An air of wonder, even perplexity, surrounded the dominian of Mashal. For, as you have probably heard, he built his empire without war, contradicting the history of all other kingdoms ever to exist. Every territory under his rule had been won, not conquered, village after village, city after city, by the spreading fame of his kind and just ways of governing. All who were his subjects wanted to be. Almost all. There was an exception.
Kazab.
One battle had occurred, just one, at the beginning of Mashal's reign, with the much feared warrior king, Kazab, of renouned power and infamous cruelty. Kazab was known to be so fierce in war, and Mashall had conquered him so quickly and without loss or injury, that all were persuaded of Mashal's incomparable power. The good king didn't seem to care much for hearing or telling the story himself. Even in his conquest over Kazab, he did not kill his enemy, but placed him in exile.
Surrounding this single war, a rumor was whispered about concerning the king that, for its intrigue alone, would not die away. The story had been crafted into a terrible narrative and was told by firelight whenever anyone dared to question if Mashal was truly as strong as most people believed. His gentleness might be seen as weakness in the dim eyes of the foolish, but the dark tale would quickly strike terror into their hearts.
It was thought that the rumor originated from the lips of Kazab, and on that ground was regarded as false by most. There were some, however, who cared not where it originated--it just sounded like the sort of thing that would be true. So they believed it, while yet hoping it was not true, if only for their own sakes.
The rumor was that Mashal had a dark side that no one would ever want to awaken. His gentleness, it was said, was an act to hide a truly ruthless heart. All one need do to see the mask fall and receive his cruel wrath was to defy his will in the least particular.
Due partly to the dark rumor, and partly to the fact of his immense power and wealth, Mashal was faced with one serious problem that brought him pain untold, day and night.
The king was in love.
Some of his wisest counselors could not understand his perplexity.
"How could this be a problem?" they reasoned. "You are the Sovereign Monarch. Surely any woman would say yes to your overtures. How dare any do otherwise!"
But that was precisely the point. Herein was the king's dilema. It was clear enough to him, if not to his counselors, that wealth and power are liabilities in the quest for love. He knew that any woman in the world would accept his proposal, for fear, if not for greed. But it wasn't any woman he wanted, for any reason. He desired a specific woman, and only for love.
Her name was Charisa. So beautiful was she that the king could never forget her after that one summer day, when, for just a few seconds, their eyes had met. Surrounded by his royal entourage, he had passed through her village on a long journey through his realm. There she stood amid the cheering crowd of revering subjects, silent and staring, no cheer on her lips, as he passed by.
"Why does she not cheer, or at least smile?" he wondered to himself. "Is she one of those who believes the dark rumor?"
He must know all about her. For three summers and two winters, Mashal acquainted himself with Charisa from a silent, secret distance. Sending trusted agents from his court to her village, they observed her daily life and asked questions of her fellow townspeople. So the king came to know Charisa and loved her more and more. But how could he ever approach her? As the days and nights passed by, nothing brought Mashal greater anguish than the thought that this one he loved so deeply might yield her hand to him either out of desire for his wealth or from fear of his power, or worse yet, from fear of the dark rumor. How could he ever really know if his bride had married for love? Indeed, how could she even know for sure. Alone he remained in this haunting agony.
Then one day a strange and hopeful idea came to him.
"If ony I could somehow conceal my identity as king while yet revealing my heart, hiding my power and wealth, while making known my love..."
"That's it!" he exclaimed to himself. "That is the only way. I must devise a plan to conceal myself and yet reveal myself. If Charisa were to fall in love with me knowing only my heart, then I would know that her love was free and true."
Mashal immediately began to lay plans for his concealment. First, he selected a name.
"I shall be called Chaphas Galah, for I shall be concealed to reveal."
He laid claim to a trade.
"I shall be a craftsman in wood and stone, for I long to build love in Charisa by the revelation of my love for her."
