Last Gift of the Magi:
A Christmas Parable for All Seasons

By Louis A. Tartaglia M.D

Matthew 2:2 . . .
“Where is the newborn King of the Jews?
We have observed his star at its rising and have come to pay him homage.”

They roughly shoved a drink in Jamil’s face, and he
was grateful. He had been running all afternoon,
racing the other camels, and having the time of his
life. Jamil was the smallest adult male at the oasis, but he
wasn’t going to let the bigger beasts get the best of him.
He was fast. He was as fast as the shooting star emblazonedon his forehead.

Because he was so young, Jamil was allowed to run, to
burn off energy. The larger camels each thought that they
could outrun him and tried. But they were soon surprised
to be left in his dust. Jamil was rambunctious by nature;
part of that was his youth and inexperience. The rest was
his personality. He liked to be right. He liked to win, and
he didn’t like to be told what to do. Eventually, he hoped
to become a racing camel, living the life of luxury, stabled
near a dromodrome or racetrack.

For now, however, he had to settle on staying where his new owner brought him. I love to drink. It is my nature, he thought, as the cool gulps moved down his throat. Yet he doubted himself and looked around at the other camels. Even though Jamil was small and young, he was very handsome. He had a gorgeous blaze on his forehead that everyone loved to touch. He looked in the water and his reflection reminded him he was as fast as that shooting star on his forehead.

Jamil gulped more of the sweet, cool water that was
before him. He was thirsty because he had spent the day
racing through the desert and hadn’t stopped to drink.
Today, I proved that they can’t make fun of my size.
I’m faster than them. I showed them, he said to himself.
Jamil was mumbling as he drank. He had beaten all of them
back to the oasis. His heart was pounding. He listened to
the noise it made in his chest. His thumping heart often
sounded like a soft voice. When he raced, he imagined that
voice was cheering him on.

He listened, but now it sounded like a gnawing thought
that kept creeping back into his consciousness, Experience greatness . . . camel . . . stop drinking . . . caravan journey. The thought echoed and then faded out with his heartbeat. You must journey through the desert and abstain from drinking in order to understand your life’s purpose.

There was a part of him that felt a wisp of joy and
then slowly saddened as the voice dwindled within him.
“What nonsense,” Jamil muttered. “A caravan? I love the
oasis and comfort. I know I am a camel and according to
the elder camels, I am supposed to live in the desert, but
I’m going to the city and race. I’m going to live the good
life. I’m not going to be a dumb pack animal like the rest of
them struggling to fi nd the next oasis.” He looked around
to see if anyone noticed that he was talking to himself.
When traveling through the desert, it was vital to know
the location of an oasis.

During the day, the desert was hot as the sun’s rays beat down on the arid plains and scorched the dunes. When night fell, however, the temperature dropped by as much as fifty degrees and chilled one to the bones. Only special creatures could adapt to the brutal environment. No one chose to go out into the desert without an important purpose.

The oasis where this camel was drinking was known as
Kashan, after the family of that name. There was always
considerable activity at an oasis, and this evening was no
exception. A thin crescent of moon hung on the horizon on
this dark night. Everyone was talking about the strange
phenomenon that was occurring in the sky near it. A new,
rather bright star had appeared in the West. It had the
appearance of a large shooting star that was slowly moving westward.

The western portion of the star was blunted, and its tail gave it the impression of flying towards the west. It always seemed to be moving.

The usual nomads were there because Kashan was a watering spot for their herds. They were all part of the same tribe or extended family, some close, some distant, but all related by blood. Many of them had the same features with thick beards and muscular bodies.

Tonight, however, the oasis was buzzing with travelers from many lands beyond Persia who were following the star. There were elders tonight. That made it a special night. To look at them was to be fascinated, but to hear their stories was to be enchanted by the love of God. All listened attentively to the elders speak of the meaning of this new celestial body. They were speaking about how it reflected God’s love for man.

These elders were Zoroastrians, followers of Zarathustra, and known as Magi, or priests, because of their status.
One from the group, a certain Gaspar, was a Magus from
far-off India. He was said to be a direct descendant of
Sem, the son of Noah. He was the oldest of the group and

had a long, fl owing white beard. He was dressed in an elegant white and purple silk garment and a purple turban.
He wore a large star sapphire ring on his left hand.
Jamil tried to squeeze in to hear what was being said.
“Move away, weakling,” one of the camels said. He was
large and smelly and not too friendly.

