by Graeme Cann
Alofu sat staring at the letter he was reading. The rapid decline of Sampa as told by his uncle had left him stunned. The unbelievable cruelty of Rubin, which was now being repeated in Sampa at this very moment in time, broke his heart. But the last sentence on the page was the knockout punch. “Yes, Alofa, the name of the lad who defied Rubin was Muralu, and the name of his twin brother was Kaluba, your grandfather.”
Kaluba was a cruel and vindictive man like Rubin. Perhaps, thought Alofu, that explains it. A cruel vindictive father gives birth to a cruel vindictive son. But even as the thought formed in his mind, he knew it was wrong. Soft, gentle, courageous Muralu was also Rubin’s son. No! The difference between the brothers was not their genetics or their upbringing. It was their beliefs, or in Kaluba’s case, his lack of belief. Muralu had chosen a pathway which led in a totally different direction to the one his father had chosen. He refused to be dominated by fear. He had no need for violence. He had no problem embracing all people as equals. He saw no conflict in embracing age-old traditional beliefs and values whilst at the same time recognising that he lived in a rapidly changing world. Despite his genetics, the death of his mother, his paternal role model and his upbringing, he deliberately chose to be a man of peace. Not so Kaluba. He had made an equally deliberate but very different choice. He chose to embrace his father’s fear and unbelief, and the consequence was that his values, attitudes, and behaviours were exactly the same as his father’s.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE COVENANT RENEWED
“All of the great leaders have had one characteristic in common: it was the willingness to confront unequivocally the major anxiety of their people in their time. This and not much else is the essence of leadership.”
John Kenneth Galbraith
After carefully folding the letter, written in Muralu’s unsteady hand, and placing it in his pocket, Alofa left the cottage and went to the little garden where that morning they had buried Muralu. He sat quietly, feeling that the great old man was still very much present. His heart was full of pride that a man who had lived with so much inner conviction and unfailing courage was his uncle.
His head, however, was full of questions. What would cause a man like Rubin to turn against an anointed Mother-Father like Marita? Why would he choose to exile his own mother-in-law, the woman who had given birth to his wife, and who had raised his own sons? How could he reach such depths of depravity that he would attempt to take the life of his younger son?
The answer to those questions, he suddenly realised, was the same answer to the other two questions that had occupied his mind since Muralu had told him the Third Great Story of Sampa. Why did Rubin turn away from belief in the Great Creator? And why did he reject and break the Covenant? The answer to all those questions and the many others that he was asking about the decline of Sampa was fear. At the root of every painful emotion and of every destructive behaviour, demonstrated first by Mordeca and then by Rubin and their followers, was fear. Doubt was a product of fear! Lack of belief and trust had its roots in fear! Aggression was born out of fear! Control was born out of fear! Every inappropriate use of power was born out of fear! Violence was the final and most destructive fruit of fear!
At last he understood. As long as the Sampians had held the story of the Great Creator, the Great One of the Forest, and Abele and the Covenant with reverence and awe, it was possible for them to live without fear. For hundreds of years they had believed that the Great Creator, by placing them in their beautiful valley and protecting them from the dangers of the rainforest through the establishment of the Covenant, had demonstrated unconditional love to them.
Down through the centuries, Mother-Fathers like Abele, Galildra, Mesila, Marita, and many others had been the gentle custodians of the Covenant, reflecting all that was good, wise, and loving. Every challenge they met was driven by fear, and every fear was met and defeated by love, until the death of Marita. Suddenly there was no custodian of peace. No voice of reason. No keeper of the Covenant. The Covenant was broken, the rainforest was invaded, marriage was desecrated, families were broken, democracy was replaced by oppression, and violence became an accepted way of responding to danger.
Perhaps, Alofa mused, this is the way of the world. Maybe all civilised societies begin with quaint myths and stories that serve them well until people become more sophisticated and educated. Then those myths are replaced with truth. Reality! The earth is part of a vast universe. Human beings are just one fraction of a gigantic animal world. The need to survive and the fear of extinction aided us in our evolution and must continue to help us to face all the challenges the outside world presents. Maybe we can’t go on believing myths about being provided for and protected by Great Creators and Covenants. Our survival depends on us; on our ingenuity and resourcefulness; on our physical strength, and on our mental and emotional resilience. Maybe society cannot continue to be built on belief and trust in one another. The strongest and most intelligent of our kind must govern us. They will establish laws that will both teach us how to live and govern the way we live. When other communities threaten us, those who govern us will conscript us into armies and mobilise us to protect our freedom. Maybe living with fear, and being driven by fear, is the reality, and suspicion, violence, and control are reasonable ways to protect our freedom and security. Perhaps quaint old men like Muralu are simply misled romantics caught in a time warp and blinded by ignorance and self-deception.
Confused and depressed by his musings, Alofa stood and turned back toward the cottage. Tomorrow he would travel back to Sampa and to his beautiful and deeply wise Misha. She would help him with his questions and enable him to cope with his confusion. It was at this moment that he realised he was not alone.
