foolish human creatures—
How terribly sentimental you are!
It is for your own good and safety that I remove
This Thing which you knew as Amarava!’
The Monster spoke with infinite tenderness;
‘You are blindly loyal to the outward form—
To superficial appearance alone;
When will your clouded brains appreciate
That things are not what they appear to be!
That there is more to anything than meets the eye!’
‘Aieeee!’ cried Marimba, the only one
Who still had power of speech,
‘Do you mean to tell us that Amarava
Is not what she appears to be!’
‘Yebo,’ replied the Monster that Walks,
To which Marimba lost control of herself;
‘Haiee! not only are you a monster
As foul as the cesspools of hell
But the father of all lies as well!’
‘Human female – I speak only the truth—
This creature you know as Amarava
Is a reincarnation at the same time
Of the Fire Bride, or Rebel Goddess,
Who has been evading the Great Spirit
For many millions of years!’
Even as Marimba listened and looked,
The limp and naked from of Amarava
Was slowly changing in the Monster’s clutches;
Her red skin turned to the colour of gold
With the polished brightness of that metal.
Now she had an udder of five breasts—
Ruby tipped and standing out—
Like anthills on a desolate plain;
And her eyes, once so soft and clear,
Had the greeny hardness of emeralds.
Her hands had acquired a sixth finger,
And all her fingers flourished
Razor-sharp diamond claws.
A lion’s tail sprang from her backside
Which curled and uncurled
Like a whip of living gold!
A flaming forked tongue protruded
And licked her pig-iron lips.
‘Behold her! Look well upon her,’
Cried the Monster, holding her up,
‘Behold the foul creature who not only deceived you,
But Ma, the First Goddess as well.
Look upon the thing you knew as Amarava
And for which you were prepared to sacrifice your lives!
See the one you adored as Amarava,
In whom is now reincarnated
Watamaraka, the Spirit of Evil!’
Before the Monster and its captive
Vanished in a flash of unearthly flame,
Marimba saw the sneer of contempt
On the once beloved Amarava’s face;
‘I shall return one day and avenge myself
On all living things – I shall . . .’
Night had fallen by the time Zumangwe
And his followers reached the gate of their new village—
The first village in the country which in future years
Acquired the name of Tanga-Nyika.
He had ordered all those who had witnessed events
Never to repeat what they had seen—
They all agreed to abide by the make-belief
That the search for Amarava had failed.
The secret of Amarava’s identity
Went with these men to their grave.
Zumangwe wished that the name of Amarava
Should remain one which future generations
Must honour and respect.
Now all of you my dear children
Have to some small extent inherited
Amarava’s split personality.
Within each of you there are two different beings,
One good and one evil – in constant conflict.
THE SPAWN OF THE DRAGON
Simba the lion was old. Simba the lion was weak – mad with hunger and frustration. There is nothing more terrible for a beast once strong than to find itself slowly succumbing to the ravages of old age. And, in the hostile forest, age is the greatest and most final calamity that can befall a living creature, be it lion or antelope.
Antelopes that feel the onset of old age in the weakness it brings to their swift limbs, know that the stream of their lives has at last run dry. They know that for them the hour of Kalunga, the God of Death, has come and, when the herd madly flees from the smell of lions, they will be forced to lag behind – an easy prey even to the most inexperienced young lion.
The lion who feels the icy claws of old age slowly paralysing his mighty leaping muscles, and who feels the dizziness of old woman Time clouding his mind and dimming his eyes, comes inevitably to realise that he has already hunted his last impala, and that for him the sun of life is setting in a blaze of gold, scarlet and purple.
So, Simba the lion was lying under
