Bow and Arrow by Offer R (best classic books .TXT) 📕

            Several hours elapsed without either party advancing her position. The bear did attempt to test the waters on several occasions, but each time realizing that her huntress was too watchful to be circumvented, she resorted to the safety of the high branch. Jangili's vigilance never wavered, and to every bleat or grunt emitted by her prey she responded with a little chant, which reflected the obligatory respect of hunter to hunted:

'Fret thy soul not, oh mighty beast,

For your pain shall be oh-so-brief;

Tonight of you we'll make a feast,

And of your slayer a new Chief.'

            To such a degree was the proficient huntress certain that hunting down the forest's fiercest predator would acquire her honor beyond limits that when she finally saw a familiar figure loom beyond the trees she leapt with anticipation. It was no ordinary figure that chanced upon her, but that of Shoka, the wielder of the most deadly axe in the forest. With a single swing of his carefully forged weapon, if the rumors were to be credited with precision, he could slice a man in half from head to foot. By the same logic it shouldn't take more than a few swings, or at any rate shouldn't constitute much of a burden, to fell a mid-size tree.

'Greatest Shoka, you've arrived at last,

A miracle this must be;

Only one thing of you I'll ever ask:

Lend your skills and fell this tree.'

            But Shoka, who additionally to his heavy axe had the widest of hearts, lacked the sharpness of mind to match the sharpness of his blade. His comprehension of the situation was accordingly far detached from the truth.

'Jangili, dearest, you are divine,

A hunter and a savior;

To fell this tree with this axe of mine,

Each swing I'll truly savor.'

            And without ado he swung the massive axe over his shoulder as though it were as light as an arrow. But the fierce huntress would no sooner suffer her senior tribesman to render a service to her success under colors of beneficence than abandon the pursuit of her quarry. With haste she flung herself between axe and trunk, her midsection reprieved from a very bloody fate by but a narrow space.

'To save the bear? But why, I wonder?

She's the object of my toils;

Abet me to succeed to hunt her,

And her fur shall be your spoils.'

            Shoka swiveled his axe so that the blunt end faced forward, which ensured that, should the most uncanny of accidents take place, he be the one to suffer injury, or more precisely his back, rather than his interlocutor. He glanced up at the anguishing bear, who was clearly unsettled by his addition to the scene, and then at the avid huntress, and concluded:

'Her fur, so rich, so thick- to wear

A fine prize would be;

But between you, me, and the bear,

None needs it more than she.'

            Thus, aching with the pain of the bear and appalled by the notion of appropriating that which was dearest to her, the man who in a span of minutes could've felled the tree and brought the hunt to a successful conclusion refused Jangili's pleas and left her a trunk's length short of glory. The softness of his heart, not the force of his axe, was the wheel that steered his conduct in rough waters. He suggested that the illustrious archer quit her misguided hunt and join him on his journey to cut and collect firewood to alleviate the biting cold that night would bring. But Jangili, attributing his passive stance to tedium, kindly refused and they parted ways, each to follow the path laid down by their respective wants and desires.  

            The sun was at the height of its daily westward journey, but the sky was still bright and the land ablaze, when another familiar figure answered Jangili's silent beckoning. This time it was Mkuki, a blind tribesman whose liberty from the deceptive sense of sight made him a very fine spearman. So nice was his ability to assess his environment and sense what lay ahead that he could strike a target the size of an apple from 20 meters away, 40 if out in the open. Another virtue his blindness afforded him was exceptional foresight. Being free from the visual attachments of the present, his visions of the future were clearer than those of any seeing tribesman. Jangili was convinced that there could be no easier target for him than the immobile bear, and likewise no easier decision than to take advantage of the rewards it would bring.

'Mkuki, Mkuki, purest of the pure,

Your arrival is a blessing;

My ails you can this moment cure,

And you need not even your best fling.'

            For several moments Mkuki reserved his response, taking in his environment. The rustling of the leaves in the tree, the pungent scent of blood, the bear's heavy breathing and the anxiety in Jangili's voice painted a vivid picture in his mind's eye, where his vision was far superior to that of any tribesman.

'Young Jangili, strong and fair,

Your efforts are astray;

Why wish for the death of the bear,

And not for its health pray?'

            Jangili was taken aback by Mkuki's shortsightedness. His blindness of the gains to be made from the hunt fit him ill, but she was prepared to set it right. So firmly convinced was the ambitious huntress of the expediency of bringing the hunt to a completion that she believed it sufficient to simply lay down the advantages in plain sight. Mkuki's sharp vision would then lead him to subscribe to her position. The advantages were, to her- great pride; to him- a scabbard for his spear, fashioned out of the bear's skin and decorated with her fur as a trophy.    

'To dig such a fierce creature's grave,

A feat yet unachieved;

I'll be deemed bravest of the brave,

Your spear will find a sheath.'

