THE COUNSEL OF BALEKA
I rose, I praised the king with a loud voice, and I went from the
_Intunkulu_, the house of the king. I walked slowly through the gates,
but when I was without the gates the anguish that took me because of my
burnt hand was more than I could bear. I ran to and fro groaning till I
came to the hut of one whom I knew. There I found fat, and having
plunged my hand in the fat, I wrapped it round with a skin and passed
out again, for I could not stay still. I went to and fro, till at
length I reached the spot where my huts had been. The outer fence of
the huts still stood; the fire had not caught it. I passed through the
fence; there within were the ashes of the burnt huts—they lay
ankle-deep. I walked in among the ashes; my feet struck upon things
that were sharp. The moon was bright, and I looked; they were the
blackened bones of my wives and children. I flung myself down in the
ashes in bitterness of heart; I covered myself over with the ashes of
my kraal and with the bones of my wives and children. Yes, my father,
there I lay, and on me were the ashes, and among the ashes were the
bones. Thus, then, did I lie for the last time in my kraal, and was
sheltered from the frost of the night by the dust of those to whom I
had given life. Such were the things that befell us in the days of
Chaka, my father; yes, not to me alone, but to many another also.
I lay among the ashes and groaned with the pain of my burn, and groaned
also from the desolation of my heart. Why had I not tasted the poison,
there in the hut of Chaka, and before the eyes of Chaka? Why did I not
taste it now and make an end? Nay, I had endured the agony; I would not
give him this last triumph over me. Now, having passed the fire, once
more I should be great in the land, and I would become great. Yes, I
would bear my sorrows, and become great, that in a day to be I might
wreak vengeance on the king. Ah! my father, there, as I rolled among
the ashes, I prayed to the _Amatongo_, to the ghosts of my ancestors. I
prayed to my _Ehlosé_, to the spirit that watches me—ay, and I even
dared to pray to the Umkulunkulu, the great soul of the world, who
moves through the heavens and the earth unseen and unheard. And thus I
prayed, that I might yet live to kill Chaka as he had killed those who
were dear to me. And while I prayed I slept, or, if I did not sleep,
the light of thought went out of me, and I became as one dead. Then
there came a vision to me, a vision that was sent in answer to my
prayer, or, perchance, it was a madness born of my sorrows. For, my
father, it seemed to me that I stood upon the bank of a great and wide
river. It was gloomy there, the light lay low upon the face of the
river, but far away on the farther side was a glow like the glow of a
stormy dawn, and in the glow I saw a mighty bed of reeds that swayed
about in the breath of dawn, and out of the reeds came men and women
and children, by hundreds and thousands, and plunged into the waters of
the river and were buffeted about by them. Now, my father, all the
people that I saw in the water were black people, and all those who
were torn out of the reeds were black—they were none of them white like
your people, my father, for this vision was a vision of the Zulu race,
who alone are “torn out of the reeds.” Now, I saw that of those who
swam in the river some passed over very quickly and some stood still,
as it were, still in the water—as in life, my father, some die soon and
some live for many years. And I saw the countless faces of those in the
water, among them were many that I knew. There, my father, I saw the
face of Chaka, and near him was my own face; there, too, I saw the face
of Dingaan, the prince, his brother, and the face of the boy
Umslopogaas and the face of Nada, my daughter, and then for the first
time I knew that Umslopogaas was not dead, but only lost.
Now I turned in my vision, and looked at that bank of the river on
which I stood. Then I saw that behind the bank was a cliff, mighty and
black, and in the cliff were doors of ivory, and through them came
light and the sound of laughter; there were other doors also, black as
though fashioned of coal, and through them came darkness and the sounds
of groans. I saw also that in front of the doors was set a seat, and on
the seat was the figure of a glorious woman. She was tall, and she
alone was white, and clad in robes of white, and her hair was like gold
which is molten in the fire, and her face shone like the midday sun.
Then I saw that those who came up out of the river stood before the
woman, the water yet running from them, and cried aloud to her.
“Hail, _Inkosazana-y-Zulu!_ Hail, Queen of the Heavens!”
Now the figure of the glorious woman held a rod in either hand, and the
rod in her right hand was white and of ivory, and the rod in her left
hand was black and of ebony. And as those who came up before her throne
greeted her, so she pointed now with the wand of ivory in her right
hand, and now with the wand of ebony in her left hand. And with the
wand of ivory she pointed to the gates of ivory, through which came
light and laughter, and with the wand of ebony she pointed to the gates
of coal, through which came blackness and groans. And as she pointed,
so those who greeted her turned, and went, some through the gates of
light and some through the gates of blackness.
