Mayan Fiction

Made available on October 12th, 2006 by Tortuga.
Found in: Akumal Mexico and Riviera Maya articles.

I am a woman. I am Mayan. My people come from an ancient wisdom. We are astute astronomers and sophisticated mathematicians. We are architects and builders of grand cities and colossal pyramids. Our societies and belief systems are complex. Our customs are sacred.

Today my father is passing down the land of our family to my husband and myself. This tradition is done through a ceremony in which the milpa is blessed, so it may be prosperous yielding much corn each season for its new owner. I wear my most ornately embroidered huipil for this special occasion and bring an offering plate of fruit, corn, cacao beans and jade to Hun Hunahpu in exchange for the maize god’s protection of our crops.

Two Rabbit smiles at me with dark eyes full of love. I am the last of his children, all of my brothers having perished on the sacrificial alters of our enemies or fallen fatally ill to the curse carried to our shores by the bearded men from a land beyond the rising sun. My father has seen much sadness, but today is a day of celebration and his laugh echoes his gentle nature.

Although he is very serious today, I can feel my husband’s excitement over the festivities. He will tend our field with the greatest of care. He knows it will feed our children and one day belong to them. Pakal’s tattooed face and pierced body have been described by the white strangers as savage and fierce, but when I look at his handsome Mayan features, a noble sloping forehead formed while he was an infant by his mother and an elegant aquiline nose, I see a descendant of beauty and strength. He is a warrior, a man of men, and I am his dove.

Blowing of the conch shell signals the beginning of the ceremony. Our village shaman appears wearing the spotted pelt of the revered jaguar on his back while on his head sits an elaborate headdress fashioned from the jaguar’s skull and the blue feathers of a quetzal bird. He is transformed through dance and the herbal tea brewed from the mushrooms of Palenque. The rattles on his ankles kick up dust as he stomps his feet to the heartbeat of the drums. Clouds of copal smoke swirl around him, mystically guided by his scepter. Blue Turtle enters the spirit world and speaks to the ancestors on our behalf.

Prompted by the shaman, my husband and I perform the blessed act of bloodletting by using the serrated bony spine of a stingray to open the veins in the skin near our elbows. The gods shed their own blood to create humanity and our blood is the most important sacrifice that can be made in return. A fire is then set to the platter so that the gods may receive our gift. The priest recites from memory the beginning of life as it is written in the Popol Vuh. This hallowed book contains the story of creation, legends of our gods and documents our lineage.

Once the praise and offerings have been made to the gods, the village is ready for the feast. A band of wooden flutes, turtle shell drums and large gourd rattles commences as the painted dancers enter the scene. The women have prepared yams, turkey stew and corn cakes. We drink pulque, derived from the fermented sap of the agave plant, until our heads swim. Honey candies and small rubber balls made from chicle are tossed by the handfuls from woven baskets to gleeful children. We eat, we dance and we sing well into the night. I look around at the jovial Mayan faces and my heart swells with pride for our heritage.

The world was a milpa prepared by the gods for the “planting” of the human race and we as farmers honor the gods and their gift of corn when we continue the cycle each harvest. As the evening’s celebration comes to a close, each of the villagers leaves Pakal and I with congratulations and advice as to our newly inherited land. The soil of my ancestors was created by the gods and therefore imbued with its own force, an inner soul that is born through ritual to each new keeper.

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