thoroughly frightened Ma
Fled madly across the plains with loud shrieks
To the Great Spirit with entreaties to rid her
Of a most unpleasant mate,
But the reply that the First Goddess got
Was – ‘You have had your wish—
What more do you want?’
You may wonder, dear reader,
How the Goddess managed her escape.
Well the tree had pursued her relentlessly
With all its tremendous bulk.
Like any young man he had no wish to see
Even his metaphysical bride escape
And return to his mother-in-law!
Do not the Wise Ones say
That ‘They who have for the first time tasted
The nectar-filled cup of Love
Never let it drop undrained?’
So, over plain and valley, and over the hills
And down many a cruel mountainside
Fled the terrified Goddess, and racing forth,
Now on the ground on her silvery feet—
Now through the air like a bird of prey,
But no matter how far and how fast she fled
The Tree of Life kept close on her heels
Until at last both pursuer and pursued
Reached the bleak barren wastelands which in future years
Became known to mortals as Ka-Lahari.
By now the great Tree was on fire with love,
But tired ne’ertheless while his quarry,
Urged by the cold breath of fear,
Was still as fresh as ever.
At long last, after many years of flight and pursuit
Both Goddess and tree plunged headlong
In the waters of lake Makarikari
And it was here that Ma streaked through the water
Like some silvery luminous fish,
And then soared like an owl through the night sky
While below, her mate, the Tree of Life,
Waddled in the mud of the lake.
Here it was that the Imperfect Immortal
Very nearly made good her escape,
But here too a flash of pure inspiration
Tore through the sluggish brain of the Tree.
Acting fast on a chance idea, it scooped
A mighty mound of rock and clay and sand
From the bottom of the lake
And he rolled it into a mighty ball,
Greater in size than Killima-Njaro itself.
Then in one lightning movement
Of all his branches combined,
He hurled this formidable missile
Skyward at the object of his love,
Now almost one with the stars.
Straight and true went the soaring ball
And the next thing the fugitive Goddess felt
Was a great blow on the back of her silvery head;
And as she plunged through the air,
Limp and unconscious, but still of unearthly beauty—
The great ugly tree spread its manifold arms
To save her in her headlong fall—
‘My dearest beloved,’ he gurgled.
The great ball rebounded from the Goddess’s head
And went into orbit as the moon of today,
And the Great Spirit in his Almighty wisdom
With radiance declared it the Guardian of Love,
To regulate the Love of Gods,
And of Men and beasts and birds and fishes yet to come.
Today all the Tribes of this Dark Continent
Respect the power of the Holy Missile
And its influence upon all our lives and love.
Drums still beat and most secret rituals are performed
In dark forests in honour of that missile
Which helped to restore the very first marriage
Between our Goddess Ma and our Most Sacred Tree,
The Tree of Life.
Even today, as in all ages past,
The moon makes lovers seek each other’s arms
And wives the company
Of their children’s fathers.
Aieeee! Great is the power of the moon—
And who dares to doubt it?
Lo! thus sing the Holy Singers of Kariba
Whenever the full moon rises
And turns the timeless Zambesi into a dazzling serpent
Of shimmering liquid silver and gold:—
‘Oh missile which through the starry sky
At fleeting Ma the Tree of Life let fly,
Shed still on earth thy heatless silver light
And let all things feel Love’s consuming might.
Shoot
