Mhudi

Front matter

Mhudi | An Epic of South African Native Life a Hundred Years Ago | Plaatje | Lovedale Press

Mhudi.

By the Same Author.

Chapter 1

Mhudi.

Chapter I.

A Tragedy and its Vendetta.

Two centuries ago the Bechuana tribes inhabited the extensive areas between Central Transvaal and the Kalahari Desert. Their entire world lay in the geography covered by the story in these pages.

In this domain they led their patriarchal life under their several Chiefs who owed no allegiance to any king or emperor. They raised their native corn which satisfied their simple wants, and, when not engaged in hunting or in pastoral duties, the peasants whiled away their days in tanning skins or sewing magnificent fur rugs. They also smelted iron and manufactured useful implements which to-day would be pronounced very crude by their semi-westernized descendants.

Cattle breeding was the rich man’s calling, and hunting a national enterprise. Their cattle, which carried enormous horns, ran almost wild and multiplied as prolifically as the wild animals of the day. Work was of a perfunctory nature, for mother earth yielded her bounties and the maiden soil provided ample sustenance for man and beast.

But woman’s work was never out of season. In the summer she cleared the cornfields of weeds and subsequently helped to winnow and garner the crops. In the winter she cut the grass and helped to renovate her dwelling. In addition to the inevitable cooking, basket-making, and weaving, all the art-painting for mural decorations were done by women. Childless marriages were as rare as freaks, so, early and late in summer and winter, during years of drought and of plenty, every mother had to nourish her growing brood, besides fattening and beautifying her daughters for the competition of eligible swains.

Fulfilling these multifarious duties of the household was not regarded as a drudgery by any means, on the contrary, the women looked upon marriage as an art; the daughter of a well-to-do peasant, surrounded by all the luxuries of her mother’s home, would be the object of commiseration if she were a long time finding a man. And the simple women of the tribes accepted wifehood and transacted their onerous duties with the same satisfaction and pride as an English artist would the job of conducting an orchestra.

Kunana, near the present boundary between Cape Colony and Western Transvaal was the capital city of the Barolong, the original stock of the several tribes, who also followed the humdrum yet interesting life of the other Bechuana Natives. They planted their stations in different directions over scores of miles; and it was often easier to kill wild animals nearer home than go to the cattle post for meat. Very often the big game ran thalala-motse when there would be systematic slaughter of antelopes and orgies of wild-beef eating.

Barolong cattlemen at times attempted to create a new species of animal by cross-breeding between an eland and an ox. One cattle-owner, named Motonosi, not very far from Kunana, raised two dozen calves all sired by a buffalo. The result proved so disastrous that Barolong tradition still holds up his achievement as a masterpiece of folly, and attempts at cross-breeding thereafter became taboo.

These peasants were content to live their monotonous lives, and thought nought of their oversea kinsmen who were making history on the plantations and harbours of Virginia and Mississippi at that time; nor did they know or care about the relations of the Hottentots and the Boers at Cape Town nearer home. The topography of the Cape Peninsula would have had no interest for them; and had anyone mentioned the beauty spots of the Cape and the glory of the silver trees on their own sub-continent they would have felt disappointed on hearing that they bore no edible fruit.

To them the limit of the world was Monomotapa—a whiteman’s country—which they had no ambition to see. Of monetary wealth they had none except their flocks. and herds. A little bartering was done with neighbouring tribes in exchange for other commodities, and none could be so mean as to make a charge for supplying a fellow-tribesman with the necessaries of life. When the rainy season was good everyone had too much corn, and in years. of drought the majority went short of porridge.

Strange to relate, these simple folk were perfectly happy without money and without silver watches. Abject poverty was practically unknown; they had no orphanages because there were no nameless babies. When a man had a couple of karosses to make he invited the neighbours to spend the day with him cutting, fitting in and sewing together the sixty grey jackal pelts into two rugs, and there would be intervals of feasting throughout the day. On such an occasion, someone would announce a field day at another place where there was a dwelling to thatch; here too the guests might receive an invitation from a peasant who had a stockade to erect at a third homestead on a subsequent day; and great would be the expectation of the fat bullock to be slaughtered by the goodman, to say nothing of the good things to be prepared by the kind hostess. Thus a month’s job would be accomplished in a day.

