The Sculptors of Mapungubwe

by Zakes Mda

  Things came to a head when a young diviner from the top of the hill joined the Community of Gapers. Lutendo was the daughter of the Chief Diviner of the Royal Court. She had served as her father’s acolyte and everyone on the hill said she was showing great promise and would one day be a great rain doctor like her father. Initially she had been brought to the grotto by curiosity after hearing stories of the vigils there, but she was soon overtaken by the fervour of the place. She was overwhelmed by the beauty and the power of the Rain Dancer. She came again the next day. And the next. And soon she was a regular. She brought her four divining tablets, each with designs that represented the Man or the Father, the Woman or the Mother, the Girl or Unmarried Woman or Daughter, and the Boy or Unmarried Man or Son. These illustrations were not drawings of human figures but were symbols that would have no specific meaning to an untrained eye. They appeared only on one side of each tablet. The flip sides were blank. Lutendo taught Anotida that the Man symbol represented the life forces of water, rain and semen. The tablet with the Man symbol by itself stood for oppression and needed other tablets to ameliorate it. The Woman symbol represented the earth that held life within itself. But it was only with the rain that it was able to create life. This was a nurturing and caring and loving tablet that also stood for protection from the oppression of the Man tablet. The Boy or Son tablet represented fire and rashness and unbridled energy. The Girl or Daughter tablet stood for air. It was the symbol that fanned the flames and moved water across the earth and brought fortune and trust and innocence. It, above all, represented artistic creativity and talent.

  Lutendo taught Anotida how to cast the four tablets on the ground and how to interpret the reading of those tablets whose symbols faced upwards. For instance, if the Man and the Girl symbols were facing upwards it was a combination of water and air, strength and zest, a clear indication something new was going to happen. What it was would of course depend on the question that was asked of the diviner.

  These symbols had been passed from generation to generation, and their interpretation had been kept secret within the circle of diviners. But there was Lutendo sharing them with self-styled prophets who had not been called into the vocation by the ancestors and had not served as acolytes of established diviners. This did not sit well with the grandees on top of the hill, especially when they heard that it was through Lutendo that the sacred knowledge was being transferred to a common woman of the old residents, and that the silly Community of Gapers was uttering heresies against revered prophets who used the bowl for divination – a more complex method which used a carved wooden bowl with symbols around the rim. The symbols represented such values as sacrifice, nurture, compassion, caution, prosperity and many others. The interpretation of these depended on where cowrie shells fell when the diviner shook the bowl. The diviners who used this method prided themselves on its complexity since an amateur could easily misread the combination of images selected by the shells. They were therefore a respected sagely lot who did not take kindly to the insults they heard were directed at them by what they regarded as unruly mobs outside Chata’s homestead.

  Lutendo’s presence among the Community of Gapers increased their fervour tenfold, which caused great anxiety among the grandees on top of the hill.

  Once more Chata was summoned to present himself before Baba-Munene.

  Before going to the Royal Court Chata decided to go to Rendani’s compound, ostensibly to find out from him first what the complaint was against him this time. The truth was he was hoping that Rendani would not be home at that time but would already be at Baba-Munene’s compound. He would therefore get the opportunity to talk to Princess Dova. And indeed he did not get any response when he made a show of calling Rendani’s name very loudly as he stood outside his door.

  He strolled to Princess Dova’s house. Nervously at first. And then resolutely. Princess Dova was sitting on the veranda doing some beadwork. Obviously she was not expecting a visitor because she was sprawling carelessly, her muslin kanga hanging loosely and part of her ample thigh exposed. She glared angrily at Chata as she quickly adjusted the kanga and adopted a decent demeanour.

  “What do you want?”

  “Rendi.”

  “You know where his house is.”

  “I also want to talk to you.”

  “We have nothing to talk about.”

  “You can’t say that, Princess Dova. You started the whole thing. You tried to enlist my help to stop your husband’s marriage.”

