My name is Hwkoba(pronounced as Ho-ko-baa) and I belong to the tribe called HUAMAKAWA(A-mah-ka). My tribe was the most dreaded warrior tribe in the entire savannah’s. With warriors trained to kill a lion with bare hands, we were the most fearless, deadliest and ruthless among all the known habitants that walked this part of earth.
Ever since boys in our tribe learned to stand on their feet, they were trained. Trained to be ruthless, fearless and painless. We walked on thorns, till we bled dry…stayed in the wild for days; away from the comfort of home, food and water for days may be months, only to learn the basic instinct for survival. May be your mother would scream at you if u skipped your meal, maybe she would even lure you with the promise of a toy to feed you with your desired nourishment! But that would be your mother.
A failed task, a failed exercise or even failure to hear a command…your modern day term of ‘corporal punishment’ would be lashed at its full vengeance. Branches of thorns carefully stitched with hay straws, ripping our flesh apart with no signs of mercy! This was not inhuman, but merely a daily routine to manifest a young soul to be a warrior. No I was an exception, no one could be one. A mother’s pride was deeply engraved in the ruthlessness of her off-springs future potent to emerge as a warrior. May be that’s why the love of a mother was veiled beneath the warrior skills of her Offspring, and may that’s how it had been for generations.
Hunting for food, killing for power and beheading opponent’s to flag our dominance..it was the only way of life we knew. Did we have a heart, I don’t know! We were never brought up to feel more than the agony of defeat; and turn it into rage, a fire that would burn any soul living or dead to ashes of non-existence. Our limitation of mercy was restricted only to the youngest male of the tribe, spared to spread the tale of horror our aftermath left. We not only killed villagers and burnt villages to cinders, we created folklores of terror!! Tales that spread the savannah , faster than wildfire. HUAMAKAWA was the new word for terror!
The journey from teen to manhood was celebrated by a rigorous ceremony called “Twahitak” (spelt as Wa-eh-tay). Only after the completion of years of rigorous training of the HUMAKAWA warrior calisthenics a young lad would enter the first stage of man-hood.
It begun with the tribe priests offering prayers to our Tribe Gods. A prayer with animal sacrifices, to make us stronger than ever before. ..More powerful than years of privation could render them.
The next stage was standing strong to a duvet cover of bee’s. Covered all over, in bee stings men stood strong from hours where the sun shone to the brightest to sunset. Few died, and the handful who survived, made way to the next phase.
A day of healing and then came the most dreaded ritual of them all. The survivor’s skin was cut in a definite pattern which defined our tribe. Cut and left to dry were pattern’s , which made the warriors body resemble a crocodiles skin. Blood ran down like water, but compassion was numbed by honour. And warriors still lived!
The following day was summoned by priests, as an appreciation ritual! Prayers, thanking the holy spirits to bless the warrior child’s of the tribe. While the warriors recuperated from the poison of the stings, laced by herbs specially prepared by the healers, the rest joined the ceremonies.
The next phase was the one which begun the cycle of life. Women who reached their puberty, lined up to entice the warriors. An elaborate period of teasing and enticing, culminated to a selection of individual mates.
The next day was a celebration to bless the matrimony of these warriors and virgins, in matrimony of life. This was the biggest celebration of our tribe. There was feasting, laughter, indiscipline in mannerism and a light heartedness in the air. Everything seemed colorful, righteous, and happy. Everyone seemed different; everyone seemed to live…understand the real essence of life. Though short lived, it was my favourite part of life, which recycled according to schedules of The Tribe Priests.
I wasn’t a warrior. I had failed to prove myself as a worthy son and an eminent bearer of the warrior legend. Was I spared? No..the punishment was beyond the imagination of thoughts. If you ever understood pain, you would want to learn more. Cause the pain you might have ever felt or thought would be beyond the realms of human tolerance or realization may start to seem too trivial to even compare. I am talking about a feeling which is just the inception of the point, were the real feeling paralyzes the body and senses. Imagine yourself to be in a river, live with leeches and your body covered with red ants; eating you at their own pace of collection. And now imagine endless hours stranded there, in cold..in pain..praying to be dead. But u would not be; you would just be alive to realize how merciful death could be.
You might consider that the emotions that you carry is the one that defines the epitome of logical belief and consideration of facts; but if you spare yourself a little more time and patience to understanding life beyond the norms of your modern living, you can see the real face of pain. The ugly truth that would leave u scared for the remaining part of life you choose to exist. This is not a typical campfire story that would send a chill up your spine, but a narration of events that would answer your queries to the marks that has scared my skin.
Yes, I found solace in carving rocks, scratching stones to depict life and its beauty. It reflected my idea of life and beauty. From mountains to clouds, highlands to water..everything under the sun was my subject; caves and rocks were my canvas. Though sketched in shades of gray; it was my vivid extravaganza of life’s colors, in a palette of living. These marks on dead stones gave me more content than my contemporaries who rejoiced living in tearing flesh…either to feed their hunger or to satisfy the innate thirst for blood. I was different, and unlike my folks I never shunned away from telling the real me; the person I was! That was my fault, my crime.. I wasn’t a warrior, just a dreamer in a land of merciless living! This was reason more than enough for the heads of the tribe to subject me to a life of humiliation and low living.
