Son of a King

Chapter 1


“My Lord!”
King Uripo of Uripo was deep in thought when he heard his chief advisor calling out to him. He scratched the ground with his staff and scowled. He wanted peace. No, he needed peace. He’d come to this secluded spot for many reasons—none of them included being disturbed by Saga. He had made it clear he wanted to be alone with his thoughts.
The king took two steps to the right effectively hiding his body behind a Baobab trunk. It was better cover than the thorn bushes nearby. He stood still and listened. If Saga couldn’t find him he would have to leave.
For a time all was quiet and Uripo allowed himself to breath a little easier. Saga’s black robe and beads made it impossible for him to move quietly.
“My Lord, there you are!”
The king jumped. When he turned he found Saga standing next to him. His jaw clenched in frustration.
“Did I not ask for privacy?” Uripo spoke through gritted teeth.
“I was told but I knew that order didn’t apply to me,” Saga replied. “Especially today of all days.”
Uripo closed his eyes and struggled not to shout. Finally he threw his hands up in the air with a great sigh. It was better than taking Saga’s skinny neck in hand and squeezing the life out of him. It would be easy enough given that Saga was reed thin, his skin shrivelled up like a dry prune.
“What makes today special?”
If Saga heard the mocking tone in Uripo’s voice he chose to ignore it.
“The birthing of your heir, of course. It is as certain as the sun rises from the east and sets in the west,” said Saga his chief advisor and native healer. “All the signs point to a male offspring.”
Uripo had done this eighteen times and each time had been as disappointing as the last. His hopes dashed to pieces with the cries of each newborn. Even now with the possibility that with another baby’s cries his hope would be squashed—again, hope still refused to be snuffed out. Hope was a funny thing, thought Uripo. It could not be smothered even under increasingly depressing odds. It just refused to die.
He was fifty-five years old well past his prime and  not getting any younger. During the course of his life, he’d married five women in the hope that each new wife would give him a son. They had all failed. It was twenty-two years since he’d married for the first time and in all those years he’d produced eighteen female offspring. What a calamity!
He was Uripo, King of the lands south of the great Zambezi River. His lands were very rich extending all the way to the Ngezi River. His grazing lands were prime, the wildlife surrounding him abundant. His people never lacked and had been prosperous since time immemorial. As far as he knew his was the richest kingdom in the area.
He had many children but because they were girls none of them could ascend the throne or inherit his wealth.
Why oh why, he lamented had the Creator struck him in such a manner. Did he not rule his lands with justice and treat his neighbors with fairness?  Surely the Creator and the ancestors would answer his fervent prayers this time.
“Forgive me Saga if I cannot give heed to your words. You have said the same words to me too many times over the last twenty years,” he said harshly.
“But my Lord—”
“Stop. I do not wish to hear anymore,” Uripo said sharply. His words were a reflection of the bitterness within. “Was it not you Saga who raised my hopes too many times to count? You who foretold a great and legendary son and yet here we are today.”
“My lord…”
“Where is the son you promised me, Saga?” King Uripo demanded angrily.
 “He is coming, my king,” Saga sputtered in shock.  “The bones don’t lie.”
“Then perhaps it is you who lied!”
 Saga’s mouth opened and closed. He looked thoroughly affronted.It was unthinkable that anyone would doubt the ancestors.
“I would never!”
“Leave me now Saga,” Uripo ordered. “Perhaps we will have this conversation again at another birthing but for now I have had enough.” 
With a swish of his black robes Saga left Uripo under the baobab. Uripo could hear him muttering to himself even after he lost sight of his shiny bald patch.

***

The birth of a child was a common thing. It was as common as the birthing of a calf. This was true in any other household except King Uripo’s. From the moment Mutsa’s labor began, the news would have spilled over from his household into the village. His people would be talking. Eighteen children and no male offspring in sight. 

‘Do you think this time it will be a boy?’ the women would gossip at the well and the men would discuss it over a calabash of beer. His personal troubles fodder for gossipmongers.

All of them were laughing at him behind his back! 

His father’s line would not die out. His brother Dzukwa was more than capable of taking over the kingship. Uripo would continue but his memory would fade into nothing. 

Ah, but to have a son!

Saga’s little interruption had broken his peace and Uripo decided to go back to his compound. He took a seat on an old anthill where he could observe the activity in his compound without being seen. The child would come soon.

