Eskandar

When the lifeless body of Alexander was brought to Alexandria, the cosmic judgment of fate shifted, casting a deep mantle of mourning across the earth. His golden casket was placed upon the plain, and the sounds of grief and murmurings filled the land. From every quarter of Alexandria, children, men, and women gathered in overwhelming numbers—had one counted the throng, more than a hundred thousand scholars and engineers could be found among them.

At the forefront of the mourners stood Aristotle the Sage, the emperor's legendary mentor, his eyes weeping tears of blood. Laying his hand upon the narrow coffin, he cried out in bitter distress: 'O God-fearing King! Whither has vanished that razor-sharp intellect, that supreme wisdom, and that invincible counsel that once commanded the globe, now confined within this narrow chest? Why, in the floral spring of your youth, did you choose the cold earth as your couch over the throne of monarchs?'

Following Aristotle, the wise philosophers of Rome assembled around the bier, delivering poignant and awakening reflections over the dead king. One spoke: 'O bronze-bodied champion, who has brought down your feet and pierced your soul? Where are all your strategic councils and sublime foresight?' Another lamented: 'For years you hid gold away in dark vaults, and now it is gold that enfolds your breathless clay!' Yet another declared: 'None could escape your mighty grip in life; why then did you clasp hands with Death? What profit came from all your restless toil, your conquering of kingdoms and hoarding of treasure, when before the Supreme Judge you shall reap only what you have sown?'

The sages meditated on the impermanence of mortal ambition: 'Now shall the ultimate Master teach you the truths you never learned in life. If Death spares not a conqueror like you, it behooves us to withdraw our hands from greed. O noble king, fairer than moon and sun, why hide your face from this assembly? You who wore fine silks and whom the ivory throne sought out—your sole treasure has dwindled to a cramped casket. You abandoned your moon-faced maidens of China and Rome to lie embraced only by gold.'

They questioned his legacy: 'When the Great Inquisitor asks why you shed the blood of princes and clung so fiercely to earthly wealth, what guiding answer will you render? Blessed is he who departs the world leaving nothing behind but a good name! Now that your tongue is stilled and your breath departed, whoever beholds your crown and throne must rein in their pride, for world-dominion abides with no man. Your deeds have turned to wind, the necks of tyrants are freed from your yoke, and now in the sublime Court of Providence, truth alone remains.' Thus the sages wept over the coffin of the Macedonian conqueror, delivering an eternal sermon on the fleeting vanity of earthly power.