I
t was the day of the river goddess in the village of Yakunda. Moments before dawn a full moon glowed in the pitch darkness. With the calm around the palace one could almost think the village was ruled by discordant crickets chirping in the silence. Inside his thatched-roof court, King Yamuna sat on a stool and propped his chin on his hands. He gazed intently into the sky through the almost-perfect square opening carved into the clay walls. Where is the rain? Yamuna’s body twitched.
Tsangu was seated beside his father. When he noticed his father fidget often he offered, ‘Don’t worry, baba. The rain will come.’
Yamuna drew a loaded sigh through the pit of his paunch and flabby chest and exhaled noisily. He shifted his attention to the boy whose eyes sparkled in the night like those of an owl. His heir, only nine rains old, had begun showing a hungry interest in the affairs of the kingdom. Tsangu had stayed awake through the night to share his father’s burden while his mother and five elder sisters snored their night away in another hut. Stacks of pride heaped the king’s heart. His mind felt light and he could think clearly.
Fiddling with his goatee beard Yamuna visualized the event he knew would be happening in the forest skirting the village. Nnmanga and the other medicine men would complete the sacrifice soon. It should rain any time, he extended his patience.
‘Baba,’ Tsangu called, observing the moon that lingered in the sky.
‘Yes, my son.’
‘So we have entered a new year today?’
‘That’s right. The first full moon after our yam harvest festival marks the beginning of a new year.’
‘Why do we make sacrifices to Zakaya on the first day of the year?’
Good question, Yamuna thought. ‘We do this that the goddess might protect our land from evil in the year.’
Tsangu held a silence of curiosity before he carried on with his chatter. ‘A few days ago I heard some guards say that if Zakaya does not give rain on the day of the river goddess it means there will be trouble that year. Is this true, baba?’
The king fumed within him at the loosed tongued guards. On the other hand he thought these sorts of inquisitions were not wrong to come from a child next in line to the throne. Over the last twenty-six rains since he assumed the crown he prayed this wouldn’t happen during his reign as king. The question hit him with a fearsome foreboding that made him swallow hard. ‘Yes,’ he forced the answer out of the tremor that gagged his throat. ‘No rain means trouble ahead.’

Meanwhile, atop the highest cliff in the forest Nnmanga and six medicine men recited spiritual songs for a while before they could invoke the spirit of Zakaya out of the waters. These seven elders represented the village when it came to spiritual matters and they wore red robes affixed with charms. An enigmatic current began disturbing the river that coursed below the cliff; it flowed faster and made resounding roars. As the wind howled, echoes of troubled animals shrilled out of the green mangrove and a myriad of bush warbler birds squawked out of their nesting trees, flapping into a timid escape.
The eerie feeling that engulfed the atmosphere assured the wise one. ‘She is out here with us,’ Nnmanga said.
In response to these signs, the medicine men swirled their beads of charm in the air and recited incantations seeking Zakaya’s peace. For Zakaya’s fury knew no bound whenever the goddess roused out of the water; it is believed that She swallowed up anyone who called on Her without real purpose.
Nnmanga stepped forward to the edge of the cliff. He opened both his arms to the moon and declared: ‘Zakaya, the seven spirits of the seven waters embodied inside one goddess. You are everywhere and in all lands. Of all the great waters of the world You have chosen our river to dwell. You have left noble Kingdoms far away in envy as they journey here to appease You. What is Yakunda that we have found this much favor in your sight? Life is yet to be given to a man who can do without water. Merciful are You, river goddess, to them that honor You and cruel are You to them who despise You. Among all the gods You are supreme. On behalf of the king and the people of Yakunda, I present to you our sacrifice for the New Year. Let it please You to show mercy to your people again this day. May it please you to judge us fairly in the accusations that men or spirits bring before You. Though our land is small, teach our arms to fight when greater enemies rise to consume us. These are things You have required of us since the days of our fathers up until now.’ He lifted a brown calabash up to the heavens and said, ‘Behold, the sacred palm oil, peaceful in its nature and used to cure infirmities. Let Yakunda be cured of infirmity in this year.’ Nnmanga turned and pointed to the white lambs tethered nearby. ‘Here are your lambs. Twenty one of them. Accept their blood in place of ours. Now let the rain of mercy wash away all evil before your people.’ He turned over the calabash and poured the palm oil into the river.