But the anomaly of this community life was that, while the many seams in a rich man’s kaross carried all kinds of knittings—good, bad and indifferent—the wife of a poor man, who could not afford such a feast, was often gowned in flawless furs. It being the skilled handiwork of her own husband, the nicety of its seams seldom failed to evoke the admiration of experts.

Upon these peaceful regions over one hundred years ago there descended one Mzilikazi, king of a ferocious tribe called the Matebele, a powerful usurper of determined character who by his sword proclaimed himself ruler over all the land.

Mailikazi’s tribe originally was a branch of the Zulu nation which Chaka once ruled with an iron rod. Irritated by the stern rule of that monarch, Mzilikazi led out his own people who thereupon broke away from Chaka’s rule and turned their faces westward.

Sweeping through the northern areas of Port Natal, they advanced along both banks of the Vaal River, driving terror into man and beast with whom they came in contact. They continued their march very much like a swarm of locusts; scattering the Swazies, terrifying the Basuto and the Bapedi on their outposts, they drove them back to the mountains at the point of the assegai; and, trekking through the heart of the Transvaal, they eventually invaded Bechuanaland where they reduced the Natives to submission.

At length the Matebele established as their capital the city of Inzwinyani in Bahurutshe territory, the Bechuana inhabitants being permitted to remain on condition that their chiefs should pay tribute to Mzilikazi. Gradually enlarging their dominion, the Matebele enforced taxation first upon one and then another of the surrounding Bechuana clans, including the Barolong at Kunana, whose chief at the time was Tauana.

Perhaps the new administration might have worked well enough; but, unfortunately, the conquerers not only imported a fresh discipline but they also introduced manners that were extremely offensive even for these primitive people. For instance, the victorious soldiers were in the habit of walking about in their birthday garb thereby forcing the modest Bechuana women and children to retire on each appearance of Matebele men. This hide-and-seek life, which proved more inconvenient than accommodating, was ill calculated to inspire respect for the new authority. Needless to say, this outrage so shocking to local susceptibilities, was resented by the original population and became a perpetual source of discontent. Still, the new discipline was not stern; and as long as each chief paid taxes each spring time in acknowledgment of his fealty to Mzilikazi, the Bechuana were left in undisturbed possession of their old homes and haunts.

One of Tauana’s righthand men was a wealthy chieftain, Notto by name. Besides his home in the capital he owned three cattle stations and many cornfields in the country. His son, Ra-Thaga, minded one of the herds at a place called Mhuhucho.

One day, Notto set out to spend some time in the country with his son in order to fulfil his pastoral duties, such as ear-marking the lambs and calves and braying skins and rheims. One morning, while Notto was engaged in these occupations at the cattle-post, two men came from Kunana who walked like bearers of very important news. After greeting him they related this startling information:

“Two Matebele indunas, Bhoya and Bangela, had come to Kunana to gather the annual tribute. They duly announced the object of their visit and asked that six young men should be supplied to carry the Barolong tribute for them and lay it ‘at the feet of Mzilikazi, ruler of earth and skies.’

“Chief Tauana,” the messengers went on, “received the visitors with indifference and, without informing his counsellors in any way, he commanded some young men to take the two to the ravine and ‘lose them,’ which is equivalent to a death sentence. The tax collectors were dragged away without notice and almost before they realised their doom they were stabbed to death.

“I am told,” said the narrator, “that, before his death, Bhoya, with his hands manacled, gesticulated and cried: ‘You dogs of a Western breed, you are going to suffer for this. You shall pay with your own blood and the blood of your children for laying your base hands on the courier of King Mzilikazi. A Matebele’s blood never mingled with the earth without portending death and destruction. Kill me with your accursed hands, you menial descendants of mercenary hammersmiths, and you have sown the seed of your own doom. Do you hear me?’

