A Story of Kumusha
The lion was out, the steel bars no longer holding back the great cat. It crouched low, maw close to the ground, yellow eyes fixed on him as its tail swished with menace. He glanced around the empty passageway between the locked cages. Nowhere to run, no place to hide. The lion between him and his gun, lying useless on his desk, left behind so he could go to the window to investigate the cause of the commotion. He cursed himself, a fool outsmarted by a dumb animal.
The lion bore its teeth in a mocking sneer.
“I warned you. We all did. You chose not listen.”
“Forgive me. I beg you.” The pleading in his own voice was sickening.
“Why? What have you and your kind ever done to deserve our mercy?”
Nothing came to mind, not a single thing he could think of to excuse what they’d done. Not that would be acceptable to his until recent prisoner, Chatunga. Here, at the moment of his impending death, he saw just how unjust their role over this magical kingdom had always been.
“But what would you have had me do? None of this is my fault.”
“And neither is this mine,” came the reply. Then the lion charged.
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One hour earlier
August 1960, eastern Kumusha
The lion was pacing again. Back and forth, back and forth he prowled, head circling as he turned each time he reached the bars of its caged walls. Eyes never leaving him as he did.
He knew he was safe, impervious steel even this lion couldn’t break through. No one knew where they were, isolated here in the Kumushan bush. There would be no rescue mission for the lion appearing from the thorny bushes outside. Like so many before, his captive’s display of tightly wound energy entirely futile. And yet, despite this comforting thought, he felt a shiver whenever he looked up from his papers and saw the lion still watching.
Curious what he might be thinking, or maybe just trying to break the tension in his squirming stomach, he spoke to the prisoner.
“What is it you are thinking, Chatunga?”
The lion smirked, if such a thing was possible.
“I am wondering what part of you I am going to eat first, Richard.”
Not quite the answer to ease his worries he’d hoped for. He couldn’t let this animal think he was unnerved though, pretense of confidence crucial when dealing with the locals. He tried to muster a convincing chuckle with just the right amount of disbelief. He sensed it wasn’t convincing.
“You have been in that cage for months, my dear friend. How were you planning on eating me today?”
“Oh today might not be the day, it’s true. But the day will come. We both know that.”
He tried to not to imagine what the moment might be like. He’d once heard a wise man say he wasn’t afraid of death, just that he didn’t want to be there when it happened. This would have to be particularly true if death was delivered in a lion’s jaws. Best not to think about it.
Yet, it was hard to ignore the truth of what the lion said. The day would come, the inhabitants of this country couldn’t be tamed, or imprisoned, or beaten into submission much longer. The very existence of this rural school turned prison, flaking walls and dusty floors packed tight with empty cages, was evidence the rule of his community was failing. How confident could they be in their colony if they be if they needed this place all the way out here? Truth be told, it was a miracle the revolution hadn’t already begun in earnest.
Richard, third son of a colonist farming family that had lived in Kumusha for over 100 years, wasn’t a fool. Times had changed. No matter how he and his kind protested, they couldn’t hold back the tide much longer. The natives of Kumusha were restless, as if they’d suddenly realized power was theirs for the taking, generations of indoctrinated subservience evaporating and replaced by a worrying confidence.
These troubling thoughts must have been obvious as Chatunga continued, his words dripping threat.
“I look forward to the moment you are under my feet, Richard. I do not blame you. You were born into this way of life. Unfortunately, your death, and that of your kind, is a necessary measure to win the freedom that should be ours.”
He should ignore him. But his hands betrayed him as they came to rest on the butt of his rifle resting on the rickety table. Chatunga didn’t miss a thing, rolling his eyes at the involuntary comfort blanked he’d reached for. He removed his hands from the weapon, again reminding himself he was in charge here, this cat stuck in its prison with nothing but words to throw at him.
“We shall see, Chatunga. You speak with great confidence for someone stuck behind those bars, alive only thanks to the mercy of our generous leader.”
The lion growled low, his usually unflappable cool nearly breaking.
“Mercy. Generosity? You call a delayed execution those? I would rather die a martyr than live under your hypocrisy.”
The conversation ended. Implacable enemies. He didn’t hate Chatunga, much as he scared him. He knew he was dangerous, this prison the only place for him. For months before he was detained, the fearsome lion had been running amok around the country, leading bands of his followers to chase farmers from their homes, disrupt supply lines, melt back into the forest where they couldn’t be found. He was young, passionate, seized with a desire for the change even Richard knew would have to come. He didn’t think he was personally deserving of Chatunga’s hatred though. He had done nothing wrong, just doing his job.