His medicine men pulled razor-sharp knives out of their goatskin sheath.
Divine, exactly how the wise one felt after every sacrifice he had led and this one wasn’t different. He gripped his long staff as he watched the lambs’ throat slit on the edge of the cliff one at a time. The thick red blood that trickled out of their neck and dropped into the river was met with a smile of approval on the wise one’s furrowed face.

Back at the palace, the cock crows were over as dawn made way for a bright morning. King Yamuna glanced outside his court one last time. He didn’t see any rain, not even a drop. The sky was empty and clear. Yamuna began to reflect that his life-long fear had come to pass. With his hands clasped behind his back and his heart pounding under his chest, the bulky man walked from wall to wall inside his antique-rich court, ignoring the seated presence of his wife, six children and council of chiefs. Yamuna strayed into memory.
Growing up, he had heard folklore about the last time the river goddess didn’t give rain after the yearly sacrifice. It was in the days of Tekanka the king, his great-grandfather. Those were doomed times when Zakaya held the rain back in the sky for over three rainy seasons. The fields and the streams dried up. A severe famine starved man and animal to death. When the rains returned it came as a sweeping flood. Also, much to Yamuna’s disgust, he heard how the neighboring villagers in the east, from that enemy of old, Elohosa, had slept with their women before agreeing to give them food - a union that produced a number of bastards who were forced out of the village years later after normalcy returned. This couldn’t be happening again? Yamuna reeled under a wave of panic. Tekanka the king, who had been the reason behind his own misfortune, happened to be a drunkard in his time. It was said that he could drink in his sleep. Not until later did the Oracle reveal that Zakaya punished Tekanka the king for blaspheming against Her femininity after one of his long drinking session. But Yamuna did not drink that he would utter profane words against the goddess. He couldn’t think of a cause. While he deliberated with the council of chiefs, Bafango, his chief guard, marched into the court. ‘My lord, the seven elders have arrived outside the palace.’ The chunky guard paused before he added, ‘The villagers have started to gather as well.’ Disturbed, Yamuna looked to his chiefs. He never had qualms addressing his people’s concern, but the day of the river goddess was more than a concern. He could imagine the concerned flock gathered on the open ground outside the palace, waiting for his explanation. First Nnmanga must explain whatever went wrong with his sacrifice. He instructed Bafango to call the elders in at once.

Outside in the growing mayhem, Nnmanga wished he could distance himself from the embarrassment. That morning marked his thirty-sixth annual offering to Zakaya and first time without a result. His ears picked up dissonant jabs of complaints hurled at his person: Why is he still our chief priest? The council of chiefs should have had him replaced long ago… People continued to groan. A few were polite to approach him and ask why it didn’t rain at dawn. ‘I don’t know,’ Nnmanga snapped every time. ‘I did all that is meant to be done.’ Grey-haired and crinkled as one could expect of a man seventy-nine rains old, Nnmanga took celestial pleasure in foretelling the words of the gods to the people of Yakunda. For years he’d boasted of how only death could prevent him from appeasing the gods. That noisy morning Nnmanga cringed as though his gods incongruously deserted him.
The noise subsided when Bafango marched out onto the palace front bay. ‘Wise one,’ the chief guard said, his voice strident. ‘My lord requires your presence in the palace at once.’
Vicious chants of boos reverberated, escorting Nnmanga and his medicine men as they plodded out of the troubled crowd. As Bafango ushered the seven elders through the open palace compound, the guards, maids and slaves hung outside their huts, staring at the medicine men with petrified faces. How could the wise one explain to each and every one that his duty as chief priest was to offer the sacrifice and not to bring down the rain? It was the king’s duty to address his people. Then the wise one got the feeling that the king as well waited to throw blames at him for the unrest upon the village. How could he become a questionable character so soon? While they walked he searched for a possible cause. His eyes glowed the moment an incident that happened many rains ago revisited his mind. He believed he could now make sense of it all. His esoteric knowledge of the world beyond made him conclude that the spirit of a certain man the king killed had returned to haunt the king as it said it would. Nnmanga was eager to remind king Yamuna of his past error when given the chance to speak. Surely Yamuna must agree with him.