  The Princess sighed in resignation.

  “You have not given up on that, have you?” asked Chata, now becoming anxious.

  “There is nothing I can do about it. Tomorrow the dzekiso is beginning with Rendani’s uncles driving a herd of cattle and taking some gold ingots to Marubini’s home as bridewealth.”

  “So you gave them your permission after all.”

  “Who says I did? And what are you doing here? You’re making things worse for me.”

  It was clear the Princess was no longer an ally. He demanded to know why. When she refused to talk he threatened to stand there for ever if he did not get her answer. It turned out the senior wives had prevailed by accusing her of having a relationship with Chata. They claimed that they had seen Chata sneak into her house and the child who was once sent to call him confirmed that he had been the messenger. The senior wives blackmailed her; if she continued to withhold her consent to the marriage they would tell Rendani of her sordid affair. Because she knew it was a lie she refused to give in. The senior wives carried out the threat, and now Rendani was walking around the compound like a cuckolded husband who had to take another wife to cleanse himself of the betrayal of the previous favourite. Her voice had been totally neutralised.

  “Has he told your father about this?”

  “I don’t think he has, otherwise my father would already have asked me about it. I live in shame, and it is all because of you.”

  “But you called me. I was going on my way and you called me.”

  Once more Rendani had won. Chata suspected that he knew there was nothing going on between him and his junior wife. He must know that it was all the concoction of the senior wives to force Princess Dova to give in. Otherwise why did he not take drastic steps about the infidelity? Tradition demanded that he should send the offending wife back to her people in shame, and if no reconciliation was possible after protracted negotiations then the bridewealth would have to be paid back, even after many years. The offending man would also be fined a number of cattle or ingots of gold or a season’s harvest, depending on his economic status. None of this had happened, which meant that for Rendani and his wives it was all a ruse. Unless, of course, he did believe his wives and was just biding his time for the kill. Chata had long concluded that it was difficult to deal with Rendani because one never knew what he was going to do next; he had a mind that was always plotting.

  At Baba-Munene’s compound Rendani and his father-in-law were battling with chunks of boiled meat served on the inside of a fresh goat skin. Rendani struggled to cut a piece with a knife that was too blunt to do the job properly. He threw the piece in his mouth and passed the knife to Baba-Munene who did likewise. When Chata arrived Baba-Munene passed the knife to him even before he could complete his greeting. He squatted over the goat skin like the two men and began to saw through the meat. The men chewed loudly and with relish.

  “They must learn to cook meat for longer,” said Baba-Munene. “My teeth are not what they used to be. In my youth when there was no fire out there in the wild I could tear through raw meat like it was soft porridge.”

  Baba-Munene used the same knife to dislodge pieces of meat stuck between his teeth.

  “I have come to answer your call, Younger Father of the Nation,” said Chata. He didn’t want to waste time socialising with the idle rich. His Rain Dancer was waiting impatiently.

  “A call? What was it about?”


  He looked at Rendani for a reminder. There were so many matters he had to deal with, including settling serious disputes that chiefs and sub-chiefs could not handle, perhaps because they had some vested interest. It became difficult sometimes, especially at his age, to keep these matters neatly arranged in his head. That was why the Council of Elders was such an important institution. But this time Rendani had convinced his father-in-law that Chata’s lapse of moral judgement should not be presented to the Council of Elders – at least not yet – but the two of them should deal with him as a father and a brother would. Unless, of course, Chata became too stubborn to heed their warning. This was one thing for which Baba-Munene continued to respect his son-in-law; his patience and generosity towards a man who kept spitting the phlegm of ingratitude in their faces.

  “About the mayhem at his house,” said Rendani, taking the knife from his father-in-law to use on his teeth.

  “Yes, the heresies. They must stop! We hear that the people who gather at your house are worshipping you. No one but Mwali can be worshipped. Even the ancestors are not worshipped, but venerated. The King, himself a living ancestor, cannot be worshipped. He can only be venerated. Who are you to set yourself up as a living god in Mapungubwe?”

