had never gained the strength or ability to climb up to the higher levels of the mountains that had surrounded him all his life, so he shut his eyes and imagined himself as a mountain climber, scaling the cliffs and high mountain ranges, seeing the beautiful views from up so high. His vivid imagination took him into a fascinating world, a hidden realm of magic and mystery, where he seemed to float, immersed in a deep pool, diminishing the discomfort of his physical body.
He set his mind to this new adventure and decided to come each day. As he sat there day after day, he also became more sensitive to all that filled his natural world. Two yellow butterflies whirling around each other in the breeze. A brown mottled frog leaping upon the floating leaves. The glint of light reflected in a silvery blade of grass against the setting sun.
Beauty enveloped him in all that he saw and felt, but in the midst of all this, he kept noticing a sunlit area far up on the mountainside that seemed to be untouched by any shadows, its bright, smooth rocks shining all day. Spending time in the sunlight warmed and comforted his soul, and his happiest moments were there. This beautiful patch of sunlight in the mountains, where no dark shadow reached until evening descended, seemed to draw him and beckon him to share its warmth, so he resolved in his heart to make the journey there, knowing full well the struggle he would have to endure to achieve this.
Jiemba knew he had to muster all his strength and determination. As the days passed, the yearning in his heart to reach up to this place became stronger and stronger. He conditioned his legs by moving them vigorously in the cool water of the stream to the amusement of the little fishes. His legs strengthened day by day even as his anticipation grew more and more until he knew he must begin the climb; to set out with the first faltering steps towards a great challenge. For so long he had felt the adversities of his handicapped and limited world in the village. In his heart, he knew that he might slowly die there, unloved and unwanted by everyone, apart from Waru and Kirra, whose care had meant everything, and his friendship with Minjarra, except that it wasn’t enough. He believed the beauty of the high place would give him so much joy when he finally stood there in the sunshine. Seeing it in his mind, he knew he would overcome the challenges in the journey to climb the mountain.
On the morning that he set out, the villagers passed him on their way up to the hillside orchards. He knew he looked pathetic to them as he struggled up the rocky path. They taunted him, calling out
“Where are you going, Jiemba? Up to the mountains? You won’t get far!”
Jiemba heard their jeering in the distance, but he did not look at them. He was determined to keep on his way, using his ability to focus his mind on all that was before him. All he carried with him was water from the stream, some cakes of dried fruit in a satchel and a staff to help him climb the rough rocky mountainside. A strong village boy of his age would climb up to the high place in a couple of hours, but Jiemba did not know how long it would take him with his feeble legs, especially with frequent stops to recover his strength, so he resolved to keep setting his mind expectantly on what was above. He was far more tired of living in the valley than of the exhausting climb. His determination grew as he continually focused his heart and thoughts, anticipating the feelings he would have when he climbed the last steps.
As he made his way up the narrow, steep paths, Jiemba found himself imagining conversations with the little fish in the stream and began to forget his painful legs. In his mind, he was discussing with them all the beautiful things he would see from up there and whether he would be able to see the fish in their miniature rocky pool.
Suddenly Jiemba felt something strike him on the back. It felt like a pebble hitting him. Turning quickly, he searched the path behind but saw nothing, only the small bushes bending in the mountain breeze. Just as he went to resume his trek, another pebble hit him between the shoulder blades. This time as he swung around to confront the mysterious stone thrower he was startled by a sudden rustling sound. A large figure burst through the bushes and stumbled clumsily towards him. He recognised the blurred shape, just as the intruder lunged at him, grabbing him roughly around the shoulders and barrelling him towards the edge of the sharp descent.
“Minjarra!” cried Jiemba.
Minjarra loosened his hold and cried out.
“Ha! Frightened you, didn't I?!”
Jiemba shook himself out of Minjarra's grip and responded.
“No, you big clown! I wasn't scared, because I knew it was you!”
“I could've thrown you down anyway!” said Minjarra trying to recover himself.
“Friends don't throw each other off cliffs! Even silly goats like you!” yelled Jiemba.
“Ha, what are you doing up here on the mountain trail anyway?” asked Minjarra as he grabbed Jiemba's satchel off his shoulder and shoved his hand inside.
“Have you got any food in here, Jiemba, my friend?”
Before Jiemba could protest Minjarra held a handful of dried figs to his snarling face.
“Figs! Dried figs! I hate figs! My father grows figs on the mountain and I grew up eating rotten, dried figs all my life and I'm sick of the sight of them!” With that, combined with expletives, he threw them down the side of the mountain in absolute contempt. Jiemba felt his anger rise, but held himself back. He knew that Minjarra was unpredictable and headstrong, but he valued his friendship. He was the only one in the village who treated him as if he was not crippled, so he always tried to overlook Minjarra's ridiculous mannerisms.
“I'm not telling you why I am going up the mountain because I am angry with you for throwing my figs down the mountain!” responded Jiemba, sternly.
Minjarra laughed. “I have to go and do some work in the orchards. I don't have time to hang around with sightseers anyway!”
Then, with a tense expression he walked up to Jiemba and looked straight into his eyes. “The boys in the village have been calling me ‘the village idiot’ and you called me a clown!”
Jiemba saw genuine hurt in his eyes.
“There is a difference, Minjarra. Everyone loves clowns.”
Minjarra smiled and his eyes lit up. He reached into his pocket and as he grabbed Jiemba's arm, pulling it forward, he slapped a fistful of dried figs into his outstretched palm before spinning around and racing on up the path. Jiemba watched as his friend Minjarra lurched his way up, leaving him to ponder his friend's quizzical actions.
At least, thought Jiemba, Minjarra is a good friend, even if he reminds me of a mountain goat!
Jiemba picked himself up and resumed his quest, fondly remembering the times when their friendship had bounced back from many precipitous encounters.
To his surprise, the high place came closer and closer each time he stopped and glanced upwards on his journey. Finally, with exhaustion and relief, he stepped on to the sunlit rocks that he had seen from so far