“He was still speaking when Rauwe stabbed him in the breast. He fell forward, gave a gasp and a groan, rolled up the whites of his large dull eyes, and after uttering a dread imprecation, sank back lifeless.

“You can well understand,” said the emissary, “that Mzilikazi is not going to take such treatment lying down; consequently the chief counsellors decided to take immediate steps to make amends. But as the chief would probably refuse to apologise, it was decided to summon home from the cattle posts all men of influence, to attend a tribal picho and arrange a settlement before it is too late.”

Accordingly, Notto issued word that all men of importance should leave their fields at once and accompany him to the city. Two days later, a contingent of men, some walking, others mounted on oxen, (young RaThaga among them), might have been seen making their way in the direction of Kunana.

So, towards evening, about six miles from the city, the party was met by a large number of fleeing women. The fugitives told them that Kunana was being attacked, and the would-be interceders had to abandon peace and forthwith arm for the fight.

To speak the truth, Ra-Thaga and the other young bloods were glad. Old men liked to recount their wondrous deeds of valour in the wars they had fought, and young men were always pining for an opportunity to test their own strength in a really good fight.

The young people had been complaining that these Zulus from the East were having things too much their own way and should be checked. Hence their delight on hearing that the two nations were at grips. But it must be confessed that Notto held views of quite another character yet how little did they dream when the fight began that evening in the twilight, that they were about to make their last stand together; or that Ra-Thaga would never again set his eyes upon the man who gave him life.

They all stood waiting for Notto’s orders when a melancholy shout rent the evening air in the bush hard by. Not having reached the town, they were till then not aware that they were in the thick of the fight already; but women began to scream in the bush around and they could hear the Matebele swords at work. Notto gave the order to fall to, and they hurled themselves into the bush from which emanated the sickening wail. It was clear, from that moment, that the sun of the peace-maker had set, never to rise again, for, by the faint light of the new moon, they noticed with horror that the Matebele were not fighting men only; they were actually spearing fleeing women and children. Ra-Thaga saw one of them killing a woman, and, as she fell back, the man grasped her little baby and dashed its skull against the trunk of a tree. The sight almost took his breath away. The next moment a woman fell beside a tree, her fall hastened by a stab from behind. She carried her baby in a springbok skin, strapped to her back. The skin loosened as she fell, and a Matebele withdrawing the assegai from the mother’s side, pierced her child with it, and held the baby transfixed in the air.

Maddened by these awful scenes, the Barolong hurled themselves against the enemy and fought like fiends possessed.

The bush, by this time, was a howling pandemonium, and what was seen and heard made the survivors almost delirious with grief. Looking away they saw the flames shooting up from hundreds of blazing huts at Kunana, and licking the air in a reddish glow that almost turned the night into day. Then Ra-Thaga recognized his father in the turmoil, holding a number of assegais. He had evidently done much already for he was panting heavily.

“Charge and kill these beasts of prey!” the headman cried.

Just at that moment a woman ran past him and a Matebele from behind a tree, close by, speared her also. Ra-Thaga drove his assegai into his armpit; he could not pull it out again so he left him with it, saying as he did so, “Feel what these mothers have felt, you vampire, and may the spirits scorch your soul hereafter.”

“I couldn’t tell,” he used to relate,“ how long our struggle lasted, but eventually I found myself alone amongst a number of corpses, groaning men and expiring women.”

“At length I rose and searched through the field of carnage,” he said, “then came upon my father’s body which lay lifeless between pools of blood. He was dead. ‘My father, O my father,’ I cried. ‘I wonder where and how mother is.’”

“Not far from there lay a woman between two dead children. She was suffering frightful agonies, having fallen with her head bent down beneath her body and being too weak to straighten herself. I straightened her out which eased her pain a bit, and she lived just long enough to tell me what had happened; and that was the only story I ever heard of the origin of the massacre, and the conflagration in the city. It was clear that she was not far from the door of death; so, thinking of my mother and sisters, I decided to return to the burning city to learn something about them.

