Sapped Not Trapped

By Austin Gadzama

His hero in the novel, Domi, portrays the life of a typical Jaba boy hardworking and highly sensitive, brave but very vulnerable, confident, and courageous, with so much intellectual potentials and resilience, yet limited by several factors. From the onset, Domis peculiar birth circumstances flash a bit of the challenges he was born to face as a half orphan in a very large but divided extended family and clan. As Domi grows up, the plot transits between the fictional Ham village of Zaza and the city settings, with each presenting thrilling and weird obstacles that he struggles to overcome. The Jaba culture and traditional beliefs are craftily interwoven with the modern trends in a boiling pot of unstable sociopolitical and unbearably harsh economic conditions that he must drink from to survive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Oct 30, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477226902

Austin Gadzama

Austin Gadzama has proven his versatility as an author and novelist. It all started with Your Capacity is the Master Key to Greatness, then An Innocent Child in a Terrorist World, The Beautiful Colours of Peace, and now, his first fictional novel, Sapped, Not Trapped, is set to dominate the literary world as an African masterpiece. It displays the very rich cultural heritage of the Ham people in such a unique way that his artistic ancestors who made the famous Nok terra-cotta will be proud of. The author, playwright, and novelist comes from Kurmin Musa District of Southern Kaduna. A graduate of English/geography from COE Kafanchan and a graduate of international studies from Ahmadu Bello University Zaria, he has now established himself as an exceptional contemporary writer with an uncanny ability to pick up relevant themes from different aspects of human endeavour.

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2012 by Austin Gadzama. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 10/26/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4772-2689-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-2690-2 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

DEDICATION

AKNOWLEDGEMENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EPILOQUE

DEDICATION

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This novel is especially dedicated to the fund memories of my late father—Ishaku Gadzama, the courage of my loving mom—Auta, my two queens—Sim and Angel; as well as all Hamdas around the world.

AKNOWLEDGEMENTS

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First and foremost, I acknowledge and appreciate God Almighty for his gift of wisdom, knowledge and life.

For my mother Mrs Auta Nponano & my late father, Ishaku Gadzama, Mr. & Mrs. Dogo, Mr & Mrs. G. Wayo, Hajia Fati M Abubakar, Alh. Nasir A Mohammed, Mr. & Mrs Ufot, Mr & Mrs Bauchi Oho, Mr & Mrs Alfred, Mr & Mrs musa and Uncle Dauda M. Zheik, my gratitude shall eternally remain fresh.

His Royal Highness, Dr. Danladi G. Maude, Justice & Mrs. Makeri, Rev. Fr. A. Zakka, Prof. AJ Nok, Prof. J. Maisamari, Prof. P.P Izah, Mr. & Mrs. Danbaki, Arc. & Dist. Mrs. J.G Dzingina, Dr. & Mrs. Ado Yusuf, Hon & Mrs. E. Pati, Mr. & Mrs. D. Tsoho, Dr. & Mrs. Madaki, Dr. Kwasau, Alh. Shehu Aliu, Pastor & Mrs. C Emeka, Mr. & Mrs A C Ndulaka—I shall forever be grateful to you all.

How can I forget my research team—Engr. Princewill Musa, Engr. Marim Madaki, Engr. Riwani Madaki, Mr. Tims Farman and Miss. Comfort Atama, family and friends; your support has remained my tonic.

To my teachers and mentors at all the levels of education, thank you for giving me the light to find my way in the topsy-turvy journey of life.

PROLOGUE

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Those who wish to stop the sun from shining in other houses shall also live with them on total darkness, and for those who constantly pray that rain should seize falling so that their enemies could stay hungry shall also suffer from the impact of the drought! . . .

. . . ."As he withdrew from the all-conquering-six, he eyed the jug of sweetly fresh palm-wine without daring to display his biting desire to give it a sip. Of course, like many other things, it is a taboo to share early morning palm-wine with the elders, among whom is the clan’s Kpop-Khu (the chief priest) and keeper of the clan’s oracles, armaments, charms, poison, antidotes as well as doubling as the traditional doctor because of his in-depth knowledge of medicinal roots, herbs and leafs. He also enjoys a rare mystical ability to remove all kinds of poisons from victims or mending fractures by simply chanting some incantations, or calling into a strange but extremely old mirror until the image of the injured appears on it.