Presently, as I stood, a handful of people came up from the bank of the
river. I looked on them and knew them. There was Unandi, the mother of
Chaka, there was Anadi, my wife, and Moosa, my son, and all my other
wives and children, and those who had perished with them.
They stood before the figure of the woman, the Princess of the Heavens,
to whom the Umkulunkulu has given it to watch over the people of the
Zulu, and cried aloud, “Hail, _Inkosazana-y-Zulu!_ Hail!”
Then she, the Inkosazana, pointed with the rod of ivory to the gates of
ivory; but still they stood before her, not moving. Now the woman spoke
for the first time, in a low voice that was sad and awful to hear.
“Pass in, children of my people, pass in to the judgment. Why tarry ye?
Pass in through the gates of light.”
But still they tarried, and in my vision Unandi spoke: “We tarry, Queen
of the Heavens—we tarry to pray for justice on him who murdered us. I,
who on earth was named Mother of the Heavens, on behalf of all this
company, pray to thee, Queen of the Heavens, for justice on him who
murdered us.”
“How is he named?” asked the voice that was low and awful.
“Chaka, king of the Zulus,” answered the voice of Unandi. “Chaka, my
son.”
“Many have come to ask for vengeance on that head,” said the voice of
the Queen of the Heavens, “and many more shall come. Fear not, Unandi,
it shall fall. Fear not, Anadi and ye wives and children of Mopo, it
shall fall, I say. With the spear that pierced thy breast, Unandi,
shall the breast of Chaka be also pierced, and, ye wives and children
of Mopo, the hand that pierces shall be the hand of Mopo. As I guide
him so shall he go. Ay, I will teach him to wreak my vengeance on the
earth! Pass in, children of my people—pass in to the judgment, for the
doom of Chaka is written.”
Thus I dreamed, my father. Ay, this was the vision that was sent me as
I lay in pain and misery among the bones of my dead in the ashes of my
kraal. Thus it was given me to see the Inkosazana of the Heavens as she
is in her own place. Twice more I saw her, as you shall hear, but that
was on the earth and with my waking eyes. Yes, thrice has it been given
to me in all to look upon that face that I shall now see no more till I
am dead, for no man may look four times on the Inkosazana and live. Or
am I mad, my father, and did I weave these visions from the woof of my
madness? I do not know, but it is true that I seemed to see them.
I woke when the sky was grey with the morning light; it was the pain of
my burnt hand that aroused me from my sleep or from my stupor. I rose
shaking the ashes from me, and went without the kraal to wash away
their defilement. Then I returned, and sat outside the gates of the
_Emposeni_, waiting till the king’s women, whom he named his sisters,
should come to draw water according to their custom. At last they came,
and, sitting with my kaross thrown over my face to hide it, looked for
the passing of Baleka. Presently I saw her; she was sad-faced, and
walked slowly, her pitcher on her head. I whispered her name, and she
drew aside behind an aloe bush, and, making pretence that her foot was
pierced with a thorn, she lingered till the other women had gone by.
Then she came up to me, and we greeted one another, gazing heavily into
each other’s eyes.
“In an ill day did I hearken to you, Baleka,” I said, “to you and to
the Mother of the Heavens, and save your child alive. See now what has
sprung from this seed! Dead are all my house, dead is the Mother of the
Heavens—all are dead—and I myself have been put to the torment by
fire,” and I held out my withered hand towards her.
“Ay, Mopo, my brother,” she answered, “but flesh is nearest to flesh,
and I should think little of it were not my son Umslopogaas also dead,
as I have heard but now.”
“You speak like a woman, Baleka. Is it, then, nothing to you that I,
your brother, have lost—all I love?”
“Fresh seed can yet be raised up to you, my brother, but for me there
is no hope, for the king looks on me no more. I grieve for you, but I
had this one alone, and flesh is nearest to flesh. Think you that I
shall escape? I tell you nay. I am but spared for a little, then I go
where the others have gone. Chaka has marked me for the grave; for a
little while I may be left, then I die: he does but play with me as a
leopard plays with a wounded buck. I care not, I am weary, but I grieve
for the boy; there was no such boy in the land. Would that I might die
swiftly and go to seek him.”
“And if the boy is not dead, Baleka, what then?”
“What is that you said?” she answered, turning on me with wild eyes.
“Oh, say it again—again, Mopo! I would gladly die a hundred deaths to
know that Umslopogaas still lives.”
“Nay, Baleka, I know nothing. But last night I dreamed a dream,” and I
told her all my dream, and also of that which had gone before the
dream.
She listened as one listens to the words of a king when he passes
judgement for life or for death.