The two foes in the prison lasped into an uncomfortable silence, a debate that couldn’t be settled, not by them, not by anyone. The lion stopped pacing and Richard tried his best to pretend he wasn’t discomfited by what had been said. Thinking it might calm him a little, he switched on radio on his desk. The hiss turned to music which echoed through the deserted jail, the prison dedicated to this one most important prisoner.
The music didn’t really help. Chatunga continued to glare at him, as if waiting for something. He knew his pretence of busying himself with paperwork was not convincing. How much could one inmate really require after all?
The music stopped, replaced by the voice of a detached newsreader. Like Richard, the speaker was struggling to maintain his composure as he read the words they’d all long feared.
“This morning, at 6am, a rebel attack was mounted on the Central Barracks in Mbare. What appears to have been a coordinated attack with other skirmishes reported around the country, the army was unable to beat back the attack on the first wave, retreating to a nearby weapons depot where they regrouped before executing a successful counter-strike against the rebels. A spokesman for the Prime Minister played down the incident, describing it as merely a few bandits intent on robbery. The Head of the Army, however, renewed calls for increased funding, citing the other incidents seen in rural areas which could suggest an unexpected degree of planning on the part of the rebel forces. He also contradicted the Prime Minister’s spokesman, suggesting the barracks had been deliberately targeted though would not be drawn on why they would be a target of particular interest. More to follow at our next bulletin.”
He pushed the switch to turn the radio off, as if what it had revealed could be undone by silencing it. He stared at the offending device, needing to digest what he heard. What Chatunga had also heard.
“It has begun,” came that chilling voice, barely a whisper.
He turned and Chatunga was stood again behind his bars, smiling softly. There was something almost pitying, a sympathy undermined by the claws he scratched along the concrete floor.
He didn’t reply. He sat again, resolutely studying his papers. A chuckle came from the cage ahead, followed by the sound of the lion slumping onto its side once more.
It must have been less than an hour when the next interruption occurred, the sun at its zenith and his khaki shirt long plastered wet against his back. Reflecting on what was to happen over the years that followed, he would realise this day was far more consequential than a simple attack on a barracks. The freeing of a most valuable hostage of greater note in the many histories to be written. At the same time, seeing how it was achieved, it was also one more inevitable event in a chain that would lead to the kingdom being turned upside down. Richard and this day would be a mere footnote, Chatunga, his comrades and their subsequent deeds those that would be remembered. Especially those of his leader who would cast the spells that freed him.
It sounded like buffalo. Or more accurately, a lot of buffalo. This in itself was not unusual in this part of the country, but still he was confused. Buffalo did not appear from nowhere, their acrid stench and deep groans easily detected from far away. Yet he could hear a herd just outside the prison walls, he was certain of it. The shuffling hooves, the lowing sounds, that unmistakable odour. It was all emanating from the far end of the passageway, past Chatunga’s cage. He looked up at the high window chiselled out of that far wall, a tell-tale fog of dust floating through the bars as the animals outside kicked up the dirt.
He scraped back the chair from his school desk, walking in a wide arc past the lion’s cell and out of reach of his grabbing claws. Chatunga grinned as he past him. Perhaps his captive had a better idea what was going on than he did. Once again, that gnawing feeling he was part of someone else’s story, his own small role coming to an end. Reaching the far wall, he pulled another seat underneath the window, stepped up and looked outside. Just as he suspected, and more.
There was a vast mass of buffalo, some slumped, others stood, all motionless. They were minding their own business, posing no real threat to him or the solid walls of the prison. Their arrival was peculiar but he couldn’t imagine what it might mean. Surely they would soon be on their way, this odd happening of no real concern. Even as this thought emerged, he knew he was kidding himself. It wasn’t long before his fears were confirmed.
The herd parted, creating a wide corridor between them, sunlight dancing off the orange dust in the gap. Two human figures slowly emerged, their silhouettes becoming ever more solid as they walked unhurried through the buffalo and towards the prison wall. Richard knew who they were before he saw their faces. Only they could command such obedience, only their magic held such power over the animals of Kumusha.
It was Ishe and his wife. Diva. Leaders of the new rebellion.
