Читать книгу Indaba, My Children: African Tribal History, Legends, Customs And Religious Beliefs - Vusamazulu Credo Mutwa - Страница 18

THE COMING OF THE SECOND PEOPLE

OR

‘THY ORDEAL, OH AMARAVA’

BEHOLD THE SURVIVORS!

Like the rest of the First Amarire People,

The beautiful Amarava was immortal and could live forever

Unless deliberately stabbed with a spear

Or devoured by a ferocious beast.

But unlike the rest of the Amarire People,

She had not become sterile, nor had she lost

The power of walking and running

In that world of floating mats and sleds;

Except, of course, those sub-human beings

Which Za-Ha-Rrellel, the Emperor, had created.

In that glittering fantastic world of the obese

Where even yawning had become a strenuous thing,

Amarava stood alone, like a full-hipped

Heavy-breasted narrow-waisted goddess

Amongst so many bloated, sterile

And depraved swine.

People laughed at her and called her a barbarian,

A crude and uncivilised atavism,

Who should have been cast off the floating golden city

To live in a cave like the savage she was.

But Amarava, whose name was later corrupted

By the Bantu to Mamiravi or Mamerafe

The so-called ‘Mother of Nations,’

Heeded none of all this ridicule.

She contented herself with composing—

Singing songs in which she bitterly derided

Her people with their hollow, meaningless,

Depraved and selfish civilization.

When the Emperor Za-Ha-Rrellel

Massed his metal beasts for his most disastrous attack

On the Tree of Life,

Amarava stood alone in the doorway

Of her humble silver hut

And watched with horror and deep fascination

As the clanking hordes of iron grass-hoppers

And huge bronze poisonous scorpions

Thundered by on their way to the Great Square.

Like the rest of the Amarire she already knew

The purpose of those myriads of robot insects

And just what they were intending to attack.

As she stood there a cloud of horrible apprehension

Darkened the pure blue skies of her virgin soul.

‘Oh no!’ she whispered, ‘Oh Great Za-Ha-Rrellel,

Now with this you are going too far!’

Then, sick at heart she turned

And commanding the door to close,

She dropped on her silver floating mat

And soon fell fast asleep.

She was awakened by a torrent

Of the most dreadful sounds she had ever heard

In her very many years of life.

Wild shrieks of incredible agony

Were mingled with growls and ululations of savage triumph;

And it felt as though the entire city was pitching

On waves of fantastic proportions.

Amarava leapt off her floating mat, at the same time calling

To her short green skirt of a second-class citizen,

To wrap itself around her hips.

The apparently living cloth obeyed

And the red girl leapt through the door of her hut,

Only to leap back with greater speed

As a heavy spear from a snarling Bjaauni female

Hummed past her head and rebounded with a clash

From the polished silver wall of her hut.

A mob of ferocious Bjaauni came running towards her hut,

Brandishing bloody axes and swords,

And the prostrate girl with horror noticed

That each one was messing around with an Amarire head.

These they threw like stones at those

Who were trying to escape on their flying mats;

None of the missiles was missing its target

And with screams they plunged back to earth.

Even before they reached the ground

They were impaled on awaiting spears.

A huge Bjaauni, whose body was criss-crossed with many scars

From countless death duels in Za-Ha-Rrellel’s arenas,

And who seemed to be the leader of the mob

Reached the crouching, terrified Amarava first.

He seized her by one leg and lifted her up

Like a small boy would lift a mouse by its tail,

And was about to plunge his sword through her body

When a blinding flash of unearthly silver light

And a shattering, glittering voice rang out from nowhere:

‘No, not her! Put that female down!’

Slowly the hulking savage

Laid Amarava down on the floor

And fell on his horny knees before

The awful silvery apparition

Dominantly towering over him.

The rest of the Bjaauni mob

Fled to the centre of the city

To seek more victims to butcher.

When her vision returned Amarava saw

The most terrifying sight of her life;

Towering above her prostrate form was a luminous silvery giantess,

Standing higher than the highest towers of the city—

The doomed city of Amak-Harabeti.

This giantess looked down at her,

And also the prostrate Bjaauni male,

With flashing golden eyes from which

A strange pity seemed to radiate.