Upon his well-trimmed head he grew dark brown locks to shoulder length. Upon his clean-shaven face a beard was let to grow. Laying aside his kingly robes, Mashal dressed himself in the clothes of a commoner. Then he saddled an old horse and rode as Chaphas into Charisa's village. Here he would make his home and seek the affections of her whom he had loved so long in secret.
As the days passed, Chaphas plied his trade among the people and became their friend. No one suspected his true identity. The concealment was effective. Finally, the day came when, in the natural course of village life, Charisa and Caphas met for the first time. The place of encounter was the open market in the village square. Mutual attraction was immediate.
"She is more lovely than I remember," he whispered under his breath.
"His eyes are strangely familiar," she thought to herself. "Such kind eyes."
"Hello, my name is Chaphas. May I make your acquaintance?"
"I am Charisa, Are you new to our village?"
So began the tryst of this comman maiden of rare beauty and this concealed king of singular power, immense wealth and dark rumor. Unfolding before them were days and weeks and months of growing fondness and friendship. Casting to learn her feelings, one day Chaphas suggested that perhaps they would be more than friends in time. Charisa smiled to let him know that her heart was tending in the same direction. Chaphas was hoping that Charisa was falling in love with him, and he was certain he was falling more in love with her.
Then came an unexpected pain, piercing his tender heart like the sharp arrow of an enemy's bow. One day as the two of them talked and laughed and explored one another's hearts, Charisa confided to Chaphas that she believed the dark rumor about the king.
Trying to hide his sinking disappointment, hesitant yet curious, Chaphas inquired, "Why do you believe the rumor? I don't."
"I know it to be true, for a reason I cannot reveal to anyone, not even you, Chaphas . . . not yet."
"Besides," she continued, "I once saw the king. He looked straight at me through the cheering crowd, and the rumor glared true in his eyes. All that my father . . . I mean . . . all that my friends have told me of the king's dark heart was clear enough in his countenance."
Chaphas was silent for a moment.
"How could it be," he wondered with sadness, "that she could have seen what was not true in my eyes, and see not the same as I become her love, for my eyes are the same in my concealment?"
If we could have spoken to Mashal, we would have told him that there is no mystery here, for we all see what we believe we will see, true or not. She saw an enemy in the king because she was told she'd see an enemy, and she believed the one who had told her.
"Your father?" Chaphas probed. "Did you say your father told you the dark rumor?"
"No!" Charisa firmly denied, her eyes shifting to the horizon beyond his shoulder. "I said my friends told me."
It's not that Charisa didn't want to tell Chaphas about her father. She had been longing for years to know someone dearly enough to tell. But she knew now that she truly loved Chaphas with all her heart. And she feared that rejection would follow if he knew the heavy secret she carried in her heart, especially since he did not believe the rumor.
But now Chaphas did know her secret, for in that slip of the tongue about her father, a familiar resemblance came over her countenance. The shock stabbed deep within him.
"Tell me," he demanded, "for I have seen the truth in your eyes. Tell me your father's name?"
Realizing that she must tell, and somewhere in her heart wanting to tell, Charisa risked the ruin of the only true love she had ever known.
"Kazab," she blurted out with trembling. "I am the daughter of Kazab, the great warrior king, now in exile by the hand of Mashal. There, you know. Now you will surely hate me for my secret, but I know the dark rumor about King Mashal is true."
Oh, how fierce the conflict raged in his torn and bleading heart!
And yet . . . and yet . . . he could not refrain from loving her.
Though she was birthed into the arms of his only true enemy . . .
Though she was raised and educated in the dark rumor about himself . . .
Though she believed the lie and hated him for it . . .
Though the truth of her evil parentage and deceived plight be ever so low, he could not, for he would not, cease loving her. If only he could free her from the dark rumor's influence, then perhaps she could bear to know his true identity and still love him.
There was one ray of hope to which he clung. While she hated him, the king, she also loved him, the common man. In loving Chaphas, she loved Mashal. For although in Chaphas the king's power was concealed, truly his heart was revealed. It was the heart of the king she loved, though she knew it not.
