by Yoti Lane
To her relief the wonderful world under the ground looked just the same. The sun shone, the trees, and flowers glittered, and there were nuts and fruit in abundance. The same little monkey was playing around the opening of the tunnel, and to Mala’s joy, when the nut rolled out he pounced on it once more, and began to eat. As soon as she saw this Mala, uttering a loud cry ran out. Immediately a crowd gathered round.
“Woe, woe,” cried Mala. “Once again the nut I had for my child has been taken from me?”
“How did it get here?” cried someone in the crowd.
“Just as it did before,” wailed Mala. “There is still famine above the ground. I hunted and hunted for nuts. I found none until I reached the tree above the tunnel. Then I saw one, and in my eagerness I dropped it, and it rolled down here.”
“Have you really had nothing to eat lately?” asked a wise old owl. “Nothing. For myself I do not mind, it is my poor baby I worry about,” said Mala.
For a while there was silence and everyone stared at Mala. She felt that they were reading her mind, and wondered if they guessed how she had squandered the food they gave her.
“I must thank you for your gift last time I was here,” she said hastily. “It was wonderful, but of course I had to share it with everyone, and it is long since gone!”
They listened to her without comment, and the owl invited her to sit down, and food was brought to her. Mala felt that all was well, and she had no more to fear. She felt sure that they would not let her go away empty-handed, and she began to wonder if she could not even do better still. Why should she and her family continue to starve in the world above, while down here everyone lived in luxury.
“Never in my life have I seen any place so beautiful as this,” Mala remarked to the owl. “Your trees and flowers are so fine. I am so sensitive to beauty, far more so than my friends up above. My tastes are really refined, and so are my husband’s, and our baby is a sensitive and clever little fellow. We would willingly leave the world above, if you could spare us a corner down here. We should be so happy in these beautiful surroundings, and among such charming people.”
“The owl looked at her solemnly and shook his head. “That is impossible. No one may come to live here unless they have been selected.”
Piqued, but trying to be beautifully polite, Mala looked sad. “Then couldn’t we be selected? How is it done? Is it like a Club? Do we have to be elected?”
“Yes, in a way,” replied the owl.
“Oh, I do wish you would tell me how to set about it?” Mala exclaimed.
“No, that is forbidden. I am sorry, I must leave you now, I have things to do,” the owl said rather shortly, and flapped quietly away.
Very upset at this Mala turned her attention to other people, and from each of them she tried tactfully to extract the information as to how she and her family could gain permission to live in this lovely underworld. In each case she failed. The secret was evidently closely guarded. Not even the most heart-rending references to the distress in the world above, and the distress of her family in particular, could gain Mala a clue.
“The drought must soon be over, and you will all have food again,” they told her. Disgruntled Mala decided to return home. At least they would have to give her a parting gift.
So Mala made her farewells, and once more as she prepared to leave, a large drum was brought in, the owl flapping around it. Mala gave most effusive thanks, shouldered the drum, and set off up the tunnel.
No longer admiring, but jealous and resentful, Mala made her way home. She decided that these people must be snobs, and after all she and her family were just as good any day. Well, never mind, at least she had secured another load of food. Her trick had worked.
When she arrived home Mala found a large crowd waiting for her. They had guessed that she must be visiting her mysterious and powerful friends, and were in a state of great excitement anticipating another feast.
When they saw Mala they surged round her, cheering, and clapping her on the back. At first Mala was in no way pleased. She would have preferred to hoard all the food for herself and her family this time. It would be very unwise to feast recklessly again. But seeing the expectant eyes around her, listening to their compliments, Mala was unable to resist another opportunity to be a person of great importance if only for a few days.
“Here is plenty of food for everyone!” she cried dumping the drum on the ground.
“Surely you aren’t going to have another feast?” hissed the tortoise.
“Why not,” cried Mala recklessly. “The drought will soon be over anyhow!”
The crowd cheered loudly and pressed around the drum.
