Tonka watched the eagle lift up on the benevolent wind till it crossed the broad reaches of Manu Square. It then skewed skyward and careened to the right in the fierce blast of an opposing east wind. Its wings came flapping down with immense power, and then up, with the force of will in its westward course. In a daring stunt, it broke through the burst of an infringing east wind. It then plunged low and swung back up to the initial height. The next moment, as it gained height, the wind's force sent it askew once more.
The king bird forced a headway through the blasting wind with several maneuvres but it advanced a little only beyond its initial point. Again off-balance in its brisk ascent, the eagle spread its wings and surrendered to the superior force of the counter-wind. With zest it wheeled anti-clockwise and soared along with the opposing wind towards the eastern expanse, done with daring, westward aerobatics.
Tonka Manu, the patriarch of Atlantis, enjoyed the bird's canny sense of surrender to nature's whim. Humans often lack this ideal. Man's innate stubbornness often makes him an uncooperative creature in the complex mold of creation. In self-deluding belief, borne of a misguided intelligence in which he assumes his whimsies would always prevail against insurmountable odds or upon nature's own renewal processes, man often attempts to take on meaningless challenges, Tonka mused.
He thought further. If man had the privilege of a role reversal and assumes the role of the beautiful eagle in the sky, rather than surrender to nature's whim in the opposing wind, man’s choice would be to continue with the flight even if ill-fated. A bird, however, understands the mysterious pulse of the wind and the elements and would fly no further without interpreting the rhythms in the air.
The core of the experience of mortals takes its sterner stuff from such ironical conflicts, Tonka reasoned. This aspect puts a hole in the main mast of man's ship and often takes the wind out of his sail. This aspect, often times, lurches man’s ship of fate ashore. The wrecks, as a result, find pathways into the vast fields of human mind and are smashed on the jagged and treacherous rocks of aspiration.
Why is man’s delight always hinged on playing the fool in paradise, forever satisfied a pawn in the vortex of his being? Tonka Manu asked himself as he observed the eagle in deep thought by the window.
Tonka straightened up by the window and sighed. The penthouse gave him quite a perspective of Songhai, the capital city of Atlantis. The more he looked at its milieu of civilization, the more its perverse tranquillity registered on his mind. A disquieting notion of failure glared through the calm ambience. In his consciousness, the whole idea of progress drummed a gong of an inevitable end. He hated to be at the penthouse end at moments like this because it sparked in him dark emotions regarding Atlantis – an omen he preferred to avoid.
The feeling once again clawed at his heart, striking him with stark images of the Atlanteans' folly. He turned away from the view of the horizon and focused on the plush interior of the penthouse. He cursed his fate for having roped him into laundering the smear on the conscience of Atlanteans. He did not understand why the guilt of Atlanteans was his lot to cleanse. Why did the Guardians assign such a task to him? The height of the Atlanteans’ fumble annoyed him the most. His thoughts came to a sad conclusion.
Man could not as yet repent of the sin which mortality embodies. But must the Atlanteans advance to such a peak of civilization only to be blown away by the wind of self-destruction?
Tonka Manu shuffled his feet on the floor and wrestled with the weight about to stifle his mind. He then humped his shoulders and plodded around the palatial confines of the crystal penthouse. Out of instinct, he dodged exquisite brass furniture, sparkling antiques, and a variety of blooming potted flowers, blaming both the Guardians of the Universe and the Atlanteans for the shift in consciousness and the new reality of Atlantis.
The Guardians, he reasoned, had entrusted too much power to the Atlanteans and condoned a high degree of laxity among them. They had dizzied them drunk with a hefty dose of their competencies, making them bankrupt in the spirit to the point of no return. The Atlanteans themselves were to blame. Through Tonka Manu’s effort, they had a high awareness of divine tenets. Still, his persistent warnings against their ego trips were useless. They paid him no heed beyond the budding phase of the civilization. They arrogated the Manu station to themselves. With their steady spiritual advancement, they forgot to heed the handwriting on the wall. In a swift rebound, this mistake now haunted the fabric of Atlantis and edged its civilization toward crisis.