Once it’s been confirmed to be the part afflicted he touches the exact spot without being told what the ailment is; but once affirmation is granted, he withdraws his hands, gathers a considerable amount of a well concocted libation which he robs fervently for a while before holding the trouble spot for some moments. The moment he gestures you to leave his medical chambers or the image disappears from the mirror, the healing process commences.

By the time you get home, the victim might have begun working, walking or playing around depending on the age or grade. The fame of almost all clan or village Kpop Khus has been celebrated more as a legend than a myth from far and near through the testimonies of people that have encountered such strange old men who do not receive a penny for treatments or drugs.

Palm-wine has a sacred value among the people of Zaza and all neighbouring Hamda villages. It also has numerous superstitious significance to the newly born—both as a medicinal and super-preventive spirit. Those who are already diagnosed with measles are frequently bathed with palm-wine which is also fed to the baby. After two market weeks or three, it clears and strengthens the pupils making their eyes sparkling white in the process.

This unique spirit, according to our elders, clears the mind of any residual cloud and agitation of the previous day and night. So, because of the extreme desire to start a day on a clean slate, they guard their early morning fresh palm-wine with the passion of a nursing falcon.

As soon as they spotted Myandwaz—peace of mind—the clan-crier returning after a rushed breakfast of warmed leftover food, they paid more attention to gulping down the refreshing content of their jugs-of-life. They asked him to clear up their designer drinking jugs to ensure that they settled before he enters the main lounge; because immediately he enters, and announces the commencement of the meeting, a predetermined fine is placed on the late-comers.

The appearance of the elders meant the young women and initiated children of more than eleven years rush in to take their seats before they enter the lounge. This is observed with involuntary precision by every other kinsman or woman, boy or girl as a mark of respect.

Myan, the abbreviation for Myandwaz, cleared his throat the first time with a lion like growl, looked around without uttering a word. Yet the message was passed. The whispery chit-chat infiltrating the alluring morning breeze began dying down. A louder growl followed the first some second latter. Immediately, one could be disturbed when a feather drops.

"Nyire swek rieh shekpoda, shezhi koh siawye. Mi ruyin. Nom dwoh rah kah dwoh fu Zaza—good morning our elders, ladies and gentlemen. I salute you all. May God bless us, our clan and bless the people of Zaza." Said Myan whose spirit seems to have been heightened by the drakes he had sip from the nearly empty jugs.

"Our ancestors say that when palm wine and cola aren’t shared at a meeting of kinsmen, then something is amiss. It could be an abomination or a sacrilege. I’ve gone to every compound and all the rooms in which a man and woman share the holy secrecy of matrimony. If I added words other than the proclamation of these noble elders, may the gods cut off my tongue. Should I now speak further than this, I stand to endure the wrath and curse of our ancestors. If words other than those uttered by our elders were added or deducted, May I bear the full consequence of my action.

Looking at the elders’ direction, he added, have I spoken well my elders?" Saying this, he took a bow and withdrew to his seat—squeezing himself between a half-brother and a cousin.

Hmm! Hmm! Hmm! Chori shook his snow-haired head and continued… the rat said its refusal to share its hole with a snake is not the shortage of space or lack of a game to play; but rather than playing for some frightful wind-steps only to get swallowed moments after, it is better to flee for days and end up in the warm embrace of kins-rats. I host you not as the eldest among equals; hence I had better not borrow an elder’s mouth to eat onions. If I’ve spoken your minds as a clan, then I’d remain seated, but if otherwise, may this elder’s council banish me from this clan-congress."

"Chori, you have said our minds, my head might not be the biggest or whitest, but it sure has seen more harvests than any other seated here… DziehNom, the oldest member of the clan said reluctantly. My foot may really not be the strongest or longest, but they have ran the streets of Zaza and its neighbours including those at hill tops and plain lands, those in thick forests and the riverine dwellers more than anyone else.

When the first white man landed here in Zaza, I was almost approaching fatherhood. So I could rightly say that my eyes have seen and slept for over thirty-one thousand, three hundred ninety beautiful days and nights. However, since the gods refused to stand with me to protect my happiness; Fuzheik was gripped by the hands of death and immediately before I finished mourning him, his wife was ta Then his son, my grand-son, was moved away from the watchful eyes of grey—hairs to the oceans of city men who have been known to leave behind their own children in desperate search for status. The wife of my youth, who could not stomach the loss of Fuzheik, followed him even before his soul arrived heaven.

