Oontab [Episode 6]

Greda

The 18 year old picked up his slender build and briskly walked out the back door and strolled through to the back of the palace, where he caught short glimpses through the thatch fence dividing the front of the palace from the back, of Kanaka instructing the other palace guards, raising his firm arms. Even though night was coming fast, he caught Rubinto’s eyes. Rubinto raised an eyebrow, then he turned to look back at Kanaka, the Chief Palace Guard.

Out the back in order not to be seen, along the edge of the flatland into the narrow stream and out where he could no longer be seen from the front of the palace, then to one of the trees just beside the path to one of the forbidden forests, the one at the South of the village, Greda went and climbed and began to shake the branches vigorously. After a brief survey of the land ahead of him, he caught sight of the branches of another tree at the far opposite end of the village near the hills make the same movement. This must have been a signal, because at the response, he jumped down the tree pacing around the other trees till he found a rock, about his height, with a small cove in it. He took some large black clothes and wore them; they were a hunter’s clothing he frequently used to sneak away at night. If there would be any onlooker lying vigilant, he would look like a hunter returning home from a day’s hunt, except that he was using an odd route. The clothes were still sufficient to remove suspicion. He walked all the way around the village to the market place and from the back of the market place, entered an assembly of large trees and crossed the West forbidden forest which led to the steep slope and to the bottomless pit; where no one lived.

The pit was sacred.

“My Prince!” Some fool shouted in amazement.

Prince Greda, startled, jumped up and turned to look at this fool, lunging towards the man’s face to cover his mouth. His eyes bulged even more when he saw that it was not one of his own.

Their style was through the back and beneath the shrubs. But tonight, Rubinto mocked their stealth. He was beginning to struggle to say something from underneath the grip of Prince Greda’s hands but they were useless mumblings.

When he had been signaled to keep his conversation quiet, Rubinto burst out into a whisper complaint,

“This place is forbidden my prince! What ar –“

“Shhh… I should be asking you that question, Rubinto. If my father hears of this -”

“But you are here too! And -”

“And I am the Prince! I have the right to be where I want to -”

“But…wha…shh… It’s forbidden!”

“And do you know why?!” He sighed intending to calm himself, then, “Look, keep this quiet and I will give you three bags of mangoes.” Mangoes were only available to the wealthy, because there were rare, as the very last of the Mango trees in the village gradually began to wither, and attempts to re-grow them had failed over the years, let alone the fact that it took many years to re-grow them. They were so precious; one mango could be traded for three spans of goat skin, even though the goat skin was equally rare, but which man would choose clothing over food?

After some thought, Rubinto pressed on, “But this is a matter of disobedience, curses, life and death! Mangoes are of far less worth!”

“Are you instructing your prince on matters you peasant clearly cannot understand better?” The prince barked.

The tension was tangible, and Prince Greda began to fear compromise even though he did not show it. He saw two of his friends approaching from a long distance, and in an attempt to quickly shut Rubinto up and send him away before they came any close to seeing him, he thought up a quick solution. He looked into Rubinto’s eyes and twisted his face deeper into a harder frown.

“Rubinto, I chose to call you my friend, but if I have to make you keep your mouth shut about this, I promise you, I’ll do far worse than cutting your tongue out and sealing your mouth up. Do you hear?!”

Defiance.

“I said do you hear??!!” King Greda said, with more anger than loudness to his voice.

“Yes.” Rubinto answered, jerking from the scare.

“Get out of here!”

Rubinto shook his head, jogging off away from the forest in a different direction from whence he came.

“My Prince, you were talking to someone?” Edongo, one of Prince Greda’s friends asked moments after arriving.

“They are up ahead. Let’s go meet them.”

And the topic was evaded.

In a few minutes, a cove somewhere within the steep slope at the West of Gardutkar, where no one lived, was occupied with an odd set of young men sitting by a fire and eating insects as they conversed like elderly men at a village council meeting.

With all the motivation they needed to run with for a time, they concluded and returned to their homes to eat and brood and dream. They said their good nights and reminded themselves that they would return to talk about their secret expedition.

Knowing the routine of the night guards, Prince Greda stole into the palace from the back gate, where he ran into Rubinto. He had commanded him to keep watch if the common room was clear for entrance into his bedroom. The hallway to the rooms had an opening directly leading to the common room, where the king usually sat with the queen just before going to bed. He could be seen if not careful.