Tonka’s thoughtful pacing around the penthouse terminated at the right flank of a crescent glass desk. The desk’s brass rims gleamed under intricate chandeliers. Raising a leg over the desk's edge, he heaved himself to a half-perch on a free spot, and let his mind wander some more.
He had captained the ship of Atlantis upwards of twenty calendars, yet it dawned on him as if yesterday’s reel of events still unfolded in the moment. A fair spiritual weather and the Atlanteans' desire to discover their latent potential seemed the wonderful gale that steered his ship smoothly over divine waters. Atlanteans were quick to learn under his tutelage and developed their innate powers. They wasted no time in harnessing nature's bounties to their advantage. Before relinquishing his baton as patriarch of Atlantis, Tonka Manu's great-grandfather, Waadua, fought to stabilize their ship’s wobbling through raging spiritual storms. So when Tonka came on board as Manu, he did not find it too difficult to steer the ship of Atlantis from where his great-grandfather had stopped.
No doubt Waadua's shoes were extra-large for a younger Manu. At the age of thirty calendars, Tonka strove with determination to captain the ship of Atlantis, mindful of the dark indicators Waadua had stressed were likely processions to an anti-climax. Nearly twenty-five calendars after, his great-grandfather had real vindication. The warnings now resounded with potent misgivings in his mind.
Manu Waadua was right, Tonka conceded with hindsight. The anti-climax his great-grandfather foresaw now came with such impunity it shook the whole structure of Atlantis. The Atlanteans having harnessed the bounties to the best of their abilities turned complacent. With the lapse of time, they threw away the tenets of divine love which fertilized the womb of Atlantis into advanced science and technology. The emergent crave for temporary satisfaction in the symphony of the material systems they had put together, a deviation from the normal, shifted their focus away from the divine.
Tonka Manu viewed it in no other light. In his perception as Manu, their notion of progress equated a frightening, retrogressive step.
He rose from the desk's edge, went behind the tinted glass crescent and slumped onto a bronze-glossed swivel chair cushioned with black leather. Tonka Manu huffed and mind-triggered a button on the viewfinder of the short-circuit monitor on the desktop. He then reclined and watched the brightening screen. The magnificent Divine Theatre in the centre of Manu Square filled the screen like a phantom. It looked like a mountain of sapphire jutting out of the Deemen Sea. Fascinated by the grand aesthetic display of Manu Square, Tonka Manu ascribed to the Divine Theatre the climax of technological mastery, despite the glitzy atmosphere of his sixteen-bedroom mansion. He could not compare it with any edifice he had seen in Songhai or other cities of Atlantis.
A universe of crystals blended well with intricate marble in the five-floor magnificence. Tonka found the greatest amazement in the angular side-flaps stretching towards two gaping saucers which, in turn, merged in opposite directions with a hat-like crystal dome. The Divine Theatre and the neighboring mansions embellished the ingenious traits of the Atlanteans.
He could make out a stream of Atlanteans in solemn motion toward the main entrance, a huge heart made of pure gold. Self-activated slide doors hinged on it and on the inner and outer frames were rims of smallish star lights. The people daily walked in and out of this gold-hewed heart for their morning devotions.
Tonka could also see the motorcade of Belani Ziaku, the Cons
ul-General of Atlantis, along with few other prominent Atlanteans, meandering through the driveway to the Divine Theatre. The array of Aerophibians in the Consul-General’s convoy was quite a sight. Their morning rites done, a few others also eased out of the inner chambers of the Divine Theatre.