But the afternoon quickly passed and dusk turned to dawn and still the child did not come. 

The women slinked out of Mutsa’s hut, heads bent while their faces were cast in sad lines. With a sinking spirit, Uripo watched this sorry display from the anthill. When delivery was delayed the mother and child were not likely to survive. 

Even the dogs seemed to pick up on the sad atmosphere as their barks were more than a little subdued. Uripo continued to watch all this with a heavy heart. His wives and daughters came in and quickly fled into their own huts they were certain Mutsa was going to lose her life. 

No one dared to approach him. 

Mutsa was Uripo’s third wife and his favourite. Like his other wives she was exceptionally beautiful. What set her apart was the beauty that glowed from within. She had a sweet and gentle nature that appealed to him at a basic level. Her home was a place of peace and he loved her like no other.

A heavy silence overshadowed the compound as one day turned to two and then into three.On the third day, dark clouds arrived from the south and it began to rain; the first  of the season. Warned by the rumble of thunder, families abandoned their daily labors and hurriedly escaped into their huts as the rain tumbled down from the dark skies  in earnest. 

Uripo moved to the semi-protection of Mutsa’s overhanging thatch. 

The great baobab tree that stood at the center of the village was struck by lightning. To Uripo it seemed to be an ill omen.

Renegade raindrops dripped from the thatch to land on the lion pelt ardorning his shoulders, but he paid them no heed. Weary beyond words, he sat there too heartsick to move.

***

Inside Mutsa’s hut, only Gogo Mangwana the midwife remained with her. The rest of the women had gone back to their homes. There was nothing more they could do.

A fire blazed hotly in the fire pit. Mutsa groaned softly as a fresh wave of pain rippled over her lower abdomen. The midwife sat huddled close to the fire. Her encouraging words had ceased long ago. Mutsa knew that the old woman had lost all hope. She had seen the resignation in her eyes as the labor refused to progress normally. Surely, she was about to die and her child with her, 

At the moment, Mutsa thought the pain  too much to bear. For three days the pains had come and gone leaving her exhausted and the  midwife baffled. But as night fell once more, something different began to take place. The pains became constant and would not let up.  

Her groaning roused Gogo Mangwana from her reverie. Her eyes sparkled with fresh hope.

“Let me see,” she said with more excitement than she had shown for the last few hours. As she examined her patient she suddenly cackled with delighted laughter.

“The great lion’s beard!” she exclaimed.

“What is it?” asked Mutsa in breathless terror. “What is happening?”

Gogo Mangwana, the old midwife, had been so sure no one could save the mother and child. She had done everything within her power to help them, but  to no avail up until now. 

Even Saga, had come and gone, baffled like she was. The will of the Creator would come to pass he had said when he had finally left the hut. It seemed like the Creator and the ancestors had heard their prayers because the baby was now on its way out. It was nothing short of a miracle.

Mutsa,racked by increasing waves of agonizing pain, was vaguely aware of the midwife crouched at her feet. She gripped the blankets each time the pain reached a peak and then she breathed out with relief as it eased a little. 

“Please, you have to tell me,” she pleaded with the old woman between desperate gasps for air. 

Her brown eyes were pools of torment as she waited for the woman to tell her what was happening. She held back a scream as another wave of pain crested. She had already borne three children and giving birth to them hadn’t been this difficult. She didn’t even know if her baby would live at this point.

Instead of answering her, Gogo Mangwana  said,“I need you to bear down very hard.”.

Mutsa did not need to be told twice. She would have done anything to get rid of the pain. Mustering all the strength she could find she pushed as hard as her could. 

The last powerful contractions gripped her as every muscle tightened to expel the baby from her womb. It took every bit of her remaining strength, but the child finally slid out into the midwife’s waiting arms. 

A lusty wail filled the hut and Mutsa gave a cry of gladness. Tired, but filled with happiness, Mutsa fell back onto the blankets as the tears of thanksgiving spilled from her grateful eyes. 

Her child was alive!

Gogo Mangwana turned the wet child towards the light so that she could see it more clearly. “By the great lion’s beard. It’s a boy!” she exclaimed joyously. “He is a bit small, but that will soon change,”she cackled in her high pitched voice. “My dear, it almost killed you, but you have made a prince for Uripo. Our king finally has a son!”