I was a disgrace to my parents and my tribe. And every moment I lived, I was forced to realize the fact of this low life. When the warriors rejoiced, I catered to their needs of food and recreation. They would kick me, make me fetch things like a dog, make fun of me and on every intoxicated shindig…an endless whipping and display of power would leave me tattered to the ground; helpless and bleeding! My tears were only a sign of weakness; no one could ever apprehend the fact that pain might even make eyes moist!
I wasn’t a hunter even. My daily errands would be primarily concerned with grazing cattle, waiting for hours to catch fish or collect wild berries. I could find more than enough time; to scratch a lonely rock or walls of caves , with forms that depicted life and the world around me. This solace was my only friend, my escape from reality.
Life passed from one day to another, nothing changed…neither the humiliation nor my work as a food gatherer. The insults eagerly changed from incivility to unbearable tolerance. I wanted to escape, every minute I lived; I prayed to run away. May be I was a coward to kill myself to escape this life, but I believed life was more than just this. My mood reflected in my carvings. From flowing forms of intricacy, it had changed to dark scribbles of horrific pattern. Something was killing me, inside slowly yet progressively. My years, were giving away docility. I was getting angry, not pitiful at my condition. I felt anger, and I wanted to avenge all the wrong doings people had subjected me to.
Rage lit up my heart, so wild and powerful it burnt everything that was around. Yes it did! My repressed emotions burst into flames of vengeance; fuelled by a heavy intoxication of the locally brewed alcohol, I created a blood bath.
A moment of madness and intoxication, and a sphere… I had killed our tribes most fearsome warrior. I knew I would never be spared for such defiance; so I ran in the darkness of the night. I ran till I feel unconscious.
The next morning when I opened my eyes, a severe head ache pinned me down. But as I gathered incidents of the night, I ran again. My tribe would be hunting for me and I knew it for sure they would only return with my head on the leaders spear. I hid, I ran; to places I knew and places I didn’t. I ran for my life! Memories of family, my tribe and my life flashed at convenient intervals; but I knew I was free. So I ran.. like a bird I flew, flew to my freedom.
To unknown lands, bazaars and human settlements; life had turned into a struggle for survival. Communication was a hindrance, food a scarcity and living a challenge. But for the first time I felt free, I had a reason to live, to see another day. I was alone, scared and tired, but somehow I lived.
My travel took me to the shores. For the first time in my life I saw water so clear; so vast spread. It stretched to where my eyes could to see and may be beyond. The sea met the sky and it was beautiful. Big wooden vessels floated on water. They were huge, colourful and nothing like I had ever seen. Men of various colours and attires hovered in and around the ports. I had never seen such diversity of people, sounds and structures. It was daunting. My deer hide cover had withered away long back. Hay straws tried binding the fallen pieces, but it barely succeeded.
I sat in a corner munching on food I stole from a stand, when a hand touched my shoulders. A guy, who looked from this land held out more food for me. I was hungry, I snatched it and devoured even the last grain. He spoke in my language. I was surprised, I tried to run away; but he caught me.
He wasn’t from my tribe, but knew my language. He said his name was Jabari, and could help me get food. We spoke all night. He spoke about me the ways of this part of the world. How work, gives money to buy food and clothes. What ships were. Most of his words were like your modern day fairy tales, but most of what he said remained unclear to me. He took me to his shelter, and after very long I slept at peace.
Over days and months, he taught me to fit into this world. I worked as a puller in the docks. I had a job, money to buy food and a shelter to protect me from the atrocities of nature. Our bond had grown stronger over the period that we knew each other. It was a feeling more intense than we could realize. We were in love and We knew it. Life seemed beautiful and I believed I had found the real meaning of existence.
We were happy, our love knew no bounds;yet we were cautious to save and keep its identity away from the world.
Little did I know, life had a diff. story on its cards. After the usual loading and unloading errand, I returned home. Jabari wasn’t there. I waited, cooked our meal and waited… waited for him to return. But he didn’t. I kept awake all night. Stepped out to inquire if anybody had seen him, but I returned with no news. I knew about his repute of being a smuggler. Previously he had been absent for long, but it was diff. this time. Days turned to weeks, weeks to months, and years past. He was gone; disappeared mystically or may be killed in cross fire. No one seemed to know, none seemed to care. Life moved on, but there was vacuum which made me bleed. Memories that haunted me, questions which kept knocking for answers.
My health was deteriorating; pneumonia had weakened me. And the never ending bout of headache and diarrhea had taken its toll. I had lost immense amount of weight and my body was covered with ugly swellings. As time passed, my body was giving up on me; I was unable to do the simplest activities of daily living. I knew I was dying, I couldn’t move anymore…
I closed my eyes..I saw a vast field, green with grass. A clear sky.. a rainbow. I saw a tree, beneath it was a man. His voice was familiar. He called my name, I walked towards him..he was Jabari. I broke down; asked him, why he had left me? He smiled and said,” I have come to take you with me.”
I breathed my last breath.. I finally found peace a pure sense of happiness, I waited all my life for. I was finally free!!