He nudged Jamil aside and one of his friends moved in.
Jamil had to stay off to the periphery. He was behind four
older camels who were long-time friends, reunited at the
oasis. Coming to a watering site was cause for celebration
for camels. These four were happy to be back in each other’s company. They were large pack animals for a group
of men who were listening intently to the magus.

Gaspar was talking about the reason the heavens had created this new star. The Zoroastrian Magi were considered astrologers, but they were more than that. They were spiritually adept and felt a responsibility to view the stars with respect. They believed God whispered his love for all His creation through the stars.

Gaspar spoke in a deep, vibrant voice that filled the cool night air. He shook his head from side to side when he
wanted acknowledgment, as was the custom in his Indian
culture.

“Every soul on earth has a counterpart in the heavens.
Each star represents a being. We Zoroastrians believe that
there is a heavenly part of each complete being. When an
individual is born, the parts are separate, and at death, the
individual unites with his heavenly counterpart. A new star
of this magnitude represents the arrival on the earth of a
special soul.”

Gaspar paused and then with great emphasis spoke

deliberately, “This star is so bright and so unusual that we
believe it fulfi lls the ancient prophecy of the coming of the
Jewish Messiah.” Gaspar looked around at his colleagues
and moved his head to the side as they raised their eyes
in acknowledgment.

Gaspar paused, waiting for the murmur that rose from
the group of nomads to settle down. None of these nomads
were Jewish. Some may have had Zoroastrian roots, but all
of them knew that the Jewish God, Yahweh, was powerful.
They knew the stories of the Israelites’ fl ight from Egypt,
the parting of the Red Sea, and the fall of Jericho, and
understood the power of Yahweh indeed!

Jamil was marginally able to understand any of this. He
was a young camel, not given to listening to humans and
their discussions. His focus was on fun. He had a future
somewhere other than with caravan drivers.

Before this, Jamil’s days had been filled with running
and playing. He was as carefree as the wind and until men
had come and separated him from his family, his life was
ideal. His parents had told him it was time for him to grow
up and learn about work and responsibility. It was time to
discover what it was to be a camel. They told him to listen
to and obey the camel drivers.

“Carry your burdens well, Jamil,” his father had told him.
Jamil was not interested in carrying burdens; he was
too small, and he was a race camel at heart.

“Show respect and pay attention to your handlers,” his
mother said. She knew that this was going to be a problem. Paying attention was not one of his strengths, and
respect, suffice it to say that Jamil had a talent for testing
authority. Jamil had been a handful for his handlers thus far.

He figured being temperamental was part of being a racer. He was hell-bent on living up to that ideal. Jamil was led away from his family by a kindly camel driver who knew the small animal was not fit for racing. He did not have the right lines or body type. Racing camels were leaner, taller, and had longer strides. At best, he would amount to a small pack animal who would only be able to carry insignificant loads. He would not bring much money, but if trained well, someone would want him. His
camel driver thought he would be fit for a female rider
once he matured a bit.

Jamil was young and fit, but not accustomed to working.
As the camel driver led him away, he looked back fearing
that his parents were right and that his life was changed
forever. A few minutes later, they were far behind him and
no amount of looking back could find them.

Since then, he had not paid as much attention to the
camel drivers and took every opportunity to run free.
When they were at campsites, Jamil generally ignored
humans. They were bossy and arrogant. They could not
walk or run very fast and some of them had odors that
offended his sensitive camel nose. He was fortunate that
the camel drivers let him run and play. They let him do this
because he was a young camel and young camels always
returned to the oasis. Because of his speed, Jamil always
returned first.

Jamil tried to ignore humans, but tonight was different.
He was listening with all the others. What was being said
was extremely important. There was an air of excitement
and anticipation about this conversation. It was as if a

secret was being shared. He liked secrets but didn’t often
hear any. His childhood had been filled with few friends
and few shared secrets.

Gaspar pointed toward the heavens with both arms
raised as he spoke again. “Notice the brilliance of the new
celestial body. The heavens are celebrating the arrival of
a grand new spirit with a powerful burst of light.”
Men and camels both looked up. Jamil saw the star, too.
The star on my forehead is bigger than that, he thought.
“Every year, the Magi have prayed in a cave at the
Mountain of Victories, awaiting the fulfillment of the
prophecy of the Oracle of Hystapes,” Gaspar said.

