Book Junkiez

• The Story of “Etana and The Elephants.”

Someone says, “Storyteller, please give us another.” 

“Tell us, ‘Etana and The Elephants.’” 

“Yes, the story of the elephants.”

Griot nods assent. The tale is much requested. I like hearing it too. The story is about me, though at the time, having passed only two rainy seasons, I have no memory of the event. Like every villager who listens, I am a fly caught in the web of Griot’s voice. He begins: 

Twelve seasons of rain have passed since that day. Many among us remember the tormenting heat. How thirsty the air. 

The Skygod had withheld the clouds, and our stream was tired. The sacred mountain sent us only a trickle. Day after day, we beseeched the god, chanting the sacred prayer, making offerings. But we received nothing. No rain came, nor a sign of what we must do to please him. 

And so it was that we, the Human People who from the beginning lived in the land the Skygod gave us, began preparations. Our sacred home could no longer sustain us. We had to leave Muk’etiland. We had to seek a new place. 

The night before our journey, dreams did not visit me. The heat sat on my chest. Atop my legs. In my nose. I lay, unable to move. Perhaps the night had condensed itself to trap me under its weight. The ancestors did not speak to me. Eyes closed, I gazed into the void, but no spirit presented itself, as if they too did not know whence this imprisonment came. I searched for escape. There was none.

At this, the villagers shift uncomfortably. Griot is not only our storyteller but also possesses powerful Sight. What evil had beleaguered him? Why could he not overcome the forces binding him?

Griot continues his story: 

As the paralysis continued, I thought the time for my death had come. I must leave my community, my children, my wife, my friends. Yet, I was not forewarned. I had not revealed to my son his final instruction or prepared the feast, nor had I completed the sequence of rituals to bestow upon him the gift of Sight.

Not one person dares move. Even my sister of two rainy seasons is entranced.

In the early dawn, a cry reached me. My ears were opened! I rejoiced, yet the wail of Etana’s mother brought worry. Her child could not be found. More people raised the alarm. 

Then a second alert rang out. The drums signaled our most urgent warning. It meant we were beset not by Crocodile People, for the stream was dry. Not by Lion People, those creatures who see in the dark and break men’s necks in their mighty jaws. We were endangered by the Beastgod’s most favored and greatest animal. Those who, if angered, could destroy an entire village, leaving its Human People trampled. The Elephant People had come.

The familiar tale is troubling, for the mystery of the massive creatures’ appearance baffles us still. They had not approached the village since the Storyteller’s father’s father was a child.

The debilitation left my body. I ran to find the priest-chief. He had been led to the east gate by the night watchman, the villagers trailing behind. Without speaking, the man pointed a trembling finger east.

Against the brightening sky, the great beasts gathered, facing the center of their circle. One would advance, trunk out, reaching to explore. Then it tossed a giant head or shouted as if pleased. Another would come forward, doing the same. The herd moved from edge to center in a slow churn.

The sun lifted from the rim of the world, and I learned the cause of their puzzlement. Etana, who had not yet seen her third rainy season, stood alone, a tiny form among the giants. She giggled when a trunk ruffled her hair. Smiling, she opened her arms and spoke. A baby elephant bolted toward her, and my heart clenched. She would be crushed. The watchman stepped forward, but I placed a hand on his shoulder. “The Beastgod controls Etana’s fate. Only he can save her.”

An adult elephant stepped forward, wrapped its trunk around the charging baby, and halted it. Etana walked to the baby elephant, laying her cheek on its face. She stretched her little arms to embrace it, her clear voice chanting the dawn salutation. The elephants rocked side to side, swaying to her tender melody. Her song complete, Etana spoke long, though I could not discern her words. Perhaps it was not the language of Human People, but a tongue sent from the Beastgod. With the village behind me, we watched.

When the sun was four fingers above the horizon, the elephants moved away, one by one. The baby was last to go. With a final pat to its head from Etana, it trailed the rest, disappearing into the dust.

Furtive glances prick my skin. I ignore them and raise my chin as Griot finishes:

Etana was scooped up by her mother. When I questioned her, she spoke of “Mbindy.” As no female among us carried that name, I left to seek the priest-chief.

Our hastily assembled council debated the incident. If it was a sign from the gods, we knew nothing of its meaning. Did Etana’s communication with the elephants mean we should follow them? Or did the gods’ protection from the beasts indicate we should stay? After long debate, we agreed to set out the following dawn. 

And lo, as the new sun was born over the horizon, the holy mountains were crowned with clouds.” Griot smiles. “The season of rain had begun. By evening, water flowed in our river. And to this day, we, the Yets’eḥāyi, created in the image of the Skygod, remain in the land of Muk’eti.