Bafango led them inside the king’s court illuminated by diminutive lights flickering over tin saucers spread out across the floor. Frankincense smoke swirled out of clay pots positioned at the wall corners – a charm to appeal to the gods whenever the village witnessed any form of distress. In the room where king Yamuna was seated, his family and council of chiefs, just as glum, sat on benches around him. As expected, king Yamuna cast a glance of blame at Nnmanga upon sight. The wise one bowed his head to declare his respect for the throne while the younger seers prostrated themselves. ‘All hail king Yamuna, may you live long on the throne of your fathers,’ they intoned.
‘I wish to be left alone with the wise one.’ The king’s response pierced everyone with surprise. They filed out of the king’s court, except the king-to-be who had a right to hear of all matters concerning the village. From the arc-shaped entrance, the queen called to Tsangu to come along but he refused to heed and turned his back. Yamuna signaled his wife to leave Tsangu with him. The entire village knew Prince Tsangu to be the apple of his father’s eye, not to mention the striking resemblance between father and son – both plump and bald with three small marks incised into their foreheads. These marks signified a life of good fortune. About the same height as most children of nine rains, Tsangu had a typical Afrikan darkness and cultured in manners. However, a marked contrast existed between him and the other children of the village. Few times they gathered around him, it was like having a diamond among gravel stones.
‘Wise one, the throne greets you. Please have your seat.’
Nnmanga sank down onto the bench opposite the king and his son.
‘Wise one, you have been the chief priest of this village now for thirty-five rains and -.’
‘Thirty-six rains, my lord,’ Nnmanga cut in. ‘This morning makes it thirty-six rains.’
The king feigned a smile. He didn’t seem interested in details at that moment. ‘In those years,’ he continued, ‘You made sacrifices to the goddess and she replied with rain right away, even before the cock crows. Why is there no rain this year?’
Nnmanga’s ego was dragged on the ground and got bruised. He hummed girdly before deciding that an attack was the best form of defense. ‘I don’t know why Zakaya has refused to give rain. I am just hoping it’s not because of your past deed.’
‘My past deed! Just what exactly do you mean by my past deed?’ The king was a step away from going into flames.
Seeing the king’s reaction to his sarcasm Nnmanga was silent. Contempt to the king’s face was not acceptable. He reconsidered his tact.
‘It seems you have something on your mind. You might as well complete it, Nnmanga.’
‘My lord, I think the spirit of the slave you killed is now set to punish you.’
King Yamuna hardened his brows with surprise for seconds, totally lost. He rolled his huge eyeballs to a corner when he placed who Nnmanga referred to. ‘Is this a joke, Nnmanga? It has been well over twenty rains that that happened.’
‘Yes I know. Our people have a saying, “he who defecates doesn’t remember, but he who cleans it never forgets”. All that was required of you then was a simple sacrifice.’
The king clasped his hands together, his eyes fixed to the ground. ‘Are you now saying there would be calamity this year?’
‘However you look at it, for the village, yes, since it hasn’t rained. And for you, it could yet be worse. Who knows?’
‘Can we offer the sacrifice to the spirit now?’ King Yamuna looked at Tsangu beside him.
Nnmanga glanced at the king with disdainful eyes. Memories floated through the elder’s mind. It felt just like yesterday that Nnmanga’s soul had risen out of him in a trance and skittered to the land of the dead to appeal for mercy after Yamuna killed one of his slaves in his early days as king. And what is more, Nnmanga had returned back to life with a dreadful message which the king ignored when he had the chance to redeem himself. ‘Noth….’ Four hacking coughs interrupted the wise one’s failing cadence. ‘Nothing we do now will bring rain. We just have to wait and see what will befall us.’


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