Yet I do not think so.
How long I have been hanging there, I do not know. But steadily my pain grows so great that I begin to cry quietly to myself. Yes, even I, ancient Sita, who has faced the trials of four thousand years of life and survived, feel as if I have at last been defeated. Each breath is an exercise in cruel labor; the air burns my chest as it is forced in, and each time I exhale, I wonder if I will have the strength to squeeze in another lungful. My cries turn to feeble screams, then moans that reverberate deep in my soul, like the solemn laminations of the dammed already sealed in hell. I feel I have been forced beneath the earth, into a place of unceasing punishment. Landulf s face swims in my mind and I wonder if I see a vision of Satan.
Yet in my suffering, on the verge of final unconsciousness, something remarkable happens. My mind begins to clear, and I remember Alanda and Suzama, Seymour and the child. I see the stars and recall how I floated high above the Earth, and swore to do everything I could to protect my mother world. I am five thousand years old, not four thousand. I am from the future and I have returned in time to defeat Landulf. And I will defeat him, I tell myself. He will come for me, I remember he did before. I just have to hang on a little while longer.
I remember other things as well.
The Spear ofLo nginus.
I remember it from twentieth century Europe.
In Austria, in the year 1927, in the capital city of Vienna, I saw Richard Wagner's opera Parsival, which portrayed the adventures of King Arthur's knights in search of the Holy Grail, in a mythological setting. Historians claimed at that time that there was no historical basis for the events in the opera. Still, Richard Wagner's masterpiece was very moving, the powerful music, the tragic plot of how the knights struggled against the evil Klingsor, who obstructed them at every step from behind the scenes. Most of all, I was intrigued by Wagner's use of the Spear of Longinuswhich I had seen in my pastas a magic wand in the hands of the evil Klingsor.
It made me realize, then, that Klingsor might have been Landulf.
There could be historical accuracy in the opera, after all.
After leaving the theater, I researched Wagner's source material and read Wolfram von Eschenbach's Parsival, upon which the opera was based. I was intrigued to see that the spear played an even more central role in the actual tale, and was stunned to team that Eschenbach had lived eleven generations after the time of Arthur and Parsival, and yet had managed to write a thrilling story even though he wassupposedlyan illiterate imbecile. From what could begleanedfrom the old texts, it seemed that Eschenbachhadsimply cognizedout of the thin airthe mysticaltale.
Even then, in the twentieth century in Austria, that fact had made me wonder if perhaps Eschenbach's story was symbolic of deeper truths. Becauseby the twentieth century, history had all but forgottenL andulf. Yet even Eschenbach, a wandering Homer of little reputation, a minnesinger, had named him the most evil man who had ever lived. Who knew better than I why Eschenbach should condemn the duke so? Chilled by my own memories, I became convinced thatKl ingsor wasindeed Landulf.
In the story, Klingsor had been an archbishop who lived atK alot Enbolot, in southwest Sicily, where he summoned demons and sent them forth to torment the world. But most important, Eschenbach had described Klingsor'smost important identifying mark and the basis of his evil.
Yet, in Landulf s dark prison, I cannot remember that mark.
From far away, as I become more delirious, I hear a sound.Knights and lords approaching from above, slowly winding down to my black cell. My torment is unbearablefor it to end, it seems, is all I can hope for. Yet I force in a shuddering breath and steel myself to fulfill my promise to those who sent me back in time. I recall Krishna's promise to me, that his grace shall always be with me. But I do not ask God to save me, only to give me the strength to save myself.
The door opens and in strides Landulf.
Alone. His men wait outside.
He brings a clean damp towel and wipes at the blood that has dried on my face. Then he touches my cheek, and before I can react, leans forwardand plants a kiss on my cracked lips. I try to spit in his face, but there is not enough moisture in my mouth.
Landulf stares at me with such compassion that I have to wonder if I have slipped into a dream where demons are angels and the future is already burned to ash by our ancestors' sins. For moment I am in more than one time, but then Landulf slaps me hard on the cheek, even as he pretendsto bemoan my torment, and then I am alone with him, only him.
"Sita,"he says with sympathy. "Why do you do this to yourself?"
I strain to moisten my swollen throat. "I could swear, my lord, that I did not climb into these chains while I was unconscious."
He enjoys my gusto. "But these chains are of your own making. I have offered you another way. Why don't you take it? What is the sacrifice for one such asy ou? We are already old partners in this war."
"I didn't know that this was a war?" I say honestly.
He is serious. "But it isabattle far older than even your nonperishable body. It goes back to the birth of thes tars, to the dropping of the veil, and of the opening of the two paths back to the source. You see me as a monster but I tellyou I am God's greatest devotee."
"Aren't you exaggerating just a little?"
He slaps me again. "No! It is the truth you refuse to see. Will is stronger than love. Power lasts longer than virtue,my path is left-handed, true, but it is theswiftestand the surest." He pauses and comes closer."Did not your friends tell you that all roads lead tothe samedestination?"
Hisquestion stuns me, the implications of hisinsight "What friends are those?" I ask innocently.
He nods to himself as he studies my eyes. "I haveseenyoubefore on the path."
I force a smile and know it must more closely resemble a grimace. "Then you must know I will never join you. Because although I may be a sinner, I am also a servant. I love virtue, I love human love, even if I am not human. These are the things that bring me the most joy. Your path may be swift and sure but it is barren. The desert surrounds your every step and you walk forever a thirsty man. You may leave me to rot in this cell, but I am not forsaken. When I leave this body I know I will drink deep of Christ's and Krishna's fathomless love, and I will be happy while you crawl on your hands and knees to invoke your miserable demons. Whom you send out to perform deeds you are too frightened to perform in person. You sicken me,L andulf. Had I a free hand, I would tear your tongue from your face so that you could no longer spew lies in my direction."