Gaze of Tears, Moments of pains

The fire crackled and danced, casting flickering shadows across the faces of the gathered twelve. I, too, was among them, drawn close to the Master by an irresistible force. His eyes, usually serene, held a glimmer of unease, a reflection of the turmoil that stirred within him.

We soon sat in a circle around the fire that blazed with an increasing momentum, mirroring the intensity of the emotions that roiled in our hearts. The Master’s gaze was fixed on the flames, as if seeking solace in their mesmerizing dance.

He was a man of great wisdom and solitude. We called him Rabbi- and so did those plump, bald- headed Scribes, who adorned themselves with sweeping robes, and those Pharisees also, with all their exotic expressions of self-righteousness. They had often scoffed at the Master, challenging his teachings with their legalistic interpretations.

Just few days back, we had all reeled in the glorious splendour and grandeur that attended the Master’s regal entry into Jerusalem. We had sung along with the rejoicing throng who adorned his path with garland of palm leaves.

But the Master’s countenance has fallen in the days that followed that grand spectacle. This very night, a sense of foreboding hung heavy in the air. Close to him, I could hear the palpitations of his heart. I peered into his eyes, trying to penetrate the depth of his soul, to understand the weight that burdened him.

Then I saw his gaze shift from the fire to each of us, his disciples, with a mix of love and sorrow in his eyes. He let out a faint sigh and began to speak. “I am deeply troubled,” he said, his voice low and measured, “The time of my betrayal is near.”

We sat in stunned silence, trying to make sense of his words. After a brief moment, I leaned forward to him, with a certain fear hanging on my face. “Master,” I asked softly, “Who is it that would betray you?” He looked at me with eyes that seemed to hold the weight of the world. “It is one among you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper this time. My heart sank at his response. “One from among us?” I quickly surveyed the faces of my fellow apostles, to see if I could find a trace of conspiracy on their dimly-lit faces. The apostles were also disturbed by the master’s response. They looked around at each other. Then, they took their turn to quickly protest their innocence, “Certainly not I, Master. “

I wanted to tell him that I would never allow that happen; that no harm would come his way under our watch. But Peter stood first. A sturdy man, with broad shoulder and strong, calloused hands that gave him away quickly as a fisherman; a tumble sort of man who was not afraid of hard work or danger, there was no doubt that Peter was fiercely loyal to the Master, even with his occasional impulsive outbursts. He quaked as he spoke. “I would stand by you, even if others left.” The Master saw the passion in his eyes, but he knew that fear would have the better of him this time. “Simon, your courage will fail you this time. You will fall but your faith will be restored.”

Another moment of silence prevailed. But not for long. Judas sprang to his feet with an unsettling urgency. His eyes had been darting around nervously all the while the Master spoke- eyes that seemed to hold a thousand secrets. He often wore an enigmatic smile on his face. But it was not there tonight. He asked to be excused. “Be quick with what you have to do,” the master said to him with a slightly raised voice.

Now the night had grown old, and the embers had completely burned out. The master stood, and as if with a new resolve, retreated to a secluded area he always had to himself. Peter took us, the apostles, aside. We huddled together, our faces fraught with concern. “We need to come up with a plan to protect him,” Peter says, his voice firm. “Nothing will happen to him,” I said as if conveying a divine oracle. “But we could still form a formidable ring around him,” Matthew suggested. “Or we could even hide him away somewhere,” Andrew adds. Peter considered our suggestions for a moment before speaking. “No, we need to be prepared to fight if we have to,” he says. “Yes” we echoed, with determination in our voices. We went through our plans several times over. Exhausted, we decided to catch a brief sleep, for we would need our strength for what lay ahead. And the Master had not returned.

As we laid our heads, not far from us, their noise muffled by the darkness, a small crowd, their torches casting flickering shadows across the rugged terrain, approached. At their head strode the betrayer, whose name will remain ever stained with infamy on the pages of history. He gave a kiss of betrayal, selling off our master to aliens.