Chaphas embraced Charisa's trembling body and wiped the tears from her cheeks. He whispered, "There are many things I want to tell you, but you cannot bear them now. But be assured, I love you still."
She wondered, but rested in his unfailing love.
Here then was the task before him: to reveal to her that all the goodness she loved in Chaphas was the truth about the king. Yea more, that the one she loved was in fact the king.
And what a delicate matter it woule be! To simply make an abrupt declaration of his true identity might make him appear a lunatic in her eyes, if she believed him not. Or she might feel his goodness and love to be part of the charade which had concealed his true identity. A delicate mattter indeed!
There were still two vital certainties in his favor. He knew the full truth about her, and still loved her just the same. He was no lunatic, nor a twisted pretender. He became Chaphas not because he was a king of power and dark rumor, but a king in love.
With firm resolve, he set his course.
"I will keep on loving her as Chaphas," said the king in his heart, "and then, when finally I am revealed to be the king, she will know in that moment of disclosure that my love is true and the dark rumor is a lie. She will see that I had both known her as an enemy and yet loved her as my dearest friend."
The four seasons passed--winter, spring, summer, autumn--and the identity of Chaphas was not yet known to Charisa's mind. But his love was known yet more to her heart. Trust deepened. Loyalty strengthened. The capacity to even imagine life without Chaphas faded from her heart until she felt they were forever one. They spoke freely of their coming betrothal and agreed that when they married the wedding would be among his family and friends in the city from which he came.
One day as they walked hand in hand amid the changing colors of autumn woods, Chaphas sensed that the time for another change was approaching.
"Charisa, my love," Chaphas spoke with trembling tone, "there is more to tell of myself that you must know, and I hope you will love me still."
Charisa broke in with extreme confidence, "I know your heart and that is enough, precious love of my only dream. Nothing you can tell could ever diminish my love for you, for even your secret must reveal yet more of the goodness that makes you so desirable in my eyes."
"Soon enough you will know my secret, but first, the question that consumes my heart day and night. Will you, Charisa, be my wife?"
"Yes, yes, a thousand times yes," she eagerly responded.
"Then it is decided," said Chaphas. We will make the journey to my homeland and there we will be married."
The village folks rejoiced to hear the news and bade the happy couple farewell.
It was the perfect time of year to make the long journey before them. On horseback they traveled by day at no hurried pace, stopping to enjoy the beauties of the country along the way. Playing in waterfalls, gathering wild flowers, reposing in quiet valleys, they soared still higher in one another's love.
Finally, nearing journey's end, Chaphas pointed with Charisa's arm outstretched under his, "There, that is my city in the distance."
As they drew closer, occasional travelers from the city met them on the road and bowed low before them.
"What kind of greeting is this for such as you and I?" Charisa inquired.
"All will be clear very soon, my love."
Entering the city gates, they were met with shouts of gladness and cheering fit for a king and queen. Charisa's perplexity deepened. She looked to Chaphas for understanding.
Dismounting from their horses, Chaphas took her hand in his and led her up a massive stairway into the palace.
"Where are we, Chaphas?" Charisa solemnly demanded.
"We are home, my queen-to-be; that is, if, knowing me as I am, you still love me."
In the next moment, like a flash of light, painful yet illuminating, the picture became clear to Charisa's mind. She began to weep.
"You are the king," she responded with amazement. "That was your secret."
"You are under no obligation," Mashal urged with sincerity. "My love is forever yours, if you choose to have it. If not, though it would bring me great pain, you are free to go."
"Free to go?" Charisa spoke through her tears. " I am free and yet I am the willing captive of your love. You knew me as Kazab's daughter, you knew I hated you, but you loved me still. The dark rumor, then, is a lie. For I know your love to be true."
Thus it was that Mashal Melek Attiq, King of Ancient Power, and Charisa, lady of grace, became husband and wife in the land of Emeth, which being interpreted means, Land of Truth. For true love knows no power but love alone.
So our story comes to an end, and a happy end at that. And yet it is not the end. If you close your eyes and pray for understanding, you will see your own place in the story.