            Mkuki cradled the spear against his side, demonstratively settling the sharp end, which had been known to carve deep through flesh, against the skin on the inside of his hand. Jangili started when the edge touched his skin, but she was mistaken to assume his blindness was at fault for it. There was, in fact, no fault to speak of.

'A spear of peace needn't a scabbard,

A true hunter has no pride;

But close your eyes and look right at her,

The bear has a soul inside.'

            It was in a very calculated manner that Mkuki concluded the benefit to be derived from the death of the bear not to equal, let alone exceed, the loss to be sustained. In her single-minded refusal to embrace his stand Jangili wondered whether perhaps his blindness did after all impair his vision, and consequently his sense of judgment. Neither did she yield to his firm attempts at converting her, in vain to the same degree as her endeavors to coax him to see the obvious. He wasn't the man she'd thought he was, but she placed no blame on him for it. How could one in constant darkness see that which is only seen, however plainly, in the light?

            Again she parted ways with the visitor, and again she remained in want of aid. Again the sun paid little consideration to her needs and grew smaller and dimmer in the sky, and again the outline of a human figure in the horizon revived her dwindling hopes of success. This figure approached more slowly and gently than the previous ones, and both this manner and the small dimensions revealed its identity long before it was close enough for any of its physical features to be singularly distinguished. Her heart bounced with excitement upon this revelation, as she had complete conviction that this last traveler would be exempt from the shortcomings of the previous ones and insusceptible to the misjudgments that had affected them. Wisdom was collected nowhere in greater a density than in this man's mind, and judgment was found nowhere so sound as in the decisions he made.

The Chief!    

'Gentle, prudent, wise Wakuu,

My awe I cannot hide;

What our tribesmen have refused to do,

Pray your kindness may provide.'

            Wisps of hair as white as clouds and skin as uneven as the splintered head of an arrow bore witness to the Chief's vast experience. A perfectly erect stature and a soft voice to which anyone would defer and hush to the sound of evidenced that he'd done well to learn the lessons his experience offered. A single glance at the scene through old, blurry eyes equipped him with complete comprehension of the situation- more so than any of the others. There was unease in his every motion- the result either the bane of seniority or his formidable discontent with the object of his comprehension.

'Heed me, dear girl, your heart is true,

Your every word I trust;

But one thing I'd never do for you:

Fulfill an aim that is unjust.'

            It was very much to her advantage, then, that no part of her current aim was tainted by injustice.

'This bear you see up in the tree,

The subject of my hopes;

If you may deign to help me,

You shall have the entire corpse.'

            The bear grunted above them, prompting an escalation in the Chief's unease.

'Not just a bear- she is a sow,

Soon mother of newborns;

If you can kill her with my arrow,

Her death I shall not mourn.'

            Chief Wakuu turned and allowed Jangili access to the quiver on his back. It was filled with arrows; ten or twelve blunt ends of finely carved sticks jutting out at an equal height from the top of the quiver. Jangili wondered at this uncanny proposal; not one in the tribe, least of all the wise Wakuu, should doubt her ability to dispatch the immobilized bear from such a distance with her favorite weapon. But rather than express her conclusion that the clouds of age were starting to affect his judgment, she randomly chose an arrow and studied it. Little had she expected, even less so did she believe it when she saw it, that not just the one but both ends of the arrow were flat. Surprised that the Chief's quiver hadn't been thoroughly examined and meticulously equipped, she drew another arrow from the bunch. Once again, no side tapered to a sharper end than the other. This ceremony recurred three more times before Jangili came to terms with the fact that these weren't defective arrows; the Chief's arrows were all flat. This cast a heavy shadow of doubt on his famous arching skills, which she inquired into at once.

'Your arrows are flat as the ground,

Can't even cut through air;

What is their purpose? My doubts abound,

They cannot kill the bear.'

            Surprise was absent from the Chief's reaction to her wonder. It wasn't for the tribe's eldest, let alone a young, zealous huntress, to recognize the merits of a flat arrow.

'Arrows not of war but peace,

They mean only to deter;

To kill brings far too grim a grief,

For an old heart to incur.'

            What a fabulous ruse! Armed with famous archery skills and the semblance of a quiver full of deadly arrows, the Chief- if the forest were ever to produce a man wicked enough to wish him ill- would be immune to any offensive attempt by members of a rivaling tribe.  As for the beasts of the forest, they were familiar with the image and danger posed by, and therefore scrupulously kept distance from, any man with a bow. In practice just about any adversary half the Chief's size or larger, man or beast, could with little effort prevail in any kind of physical struggle with the old man. But none did, and none had in decades. And still the cleverness of this offering of peace to the forest didn't dispel the haziness of his claims.

'Do we not kill-as does the wolf