I was the only architect in the group eagerly walking down ward along Wadi Musa Village in a bid to make it to the heart of Petra, the rock city unique in its architecture, layout and approach.   As we moved in a single file along the ancient narrow stony path dimly lit on either side by candles shielded in brown waxed paper shades, my fragile thoughts held a promise for a powerful experience that lay ahead.  And above the full moon shone in exuberance accompanied by a myriad stars.

Petra, about three hours drive south of Amman, Jordan was founded in the sixth century BC by the Nabatean Arabs, a nomadic tribe from Yemen which settled in the area and laid foundations of  a magnificent commercial empire, trading with China, India, Assyria and Mesopotamia.  Despite successive attempts by the Roman Emperors Pompey and Herod the Great to bring Petra under the control of their respective empires, Petra remained largely in Nabatean hands, until around 100 AD, when the Romans finally took it over.

It was still inhabitanted during the Byzantine period but declined in importance as the rival city of Palmyra (in Syria) grabbed most of its trade.  The Muslims conquered it in the seventh century while the crusaders captured it in the twelveth century, but soon withdrew leaving Petra to the local Bedouins.  Over time the golden-red hued soft sand stone rocks slowly submitted to the battering of wind driven sand and rain and the city gradually fell into ruins.

The very memory of the great and mighty city was lost and its location completely forgotten, till it became a legend of mystery and wonder.  Shrouded in elusiveness it excited the imagination of early travelers and finally in 1812 the Swiss explorer Johann Burckhardt penetrated the veil of mystery and rediscovered Petra.

The moonlight was casting dazzling shadows on the ambient rocks.  Drifting deeper and deeper into history the stony track turned right as we came to a narrow winding passage squeezed between lofty sandstone mountain walls that curved in wards while soaring skywards a thousand feet high.  This was the Siq; the secret approach to Petra.  In places the rock walls almost hugged each other, shutting out the moonlight, yet at other points these parted just enough to allow a glimpse of the moonlit sky and the twinkling stars.  Dwarfed by these tall eerie rocks which were weathered by time into fantastic shapes and forms, we went along the winding pathway more than a mile through the gorge as it dramatically narrowed more and more.

Light turned to shade with deep shadows.  From a distance a mesmerizing melody became audible.  It was the sound of the Nabatean flute.  As we moved along the dry torrent bed of shadowy ravine the resonance amplified.  Instinctively I looked up.  The steep cliffs on either side seemed to rise higher and higher as I arched my neck even further to marvel at the scale and grandeur of nature.  I felt my existence transforming into a non-entity amidst the powerful existence of the silent cliffs standing tall with daunting presence since eons of time.

As we moved further the melody of the flute grew louder and then in the next movement, a sweeping surprise.  No one could have prepared me for confronting such splendor as we emerged through the dark cleft in the gorge.  In front lay a large clearing of space floored with soft sand and a thousand candles, surrounded by rose red cliffs, and the city of Petra with its rock cut crown jewel; the Treasury stood before me in all its majesty and silent glory.  Time stood still as I gradually absorbed the glowing beauty and the perfect proportions of the rock sculpture.

Lit by the silvery moonlight from the top and the golden candle light from below the Treasury carved out from the sand stone cliff walls towered 150 feet high with tall stately Corinthian columns supporting a Roman Pediment.  On a ledge above the triangular pediment were more columns and huge niches cradling Nabatean goddesses, while a curvilinear colonnaded element in the centre supported a gigantic ornate urn.    The sheer symmetry and spatial majesty of the structure evoked a sense of cosmic order and proportion.   The legend goes that the Treasury was a hiding place for the treasure, but in reality it was a cross between a temple and a tomb,  perhaps both at the same time.  As I stood gazing at the Treasury  in a trance,  the melancholy sound of the flute echoed from the surrounding cliffs.  

We moved on along the gorge as it narrowed again with great tombs and temples on either side cut in subtly coloured rock bearing eloquent testimony to Petra’s former power, wealth and culture.  A little further down on the left were the rising tiers of seats of a semicircular amphitheatre, cut out of living rock and capable of seating 3000 spectators. 

The heart of Petra was approaching as the flanking hills fell back considerably on either sides leaving an open space a mile long and nearly as wide.  I knew that the magnificence of the metropolis spanned over 250 acres of which I had just got a glimpse.  By now it was past midnight and time to head back.

Tomorrow I would return to see how Nabateans remodeled nature to match their needs by carving temples, tombs, palaces, baths, and private dwellings into the rock thereby creating a unique fusion of Assyrian, Egyptian, Greek and Roman architecture, some 2000 years ago.  Tomorrow I would return to see how the Nabateans guarded the only entrance to Petra.  How they lined the weathered walls of the gorge formed millions of years ago with channels to carry drinking water to the city.  How they built a dam to right side of the entrance to divert an adjoining stream through a tunnel to prevent it from flooding the gorge.  Tomorrow I would draw in the majestic beauty of El Deir Temple, the jewel in the crown of rock cut temples.  But tomorrow was distant while present was reality.  A poem, a song!

The night was sweet and still and the only sound was that of the rustling of sand beneath our feet and the occasional hushed whispers.  I recollected that until the mid 1980’s many of the tombs and temples were still occupied by the local Bedouins and their flocks of goats and herds of camels.  After sunset their log fires would create sparkling points of light in the enveloping darkness while their songs would reverberate with a strange loudness in the utter stillness.  Although these Bedouins were evicted by the Jordanian Government when declaring Petra, a tourist site, but still I had this strange feeling that a dark bearded Bedouin in black flowing wrap of hand spun goat hair, whose ancestors had resided in Petra tombs and temples for hundreds of years would suddenly emerge from behind the rocks any moment.  Instinctively I turned to look back, but my vision narrowed through the gorge and beyond there was mysterious darkness through which and I could see no more.

Midway I sat on a boulder, glistening white in the milky moonlight.  Bending down I scooped a handful of dry silvery sand in my palm and felt it flow through my fingers like sands of time in an hour-glass.  The poignancy of sculptured poetry in sandstone and the Nabatean magic was around me.  Knowing that these magical moments were only for to night I closed my eyes in an endeavor to capture them.  Had I been half as gifted as David Roberts; the acclaimed Scottish painter I would have lovingly made illustrations of the Petra landscape and monuments as he did back in 1839 while visiting Petra.  Whereas Roberts returned from Petra to transform his hauntingly beautiful illustrations into delicate lithographs that dazzled the world, I returned with vivid etchings of Petra landscape and monuments in my mind as one of the greatest wonders ever wrought by nature and man.