“Let me beat it!” cried Mala’s husband, and began forthwith to belabour the drum.
But no rattle of fruit and nuts rewarded his efforts. Instead came a strange rustling sound, and from inside the drum swarmed legions of tiny, strange creatures such as no one had ever seen before. They hovered over the crowd which immediately began to vanish in all directions until no one was left in the clearing but Mala and her family.
Calling for revenge on the people of the underworld Mala sat down and wept. She was hungry and disappointed, and worse still humiliated because the people of the underworld had evidently seen through her trick, and tried to teach her a lesson.
As Mala and her family wept rain began to mingle with their tears. The drought had ended.
“Rain, rain,” cried Mala. “Now we need fear no longer, in a little while there will be plenty of food!”
True there was soon food, but there were other things too. Everyone began to fall ill, and with illnesses such as had never been known before. Disease had been let loose from the drum, and spread all over the earth, and since then all the people and animals in the world have been subject to ills of all kinds such as had never been known until the monkey brought them from the underworld.
THE LEOPARD HAS NO FRIENDS
THE TORTOISE IS a clever and cunning fellow, and one particular tortoise named Basso who lived near the banks of the Benue river, was very clever indeed. During the season when fish were plentiful, he went fishing every day, and returned with a heavy load. He was determined not to share any of his catch with the neighbours, and in particular he was determined that the leopard, who had a very large appetite, should have none. So after he caught his fish, he hid his rod, and took the fish home on his back in a large, covered basket nearly as big as himself.
On his way home he often saw the leopard in the distance. For some days the leopard looked curiously at the basket, but didn’t come near, and the tortoise pretended not to see him. At last, however, the leopard became very curious, and stopped the tortoise.
“Can I help you with your load?” he asked politely, his magnificent whiskers twitching with eagerness.
The tortoise shook his head. “No, thank you, I can manage.”
“But really I should like to help. I see you carrying these heavy loads so often, and I feel someone should lend aid. Let me carry it a little way.”
“No, I really couldn’t think of it,” the tortoise protested.
“But I insist. We must be good neighbours,” the leopard said firmly.
The tortoise looked very sad, and two large tears rolled out of his eyes as he shook his head again.
“I really can’t allow you to do that. You see I have a relative here. A dead relative. I am about to bury him!”
The leopard looked shocked.
“My dear fellow, I’m so sorry. How very painful for you. Not a close relative I hope?”
“A cousin,” the tortoise said with a catch in his voice.
“Was it sudden?” the leopard enquired.
“Yes, quite sudden.”
The leopard looked sympathetic, and then horrified.
“I say, you don’t mean to tell me that every time I’ve seen you with this great basket you are burying a relative?”
The tortoise gave a well-timed sob and nodded.
“I�
�m afraid so. My poor family seem to be unlucky.”
“But I saw you yesterday, and on last Thursday, and twice the week before that,” exclaimed the leopard.
The tortoise looked stricken, as indeed he was when he realised how closely the leopard had been watching him.
“That is true. My parents, my uncle, my aunt, and now my poor cousin. All gone.”
The leopard backed away a little.
“I say it’s nothing catching, is it? I mean, if it is, you yourself— that is any one of us, might catch it.”
The tortoise felt alarmed. It would never do if he were forced to leave a neighbourhood where the fishing was so good.
“No, it’s nothing infectious,” he said hastily. “It’s something in the family. We just die off like leaves in the dry season—simply like leaves. Ah, well, I mustn’t burden you with my troubles, so I’ll be getting along.”
But the leopard blocked his path.
“No, my dear fellow. No! You have had all this grief, and none of us have helped. Now that I know about it I insist on helping. Here, give me the basket, and I’ll carry it a little way.”
Before the tortoise could prevent it the leopard shouldered the basket.
“Which way?” he enquired.