Four heavy emerald-tipped breasts quivered

As she opened her mouth and spoke:

‘All, all are doomed to die, oh Amarava—

But I shall see to it that you are spared!’

‘Who – who are you?’ gasped the breathless Amarava.

‘I am Ninavanhu-Ma, the First Goddess

The wife of the Tree of Life.’

Amarava sprang to her feet and leapt

Over the grovelling Bjaauni who was moaning with fear—

With his ugly face buried in his hands;

‘Ma! Mother of Men! Great Goddess—

So the legends are right – all along they’ve been right!’

Shrieked the Amarire girl with tears in her eyes,

‘Forgive, oh forgive our sacrilege, Great One,

Forgive, oh forgive and spare thy misled children,

Spare the misguided Amarire! Spare us, oh Goddess!’

Crystal tears welled from the golden eyes of the Great Mother Ma

And fell like raindrops on the bloodstained street of the dying city.

A sob shook her tall silver form, and slowly,

As if struck by some deadly unseen missile,

The Goddess sagged to the ground.

Above her lightning ripped like flaming assegais

Through the growling rain-pregnant clouds,

And a howling wind roared through the golden streets

On which lay scattered dead bodies – in heaps,

Like fish in a fisherman’s boat.

The Great Goddess knelt before the startled girl—

A shimmering form of living silver that reflected the golden domes

Of the doomed city like in a mirror of bronze

Or a pool in the bowls of some deep forest.

Her radiant hands clasped the puny Amarava

And she writhed and cried out in agony;

Then with the tip of a silvery finger

She touched both the nipples of Amarava’s breasts.

She caressed her hips, and then lifting her up,

Kissed her in the centre of her abdomen.

‘Mother of Men!’ murmured Ma—

‘You shall bear the new races of men

Who shall in due course roam this earth.

You are the only Amarire I’ll spare,

You and you alone shall survive this holocaust.

I wish I could have spared

A great deal more of my children;

But I cannot, as a Power greater than myself

Bids me to save only you from all the Red People.

A Power greater than myself bids me also to save Odu—

The sub-human here, for he shall be your mate

And the Father of Future Races.’

Amarava stared horrified down at the sub-man

And a flood of unimaginable contempt,

Hatred and naked revulsion

Swept and overwhelmed her completely.

Surely the Goddess was not giving her,

The beautiful Amarava,

To this smelly, hideous thing for a mate!

Surely she, Amarava,

Daughter of the First Red People,

Was not being mated to this—

This odorous revolting, soulless beast—

This beast-of-burden the Emperor created

From putrid animal flesh!

A scream left the girl’s mouth in repulsive horror—

She cried and begged to be killed outright

Rather than be wedded to so contemptuous a thing

As Odu the Bjaauni – the Lowest of the Low!

‘My child,’ said the Goddess above the howling storm,

‘Forget your childish feelings and obey my commands;

Now place your hand on my thigh and swear

That you shall do as I tell you now—

Lo! There is little time left and I must needs leave

This evil world at the earliest moment!’

Suddenly the girl’s eyes were opened

In a strange and mysterious way—

She peered into the depths of Eternity itself;

She saw a cloud of swirling, dazzling living vapour

That shone brighter than the brightest star,

Brighter than the summer noonday sun,

And faintly across the immeasurable distance

Came a voice: ‘I Command – All Obey!’

The voice, faint as it was, seemed to tear

Into the very fibres of Amarava‘s being,

Until each of her pulsing veins

Strained and tensed in agony.

‘What . . . what was that?’ queried Amarava.

‘That, my child, is the All-powerful—

Who is, who was, and ever will be—

That is the Great Spirit, my child, Whom we must Obey!’

‘Goddess, First Mother, I promise to obey,’ she sighed,

Placing her hand on the deity’s blazing thigh,

Taking the Oath – ‘I swear to obey!’

‘Swear again, my child, this time

With your hand on my lower left breast’

This she did and found her hand scorched

By the radiance of the Goddess’s being.

‘I shall now create a robot shark

To transport you across the seas

And there you shall find new land

Which the earthquakes have left in peace.