Because of the weight and pain my heart now carries, I’ve vowed to stay within the confines of our kinship without part-taking beyond my limits. So the kinsman, whose hands have worked the farms for almost as much length of time and season as mine, may preside over proceedings of this clan. To such a brother, I lend my mouth to eat the onions. Just remember that those who cook words must sharpen their teeth to chew well and oil their throats to smoothly swallow them when the need arises." DziehNom concluded.

Saying this, he sank his wrinkled and shaky body deeper inside his designer chair, watching and listening to every murmur and grumble and outburst yet feigning sleep throughout the discussion, without uttering a word.

I presume that in the absence of palm-wine and cola, we could easily say that this meeting was called to address a grievious matter. Just like one cannot pursue two rats at the same moment; it is improper to mourn and be merry simultaneously. So we shall commence without the traditional breaking of cola or sharing it among us kinsmen. Neither shall we or our ancestor share any palm wine. However, I call on our ancestors to over-see and bless the outcome of this meeting. Kwoi, the second eldest member of the clan, said with an air of importance.

Hmm! The wise old bat once told his grand-children that he could easily describe every kind of night; from the extremely chilly or windy to the rainy ones, the only one he may never be able to describe is the night he dies. We have spent so much to bring up our son, we committed even much more in training him, but one of us seated here has cut short our harvest." He sighs with so much pain in his eyes.

Who did it, we do not as yet know, however when the tongue suffers a bite, it calls on its eyes to locate which teeth or tooth, like in this case, carries the blood-stains. That is why we are gathered here this early. May be the only person that can unravel the mystery of this abomination is the one closest to him at the point he was cruelly snatched away from us. She may have to prove to all of us that she has no hand in his death before the proper burial rites are concluded. Kwoi said, looking at Nano’s direction with undisguised disgust and contempt—perhaps aided by his hormonal reaction to the early morning palm-milk he had gulped.

At that point the impatience and aggressive greed of Nkwak had gotten the better of him as he interrupted his immediate elder brother of about three rainy seasons.

"Bini! Why not cut through the chess and spill out the details and purpose of this gathering of kinsmen. Nkwak cut in. for instance, all of us are aware of our son’s death. How he died we do not know, why he died, we do not also know. Who is responsible for his death, we painfully cannot tell, but since his wife and his city friends brought his silent remains last sun set, it is, according to our tradition, binding upon her to swear an oath of innocence before his gentle soul can finally join his ancestors.

So right this moment you are going to drink a cup of the water his body was washed in, then you would wash each of your hands and face three times. When you have concluded that, you will stand bare, with his corpse between your legs, and say to our gods and the spirit of your husband that if you had a hand in his death, may the god that brings rain and lightning and thunder, strike you down as you walk across his body for the last time. Nkwak added… .

CHAPTER ONE

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‘Why have you chosen to slap my wrinkled back with such hot fingers even before five hundred steps into your long journey to the west? Is it because it’s been so long since I came to the farm or did lady moon get you so angry last night that you can’t wait to hit back at the entire village? You shouldn’t be this furious so early in the morning.’ I said to the fuming sun while trying to build up a ridge for my corn.

It was one of such moments when a long deserted habit nags one continuously until one caves to the pressure. I woke up that morning with an in-born desire to stretch my old nerves at the farm after two rains of retirement; but the sun will not just allow me to work along my numerous children and grand-children.

Before mid-way into its journey westward, the raging heat had become too unbearable for my over-eighty-rains-old-back. Even the wind had been dehydrated to the point of stagnation. I gave up any further attempt at being gallant and vacated the farm for Zhankwa—the river at the foot of the Rock of Spirits.

Perspiration sucked my entire buba as I sluggishly descended the gentle sloping road down to the river to revive my soul before climbing the peak of the highest of the four rocks that watch over Zaza and its people day and night.

As soon as I got to the river, I quickly took off my sweaty clothes and plunged into the cool water like an excited teenager. I remained there for eternity but the raging sun won’t calm down.

I waited anxiously until its hot fingers cooled to a bearable level before I left Zhankwa for the summit to take my usual spot. A fresh jug of palm-wine, which SuNom my tapper had delivered, welcomed me. I sat on my folding-chair and heaved a long sigh of relief before taking the first sip. Being the very first for that day, my belly joyfully accepted the new arrival with so much warmth.