The name Hystapes sent whispers through the crowd.
For centuries, the Magi had awaited the fulfillment of this
prophecy. Lore had it that the oracle at Hystapes had
uncovered a scroll during a voyage over Mount Ararat.
The scroll dated back to the time of the Great Flood, and
it carried a list of instructions that Noah had given to his
three sons.

Among the list of detailed observances was the
Messiach command, to keep sacred the twenty-third of
July as a day of prayer and meditation in a dark cave. The
purpose of the dark cave was twofold: to seclude an area
away from disturbances, and to allow enough darkness so
that the great light could be observed in an unmistakable
way. Through time, the ritual developed into a Magean
tradition. The Zoroastrians had chosen the Mount of Victories as the perennial site.

Jamil was intrigued by the legend of the oracle. One of the older camels, who was kind to Jamil, turned and said, “Humans have so many mysterious traditions.” Jamil agreed. “They tell stories for hours on end.”

Gaspar went on with his story. “We have traveled for almost half a year since the feast day last July. I have come hundreds of miles from the northern provinces of India. I plan to meet two other groups of Magi in a short time. We will be traveling in a caravan of twelve and need some able-bodied, God-fearing men who are brave enough to travel across the Persian desert to the Roman kingdom of Judea.

The pay will be good, but the journey will be fraught with inconveniences. The real reward will be that each of you who journey with us will be able to pay homage to the newborn king. You will be present at the mystery ritual of the Messiach command of Noah.”

Again, a murmur went up from the crowd. This was more
than most of the men were willing to bargain for. Long
journeys were usually undertaken only for financial gain,
not for opportunities to pay homage to newborn kings.
Jamil decided to lie down while he listened. This promised to be a long night of discussion. As befit a camel, he first got down on his knees. Other than humans, the only creature in the animal kingdom that knelt before going to sleep and upon arising was the camel.

“What kind of place is Judea?” asked Abdul, a serious
young Bedouin who called no place home and yet was at
home almost anywhere. Gaspar thought for a moment. He stroked his thick white beard. “Judea is a strange land indeed. It was given by God to the Jewish tribes so they could have a land of their own. They are a headstrong lot, and their land has been taken from them many times. The region is now under the control of the great Caesar Augustus, as he is called.

It is under the Syrian Legate Quinctilius Varus and is administered by Herod, the Governor. The land is fertile, and the hills abound with a rich harvest. The vineyards and orchards rival those of my sweet India, which I might add, is the most fertile in all of creation. Trade through Judea is
very prosperous. Its safety is guaranteed by the powerful
Roman legions. Laws are strictly enforced, but foreigners
are treated with respect.”

Abdul had another question, and he was not timid about
asking. “How long will we be traveling? I need to know the
entire length of our journey. My wife is with child again,
and though she is just starting the gravid period, she
demands that I attend at the end; perchance a son is born
to me this time.” The others laughed, knowing that he already had two daughters.

He wanted to be present at the birth of this child in case a son was born. For Bedouins, having a son was crucial. One’s family name would have continuity. A son could support a family. The more sons one had, the
more prosperous one was. In old age, however, a daughter would be special support to a father. He was grateful that he had two daughters.

Gaspar picked up his knife and started drawing in the
sand. “We will first journey to Aleppo and then meet the
others in about one cycle of the moon from there. In a
fortnight, we will arrive at Palmyra and travel on through
Jericho, where we will ford the Jordan River. We must
present ourselves to the court of Herod, then travel a few
miles south to the site where we have estimated the child

is being nursed. Our plan, at this time, is to take the same
route on our return. It should take us less than four lunar
cycles to arrive back at this oasis.”

While Gaspar paused, a voice rang out. “But go on Abdul!” cried his great friend Nemir. “Your woman can well have a son without you being in attendance, like a midwife. Being around for the birth of your child won’t turn him into a boy.”

The men all started to laugh. Nemir was well known for
his ability to defuse the loudest argument with his wit
and whimsical remarks. He was short, squat, and rotund.
Nemir had an abundance, if not an excess, of energy. He
was blessed with a sunny, endearing nature, unlike that of
sober Abdul, who always wanted the facts.

Jamil watched the two men and knew they were great friends. He wondered what it would be like to have a friend with whom one could trust and laugh. “How can so much noise come out of such a little package? It must be empty like a drum,” said Abdul. He reached out and petted Nemir on the head, obviously making fun of how short his friend was. Just then, Jamil was nudged by another camel, who whispered into his ear, “Stop drinking . . . experience greatness . . . caravan journey.” Jamil shuddered with fear when he heard his own thoughts whispered to him.

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