Fuming, the tortoise led the way. He brought up every argument he could think of to induce the leopard to abandon the basket, but the more he protested the more obstinate the leopard became. The tortoise was so perturbed that without noticing he led the leopard round in a circle, and they came back to the spot where they met.
Then the leopard became suspicious.
“Surely this is very strange. Do you mean to bury your cousin here?”
“Yes!” the tortoise said in despair, brokenhearted at the idea of his beautiful fish going under the grimy earth.
“All right,” said the leopard, putting down the basket, and proceeding to dig a grave with his great claws. Then he dragged the basket towards the hole. This was too much for the greedy tortoise.
“Stop!” he wailed. “Stop!”
“What is it now?” asked the leopard.
The tortoise looked miserable.
“I’ll tell you the truth. That isn’t my cousin in the basket.”
“Then your cousin isn’t dead?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him for the past twenty years.”
“Or your uncle, or your aunt?”
“No, they’ve gone down the Niger for a change of air.”
“And your parents?”
“They celebrated their diamond wedding last week.”
“Then what’s in the basket?”
“Fish. Very special fish. You see, I’m on a fish diet.”
“You mean you put yourself on a fish diet,” the leopard retorted grimly.
“Well, why not? It’s good for the brain, and it’s not easy work catching fish, it needs patience and perseverance.”
“And you decided not to share any fish with your neighbours?” The tortoise looked righteous.
“Why should I? Most of them are lazy fellows. I didn’t see why I should feed them. In your case it’s different of course. It was most kind of you to offer to help me as you did, and I shall be very pleased to share my fish with you.”
“That’s very generous of you,” the leopard said dryly.
“Not at all. I’m only too delighted. Wait till you taste my special fish stew.”
“What’s so special about it?” the leopard asked.
“The spices and herbs, my dear fellow. Now look here, I’ll take the fish home and get it ready and you go and fetch me some herbs for flavouring—the best ones are in that sunny patch behind the village, and then we’ll have a fine feed.”
The leopard looked suspicious, but he went, for he knew where to find the tortoise if the fellow tried to cheat him, and he could crush him like a fly. He congratulated himself on his own cleverness. He had suspected that the tortoise was up to something all along, and now he had the tortoise in his power.
The tortoise heaved a sigh of relief as he saw the leopard lope off. It was all nonsense about the special herbs, of course, but herbs wouldn’t do any harm, and they did grow where he had told the leopard to go. While the leopard was away he’d have time to think out some new scheme to prevent the leopard sharing the fish.
When the leopard came back with the herbs, the tortoise had a big pot smoking over the fire, and from it came a delicious odour of fish.
“Ah, the herbs,” the tortoise gushed. “And what splendid ones. What a banquet we shall have!” Lovingly he dropped in little bits of herbs, and sniffed the steam as if it were perfume.
The leopard stretched himself out and purred with contentment. This fish diet idea was a good one. In future the tortoise could go fishing every day, but not for himself. “I’ll have a special fish diet, and the tortoise can have the left-overs,” the leopard assured himself.
But the tortoise was thinking furiously, until at last a plan came to him.
“Look here,” he suggested. “Why not come for a walk before dinner? It will give us an appetite.”
“Why not?” the leopard replied agreeably, and away they strolled into the forest.
“Have you ever played ‘Black is White?’ ” the tortoise asked after a while.
The leopard looked curious.
“Why no, I’ve never heard of it.”
“Well the rules are simple. The thing to remember is that whatever you say, you really do the opposite. Suppose you tie me to a tree. I cry out, ‘Tie me tighter, tighter!’ and you say, ‘Tighter, tighter,’ but you really make the ropes looser. If I cry ‘Looser, looser’ you shout ‘Looser,’ but you tie me tighter.”
“It sounds silly,” said the leopard. “It’s too simple.”
“It only sounds simple,” the tortoise assured him. “It’s really a very clever game, because it’s surprising what you do when you get excited.”
“Nonsense,” said the leopard. “I’m sure I could play that game for hours and hours without ever making a mistake.”