After the second jug, I remembered our ancestors and poured some for them with apologies for my bad manners. The shadow cast by the tree I sat under helped in ensuring the absolute revival of my body and soul. The sun was outrageously angry and ready to melt anything that stood on its way. Yet it didn’t deter the young men at the farm. I sat the like the god of protection watching over the undulating plains and valleys from east to west all across Zaza.

I wondered how the Hamdas are able to defy the scouching fingers of sun light as they till their farms. From as early as three hundred steps into the sun’s journey, till few miles away from its destination, they continued working while it splashed its acidic rays on their raining backs.

When the evening eventually over-come the savage, it was so compassionate that it let loose a heaven of soothing wind which felt like silt gently caressing the skin. I had taken my usual position at the epic of the rock that watches over its people and community.

Here is where the gods meet to woo and love and injure emotions. From here, you could see clearly, every movement and sometimes, when the gods wish to share some gossip from the plains below, they amplify dying voices on arrival at the summit to enable one catch a few words from the well laid community below.

There I slummed into my grand-pa folding-chair with eyes lightly short and every hair on my body enjoying the tickling smoothness of the wind. That was when I heard the gods whispering to one another that Domi was a special project and so must be closely protected. Upon hearing this, I ran through the long list of children with such a special name and immediately realized the futility of my mission; since almost every other first male child proudly enjoys bearing the by-syllabic name.

I hibernated, and switched back to my romance with the evening breeze. Some wonderful moments later, the gods pocked my eyes gently open and turned my attention to a chubby little kid of about four and half rains standing among four others slightly bigger. As if the gods understood my frustration, they amplify the voices below, so I became a relaxed spectator from where I was resting my tired limbs and nerves after some hours at the farm under the painful blows from the sun.

I heard his sharp voice gently but firmly saying; do you think I’m afraid of your number or size? Mamma said the sons of soldiers do not have fears. I am not afraid of you, and if we have to fight because of my mangoes, then you have to take them away when I’m down and out. I will fight you one at a time.

Yes! The biggest of the under-six thugs said.

No! The smallest among the gang of four said.

See, you are afraid of fighting me one on one, why must four of you face me alone when all of you are bigger and older than me? Okay, let’s not fight, instead I will give you two of my mangoes and hold three.

No! Said one of the four, we are taking all of them from you, tomorrow you can go to the river side for other mangoes.

Looking at them with a rare sense of amusing anger, Domi said; then you must force each out of my hands. At that moment, children-hell was let loose. I laughed my tongue out at the cowardice in some of the gang members.

The first to take-off only took a well-placed punch on the lower abdomen and was immediately deprived of the wooing air and wind that whistled soft tunes which gently pierces the skin. The moment he left the ground, the one standing next to him took off like an Olympic sprinter. Domi was exchanging as much punches as he received from the brave two.

The one that was knocked down noiselessly crept away from the battle field, and without a pursuer, zoomed for safety after helping himself with one of the mangoes. At this point, enough punches, kicks and slaps had landed on different painful spots and the momentum was gradually dropping.

I involuntarily opened my mouth to scream ‘watch out’ because while paying attention to one of the two, who was on his way down as a result of the blows that were raining on him, the biggest of the fighters had cowardly sneaked behind Domi. He adjusted his posture and like a python, shot a venomous blow towards Domi’s neck, but before I shouted out the alarm, the brave lad swiftly turned around with his head docked almost musically with the turn.

And that was how he entered his assailant’s lower body, lifted him effortlessly and slammed him on a ridge. With the side of his eye, he saw the boy he had knocked down trying to help himself to his remaining mangoes. As an eagle adjusts smoothly into a strike posture at the sight of a vulnerable chick, he charged at the hunger-induced-thief. The poor guy whom, to me, much more punches were thrown at aborted the mission and opted for painless-safety via his tired legs. Realising the risk of leaving his mangoes behind at the mercy of the flowed chap in pursuit of the fleeing child, he turned and went towards his mangoes.

Upon seeing him, the flowed fighter scrambled to his feet and shifted gears from zero to four, but before he took his foot off the brakes to free the sport car; Domi called out with an authoritative voice.