“Release your prisoner!” shouted Ishe. “Release your prisoner, and we will show you the mercy you have never shown us.”
“Please, do as he says,” continued Diva. “There is no need for blood to be spilt here today.”
She glaanced at Ishe as she spoke, who was stroking the back of a dagger he held in his hand. He seemed to be quite looking forward to the prospect of blood being spilt, no matter what his wife might say. Diva, for her part, had closed her eyes, the reason for doing so soon apparent.
“It is only you in there,” she said. “I can see through Chatunga’s eyes. You have one rifle, few bullets, and nobody is here to help you. Please, I beg you, let our comrade free and we will do you no harm.”
“Never!” shouted Richard, the word escaping his lips before he’d had time to think.
Ishe grinned, clearly please.
“So be it,” he said. He nodded at his wife, who shook her head sadly as she rummaged in a pouch at her waist. She picked out a stone that glowed golden as she held it aloft. Richard would never be able to explain what happened next. No matter how many times he would have to try, no one would believe him in all the years to come. A coward who let his prisoner go, something of an embarrassment, another soldier driven to the edge of madness in the lost war. But he knew what he saw.
Diva disappeared, as did one of the buffalo by her side. One moment there, the next gone, leaving Ishe and the herd behind. A popping noise behind him in the corridor. Richard turned, knowing despite the impossibility what it was he would see. There they were. Diva, their witch, bathed in golden light and the buffalo, its horns glinting like metal in the gloom of the prison. How was this possible?
“Don’t move, Richard,” she said. “There is nothing you can to stop this. Stand back, Chatunga, my old friend.”
She turned back to the cell door in front of her, stroking the neck of the buffalo and whispering in its ear. It was in some kind of trance, its golden tinged horns shining ever brighter as she whispered. She took a step back herself and with one mighty swing of its powerful neck, the buffalo’s horns clashed with the bars, the sound of metal on metal as the cage door was lifted from its hinges and tossed like rags at his feet. It came to a screeching stop underneath the chair where he perched. Chatunga was free.
The lion stepped slowly into the corridor. Diva looked his way, pity in her eyes and with another pop, she and the buffalo were gone as swiftly as they’d arrived. Leaving him along with the lion.
“I warned you,” said Chatunga. “We all did. You chose not listen.”
“Forgive me. I beg you.”
“Why? What have you and your kind ever done to deserve such forgiveness?”
“But what would you have had me do? None of this is my fault.”
“And neither is this mine,” came the reply. Khatanga charged.
There was no point trying to run. He froze and Chatunga was leaping through the air at him, paws outstretched in triumph as he prepared to take his final revenge. He cowered down on the chair waiting for the pain, hoping it would be quick. He looked out of the corner of his eye as the lion’s pounce seemed to slow in mid air, muscled fury and ripping teeth ready to tear his own flesh apart. For a moment, the lion seemed to glow golden, just like the buffalo before. A slight flicker of confusion on Chatunga’s face, a growl of frustration, and somehow he sailed past, weightless, passing through the wall above his head as if it were nothing but air. Not a mark left, not on the wall, not on him. He’d been spared.
He quickly got back up from his fetal crouch on the chair, hardly daring to hope this wasn’t merely a momentary reprieve. Outside, the lion stood in front of Diva and Ishe, back to the jail, unclear what was passing behind the three allies. Whatever was said, it didn’t please Chatunga. He turned his head, eyes blazing with anger as he looked back at the window where his jailer was perched.
“This isn’t done yet, Richard. Mark my words. You won’t be spared the coming storm.”
All three now looked at him, the King, their Goddess, and the lion reunited. Diva held her hand aloft again, the same golden glow in the dimming twilight enveloping them and their buffalo. Sweeping her arm down to her side, a loud crack prompted him to avert his gaze for just a moment. When he looked again, they’d all gone, nothing outside but the dusty Kumushan bush once more.
The dust was still drifting on the wind, the silence thick. Richard hadn’t moved from the chair he was standing on. He realised he was still holding his breath. Slowly, unsure his knees would support him as he clambered down, he walked back toward his desk. He took a wide arc around the open cell, not quite believing Chatunga wouldn’t reach out to snatch him. He sat down at the end of the passageway, uncertain what he should do now his one prisoner was gone. There was a war coming. He wondered whether he was the first of his kind to truly understand that. And to know just how futile their efforts to fight back would be.