Mutsa felt more pains but assumed it was the afterbirth. But the pain didn’t lessen. It was as if she was having the baby all over again.

“Gogo, something is happening.”

Gogo Mangwana carefully cleaned the child and wrapped him in a soft sheep blanket and laid him next to his mother. Her old hands trembled. She couldn’t wait to share the good news. 

“Let me see,” Gogo Mangwana said. 

The afterbirth did not normally cause such pain as it passed out of the body.

“What’s going on?” asked Mutsa in alarm. Was she going to die now after the baby was delivered?

The midwife ignored her patient’s query as she quickly moved to Mutsa’s knees. Sometimes women died in childbirth and she was suddenly afraid Mutsa would meet the same fate. The birth had been a long and difficult one and there was a high possibility of complications developing. There was always the danger of a woman bleeding out or becoming infected after extensive tearing. But the boy was small and Gogo Mangwana was certain there had been no tearing.

 Kneeling between Mutsa’s thighs the midwife gasped  out loud  at  the sight which met her eyes. Two tiny feet were just emerging as a second child made its entry into the world.

“What is it?” gasped Mutsa anxiously as she felt her body begin the painful process to expel its burden again.

“It’s another baby,” Gogo Mangwana answered. “You must bear down once more.”

A few moments later a squirming baby landed in Gogo Mangwana’s arms. Gogo Mangwana held it up to the light. Too exhausted to lift her head, Mutsa stared at it with dawning horror. She’d given birth to twins.

“By the great lion’s beard, it’s another boy!” Gogo Mangwana exclaimed marveling at the strange turn of events.

Mutsa’s back bowed, shoulders shaking as she gave in to racking sobs.

***

Deep in thought, the king was impervious to the icy wind that buffeted the wood and straw structure of Mutsa’s hut. He had waited a long time for news, but time continued to drag on with no news. For three days he had waited in the same spot. At first, begging the Creator and the ancestors for a male child. But as more time passed he had began to pray for the life of his wife instead. It was almost certain the child would die he  reasoned, but, perhaps, the gods would spare Mutsa.

Then suddenly, a thin wail pierced the darkness only to be quickly swallowed by the elements. Not sure what he had heard, King Uripo sprang to his feet and hurriedly made his way around  Mutsa’s hut. He was sure the cry had come from inside. 

At the door, he heard the sound of weeping coming from within. His steps faltered and he feared what he would find when he went in. Taking a deep fortifying breath he swept into the hut.

 The rain and the wind followed him inside before he could firmly close the door behind him. Then the sounds of the storm were muted and he could hear the cry of a newborn child. A mixture of hope and fear struggled in his heart. He paused for a moment while his eyes adapted to the meager light offered by the fire in the pit.  At his entrance, the midwife screamed in a shrill voice. 

“My Lord, you scared me!” she exclaimed. Her death grip on the bundle she was holding loosened.

The child began to wail again startled by the noise. 

“The ancestors have heard you, my king,” she smiled. “You have a son.”

Uripo tipped his back and roared.When he finally quietened tears were streaming down his face.

“The Creator be praised!” He said. “Uripo has an heir.”

Uripo couldn’t breathe. He hadn’t dared to believe…

The baby’s cries made a huge smile spread across his face. He couldn’t have stopped it even if he’d tried. He had a son.

The King’s eyes moved beyond the midwife to his wife who was weeping uncontrollably on the blankets where she lay.

“Thank you, Mutsa,” he said as he hurried over to her. “You have given me a son. How shall I ever thank you?”

His words only led to a fresh outbreak of weeping and the king glanced at the midwife in confusion. These were not happy tears.

“Don’t weep, my beloved,” he said trying his best to comfort her. “This is a time for celebration. You have done what no woman has been able to do for me. Don’t you understand what you have done for me?”

This seemed to make no impression on Mutsa and so he cleared his throat and continued,“All my children are loved whether they are boy or girl. But this child is important because he will be king after me.”

He had finished speaking when  Mutsa turned to him. This caused the woolen  blanket to fall away revealing a tiny body lying next to her body.  

The king’s jaw dropped as understanding dawned upon him. The contents of his stomach heaved dangerously and he tasted the acrid taste of bile in his mouth. For a minute, he was in real danger of disgracing himself.

