the lost pages of the traveller’s christmas journal (part 4)
Syria
A special mass is held in churches of Syria in honour of the bloodthirsty, manic Saint Nichrome, who was said to have ridden the darkest horse one could ever see, the blackest black where no light could escape. The dazed once captured by the malevolent horse were paralysed and their eyes glued to the darkness.
All those people laid there, couldn’t move and couldn’t scream.
Saint Nichrome left no corner unturned, he held his sword and pierced every forehead in sight. With every head added to his collection; his roar made the mountains shake, the animals ran and never turned back.
I guess that was the legend, others believed he was a kind man, and Santa Claus was made in his image.
What did he do with the heads he collected?
On Christmas Eve the families would light bonfires to try and hide from the spirit that haunts Syria today, the youngest child is offered as a sacrifice to save the villages from bloodshed.
The camel here is seen as the saviour, a symbolic hope, and was believed to be the only animal that refused to run; but the camel was too late back then.
On New Year’s Day children wait for the return of the camel and leave water and hay outside their homes.
The camel returns every year with the smallest of chances of meeting Saint Nichrome. If there’s no trace of Nichrome, the camel drinks the water and eats the hay; in return he leaves the children presents.
It is believed sometimes, the heads collected were often inside the presents.
I was not sure of this legend, from what I was told, all evidence was burned several centuries ago. I didn’t feel comfortable with this entry to my journal. I left it on the plane.
(to be continued …)
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