As he walked toward the cottage, he suddenly perceived that the garden in which he stood was bathed in a soft golden glow, and in the midst of that pool of light stood the very first tiger he had ever seen. Even on his many trips to and from Towin, when he was forced to travel in the rainforest to avoid those whose job it was to prevent him visiting his uncle, he had never encountered a tiger face to face. He had, on his trips, often heard tigers roaring or chuffing, but had always had the feeling that they were protecting him rather that hunting him. Even now, the sight of this magnificent beast standing within six metres of where he himself stood did not fill him with fear. Instead, he was overwhelmed with a sense of wondering awe. The tiger stood almost two metres tall at the shoulders, and from head to tail was more than three metres long. Its mouth was slightly opened and Alofa could see its large white teeth and pink tongue. It was a golden brown with large black stripes, and as it looked at him through reddish eyes, it made the chuffing sound that tigers make to communicate friendly rather that aggressive intentions.
Both tiger and man stood stock still looking at each other respectfully. There was an eerie stillness in the garden. The breeze which had been blowing softly in the trees had dropped. Birds which had a moment before been engaged in noisy conversation had gone silent. Even the frogs in the nearby pond had lost their voices. In that moment of time, Alofa experienced the strange sensation of hearing words that no one seemed to speak. The words resonated in his mind as if they were being spoken by the oldest and wisest creature on earth. Alofa stared at the tiger certain that the words came from it, but the tiger’s mouth did not move. As he listened to the words in his mind, Alofa, with his eyes still set steadfastly on the tiger, sunk wearily to the ground.
“Alofa, you have lived all your life in a violent and unsafe environment. You have seen violence perpetuated by your leaders, on you and your people. As a child you suffered abuse at the hands of your parents and significant others. The women you have known live in fear of their husbands. The poor and vulnerable that you care so deeply about seek for justice where there is none. The villages of your neighbours in the mountains have been pillaged, and many villagers killed, by the Sampian army. Yet you have refused to believe that there is no way back from here. You have pleaded
with your leaders to return to the Covenant and to belief in the Great Creator. You and Misha and your friends have risked your lives to turn Sampa from what is certain destruction. You have always believed that if the people of Sampa had continued to honour the Covenant and the Great Creator, it would not have come to this.
“Since Marita died and until this very day, life has been exceedingly difficult for both the humans in the valley who had believed in the Covenant and the animals in the rainforest. With no Covenant to protect us, we all live in fear. Humans kill the tiger and other animals, and tigers kill humans. The forest is no longer a safe place for my kind, nor is the valley a safe place for your kind. Sampa as we have known it will never again be a place where people live in safety, for where trust has been broken, it is difficult, perhaps impossible, to restore. If you and your family and friends wish to live without fear, you must leave Sampa and go to a new place and start over again. I have already led your friends through the rainforest to a valley on the other side. They were not aware that I was there, but every minute of their outward and their homeward journey I guided and protected them. You must take those who wish to leave Sampa and follow the same path that they followed. As I guided and protected them, I will guide and protect you.
“Today I wish to renew the Covenant. You will call your new home Loloma, in honour of your courageous and noble friend. It will be a place of compassion, and you will once again live by the values established by the Great Creator with Abele, but you will do so in a very different world from the one Abele lived in. Your people will ask you to be their Mother-Father in the traditions of Abele, Galildra, Mesila, and Marita. Rebuilding a community that is not dominated by fear will be a difficult task with many obstacles to overcome. Do not give up. What you and I have always believed to be true are not myths and tales but the truth, and the truth will always set people who believe and act on it free.
“I must also speak to you of Muralu,” the voice in his mind continued. “He and he alone has guarded the foundational truths of Sampa, and he has been led by the Great Creator to share the Four Great Stories of Sampa with you. What he did not know was that in doing so, he himself was becoming a key figure in the Fifth Great Story of Sampa. What he did in defying his father, living in forced exile for the whole of his long life, and passing on both the inspiration and burden of the stories to you will be spoken about for generations to come. He was a brave and faithful man, and during his sojourn in the town, both I and my predecessors visited him often to speak of things past and present. Indeed, I was here when he died, and his heart was greatly comforted by the knowledge that you were on your way and that you would receive the Fourth Great Story. He delighted in you as a man would in his son, and he believed that you would fulfil the task that you have been given.”
For the whole time that he was paying attention to the voice in his mind, Alofa did not for a moment take his eyes off the great animal. The sense of peace and empowerment he felt in the tiger’s presence completely embraced him, and he knew that whatever he would face in the days to come, his time with Muralu and this momentous experience would be his comfort and inspiration.
CHAPTER SIX
THE LAST DAYS OF SAMPA
“Even today we raise our hand against our brother … we have perfected our weapons, our conscience has fallen asleep, and we have sharpened our ideas to justify ourselves as if it were normal. We continue to sow destruction, pain, and death. Violence and war lead only to death.”