His gaze ping ponged between the two babies. 

Twins! Not even in his worst nightmare could he have conceived such a disaster.

“My king,” the midwife said with gravity,“the children are both male.”

King Uripo blinked at the old woman who was gushing with joy as she spoke.

“You have to choose quickly so that the other can be fed.”

She picked up the child laying next to Mutsa and presented the two boys to him, one on each arm. The king’s eyes skipped over the babies and came to rest on his wife who wept the harder at his silent regard. 

He closed his eyes for a second as he silently cursed the Creator and all his ancestors for turning what should have been a joyous occasion into a tragic one.

The king regarded his sons with pain-filled eyes. They both looked the same to him. 

Seeing his interest in the babies the midwife said,“The youngest one is bigger than the first. It would be best to keep him instead of the other.” 

As their father, he would have to choose which child would live or die. The fate of his children lay squarely on his shoulders. Unlike albinos and cripples who were condemned to die the minute they left their mother’s womb, tradition dictated that when twins were born only one could be allowed to live.   There were no exceptions, not even for a king. It was the will of the ancestors.

All his life he’d upheld the traditions ensuring the will of the ancestors was followed throughout his domain as his father before him. 

Disobedience would only lead to a curse. The rains would fail and the crops would perish in the fields. Disaster upon disaster would strike the land and joy would be stolen from every resident. 

He had never dreamt that one day he would be one of the men unfortunate enough to father twins. It was a punishment worse than death. He had prayed for a son and the Creator had given him two instead of one. Why were things never easy where the Creator was concerned?

Taking the smallest child, he commanded the other to be given to his mother. The twins had not yet suckled, only the chosen one would have the privilege to do so. 

Without a word, Uripo carried his firstborn son out into the rainy night.

The rain fell in a silvery torrent obscuring everything more than five meters away in a thick gray shroud. He could barely make out the many huts that made up the king’s compound. He saw instead only dark indistinct shapes. The night seemed a little darker than before. The howling wind kept rising like the screams of a thousand witches. The rain buffeted King Uripo, soaking his clothes and blinding his eyes. Shielding the child from the rain, he walked away from Mutsa’s hut. 

He met no one on his lonely trek to the village below. No one sane would go out in such miserable weather.

Rivers of rainwater dug gullies in the sand as they rushed downhill to the river. The king carefully picked his way through the village heading determinedly for the path that led to the river. A few dogs barked as he passed the compounds located on the northern side of the village. Once he entered the forest, the thick canopy of leaves protected him from the wind. 

 The child in his arms squirmed and his fingers tightened reflexively on the boy. The warm little body seemed to burrow closer,seeking his warmth. But the king shivered, he was so cold on the inside and he did not feel like he could ever be warm again. 

For the last fifteen years, he had been obsessed with the thoughts of fathering a male child. He had been disappointed each time his wives gave birth to girls, but he had never stopped hoping. He was a king, a leader among men and, to the exclusion of anything else, he was consumed with the desire for having an heir. Perhaps,having the twins was his punishment for the callous way he had dealt with his wives and daughters because of this driving need.

His trek finally led him to the edge of the mighty Zambezi River which, at this point, was more than four hundred meters wide. From the rocky outcrop where he was standing several meters above the water, it looked like a large silver serpent with neither head nor tail. The river’s surface appeared calm and there were a few trees growing in it. 

The river was home to many animals, including the dreaded river god Nyaminyami. No one outside traditional healers had ever seen the god. Ordinary people would occasionally catch glimpses of it’s giant black scaled serpentine body. Even then sightings were rare.Nyaminyami only appeared in times of great calamity.

  It was at this river that the second twins, albinos, dwarves and cripples were returned to the spirit world where such things did not matter. 

This was where his child would end his short life and begin a new one in the spirit.

Hardening his heart he outstretched his arms over the river. “Farewell, my child,” Uripo said with a deep sigh.

But the child, who had been silent up until then, began to wail piteously as the cold rain lashed at his tiny body. A flash of lightning lit up the sky illuminating the scene for a brief moment. In that instant, the king truly saw the child,his son, for the first time. Really saw him.

The baby’s eyes were wide open and he was crying as if he knew his fate, His eyes locked in with those of the king as if he was begging his father for life.