“On the way I heard two men coming from the oppo- site direction, speaking in undertones, in our tongue, and so I knew they were not enemies. I spoke and they replied that they too were hurrying away to discover the fate of their women folk. ‘Kunana is in ruins,’ they said,‘ the Barolong are wiped out and their home shall know them no more.’ Nevertheless, I decided to risk a journey into the burning town. At the Chief’s court, hordes of Matebele soldiers were dancing round a bonfire; evidently celebrating the avenging of Bhoya’s death. ‘The crossings and passages between the huts were full of dead bodies of friends and enemies, and many of our women and children. In our quarters, I saw none of our folk. The corn in the mud bin was still smouldering, so, removing the parched grain from the top, I took out from underneath some good sound corn, carried this in a knapsack, and left the hideous place as quickly and as quietly as I had entered it.”

Ra-Thaga then made for the cattle post which he and his father had left the day before. Arriving there next morning, he could hardly recognise the old place. The huts, the cattlefold, like the whole terrain from Kunana to Mhuhucho, bore gruesome traces of the ravages of the Matebele in the shape of dead bodies, burnt huts and destroyed crops. Up to that time he had seen no sign of a living being, only abundant evidences of death.

After pondering for a while among the ruins, he made for some adjacent kopje and surveyed the country from the crest of the highest hillock.

He saw parties of the victors reconnoitering. on the plains, under the direction of others who were signalling from the hilltops. Now and again he observed a number of Barolong in full flight, and hordes of Matebele at their heels. It was not difficult to divine the result of such a chase.

Ra-Thaga travelled nearly two months without meeting a single soul. The loneliness was frightful. During his flight, and when he thought of the devastation of the country, he often wondered what had become of the chief. He fully believed that he, too, was killed with his wives and children and all his people.

Chapter 2

Chapter II.

Dark Days.

Re-Thaga, in order not to be attacked by wild animals, ‘was wont to sleep in the top branches of some large tree, ‘where he would weave a hammock of ramblers and ropes of inner barks, tying it up with twigs. In this manner he spent many nights alone in different woods. This was a wise precaution, for, occasionally his sleep and the stillness of the night were disturbed by the awful roar of the king of beasts, making thunder in the forest. One morning, at the end of another restless night, when the ‘wood pigeons began to address one another in their language, after the dawn of day had caused the whining of the hyenas to cease, the sun rose slowly, and Ra-Thage, descending from his late solitary nest, commenced the misery of another day. Each of his mornings was but the resumption of his fruitless search for the company of hhuman beings, which it seemed he was never to find in this world. As he dragged his feet through the dewy grass he seemed to have no particular destination in view. He wondered how much longer this solitude would last. With a drooping spirit he mused over the gloom of existcence and asked himself if he still could speak his own language, or if, supposing he met anyone and was addressed, he could still understand it.

These thoughts tormented him for the sixtieth time, when, he suddenly saw a slender figure running swiftly towards him, It was clear that the maiden was frightened by something terrible, for she ran unseeingly towards him, and as he arrested her progress, the girl stood panting like a hunted fox. It was only after some moments that with a supreme effort she could utter the short dissyllable tau (that is a lion).

“Where?” asked Ra-Thage.

“Oh, stranger!” gasped the girl, recovering her voice, “how good of you to appear just when my succession of misfortunes had reached a climax. I almost stumbled over a huge lion just beyond that ridge, not far from here—I am afraid he will hear us if we speak above a whisper. I did not notice the brute at first because his hair looked just like the tops of the autumn grass. He must have been eating something, for straight in front of me I heard a sound like the breaking of a tree. I think he was crushing the leg of a cow—oh, how silly of me to forget that there are no cows in this wilderness. Anyway,” continued the girl between her gasps, “I noticed that in front of me there was, not a tuft of grass, but a living animal feeding on something. So I stepped quietly backward, without turning round, until I was at some distance, and then I turned and ran.”