Wait and take a mango. Domi tossed a very ripe one at the ‘defeated general. Considering the beating he had received on an empty stomach, he picked it and said thanks. Standing just meters apart, they moved toward themselves with a queer smile that served as the palm front. As soon as the expression of the gesture of peace was adequately acknowledged, they shook hands and took themselves towards the village.

Boys will be boys and girls will certainly grow into mothers; but children will always remain children. Despite all attempts to wave aside the comedy I just enjoyed along with the mild sea breeze, something glued my eyes to the duo as they faded gradually into the distance.

My curiosity got the better of me, so I followed them home with my natural binoculars for whatever reason, I didn’t know. They stopped at a house which almost every other child knows because it is home to the most popular well in the village. The entire community fetched their drinking water from this well all through the dry season, but when the rains come, those whose houses are afar off resume the treacherous task in nearby homes.

This doesn’t, in any way, reduce traffic along roads and foot-paths leading to this magnificent well which enjoys being one with the purest water and home to a mermaid from Zaza, as the village is fondly called from far and near.

Folk-tale and confirmed rumour have been authenticated that a limitlessly tall but frightfully pretty monster capable of stretching to any height or change to various forms had been forced out of River Zaza by her kindred for violating standing rules of elimination. Her unsettled spirit found refuge in this well. Here, she became the queen, the supreme ruler and away from the watchful eyes of her kindred, she has wrecked havoc on family members in the physical world, who were ignorant of her excessive powers. It was commonly rumoured that she was a scintillating sight to behold when she was much younger. Every able bodied man in the village and neighbouring hamlets was a captive of her charm. Her extreme good looks, her graceful posture and compassionate composition served her camouflage splendidly.

It was a few meters away from this weird well, where several lives have been taken prematurely, that the born-again fighters stood for a while after washing their bloody-dirty faces chatting and laughing.

Domi, will we play your ball tomorrow? Ngyang enquired politely.

Yes Ngyang, but I’ll do my mommy’s plates before we play. Also, tell your friend to bring back my mango or stop following this road. Domi said.

With these words they parted ways. There and then, I saw Domi entering the house that has been mourning the curiously suspicious death of one of their very promising children who at a very tender age was an officer with the national navy. He was the son of a young widow who, only three years back had also lost her husband, an army officer, in a controversial death that rocked every part of Zaza.

I hear one of her husband’s cousins has forcefully taken her as a concubine only four moons after his cousin’s death. As culture permits, a wife is inherited by any of her husband’s kinsmen when he goes on a terminal trip. As part of the late brother’s property, there was so much collusion and confusion regarding who should inherit her without any regard to her feelings. She just didn’t matter.

Eventually, a baker who was residing in the city beat his other cousins to the loot. He returned to the city with his auctioned acquisition without a room to accommodate the emotionally battered young widow. From then on, she commenced the reversed standard version of her agonizing Rolla-coaster ride into the deep forest of survival.

It’s just like yesterday, three rains have gone by and the sight of her young ward will constantly be a reminder of the misadventure that truncated her marital bliss. I hear that only three rains after her husband’s hurried departure, she can hardly feed herself or her son; she now lives in a single room sharing an open-roof pit-toilet and bathroom with four other helpless mothers who have an average of seven kids each.

When I saw her at the well which was seized along with her late husband’s house, the painful calm on her bony but beautiful face forced a drop or two of tears from my eyes. How tragic life could be sometimes beats any metaphysical explanation. Because my troubled mind couldn’t find sleep throughout that night, I intended to pay my respect to the kind but departed spirit of her husband and encourage her to hold on. To firmly stand behind her only son, to ensure that he survives the onslaught of vagaries that life was going to throw at him.

At this point, I summoned the courage to face this very brave and gentle woman. A few steps to the door of the room she shares with her second husband’s step mother at the village, I pondered over what I was going to tell her. Just a second or three after knocking on the door, Domi’s face at the door magically punched my mind back to the days when his father’s adventure for the national army was the gist on every person’s lips across the length and breadth of the village. Beneath his sparkling white eyes and particularly well cut lower lip—which had the succulent redness and freshness of a ripe fruit—instantly reflect his late father like a mirror. Except that this is a younger duplicate. But you could precisely see the father on this face.

‘Hello, are you Domi?’

Hello grand-pa, I am Domi. The clever lad answered.

‘How are you and mama doing?’ I enquired.