  “They don’t worship me, Younger Father,” said Chata. “I don’t think they even know that I exist.”

  “They worship your sculpture, which is the same thing,” said Rendani.

  “I haven’t seen them worship my sculpture. I see them admiring it and being overwhelmed by its beauty.”

  “What conceit!” said Rendani, spitting out a small piece of bone.

  “They utter heresies against certain kinds of prophets in favour of others,” said Baba-Munene. “That will not do. Who are they to decide who Mwali should make His diviners? They trade insults and call our revered prophets names at your homestead and you allow them to do that?”

  “Younger Father,” said Chata, bowing his head in contrition, “I have no power over what they do or say. I do not even follow their activities. They come and go as they please.”

  “It is your homestead, Chatambudza. Any abomination that happens there is on your head,” said Baba-Munene. “You’d better do something about it. Remove the sculpture from their view, tell them to go tend their fields and nurse their children. If the rain refuses to fall and there is famine in the land it will be on your head.”

  “All I do, Younger Father, is focus on my sculpture. When I am working on it I don’t even hear or see them.”

  Rendani laughed mockingly. “You don’t even see Marubini? I have heard that she frequents your homestead and you have been seen talking to her.”

  Of course, Marubini! Chata was certain that Baba-Munene’s concern with restoring religious propriety was genuine. But for Rendani there was always an element of self-interest.

  “And Lutendo belongs to the top of the hill. She is an embarrassment to her father. She must come back.”

  There was pain in Baba-Munene’s voice as he uttered these words. Chata felt sorry for him. But he did not know what he was expected to do and why this was supposed to be his problem.

  “May I go now?” asked Chata.

  “Yes, you may go. But if the nonsense at your house continues you will hear from me again. And it won’t be nice then. There won’t be any meat to share. I don’t know why you are bent on giving this kingdom so many problems. Every time it’s Chata this, Chata that.”

  He thanked them for the meat and left. But even before he had walked out of the palisade Rendani came running after him, calling his name.

  “What now?” asked Chata.

  “I see that I have been making a mistake leaving you out of the negotiations with Marubini’s people, mukomana. You are practically my brother. Tomorrow I am paying the first portion of dzekiso to her people. I want you to be in the delegation with my uncles.”

  Chata looked at him and shook his head as if he pitied him. “You’re enjoying your moment, are you not, my mukomana?”

  “The great Zwanga will love your presence. He will be pleased to see that those he left behind still look out for each other.”

  “Don’t utter his name in vain.”

  “He’s my father so I can utter his name anyhow I like.”

  “You want me in your delegation only to humiliate me. You want to rub your victory deeper and deeper into my skin. I’m not going to allow you to humiliate me, Rendani son of Zwanga.”

  He walked away. Rendani followed him. Chata was getting more and more annoyed, but was determined not to lose it. Rendani should never get the pleasure of knowing that he managed to needle him out of his good sense.

  “And another thing,” said Rendani gleefully, “Marubini is going to be my wife now. You must stop sculpting her image.”

  Anger flashed across Chata’s face. But he contained it before stopping to face his mukomana.

  “She’s mine, Chatambudza, she’s mine. You’ve no right to sculpt her nakedness.”

  “I do not sculpt Marubini. I sculpt the dancer of my dreams. The Rain Dancer.”

  “Everyone knows that Marubini is the Rain Dancer. And she is going to dance for me. For my rain! I, Rendani, son of Zwanga, shall own the power of the rain. I’ll be the most powerful man in all of Mapungubwe. The most powerful.”

  At this he executed a few steps of the dance that warriors performed after victory in battle. Rendani’s was the version adapted by hunters when they returned with vanquished buffalo or lion.

  “That is the only reason you want her . . . for the power that she will give you. That is why you rejected Chido for her. There is no honesty in anything you do, Rendani. I will see to it that you don’t marry Marubini!”