Ra-Thaga, successfully concealing his own fears, asked, “You were not, then, observed by the animal, were you?”

“No,” she replied, “I believe that he is still devouring his prey.”

Ra-Thaga did not know what to do, for, if there were two things he was against meeting, they were a Matebele and a lion, “But here is an awkward position,” he thought, “a young woman fleeing to me for protection. What is best to be done?”

His native gallantry urged him to go after the beast; the young woman persisted in following close behind him. Vainly he tried to persuade her to remain where she was, but she was obdurate, “Nay,” she replied, in a loud whisper,“ I dare not remain alon Ra-Thaga thought he knew what was passing through her mind before she spoke. She added; “I have wandered through this lonely wilderness for days and nights, since my people were scattered at Kunana; I have lived on roots and bulbs and wild berries, yearning to meet some human being, and now that I have met you, you cannot leave me again so quickly. In fact, I am not quite certain that you are a man, and even if you are a dream, I will stay with you and dream on while the vision last; whether you are man or ghost I have enjoyed the pleasure of a few words with you. I am prepared to see ten other lions with you rather than stay alone of my own free will. Walk on to the lion, I will follow you.”

Ra-Thaga heard this with a shiver. He believed that women were timid creatures, but here was one actually volunteering to guide him to where the lion was, instead of commanding him to take her far away from the maneater. How he wished that he might find it gone! However, he summoned up courage and proceeded, his companion following. At times he felt pleased that she had not obeyed him, for her presence stimulated his bravery. As they proceeded, however, he certainly began to doubt the wisdom of his adventure. “In our country,” he said to himself, “lions were usually hunted by large companies of men armed with spears and clubs, with the aid of fierce mastiffs, and not by one badly armed man guided by a strange girl.”

Suddenly, their extreme peril struck him, and before he had time to ponder over it, the maiden touched hisshoulder and pointed to what looked like a tuft of moving grass, some fifty yards ahead—it was a black-maned lion.

The king of beasts was leisurely gorging himself with ‘chunks of meat torn from the carcase of an eland which he had recently killed. Ra-Thaga realizing that not only his own safety depended upon his prowess, but also that of the young woman who had appeared as if from the clouds, and commended herself to his care, his fears vanished. Yelling at the top of his voice and waving his cloak of skin in the air, he rushed at the feasting lion, the girl doing the same. This violent interruption of his meal caused the lion to jerk his head, whereupon he took fright and darted off as hard as he could go with his tail between his legs. The lion ran through the trees across the grassy plain and never stopped till he was out of view, thus leaving Ra-Thaga complete master of the situation. With the lion out of sight Ra-Thaga was able to rejoice; though his pride was not greater than the joy of the girl who realized that her trust in him had not been misplaced.

At last his eyes fell on the damsel who in her turn cast furtive glances at her unknown hero. “My man, my man,” she seemed to say, my stranger man, whom the spirits have sent to save me from loneliness, starvation, and the lion’s jaw, I would willingly pass through another Matebele raid and suffer hair-breadth escapes if but to meet one like you.” And to herself she said, “I wonder what his name is?”

Ra-Thaga was also wondering who she was and whence she came; and guessing what questions were crossing her mind, he came nearer and offered her his hand.

“Dumela, my sister,” he said, “I am Ra-Thaga, the son of Notto. I belonged to the Sehuba clan of the BaroJong at Kunana, the burnt city. Pray who art thou ?”

“My name is Mhudi,” replied the girl, “ my people belonged to the Kgoro tribe. I, too, came from the doomed city—curse that Matebele king! My father and mother are slain, also my two sisters and little brothers—tiny little children. I have never heard of any lions killing children, but Matebele seem to be fiercer than

replied Ra-Thaga, “I, too, would like an answer to that poser. We are both very tired and hungry. The gods of our ancestors have watched over us these many lonely days and nights since the destruction of our homes, and now we have met. See, here is the carcase of a fully developed young eland bull, of which the lion has eaten but little, there is the mothanthanyane shrub, I will spin a stick against its limb and start a spark while you keep watch. We will then roast some meat and appease our hunger, after which there ought to be plenty of time to relate our experiences to each other; although it seems, I think, that our stories will not be dissimilar.”