“I think that there is wisdom in your dreams, Mopo,” she said at
length. “You were ever a strange man, to whom the gates of distance are
no bar. Now it is borne in upon my heart that Umslopogaas still lives,
and now I shall die happy. Yes, gainsay me not; I shall die, I know it.
I read it in the king’s eyes. But what is it? It is nothing, if only
the prince Umslopogaas yet lives.”
“Your love is great, woman,” I said; “and this love of yours has
brought many woes upon us, and it may well happen that in the end it
shall all be for nothing, for there is an evil fate upon us. Say now,
what shall I do? Shall I fly, or shall I abide here, taking the chance
of things?”
“You must stay here, Mopo. See, now! This is in the king’s mind. He
fears because of the death of his mother at his own hand—yes, even he;
he is afraid lest the people should turn upon him who killed his own
mother. Therefore he will give it out that he did not kill her, but
that she perished in the fire which was called down upon your kraals by
witchcraft; and, though all men know the lie, yet none shall dare to
gainsay him. As he said to you, there will be a smelling out, but a
smelling out of a new sort, for he and you shall be the witch-finders,
and at that smelling out he will give to death all those whom he fears,
all those whom he knows hate him for his wickedness and because with
his own hand he slew his mother. For this cause, then, he will save you
alive, Mopo—yes, and make you great in the land, for if, indeed, his
mother Unandi died through witchcraft, as he shall say, are you not
also wronged by him, and did not your wives and children also perish by
witchcraft? Therefore, do not fly; abide here and become great—become
great to the great end of vengeance, Mopo, my brother. You have much
wrong to wreak; soon you will have more, for I, too, shall be gone, and
my blood also shall cry for vengeance to you. Hearken, Mopo. Are there
not other princes in the land? What of Dingaan, what of Umhlangana,
what of Umpanda, brothers to the king? Do not these also desire to be
kings? Do they not day by day rise from sleep feeling their limbs to
know if they yet live, do they not night by night lie down to sleep not
knowing if it shall be their wives that they shall kiss ere dawn or the
red assegai of the king? Draw near to them, my brother; creep into
their hearts and learn their counsel or teach them yours; so in the end
shall Chaka be brought to that gate through which your wives have
passed, and where I also am about to tread.”
Thus Baleka spoke and she was gone, leaving me pondering, for her words
were heavy with wisdom. I knew well that the brothers of the king went
heavily and in fear of death, for his shadow was on them. With Panda,
indeed, little could be done, for he lived softly, speaking always as
one whose wits are few. But Dingaan and Umhlangana were of another
wood, and from them might be fashioned a kerrie that should scatter the
brains of Chaka to the birds. But the time to speak was not now; not
yet was the cup of Chaka full.
Then, having finished my thought, I rose, and, going to the kraal of my
friend, I doctored my burnt hand, that pained me, and as I was
doctoring it there came a messenger to me summoning me before the king.
I went in before the king, and prostrated myself, calling him by his
royal names; but he took me by the hand and raised me up, speaking
softly.
“Rise, Mopo, my servant!” he said. “Thou hast suffered much woe because
of the witchcraft of thine enemies. I, I have lost my mother, and thou,
thou hast lost thy wives and children. Weep, my councillors, weep,
because I have lost my mother, and Mopo, my servant, has lost his wives
and children, by the witchcraft of our foes!”
Then all the councillors wept aloud, while Chaka glared at them.
“Hearken, Mopo!” said the king, when the weeping was done. “None can
give me back my mother; but I can give thee more wives, and thou shalt
find children. Go in among the damsels who are reserved to the king,
and choose thee six; go in among the cattle of the king, and choose
thee ten times ten of the best; call upon the servants of the king that
they build up thy kraal greater and fairer than it was before! These
things I give thee freely; but thou shalt have more, Mopo—yes! thou
shalt have vengeance! On the first day of the new moon I summon a great
meeting, a _bandhla_ of all the Zulu people: yes, thine own tribe, the
Langeni, shall be there also. Then we will mourn together over our
woes; then, too, we will learn who brought these woes upon us. Go now,
Mopo, go! And go ye also, my councillors, leaving me to weep alone
because my mother is dead!”
Thus, then, my father, did the words of Baleka come true, and thus,
because of the crafty policy of Chaka, I grew greater in the land than
ever I had been before. I chose the cattle, they were fat; I chose the
wives, they were fair; but I took no pleasure in them, nor were any
more children born to me. For my heart was like a withered stick; the
sap and strength had gone from my heart—it was drawn out in the fire of
Chaka’s hut, and lost in my sorrow for those whom I had loved.