THE OTHER WAY ROUND (3) CONT'D

Another aspect of the Kuntu community’s tradition was to perform the DETERMINATION ritual where the community must be satisfied that their fallen was not pushed to fall but merely fell as a matter of fate. The DETEREMINATION was done by the community’s priestess who was the second most important voice after that of the kings’. She would have to commune with the gods and receive their permission to conduct the ceremonial washing of the corpse of the fallen and the communing process could take as long as it’s necessary. She would have to make sure that the spouse or spouses of the fallen drink of the water with which the fallen was washed. If the spouse of the fallen after drinking the water dies, then it would be apparent that he caused the death of the fallen and his own fall would be just. But if the spouse doesn’t die but merely falls ill, he did not cause the death of the fallen.

On the third moon three weeks after the fall of the great member of the prestigious family, the gods finally spoke and the priestess was seen racing to the compound where the fallen once lived with toxic ecstasy. She looked rugged and had a smell that accompanied her. She had white marks under her right eye and mirrors all over her red torn robe. Her hair was a sight to behold and her breath... unbelievable! Her sceptre was in her hand and it made a weird sound whenever she walked around the village. Now the sound grew louder as she approached the house of the fallen. In her hand was the cup of the water used in washing the fallen. She had come to effect the DETERMINATION.

Everyone in the family of the fallen was assembled and the husband of the fallen was called to the middle of their gathering. His hair had been shaved with those of his children and he was made to kneel down before the crowd. His heart panted in fear. He couldn’t understand why he was so afraid; he knew that he hadn’t caused the death of his wife but he was afraid nonetheless. “I loved my wife!” he screamed out in a flash. “Please don’t make me drink the water” he begged. But the older women shushed him up. “This is tradition, it must be done. No one accuses you of anything unless the gods find you guilty” one of the older women said. The priestess came to him shaking like a tree in the wind, chanting in an intoxicated manner. Only the whites of her eyes showed and the husband of the fallen feared for his life.

 “If only there was a tradition different from this, if only there was a place where the belief is not as repugnant as this, if only there was a god who treated its subjects better, if only...” his thoughts were interrupted by the shrill laughter of the priestess. “I know what you are thinking” she said. “And I laugh at your thoughts, fool.” She ended. There was no mercy with her as she thrust the cup into his mouth and made him drink it.     

Tasteless was how it began then the real taste hit him. It was bitter as hell and it smelled. There were some particles in it and it felt like worms only that these ones were much shorter and fatter. He tried to vomit it out but the priestess held his mouth shut and gave him a punch in the stomach which ultimately sent the liquid down. He could feel it moving within him. His body had never received such before; he was certain of his death. He fell to the ground shaking.