“All right,” said the tortoise. “Let’s try. Here is a tree. There is a liana. Now you pull it down, and I’ll let you tie me up.”
“Idiotic,” grunted the leopard, but proceeded to pull down the rope-like liana, and tied the tortoise to a tree.
“Looser, looser,” cried the tortoise. The leopard smirked, and tied the ropes tighter. “Tighter, tighter,” squeaked the tortoise, and the leopard growled, “Tighter, tighter,” but loosed the ropes.
“Pretty good,” commented the tortoise after the game had gone on for ten minutes without the leopard making a single mistake, although he had got a bit breathless.
“It’s child play,” sniffed the leopard.
“Now let’s see if I’m as good as you,” the tortoise suggested.
“If you must,” said the leopard impatiently, and leaned against a large tree, to which the tortoise proceeded to rope him in no uncertain fashion, until the leopard panted for breath.
“Looser, looser,” he gasped, completely forgetting the rules of the game. The tortoise cried “Looser, looser,” but pulled the ropes more tightly until the leopard couldn’t move an inch. Then he went up to the helpless leopard and smirked.
“You’ve lost the game. You’ve lost the dinner.”
“Oh, bother the dinner,” the leopard snorted. “Let me out of here.”
“I think you’re better where you are. Good-bye,” said the tortoise.
“Come back, come back, enough of this nonsense. You can’t leave me here.”
“Oh, can’t I,” carolled the tortoise.
“I’ll die of hunger and thirst,” shrieked the leopard.
“Probably,” said the tortoise, and turned and walked away back to his dinner. The biggest and best dinner he had ever eaten, in his long life. “Brains before brawn,” he said derisively, as he thought of the leopard tied to the tree.
Back in the forest the leopard first growled ferociously, and strug
gled madly. When that proved hopeless he whined pitifully. All the animals in the forest came fearfully and peeped cautiously to see what all the noise was about.
“Free, free me,” cried the leopard to a little antelope. But the antelope kicked up its heels and ran, nothing would induce it to go near the leopard, its age-old enemy. “Chew off the ropes, I’ll die of thirst,” the leopard implored the zebra. But the zebra shook its head and trotted off. It knew the leopard of old. It was the same with the bush pigs who ran away squeaking, and the bush cow, a ferocious beast who had fought with the leopard before now, or even the giant bats. The leopard had no friends.
It was almost dark when the leopard heard a small squeaky voice at his feet. It was a kinkajou, a small animal that comes out at night.
“What’s the matter?” squeaked the kinkajou.
“Can’t you see I’m tied here, dying of hunger, and thirst. Untie me!” commanded the leopard.
“If I do you’ll kill me,” replied the kinkajou.
“I won’t. I won’t. I give you my solemn promise,” whined the leopard.
The kinkajou made no answer, and the leopard went on promising, and protesting, until the kinkajou, who was a kind-hearted little creature, decided that he would help. First of all he proceeded to dig deep holes all round the leopard.
“What are you doing now? Why are you wasting time?” groaned the leopard.
“I’m making a lot of holes so that I can escape down one the moment I free you. I don’t trust you,” replied the kinkajou.
The leopard moaned more protests, false protests, for all the time he was becoming more and more hungry and the kinkajou would be a tasty mouthful.
When all the escape holes were prepared the kinkajou proceeded to gnaw the leopard’s bonds. It took a long time, while the leopard watched cautiously, and prepared to spring. At last the bonds fell apart, and all in one movement the leopard sprang free, and leapt towards the kinkajou. But the little animal was too quick for him, and escaped, but not before the leopard had left the marks of his four claws on the poor kinkajou’s back. As the kinkajou rushed down the tunnel he resolved never to trust anyone again, and to tell his children never to do so. From that day to this all his descendants never have trusted anyone, not even the kindest human being, and they all bear four marks on their back, like the marks of a leopard’s claws.