Swazuri and Ghadhabu

When her time had come, Swazuri stepped onto the mainland at dawn, Lawama and Aziza watched as she made her way into the territory she once called home. Lawama was afraid of what would become of her, but even so, he did not show his fear.

Aziza knew everything about the girl’s rage and helped fuel it. If ever they were to wage a a war against Ghadhabu and win, then she knew that rage was the strength the Princess needed to destroy the goddess and make the people of the ocean most powerful once again. Ghadhabu was powerless without her drum and she knew that Lawama had destroyed the drum two centuries ago. This time the battle would be in her favor. She wanted to dance to any tune at that moment, but she could not help but feel as though there was more the ocean was yet to reveal unto her.

Juhudi was long gone. His heart feeble and his nimble fingers unable to play the flute. Swazuri asked for permission to be with him and she denied her the opportunity saying that Ghadhabu had taken his soul. The Princess had bought this, her eyes filling with tears for the man she grew to love as her own Father, but even then, nothing but the destruction of Ghadhabu mattered to Aziza.

She would make things right, bring Jabali back to life and give him the chance to choose the one he truly loved. If he truly loved Ghadhabu then he would have to search for her soul into the after life once Swazuri had destroyed her. Aziza watched Swazuri go as her heart filled with pride. She was ready for whatever would come her way.

It had to be done.

Lawama asked “Do you think she will accomplish this task this time around?”

“It has to be done. Ghadhabu does not have her drum and that makes her vulnerable.”

“You do not have Juhudi’s flute too, Mother, so aren’t you just as weak as she is?”

“You forget your place my son. I am Aziza, goddess of the Indian Ocean, this is my realm and I control the wind and the earth, what does your aunt have in her power to control? Nothing! She has nothing and now, she too will understand what it means to lose everything you love. She too will have to live for centuries without the comfort of the ones she loves.”

“If you say so Mother, but, I am glad that Juhudi will not have to bring forth another child only to lose her to us. It’s enough Mother.”

“The one who comes after the first does not say what should be done. Remember your place son, because you are to inherit my throne and if you speak with such clogged ears, then I fear the sand from the mainland will cease to respect the waves that hit it.”

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It is said that the people of the Lake saw a young woman, eyes as green as fresh leaves, eyes as blue as the lake and wherever she stepped the land shook. The birds of the air fled before she arrived and even the old who had seen the worst of men could not comprehend the wrath that came with her, but it was when her feet stepped into the waters that a sudden tremor was felt.

The truth is certain, no man lived to tell the tale.

When the sun graced the sky the cries of the women filled the land, but the one who knew the truth lived to speak of it years on. She spoke of how a young woman met an older woman by the lake and looked into her eyes for a while before running to embrace her and together they destroyed the very thing that had caused a rift between them.

When the old woman spoke, no one believed her, they said there was no way a young woman could destroy the land, kill all the men and leave only women behind. They say that it is impossible for then how come the men live? How did the women bear children?

She listens and shakes her head, as though their folly amuses her, but she knows this to be her truth.

She knows that there was only one Princess among men. Her wrath spared no one, but even so, she also knows that it is because of what she did that night that the waters of the Indian ocean taste of salt while that of the lake is pure and as sweet as the breath of the wind.

Aziza drowned in her sorrow when Swazuri never returned and every year after that one man would grace the mainland to play the flute. The Prince of Sirens lived on, but only because his daughter chose to end a war that caused grief to the people of the lake.

This tale is told when the woman wishes to make the history of the lake known, but when no one is watching she would look up to the sun and in doing so, her eyes would glisten like the lake…is it blue or green, I fear I cannot tell.

The End


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