The decision loomed before the elders, heavy with the weight of tradition and the unknown. Nandi saw the conflict in their eyes—the struggle between honoring ancient customs and embracing the possibility that Malusi’s visions held a key to a future they dared not imagine.
As the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows that stretched toward the hills, the eldest elder finally spoke. His voice, though aged and frail, carried the authority of generations past.
“Malusi,” he began, his gaze searching the boy’s face as if seeking answers in his eyes. “Your visions are a gift from the spirits. They speak of a time of change, of peace. We will heed their guidance.”
Relief flooded through Nandi, mingled with a lingering fear. The decision meant her son would stay, at least for now. But the hills still whispered their ancient secrets, and the spirits remained elusive in their intentions.
As the villagers dispersed, murmuring among themselves, Nandi pulled Malusi close. She held him tightly, her heart overflowing with a mother’s love and a silent prayer for protection. For in the embrace of the village, under the watchful eyes of the elders, Malusi was safe.
Yet Nandi knew that the hills held mysteries that even the elders could not fully comprehend. And as she gazed toward the darkening horizon, she wondered what future lay ahead for her son, chosen by light and shadow alike.
One evening, as the sun dipped low behind the hills, the elders gathered in the center of the village. Malusi stood before them, his small frame tense with uncertainty. His mother stood beside him, her hand resting protectively on his shoulder.
“Malusi,” spoke the eldest of the elders, his voice grave yet tinged with curiosity. “Tell us again what you have seen for we know the gods have given you yet another vision.”
Malusi took a deep breath, his eyes scanning the faces of the villagers gathered around him. “I saw a light,” he began, his voice steady now with a clarity that surprised even himself. “It spoke to me of a time of change, of peace that could come if we listen.”
The elders exchanged glances, their expressions a mixture of awe and apprehension. Such visions were rare, and never before had one spoken of peace. Yet tradition weighed heavy on their hearts, and the whispers of fear persisted.
“We must consult the spirits,” declared the eldest elder finally, his voice carrying the weight of authority. “They will guide us in this matter.”
Days turned into weeks as the village prepared for the ceremony of consultation. Malusi remained at the center of attention, a figure of both hope and uncertainty. His dreams continued, each night bringing new visions of light and whispers of a future yet unwritten.
On the appointed day, the village gathered at the sacred grove where the ancestors were said to dwell. The air was thick with incense and the murmur of prayers. Malusi stood before the sacred fire, his eyes closed in silent communion.
As the sun reached its zenith, a gentle breeze stirred the leaves overhead. Malusi opened his eyes, feeling the weight of centuries resting upon him. In that moment, he knew.
“The light,” he began, his voice ringing clear across the grove, “it speaks of a path we must choose. A path of understanding, of healing. A new way of living. A greater God than the ones we believe in.”
The elders listened in silence, their hearts torn between tradition and the voice of a boy who spoke to the light. Then after hearing this , a decision was made.
Nandi’s heart sank as the elders’ decision unfolded before her. Despite their acknowledgment of Malusi’s visions as a gift, they believed his path lay beyond the village, guided not by the elders but by the ancient ways that called from the hills.
The eldest elder approached Nandi with solemnity etched on his face. “Nandi, mother of Malusi,” he began, his voice a mix of sympathy and resolve, “the spirits have spoken. Malusi’s destiny lies with the priestess of the hills. She will guide him in understanding his visions. He will be there until she is satisfied with the process and has found the source of his dreams. We have decided and as a woman, our late brother’s wife, you have no voice. You are to accept this and prepare him accordingly.”
Nandi felt a cold shiver run through her. She glanced at Malusi, whose eyes shone with a mixture of fear and curiosity. He reached for her hand, seeking comfort in the face of the unknown.
“But…but … what does this mean?” Nandi stammered, her voice betraying her dread. “Will he return to us? He has to be in school. He is just 12 years old.”
”What is age? What is school? I am not learned and that does not change the fact that I can make decisions in this land. I have not come to ask you. I have come to notify you. I will take my leave. The boy must let go of his mother’s skirts!”
The elder put his bird feather back into his mouth. He walked a few steps , turned and said to Nandi, “I am still young. Giving you another child is something I can do. Let go of this one.”
Nandi fell on the ground and shouted, “NO!”