We are fine, but mama has been crying and now she is angry with me because I returned late from the river side. Would you talk to her grand-pa? Domi answered.

‘Of course, now let’s go inside and see mama.’ I assured the concerned lad.

"Dwari baba, shishet kusu.’ Welcome father and have a seat please." She told me.

‘My daughter you look very pale and worried, is anything wrong with you or my child? Or you are still mourning your cousin-in-law?’ I observed.

"No baba (she sniffs) we are good and, as for my brother-in-law, God gives and takes life whenever He wishes; ours is to praise His omnipresence with every breath until our time." Nano was struggling to shield her grieve.

‘You spoke well my daughter, but it does look like your tender heart carries a mountainous burden. Oh, I was told you lost your second child back at the city; it’s a pity.’ I sympathised with her.

"Hmm! Baba, death seems to constantly follow me wherever I go; I am getting accustomed to the life of sorrow and grieve. This family celebrates more funerals than thanksgivings, birthdays and weddings put together." She lamented bitterly.

‘You cannot say so when it is obvious that no family or clan is spared of the scourge that is taking away our best prospects in this community.’ I solicited.

"Hmm! Baba, I fear for my only son. I don’t know what will become of me if something happens to him; he is so clever and full of compassion even at this tender age. Do you know that he now goes fishing alone only one week after accompanying some adults in our compound? Anything he gets, he brings home and shares it into three; one for him, another for me and the other for his sisters and deceased kid brother whom he still expects to return from a long trip abroad." She said.

‘Don’t disturb yourself unnecessarily. He is a strong personality.’ I encouraged.

"But baba, can you compare his strength with that of the people who eliminated his father?" Nano asked frantically.

"Yes mama, I can fight anyone that tries to hurt you until baba comes back from his journey. Did I not bring some mangoes for you today?" Domi said firmly.

Yes, you did my prince and thanks again sweat heart. She puffed out the words with a string of tears running down her cheek.

Grand-pa, can you see that she still cries. I told her I could kill a lion to protect her, but she doesn’t want to stop crying. He said.

Turning to his mom, he displayed his muscles for her to see.

"Mama, look at my power, I am strong enough to fight them and protect you. Okay mama? Even when I was returning home with our sweet mangoes, I fought some boys who tried stealing our mangoes."

You fought again Domi? Have I not stopped you from fighting other children? She asked with a worried look on her face.

They’ll not let me be even when I was ready to give them some of my fruits, so we had to fight. He answered.

But you don’t have to fight all the time, do you? Nano said frawning.

So I should have just given them my mangoes and returned home? What would I have brought home for my baby brother? He asked innocently.

You don’t have to bring fruits or fish for your brother now, didn’t I tell you that it’ll be long before he returns…

Will he return with my papa? He punctured her words.

Yes my boy. They’ll possibly return together. She answered.

"Mama, Domi interrupted, can I go to grand-pa for some stories?"

Seizing that opportunity, I told him to say hi to grand-pa whose house is just about three houses away.

"Bye mama." He said smiling.

"I’ll come for you later; meanwhile, say hello to grandpa.’’ She told him with a spark of unreserved affection in her voice and eyes.

‘My daughter, now we can discuss some of your troubles. Since your husband’s demise, I promised my friend, your father-in-law, that I shall always help you.’ I opened up.

"Yes baba and you have been doing just that. I can never forget the meals you kept sending for my child and I quite appreciate it, but I had to follow my present husband to the city, and…" She pauses and said nothing further.

‘You find the situation too painful to swallow, yet too harsh to spill and that is a bug eating deep into your heart. You need to share your agony with those who genuinely care about your welfare. Your father and father-in law are both very powerful men in this community; but circumstances have forced them to withdraw from public life. That’s why I shall remain vocal when you are in need of a voice.’ I said.

"Baba, I understand, but I’m not given to piling my burdens on your frail shoulders or someone else’s. But… ."She falters again.

‘Spill it so that a way out can be fashioned, it is your sister-in-law’s case that worries you, right?’ I queried with a tone of seriousness.

"Hmm! Yes baba. How could they be this inhuman? She just lost a husband and her only son, yet those vultures are holding a clan meeting to decide who takes over her husbandship. Isn’t that crude and devilish? Very beautiful flowers adorn other people’s houses, but in our case, graves of braves usher strangers