There you, and Odu here, shall love each other

And once again re-populate the earth with men.

But since I can fathom your stubbornness

I am forced to take measures to see you obey—

You have touched me with your right hand

Which has been badly burnt as a result—

And I have burnt both your nipples with my finger,

While leaving a burn mark on your abdomen.

Now, whenever you think of breaking your oath,

Those parts I have touched shall give you such pain

As you have never felt before.

If you try to escape your mate and go into hiding,

I’ll give you three days of grace in agony—

Agony that will build up progressively.

After the three days in which to return,

Your flesh shall rot and fall off your body

But death will never come to your rescue

To release you from your eternal suffering.

I shall now take you to the robot shark—

That I have specially created for your transport,

And the mate I have chosen for you;

And child, may your breasts be ever full—

And your hips be ever fertile—’

* * *

These were the last words that Amarava heard

From the radiant lips of Ninavanhu-Ma;

For at that very instant she fell unconscious to the ground

As the strain of the experience was too great for her.

Then the Goddess diverted her attention to Odu

Who cringed in animal fear at her feet;

This creature forlorn – neither man nor beast—

Greatly moved the compassionate Goddess to pity.

But as she extended her hand to this man-made soulless thing

He uttered a hoarse scream of undiluted terror,

And shrank back gibbering like a hypnotised ape

Which in features he so closely resembled.

‘Odu!’ spoke the Goddess sharply,

‘Look up and listen to me – I command!’

And Odu raised his revolting apology for a face,

Groping sightlessly with deepest bloodshot eyes.

‘Do you see this female here Odu – do you see her?’

‘Yes . . . Odu sees . . . Female of hateful masters.’

‘I give her to you – take good care of her;

With her you shall once again populate the world.’

Odu’s animal mind could not grasp all this,

But he humbly indicated agreement, faithful slave that he was;

For once in his artificial life he tried to think for himself,

But became much more confused than he ever was before.

His bulky body was quaking with pure terror

And he felt the urge to escape as fast and as far

As his massive legs could carry him.

He knew he had killed Za-Ha-Rrellel,

The Big One of the hated masters,

And very many other Amarire,

But he was only completely puzzled

At not being punished for all he did.

On the contrary, now he is lovingly asked

To take good care of the last survivor!

The Goddess suddenly conjured a massive net

Into which she bundled both terrified creatures;

On regaining their senses they were clinging to each other

As they plunged through the waves on a robot fish.

The giant city capsized and sank behind them,

But onward dashed the artificial fish

Through restless waves – ploughing a foaming path

To safety beyond the horizon.

The sea was still filthy, having just devoured

Whole continents and millions of beasts and men;

Cruel and restless, and still scalding hot

While above, the clouds continued to grumble—

Vomiting forth bolt after bolt of thunderous lightning.

Amarava cried out aloud as the realisation struck her

That well and truly she was the last living human being;

For three whole days she cried without ceasing

While forward they sped through seas, now slowly calming.

Night fell and the moon smiled weakly

Upon a destructed earth;

Dancing waves turned to liquid silver

And still the great fish went on—

Eastward and eastward, without a pause.

The sun rose in all its torrid splendour—

The Song of Day whispered a wordless melody

Over guilty waters and naked mountains—

Swept clean of animal and human life.

Now and again Amarava saw

Rocks rearing above the foaming waters—

All that were left of a continent she knew,

Now drowned beneath the passionless seas.

Amarava lost, count of the number of days

That floated by like migrating birds

And was conscious only of a weakness she felt

In both her body and soul.

She felt like a plant which had lost its roots—

Like driftwood on the waters of time;

Naked and helpless in a mad Universe—

She wept till she could weep no more.

Loud within the vaults of her mind

Was the thought that the world she had known

And loved, for she knew no better,

Was dead forever – and Future loomed as an ugly ghost.

The poem of Amarire had been chanted

Through to its very last verse

And now the drums of Fate are sounding

The beginning of yet another poem.

The parent plant had withered and died

But from its mould it cast forth a seed,

Soon to arise as a fresh new plant,

For such is the law of Nature.