In their silent stead, those inward bound awakened feelings of an expedient duty in Tonka Manu. His obligation as the Manu, the spiritual patriarch, besides honing of their aspirations, included routine morning shuttles to the Divine Theatre to rekindle the flame of divinity for Atlanteans who sought his guidance. There had been times he had shirked this responsibility without any regret. But, this dawn, the silent beckoning of the throng heading into the Divine Theatre commanded his attention. Yet, he felt he should defy the impulse. Though the urgency of this morning duty required his presence in the Theatre’s main auditorium, some thoughts worried him. Would the Atlanteans heed his warnings and safeguard the already endangered ship from the cataracts along the spawn of sail? They were faring badly regarding the sail and his warnings had assumed a rhetorical blandness in the minds of the now proud humanity.
Belani Ziaku, the Consul-General had also developed a false air. Unmindful of the patriarch’s support and guidance, he had become too proud of his status as the political rallying point in Atlantis. Tonka could do little or nothing to avert the danger looming offshore. Atlanteans were foolish enough not to recognize this as the sad result of their deviation from the right path. Nevertheless, it remained his duty to caution them till they got to their tether's end and the plugs got pulled off Atlantis.
The viewfinder provided Tonka Manu with a range of options around Manu Square. His mind punched another button on it and the Divine Theatre’s main auditorium came into view. Inner-circle members decorated the auditorium in frenzy with fresh flowers as he had noticed back in time. Expectant Atlanteans from Songhai and the neighboring cities filled the row of seats on the tiered floor. The gallery was also filled to capacity. The fast-changing scenes shifted Tonka’s attention from the screen.
The skilful blend of gold, glass fibers and mosaic tiles cast a spell on the guests’ minds. Large effigies of Manu Waadua took up niches at designated spots throughout the auditorium. Silhouettes of Tonka Manu flickered on the backdrop of the stage, a ship-like marble elevation on which a great crystal star was emblazoned. In it the golden throne of the Manu glimmered. The array of lights dovetailing into the crystal star and refracting around the entire stage mystified the entire scenery. This wondrous work of art fixated Tonka.
Tonka Manu’s heart huffed that this splendid display had all been done in his honor. However, in his frequent analysis of the Atlanteans' prowess, self-indictment glared. In the rituals of living, he had no figment of doubt that the end and not the means matter the most.
The urge to enter the Divine Theatre stirred once more in Tonka Manu’s heart. He whisked the edge of the crescent glass desk, wheeled himself on the swivel chair to the left, almost to the fringe of the desk, and then thumbed an ebony button on a small console. A screen concealed on the top left corner of the wall flashed into life. Tonka watched the profile of a young man of twenty-six calendars appear on it.
Tonka Manu addressed him. "Daya, how long will it take the theatre to be ready for this morning’s devotion?"
On hearing the voice from the console, the young man snapped to attention. "A couple of swirls, I suppose. Couldn't be more," Daya replied in a sultry voice from the adjoining mansion through the monitor. "I've just checked the theatre. They’re cleaning up the auditorium in time for this morning’s function."
"I observed that from the monitor. Anyway, get along and inform your colleagues to hasten up. Then get in touch with me in about twenty swirls. Okay?"
"Sure, Manu," Daya acquiesced, bowing. "And where would you be when I call back?"
"The penthouse."
"All right, Manu."
"Blessings of the Manu!"
Tonka Manu mind-punched another button on the console and the screen receded into its original concealed position. He heaved his athletic frame onto his feet. Steering free of the desk and chair, he made a hasty exit from the luxurious penthouse to his bedroom through the nearest door.
# # #
Belani Ziaku grew, a stout man of average height. His glazed brown eyes looked like polished tile, and with a temperament like the undercurrent of a placid river. Most observers consigned his life to the backwoods of history because of his poor background.
By the high standards of Dhusa State, without the financial wherewithal and the political will to live above board, a life’s worth equalled a grain in the sands of time. Therefore, nobody thought Belani could become great. In his psyche, however, poverty could never stunt the height a man would attain in life, not when he had foresight and great optimism. Belani lacked neither when, against the grain of popular advice, he opted for politics at twenty-five calendars.
Belani’s semi-literate father, Ziaku Kebbia, desired to see at least the eldest of his five children change the direction of their chequered lives. So, he set Belani’s step on the threshold of this dream.