  Chata was yelling despite himself. A few inquisitive children watched from a distance. They dared not come close lest they be accused by their parents of disrespect and of being too interested in the affairs of adults.

  “What will you do, eh, Chata? What will you do? The same thing you are doing with Dova? You think I don’t know you’ve been sneaking into her house?”

  “You will not marry Marubini,” repeated Chata, and performed his own version of the dance. Even as he said so he had no idea what he would do to stop a betrothal that was only a day away. Rendani stopped his dance and said, “You can’t dance a victory dance. You haven’t won anything.”

  Chata danced even more furiously and Rendani broke into mocking guffaws.

  The uproar brought Baba-Munene out of the palisade.

  “What are you showing our children?” asked Baba-Munene.

  “You can own the image of her body; from tomorrow I’ll own the real thing,” said Rendani as he walked away haughtily. The two men watched him stride to his homestead, muttering things about a wretched son of a phuli.

  “Are you jealous of your brother?” asked Baba-Munene.

  “I am not jealous of Rendani for anything, Younger Father.”

  “I think you are jealous because he is a successful man and is adding to that success with more wives.”

  Chata pleaded with Baba-Munene to give him his ear. The quarrel, he explained, was not about his desire for Rendani’s life or wives. He was satisfied with who he was and what he had. He was what he was by choice. He was merely trying to defend the honour of a woman who was about to be used as part of Rendani’s evil machinations. The only reason he wanted to marry Marubini was that she owned the gift of dancing for rain. Rendani had admitted that to him, which was what had led to the dance altercation. Rendani wanted to enhance his power on the hill. His scheming mind believed that to own Marubini was to own the rain, which would make him even more powerful than the King. Couldn’t Younger Father, with all his wisdom, see that Rendani wanted to usurp the King’s power? Rendani had his ear to the ground and knew that the populace below the hill was complaining that the King had become weak and could no l
onger make adequate rain. When it had rained on the occasion of the rainmaking festival people had praised Marubini for it instead of the King. No commoner had ever been praised for rain. Rain was the King’s responsibility and no one else’s. Rendani saw that as an opportunity to please and to spite his father at the same time. He believed that Zwanga had never thought highly of him. He wanted to prove him wrong. What better way to make his father eat his words than by installing himself as the ruler of the kingdom, hence becoming a living ancestor and elevating Zwanga into the ranks of the Royal Ancestors? Zwanga would indeed be indebted to him till the end of time.

  “Only you can stop this, Baba-Munene, unless you want this to be the end of your dynasty.”

  Baba-Munene listened to him attentively, his royal face expressionless. Then he slowly walked back to his compound, leaving Chata standing alone. Chata knew that his message had reached home. He had a song ringing in his head as he strolled down the hill.

  PART THREE

  RENDANI AVENGED HIMSELF BY bestowing a national honour on Chata. He didn’t do it immediately after his betrothal to Marubini was abrogated by the King. It took him two whole seasons to hatch the plot while at the same time smarting over Chata’s victory.

  Various Mapungubweans had proffered their own speculations about the King’s unprecedented action. Marubini, for instance, thought it was due to her throwing a tantrum before her parents on the eve of the dzekiso and announcing to all present that she was not going to marry Rendani and if anybody forced her to she would rather kill herself. That display of bad manners had enraged her kin. She had got completely out of hand, they said, and needed a thorough lashing by her father. It would instil some respect for her elders and their sacred traditions into her flighty head. “They call her a rain dancer,” said one uncle. “It has completely gone to her head and messed up a child who used to be so respectful.” The mother had assured the gathered relatives that there was nothing to worry about; their daughter was merely having last-moment jitters. Soon she would come to her senses and would happily marry the nobleman and the whole family would be joyful and exalted by it. But the father knew his headstrong daughter better. She was as stubborn as the hills that were unmoved even by the strongest of storms, and there was only one medicine for that. The switch.