Luckily, the king and queen had gone to bed, so Prince Greda walked as quietly as he could into his room. He walked over through the dark room to his bed and removed the tree stump he had hid underneath his covering sheet that was intended to trick anyone who came into his room without knocking to believing he was asleep. It was not a good enough trick, but he did it to ease himself the fear of being caught, even though no one entered into his room unless he called. His father and mother did knock, but if he did not answer, then he was asleep. He was not a snorer.

Rubinto whispered through Prince Greda’s window, shattering his thoughts completely, “I told the Queen you were asleep. She had gone towards your room this evening, but I told her…”

He swallowed his heart back, coming to terms with the fact that Rubinto had done well. Nevertheless,

“Get away from there before someone suspects anything. You can tell me that tomorrow!” He whispered back, loudly.

Stupid Rubinto.

Bantaik

A few days later, one late afternoon, the King called out for Prince Greda. The Prince rolled the leaf he had been reading back into a scroll and slid it beneath his bed wood and went to the throne room, where he saw the King and Queen seated in their thrones and just in front of them, the Spokesman of the gods, standing – holding a wooden staff – as though enchanted by the sight of the throne or something behind it. One could not really tell; the Spokesman was severely cross-eyed. The members of the King’s council, the elders, were seated all around the room.

Prince Greda sat on a seat beside the Spokesman who was standing and blinked a few times like he was engaging himself to listen to a new speech. The King looked to the visitor and smiled. The man, haggard looking, old yet athletic, and wearing the material used for hunters’ clothing covering only his groin, smiled back at the King with his almost empty mouth, a few teeth hanging out, some others hanging in and a majority missing.

The Spokesman was a nuisance to stare at. As the pleasantries faded, the Spokesman closed his eyes for a few seconds and opened them up again into a bulge, then smiled and got down on bended knees, making ready to say something the gods told him; but not without the King’s permission.

The King nodded.

Silence ensued and Prince Greda shifted in his seat.

“Oontab is man now and first heir to throne of Gardutkar… gods have said.”

Bantaik blew air through his deformed teeth in Gatu language, making his s’s sound like sh’s; the Queen nodded pleasantly at the declaration.

Nonsense man. Prince Greda thought.

“He is be tested and proved, and he succeed… gods have said.” Bantaik blew some more, exposing his scarce dentition for a moment, then continued,

“Task to come is be one of dedicated sacrifice and honor, and is not be as easy task as be of his childhood. It require selfless giving of time and cultivation of true strength as true King must be have… gods have said.”

After the third “gods have said” note, Bantaik raised his staff and stomped it against the wooden floor. It was the first time Prince Greda noticed the small stones attached to the bottom end of the stick, because they gave a crackling sound as the stones hit against themselves and the staff.

The Queen nodded a little more than she should have. She turned her cowry adorned neck and whispered pride of her son into the king’s ears, trying, but failing to hide the wide smile across her face. The King smiled a half-smile as he leaned to listen to her, his crown almost sliding off his head in the process. He gently tipped it back to position.

“This is be task…” Bantaik began.

The last time a Spokesman brought a declaration from the gods about the tasks the Oontab had to carry out to take him through the course of the making of a King, he was 10 years of age. Bantaik was not the Spokesman at that time. Rotyuk was the Spokesman. Rotyuk was young and muscular, and he had several scars on his face that made him look older than he really was. Even though he was young, he was considered wiser than most old men. He held a staff that jangled with more stones, seeds and stick attached to both the top and bottom of it than Bantaik had attached to his. Every time he approached the palace, he did so mouth-first, shouting praises and blessings from the gods on the King and his household, jumping from one end of the premises to another like an intoxicated man.

The event Rotyuk organized was a major event where he had to compete with some of the most mischievous of his peers in several contests. These contests had to do with a lot of pain most children his age could only bear on a sick bed.

These, as the Spokesman had said, were meant to harness untapped potential in a man who was to be King, especially the ability of the man to make quick decisions even when he is at his weakest.

