“The story of a Fourth King is an expansion of the account of the biblical Magi, told in the Gospel of Matthew in the New Testament. It tells about a fourth Wise Man. Like the other three Magi, he sees signs in the heavens proclaiming that a King had been born among the Jews. Like them, Artiban sets out to see the newborn Ruler.
“He carries treasures to give to the Child—a sapphire, a ruby and a ‘pearl of great price.’ However, he stops along the way to help a dying man, which makes it too late for him to meet with the caravan of the other three wise men. Since he missed the caravan he can’t cross the desert with only a horse. He is forced to sell one of his treasures in order to buy the camels and supplies necessary for the trip.
“He then commences his journey but arrives in Bethlehem too late to see the child, whose parents have fled to Egypt.
“He saves the life of a child at the price of another of his treasures. He then travels to Egypt and to many other countries, searching for Jesus for many years and performing acts of charity along the way. (He was either a real slow poke, or had an attention deficit problem since he was always distracted from his path by random attacks of charity).
But Artiban finally arrives in Jerusalem after 30 years (a bit long, don’t you think!). He was just in time to witness the Crucifixion of Jesus.
“Artiban, the Fourth King, spends his last treasure, the pearl, to ransom a young woman from being sold into slavery. He is then struck on the temple by a falling roof tile, and is about to die, having failed in his quest. And yet he knew that all was well, because he had done the best he could. A voice tells him, ‘Verily I say unto thee, Inasmuch as thou hast done it unto one of the least of these, my brethren, thou hast done it unto Me.’ He dies in a calm radiance of wonder and joy. His treasures were accepted.” (Paraphrased from Wikipedia except for the comments)
Never been happier
As a kid, I always put my shoes on the window sill on the eve of Jan. 6, to await the gift of the Three Kings (stockings were for the Santa Claus gifts, shoes for the Magi’s). I always found a toy or a trinket I craved for in my shoes.
As I grew up, the gifts of the Magi grew, too. The Fourth King had a reason to tarry for me. I was a late bloomer, a slow learner of lessons in life.
Today, I have never been happier. I saw all the plays, concerts, ballets and the opera I had hungered for. The extended family was all here for the Christmas reunion. All the help in the compound created lanterns, excitedly competing in a contest sponsored by the adults.
On the spiritual side, an anthroposophical meeting I rarely attended turned out to be a great one. Ralph Lazo and Mark Wilson got into a discourse on the deeper meaning of Paradise, Adam and Eve, and redemption.
As usual it was as esoteric as a Rudolf Steiner study could get; but, as always, it filled our souls with substance.
Bella Tan’s wonderful coriander dip and the happy hodge-podge potluck satisfied our bodies. Even the roosters in Mary Joan’s gazebo where the meetings are held didn’t crow quite so loudly.
High on the Magi’s gifts, at least, to me, is that of friendships. My variegated friends are the best ever in my long life— young, old and belonging to four sexes.
The Magi’s gift of understanding was received, too. After my husband’s death I began to understand our life together. Why things that fulfilled me did not fulfill him and vice versa. We were the opposites that just had to work harder to produce the fine family we have now.
Another present of the Wise Men was that of letting go. I am such a control freak. I could not accept anything without giving something in return when it came to presents and favors or invitations. Was it insecurity about being beholden to anyone who might then have power over one? But now I finally learned how to accept and just say thank you.
Everything has fallen into place. The Three Kings have given me the gift of the happiest years of my life—and made me feel that I deserved it.
Hunger Boys Band
For several days, the seven grandsons had been going to Mol’s house to practice their music for the holidays. Mol is the lead of their band of saxophone, guitars, drums and voice—self-named Mol and the Molesters.
The grandsons are now huge strapping boys oozing with charm, testosterone and wisecracks. They say they are the Seven Dwarfs (dwarfs, my eye!) named Happy, Grumpy, Corny, Hungry, etc, or just Horny 1, Horny 2, Horny 3 and so forth. (I am deaf to the rest.)
Mol feeds them after each rehearsal and swears their appetites are bottomless. Last time, they finished four kilos of pork ribs.
Since they always clamor for dessert, out came all the old stuff—cheeses from a trip to Amsterdam (October), weird sweets from Vietnam (November), weird hopia from Japan (September), mint chocolates from somewhere in time.
Mol never feels depleted when they come. The boys are the welcome vacuum cleaners of his fridge and freezer!
‘Frating Gutom’
When you have nothing to gift your old and prosperous sons, buy them something cheap and witty.
For their Three Kings shoes, I got my ancient sons XXXL black T-shirts, marked Frating Gutom, Frating Galit and so forth. Four for P600!
PS: Other Magi in my life whom I’m always unable to thank are Benny and Nett de la Cruz, Cecile and Ling ling Pangilinan and Eleanor Galang.