Pope Francis
Alofa’s return to Sampa after the death of Muralu involved travelling all day under the cover of the rainforest. It was slow going and fraught with danger. His absence from Sampa had of course been noticed, and groups of soldiers were stationed along the road watching for him. They were afraid to search for him in the forest, because rumour had it that he was protected by the tigers there. His coming and going was a mystery to them, as he was never seen leaving or returning to Sampa, and rarely ever seen on the way.
He was close to the start of the Sampian Valley and was standing on a hilltop from which he had an unhindered view of the whole area. As he took it in, he began to weep. This was not the same Sampa where the beautiful Marita, Misha’s great aunt, had lived. In those days, Sampa had consisted of four hamlets built along the banks of the river that flowed at the foot of the mountain on the western side of the ten-mile long valley. From each hamlet it was about four miles eastward to the edge of the rainforest. Sampa consisted of more than twenty five thousand acres of the richest, most fertile land you could imagine. When Muralu was a boy, almost all of this land was extensively farmed and highly productive. Nearly five thousand acres were used to grow fruit and vegetables. Immaculate orchards, vineyards, and vegetable gardens had dotted the valley. Another five thousand acres were used for growing crops like corn, barley, oats, and cotton. Cattle were farmed on about ten thousnad acres,and sheep anf goats were raised on the remaining two thousand acres No one either lived on or owned the farms. The whole population had lived in the hamlets which were approximately two miles apart, and the roads between them were busy thoroughfares as the people of Sampa freely travelled from their hamlet to the farmland or from one hamlet to another.
Today, as Alofa looked from his vantage point, the gardens, orchards, and vineyards were still there but now there were dusty roads extending from the hamlets into the forest. Along the roads he could see the timber mills, with their giant piles of timber that had been cut from the forest. Horse-drawn lorries raised little clouds of dust as they hauled logs to the mills. At the end of the valley closest to him, covering more than two thousand acres, were the army barracks. It was here that the soldiers were housed in rambling long huts, and the rest of the land was used for training and field exercises. The land was neglected and was covered by a low-lying native shrub. The compound covered two miles along the river and the whole width of the valley, and was bordered by a high fence and guarded by soldiers and dogs. On the other side of the army land another large area had been dedicated to industry and manufacture. A great deal of smoke rose from the buildings which he knew to be sweat shops, in which people laboured under shocking conditions.
In the days when the Mother-Fathers had served Sampa, all the hamlets were identical except for one detail. They each had neat houses, friendly streets, and a warm community house where people could meet together. They each had a school and a medical centre, but only one had a village square and a meeting house. It was to the village square that all the people of Sampa would come for celebrations and special gatherings. This was the hamlet in which all the people had gathered before marching behind Marita toward the mountains on the day of their great victory. It was here, on the platform in the village square some years later, that she was murdered and replaced as leader by Rubin. This same hamlet was now the only one of the four with a school, a medical centre, or a meeting place. It was the only one that had a marketplace, and predictably it was the hamlet where all the Elders and army officers had their homes and headquarters. On the edge of this hamlet, which was really a large town, there was a magnificent house surrounded by beautiful gardens inside a high fence. This was the home of Kaluba, the chief of Elders. Apart from the few hundred people who worked the farms for their wealthy owners and the men who were in the army, and another small number who manufactured goods and provided services, most of the men who lived in the hamlets of Sampa were hunters and timber gatherers.
As Alofa turned away to continue his journey, he sadly pondered for what seemed like the thousandth time how something that had been so beautiful, so full of love and kindness, so safe and secure, could descend into something so full of fear and ugliness. He passed behind the army reserve in the safety of the rainforest, and for the next two hours tortuously traversed the eight miles between there and the point at which he was closest to the hamlet in which he lived. It was here that he broke cover and crossed the four miles of land between the forest and his home.
Whilst she warmly w
elcomed him, it was clear to Alofa that Misha was stressed, sad, and tense. She knew that many of her family would die in the massacre that was approaching and she, like many of her friends, had been encouraging people they loved to prepare to leave with them. Each day she would return to her house shattered by their unbelief and blindness. In their eyes life was good, and their safety was assured by the presence of an army. Despite his own sadness, Alofa sought to comfort her. He told her of Muralu’s death and his encounter with the Tiger. He told her that the Great One of the Forest had affirmed their plan to leave and set up a new community in the new valley, and had told him that they were to call their new home Loloma. They shared the sadness they both felt because so many would perish, but were consoled a little by the fact that they had done everything that they could to influence them to change their decision to stay.
Ofa and his fellow spies had not yet returned from Mordeca. Domoni reported to Alofa that all that could be done had been done in preparation for their escape. He and thirty other people had actually, under the cover of darkness, conducted exercises in which they practised such things as traffic control and the release and movement of the livestock. Misha had worked with the women and the children, preparing them for a smooth transition from their homes on to the road that led into the forest. There were hard decisions to be made that related to what should be taken and what should be left. The journey would take the main group three weeks, and those who came behind them with the livestock would take a little longer. Some of the older men and women spent much of their time encouraging the others to put their faith in the Covenant from which they had never wavered. “We believe,” they said, “that the Great One will protect us on the journey.”