The one he remembered the most painful was the game where all his peers at the contest were set up against him to make war using Tikpo – a bitter inedible fruit almost as hard as a stone – as weapons in a set arena. Running and dawdling around, ducking behind trees and rocks, Prince Greda fought to survive the injury he had already sustained a few minutes into the game. One moment never left his memory: he had gone to hide behind a tree to cover himself from the endless Tikpo-spray rampage from the other injured contestants, and as he waited for the perfect time to burst out into his attack, several Tikpo landed hard on his back from an attacker hiding in the tree, bruising him a little, and when he started screaming, reaching out to his back to cushion the pain, the other boys came rushing out at him with a rain of more Tikpo. The real game, when played not just for the purpose of training a king, had three possible honors a contestant could win. These were, Survival; which is the third place, Defense; which is the second place, and Attack; which is the first place.

Surrender was anything that did not fall into any of the three places. When Rotyuk came along to end the game, he congratulated the successful contestants who were still on their feet. The Prince was awarded for Survival. Tikpo was a very painful thing to hit a person with.

Bantaik was still speaking, and prince Greda was drawn back from his reverie to listen more keenly when he heard Bantaik say “…like hunter man.”

“… And he be sent into green forest for weeks to be live like hunter man. And he be eat what he be hunts, like hunter man. And he be wear hunter’s cloth, like hunter man. And he be provide wild meats for household, like hunter man… gods have said.” The green forest was just a part of the large forest in Gardutkar where rich plants were found. It was considered the safe part of the forest, and it was not forbidden like some other parts.

Prince Greda was not sure if the “household” meant the Kingdom as a whole or the royal family, but he did not think it mattered. The nauseous memory of his tasks as a child and this new task made him feel a lot worse, sick to the stomach as he watched his dignity fizz.

The King nodded with a little skepticism in the expression on his face, but he did not question the Spokesman just yet.

There were only a few things the gods let the Spokesman tell the king.

“…he will be take twelve servants of his choosing and will be lead them in hunt… gods have said.”

The King seemed to be mollified by the statement.

“If any man say, let man say now, or he cannot say after now.” Bantaik beckoned, stretching his bulging eyes around the room to find any indication of objection.

Prince Greda wanted to speak, but his words did not arrange themselves properly in his head. But he still spoke,

“How long will I be hunting?” King Greda asked. He did not appreciate being referred to like he was not in the same room as the gods who were “saying”.

Bantaik shot back, “After fortnight of living in open, he will be still continue as hunter man. He will be leave palace at sun comes up and return at sun goes down. He be hunter man for a twenty-six fortnights, then he be ready for coronation… gods have said.”

Twenty-six fortnights? That is the only next time from now that mangoes will be ripe to be harvested freshly!

Prince Greda bolted up out if his seat in loud protest, “Why am I the first Prince to go through all of this for what is mine by right?!”

“Arrrghh! Oo!” Bantaik yelled as though provoked, then his expression flattened again. He said, “He will be do as gods have command, and well-being of kingdom be in his control during his reign be as king… gods have said.”

“The gods will keep saying and we will never question?!”

This time, Bantaik was angered.

“Prince Greda”, a council member, a very old man clad fully from head to toe and wearing a head covering as well, stood up and started, “the gods are overall, and yes, they cannot be questioned… and we… and the King, his royal highness… we all have you at the core of our interests, because –“

“Shut up, old man! Nobody here has my interests to even the least of their consideration!”

The Queen bolted up and with more surprise and worry than anger on her face, yelled,
“Greda!” As though it would bring him out of the rash attitude he had plunged himself into. He did not budge.

“Mother, I will say what is on my mind…”

“Has Manlum's darkness come over you?”

The tension breezed through the room like wildfire as the other elders mumbled and spat and controlled their feelings concerning the exchange.

“Sit down Grerrededa!” The King spoke calmly, but his voice thundered across the room with no mucus to hinder it, as at the same time Bantaik stomped his staff hard against the ground. The Queen sat down and cushioned her discomfort by shifting around in her seat. Kanaka gritted his teeth with a dark frown on his face. Very few times had the King called Prince Greda by his full name with a cold tone.

The King, Greda’s Father was a man of many words, but this time only these three had gotten into Greda’s head, and they sunk farther into his head a lot more than all the others that he had heard from the Spokesman combined. When the Spokesman had said what the gods had said, after which he closed the visit with incantations and blessings on the king and his family, he jogged back to the shrine - objects jingling all over his body - where he had come from; the only hut right in the center of the forbidden forest where nobody lived.

To be continued...

- Telsum Bini