heart thumped in his chest and he stared wide-eyed into the tiny face so near his. The child watched his fingers for a moment, then reached out and thumped his chubby hands on the instrument. Mika laughed, interrupting his song. The baby looked at him, suddenly serious. Then, oh so gently, the little King, the great Deliverer, lifted a chubby hand and poked Mika in the mouth.
********************
Many months had passed since the Maga Caravan had left the lonely little mountain village of Asu. Already it was nearly time for the second harvest since their departure. It was evening and the humble goat herder was just putting up the goats and anticipating a warm dinner with his family when a shout was heard from the road. He looked up suddenly and saw what he had feared he would never see again--the camels of his masters. But that was not all. In front of the camels, feet pounding the earth and hair blowing in the wind, was a boy not quite so small as the one whom he had left sleeping in the stable nearly two years prior, but very very much like him. The goatman started to run, too. With a tremendous leap, the boy lunged into the arms of his father, who's leathery face was both smiling and weeping. Then the boy's mother cascaded into the frenzy, followed by his siblings. Mika was home.