Ziaku, like most people who grew up in the suburbs of cosmopolitan Dhusa and Songhai, had known a life of drudgery. Haunted by his circumstance, he had vowed even as a child to spare his children the ridicule of a worthless life, the kind a poor background bequeathes. While he lacked the means to actualize this, the determination to steer them towards the world of academics remained undying in him.
Ziaku Kebbia toiled part time in Dhusa’s hovercraft factory in the mornings, and assisted his wife Tummai in her pastry business in the evenings. The shift between the factory and the family business everyday tasked him at first, but over time he got used to it and earned enough to send his children to school, starting with Belani the first-born.
In junior school, Belani’s brilliance showed. He excelled and with doggedness kept alive his father’s hope of a brighter future for the family. Nonetheless, his truancy worried his teachers as well as parents. His teachers threatened to tame his exuberance, but he always creamed the results at the end of each session. This gladdened their hearts and provided him an escape route from punishment. From junior through middle school, Belani’s remarkable performances in the sciences portrayed him as someone destined for higher things. This culminated in the Atlantis Citadel, Sondibo, where he graduated with distinction in aerophibian engineering.
Afterwards, contrary to all expectations, Belani’s career path veered from the sciences to politics. Belani admired the lives of politicians. The magnitude of their powers over the multitude of Atlanteans often amazed him. Only Tonka Manu’s role as spiritual patriarch fell beyond the influence of Atlantis’ political bigwigs. He desired to wield that kind of power and influence. Something wealth alone could not give to him.
“Son, I don’t think this is a wise choice,” Ziaku Kebbia entreated when Belani broached the issue. “You have a brilliant career ahead of you as an aerophibian engineer. That’s where your nest of fortune lies.”
“Nest of fortune? What better nest is there than service to the people?”
“You’re moving too fast.”
“I appreciate your concern father, but have faith in me. I’ll be fine even in political waters.”
“That’s what you think, son. But you’re better off being an aerophibian engineer. Political waters in Dhusa are murky.”
“Now, don’t fret father. I’ll learn to swim in it.”
“No matter how good your intentions are, you don’t have the right fins to swim in murky waters.”
Belani looked at his father and laughed. “I’ll make good use of the opportunity to contribute my quota towards building a progressive Atlantis, starting with the Zelibe District.”
“No doubt you will,” replied Kebbia. “But you know we don’t have the political clout in Dhusa or elsewhere. That means you’d be a small fish in
troubled waters.”
“It’s not exactly the way you paint it, father,” Belani enthused. “All it requires is the application of my engineering skills to the political turf. It’s as simple as that. In due time you’ll see that I was right.”
Tummia, Belani’s mother, who had been silent while the exchange lasted, cleared her throat. “There’s absolutely nothing we haven’t seen,” she said. “Haven’t we seen enough of the hypocrisy that goes on daily in the name of ‘service to the people?’ No, my son, you don’t belong to the band of heady fools who think they can steal our birthrights and deceive us all the time with their sweet talk. You’re cut out for greater things.”
“What things, mother?”
“Like taming the air with aerophibians or hovercrafts," Kebbia chipped in.
“Ah, father,” Belani exclaimed, amused by his father’s logic or the lack of it.
“Like creating value out of the abundant resources in the bowels of Atlantis,” Tummia pressed on. “Don’t you think it is a better contribution to humanity than this faceless service every fool talks about?”
“Hnn-hnn,” Kebbia intoned. “Your mother is right. I don’t find this idea of politics funny at all, considering where we are coming from.”
“Yes, considering where we’re coming from,” Tummia added. “Do we have the impetus to fly? Can we go beyond our boundary?”
Belani Ziaku’s eyebrows creased when he noticed his mother’s uneasiness. A hood of apprehension overshadowed the usual sparkle in her eyes. She tried to adjust her beige gown and the cream scarf over her long braids, but in vain.
Why she also tows my father’s line of thought beats me, Belani wondered. At fifty she has seen quite a lot, but she has no cause to fret over my political ambition.
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