Ra-Thaga was nearly half an hour labouring to ignite the sticks, while Mhudi stooped beside him holding a bunch of grass in both hands, ready to encourage the first spark into a flame. The continued friction between the two sticks finally generated a spark which shooting into the tuft of grass, started a comfortable blaze. Mhudi entered quickly upon the duties of providing a meal, and rot long after, the roast was sizzling on the coals.

While the girl nimbly did her part, Ra-Thaga made a careful study of the unexpected being who so dramatically altered the trend of his life, and he determined never to let her pass out of it again. Her curly hair was as carefully trimmed as though she had come from her mother’s house that morning, but her general appearance showed that, even for a bucolic girl, she was frightfully travel- stained. For all that, Mhudi had a magnificent figure. Her forehead completed the lovely contour of a slightly emaciated face, the colour of her skin being a deep brown that set off to advantage her brilliant black eyes. A pretty pair of dimples danced around her cheeks when she smiled; and the smile revealed an even set of ivories as pure as that of any child, Her bewitching mouth and beautiful lips created a sense of charm, and when she blew the fire she seemed to blow something into Ra-Thaga that almost maddened him with ecstasy and he wondered if her breath was charmed. In front she wore an apron of thin twisted strips, suspended evenly, from a belt round her waist, reaching just above the knees, while a springbok skin drooping from her hips downward formed the Kirtle that matched her beautiful form. Round her shoulders hung a furry rug of speckled lamb-skins very carefully tanned. This she had put aside while preparing the meal. Her agile movements as she carefully piled up more and more wood on the now blazing fire, or turned the eland ribs on the glowing embers, so fascinated Ra-Thaga that he never tired of looking at her. He thought she had above her beaded anklets the most beautiful limbs he had ever seen. He recalled the halcyon days at Kunana, when pretty girls bedecked with ornaments pranced about the court-yards, but could not remember ‘one 80 perfectly proportioned and elegant in every movement,

Chapter 3

Chapter III.

Mhudi’s Alarming Experiences.

A royal pair never sat down to a meal with greater relish than the rescued Mhudi and her chivalrous comrade, as together they partook of the wild beef from a flat stone, which served as an improvised dish and table in one. Musing the while over their unexpected meeting; “and after all,” thought Ra-Thaga, “the gods are indeed propitious to allow someone to comfort me after the massacre of our people.” Each of them thought it rather fortunate that the other was of the opposite sex.

“Now tell me,” said Ra-Thaga at the end of their meal, “where did you come from, my friend, and how did you get here?”

“No,” replied Mhudi, “though I have lost my people, I have not lost my manners. Men first; you have the right-of-way. You tell me, brother, how you came here in time to save me from the lion, and I will give you my story afterwards.”

They exchanged a few more pleasantries, then Ra‘Thaga, having recounted his part in the memorable cataclysm added: “Future generations will never know war, for the Barolong are an exterminated people. The famous race of warriors and descendants of Tau—the Lion of the North—who in their wars never tarnished their spears with children’s blood, are no more. The Barolong, noted for their agility and dexterity with the sword—a clean sword that never stained itself with the blood of a woman—are wiped out. Their fire is extinguished, their city flattened and their name blotted off the face of the earth. In our wars men killed other warriors, and cap- tured the unarmed and non-resisting. They took the women and children home. But the Matebele, oh, the Matebele! Could it be real or was it only a dream? In fact, I am not even certain whether the bloody operations I have described took place in two or more nights, or only one. Until I met you, I did not believe that another of our tribe existed, and I had never expected to hear our language spoken again. On seeing you I did not believe that you were a Morolong. But it turns out that two of us, at any rate, are left alive to tell the story, but—to whom ? Ah, yes, to whom?…