Black Urn

By Simbarashe Jacques Musarurwa

A young woman unexpectely finds what might be love in the heart of the urban jungle, a sister returns home for festivities, a group of fishermen find themselves treading mystical waters. 

Black Urn is a collection of rich short stories of both old and modern African folklore.

Deception, lust, betrayal and sacrifice an array themes that are masterfully stretched across twelve different timeless stories.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Simbarashe Jacques Musarurwa
• Release date: Sep 6, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393916055

Book preview

This book is dedicated to the reader who solemnly appreciates the nature in which the following stories are crafted and delivered.

Table of Contents

Black Urn

Where the Mushroom Grows

Rain

August Wind

Gamuchirai

Suburban Panic

Death in the Mountain

The King’s Bread

The Speaking River

Voros

Unwanted Guest

Preface

Black Urn is the birth -child of a series of dreams I had over the course of three months. Most of the stories and characters are directly derived from the later.The conception of this book was met with great challenges.

In spite of this a great many encouraged me to go on, my gratitude extends to my family and friends

This Collection is crafted with great intent, it will shock, frighten, Intrigue and most of all it shall provide revelation...enjoy!

BLACK URN

Chapter I

CALAMITY

THE SOUND OF COLD HARD icy hail bashing on top of asbestos had long died down with the breaking of the early morning light. I scoffed in anger as a freezing stream of air from under my door had interrupted my sweet sleep. My droopy eyes quickly fixated on the huge rotting hole that had been leaking water from above throughout the night, the entire surface of my floor was drowned completely. My heart got cold as I saw the huge pile of my drawing sheets swimming from under my bed. Burned out candle wax was scattered all over my sheets riddling them with undesired soapy polka dots, the blasted wind must have knocked it off the window sill I thought to myself as I reached for my shorts.

The season’s might had been dished out from the heavens onto our little piece of earth in Mharakore township bringing the much-needed relief for our thirsty corn. Outside my old tattered grey curtain was a dull bluish light from intercepting rain clouds that danced above the surrounding munhondo blocking the sun’s fuzzy warmth. The clanking sound of the metal bucket as it banged against the rocky walls of the water well pierced through my ears, father had already woken. 

"Gaka!, Gaka!, mpfanha quickly get over here I rushed outside almost tripping over the exposed granite that shrouded the dugout heap of sand near the well. Were you dying in there, boy?... Hurry up and help me carry this water to the kitchen, we have a long day of weeding ahead of us". My father and I had always been alone ever since my mother passed. Baba was one of the countless corn farmers in the village and would always boast that his corn was the sweetest in all the land saying, As much it takes a great ladies’ man to tame a sour woman into a sweet girl, it takes an even greater man to yield my sweet corn.

Moments later we had already finished packing our sweet potato into our knapsacks and were setting out east on a dusty trail that lead us to our garden. On the way, we could clearly see the devastating impact of the storm as several old trees were uprooted straight from the ground. Broken tree branches scattered the bushy landscape stripping the green-land down into an old barren and ghostly land. Gogo Chikaka our old next-door neighbour had most of her young shootings completely destroyed by the hail, it was a grisly sight to behold. 

In the not so far distance, I heard a great rushing sound that felt as if all the bulls of Mharakore had been let loose in a wild rampaging stampede, my body seemed to vibrate in symphony with the rhythm of the shaking earth. It was the Roparegamba river that flowed at the foot of our garden. The majestic river was overflowing with dark brown murky water, spilling out to the lips of her sandy river banks. The makeshift stone bridge had long been swallowed by her deep and raging waters. 

My father glanced at me with unease in his eyes as he feared for our crop. Just as we swung open the gate, we were greeted with a mound of thorns carefully placed to the entrance almost as if someone had placed it there intentionally bar off trespassers. My old man was perplexed and but quickly dismissed the anomaly, anxious to find out the fate of our livelihood. After carefully removing the thorns we unveiled the most extraordinary thing I had ever seen!

Chapter II

DISINTER

AS WE STOOD THERE SCANNING every inch of the corn from end to end, we were amazed to discover that not even a single leaf of the crop was damaged. The field was exactly in the same state it was prior to the storm, it was almost as if the portion of land had been covered up by an invisible roof throughout the night. Thank heavens barked my baba as he paced back and forth across the rows, brushing the large corn leaves as if to check if they were of this world. It didn't take to long for his excitement to wear off and within moments we were arched over on our backs ploughing and weeding the damp surface. 

As the afternoon drew to an end, we had pretty much covered the whole field. I was now completing the few rows that were left when my hoe suddenly hit what seemed to be a large stone. I quickly dug up the dirt around the stone's edges to pick it up easily and hurl it off the field when I noticed something strange about the object. The revealing top part of its surface was smooth and polished, announcing a met black shell. I gently unearthed the ovular stone brushing the surrounding dirt off its body and lifted it into the fading light of the sun to get a clear view. The vase was in impeccable condition bearing hardly any scratches on its surface and its top seemed to be sealed firmly suggesting that it was not meant to be opened easily. "I have to show this to baba," I thought to myself and as I got up to run off, after no more than three steps the earth spontaneously shook and the earth that was directly beneath my feet crumbled dragging me down with it.

Heaps on dirt piled over me as a struggled to regain my balance whilst tumbling and rolling in the mud. The mudslide was short lived and came to a halt several meters away, south of the field. My heart was palpitating and I felt my body lose its energy as I gasped for air in the heavy mound of earth that had covered my whole body up to the