It was as if the child knew how much Uripo wanted him. It was not like he could hide it. He had anticipated this day for over two decades. As if the boy had sensed the dangerous emotions swirling within UripoS and was taking ruthless advantage of him with his innocent little eyes. 

King Uripo fought to squelch the dangerous emotions with great determination.But they wouldn’t go away, no matter how much he castigated himself.

The king held his son in his outstretched arms  a minute longer as he struggled with himself. Slowly, the king drew the child back from the precipice and back into his embrace. Loud sobs shook his frame as he bewailed his anger and pain. The sound of his shouts and the baby crying rose in unison and mingled with the elements until it seemed like father and son were part of the storm. 

Eventually, the king staggered into a fisherman’s cave not far from where he stood. Finding a smooth rock close to the entrance, he laid the boy down. The baby’s blanket was wet and he was shivering from the cold.

Using the firewood the fishermen used to dry the fish they caught in the river, King Uripo made a fire. 

The cave was very wide with large stalactites jutting out of its roof like the great gaping teeth of a monster. It had tunnels that extended deep underground.

 With the fire burning cheerfully, the warmth began to seep in, banishing the cold. Although he no longer shivered from the cold, the child continued to cry. His father, unable to think of any other way to quieten him, stuck his pinkie into the baby’s mouth. 

The child’s mouth began to work on the finger with gentle suction. In the flickering light, the king gazed at his son and wondered why he was delaying the inevitable. It would be so much harder now to give him up once he had bonded with the child. 

But the raw need to have a son had been an integral part of his life for so long, he had no idea how to turn it off. It was an ache that resided in his innermost core. It refused to be subdued. He found himself caressing his son’s tiny fist which was so much smaller than his own. The king was a very large man standing at over six feet in height. He was like his father and his father’s father before him. The kings of Uripo had always been men of large stature. His body, though old, still bore the strength of his youth.  Years of hard work had chiseled his muscular form and he was certain that his son would grow up to become as big as him, if he was allowed to live. 

Time passed slowly and the boy remained safely cocooned in his father’s arms while outside the rain continued to fall. Only Uripo’s voice broke the silence as he spoke to the sleeping child.

“I can’t keep you,” he said. “I am the king and no matter how much I want you, I can’t do it. There is nothing I can do. I am the king but I cannot save your life.”

His words seemed to rouse the boy who yawned delicately, his little mouth forming a tiny circle, then his dainty eyelids fluttered open. The king gasped suddenly as the guileless brown eyes stared up at him. His son looked so small and innocent that his heart began to ache all over again.

“I can’t keep you,” he whispered, but the brown eyes continued to stare innocently at him, unaware that his very life was in danger.

As the night wore on and the firewood dwindled to nothing, the king realized that he could no longer stay in the cave. His son was asleep, safely tucked into his now dry woolen blanket. He knew that he must act decisively.But a flood of unwanted  emotions bombarded him,threatening to overwhelm him and set him on a pathway to destruction. 

He should never have kept the boy with him for so long. Something inexplicable had happened to him from the moment he had held the boy in his arms until now.

The rain was gone and he could hear the sounds of the night. Somewhere out there the frogs were singing and an owl was hooting. Life was getting back on track after the storm. He knew that he had to act but he couldn’t force his limbs to move. His mind said yes but his heart was telling him no. Love should not be allowed to enter the equation. He needed to separate his emotions from what needed doing. 

His sons were both royal princes of Uripo. His blood and the blood of his ancestors ran in the boys’ veins. By right as the first born this boy was the true heir to Uripo. Such a child could not be discarded as if he were an insignificant thing. All his life King Uripo had lived by the laws of the land enforcing the will of the Creator and the ancestors. He’d never questioned them until this night because he realized that he could not let his son die. Once his actions were exposed the people would rebel. They feared the wrath of the ancestors too much to surrender to his whims. His son would be killed and he would lose everything. 

All night his mind had worked towards a solution while he’d fooled himself into believing that he searched for the courage to do what must be done. There was only one way around this tragedy if only his friend would agree.

Mind made up Uripo put out the fire and walked out of the cave. As he passed by the river he saw the crocodiles lying in wait like fallen logs floating on the water surface. The minute his son’s body broke the surface the crocodiles would be on him swallowing him up faster than a lion consumes a rabbit. 

If curses and suffering came then so be it. His first born son would not die this way.

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