TLADI

Chapter 4

They stood there, in the centre of The Drummers' Circle for seemingly eons with locked stares. Then Stima suddenly began to move. Tladi blocked every move that Stima made, perfectly emotionless. Stima began to swing wildly, venting his anger. The hunting spears sang in the air. The crowds cheered wildly. Both Tladi and Stima advanced towards recklessness. A strong wind was blowing then and the clouds were advancing. The two fighters were breathing heavily. They simultaneously paused. Looking into each other's eyes, each knew that right then was the weakest moment of the opponent. They reached that point at the same time. With heads turned to face each other, bodies forming a straight line facing in opposite directions, the neck was the ideal weak spot at which to deliver a strike.

Unfortunately, the two fighters were not fighting to win. In the coming storm, their anger raged, driving them to kill. Both swung hard and fast. A blow that would shatter the upper spinal cord, destroy the nervous system and stop the heart of the other in a heartbeat.

Tladi breathed in the cool evening air and thought how beautiful this heaven was. She recalled that blow that she and Stima had simultaneously dealt each other. The blow that had brought them both here. She tried to remember if she had seen her whole life flash before her eyes before the dead silence came. She visualised...

She and Stima were swinging the blunt ends of their hunting spears towards each other, never breaking eye contact. The opponent, the look in the eye/s of the enemy would be the last thing each would see before...
There was a flash... A wide bronze flash... and then nothing... silence...
Stima did not remember feeling a blow and neither did Tladi. What there had been was a wide short muscled man, with the blunt ends of their hunting spears in his large hands and ferocious look on his face. 'What have you let your pride and anger do to you?!' his look seemed to say. He released the spears; they clattered to the ground, temporarily breaking the silence. Tladi remembered backing away; her eye was alternating between 'The-red-eyed-mob' and Stima. Stima remembered finding himself at the edge of The Drummers' Circle, among the people. The people were muttering among themselves.
"How could we encourage such behaviour?"
"How-"
"Why-"
"SILENCE!" 'The-red-eyed-mob' screamed and silence reigned.
"This is meant to be holy ground. Holy Ground!" He said, furiously. "A place where you come to crucify the criminal elements of pride that kills the soul. Where you nail it to the cross and let it bleed to death! The blood; sublime words, beatific musical notes, moving rhythm and soul-like drama drip to ground floor; earth. Raising dust as they save souls and give eternal life by immortalizing the object of description..." 'The-red-eyed-mob' stared intensely into the eyes of the crowd as his big bronze feet rotated in 360-degrees in The Drummers' Circle, where the greatest stories of the times were told. He slowly turned his dark, red-eyed face down. The whole crowd mimicked him; he bent his bronze muscled legs, placed one knee gently on the soil and scooped up a big brown handful of blood-red soil.
"Do you not remember why this soil is red?!" He screamed, looking around wildly at the people.
"Many of our ancestors stood touching bare skin with this soil as their souls imparted not merely knowledge to other souls, not merely the rhythm of hands beating against a drum, not merely temporary entertainment, NO!" He bent his dark, clean-shaven head slowly, overcome with emotion. He struggled to contain it within himself.
"When that pride is on the cross, dying through whatever form of expression is chosen by the possessor of that pride. When the blood drops of words, musical notes, rhythm, and soul-like
drama drip. When bare skin touches this bloodstained earth ground and bare soul touches every other soul present to witness, and the beauty is echoed across the African skies... then this land is purified by saved souls immortalized. Then the holiness of this ground is reinforced. When blood-tears drip from sheer emotion then this land is proven holy... This is HOLY GROUND! Holy Ground." With that, the bronze, wide, short, muscled man had stood up, wiped his tears, and walked away, leaving the masses of people dripping blood-tears from sheer emotion caused by being touched by a soul; his soul. They then all knew that the bloodstained earth ground on which they now stood barefoot, touching it with bare skin, was truly Holy Ground. Simultaneously a soft whisper escaped from the mouth of every soul present:
"This is Holy Ground." The man, who continued to walk steadily away, heard this whispered proclamation. It had been said with the kind of reverence deserving of the Gods. It had been carried on the soft, warm breeze. It caused him to turn abruptly, certain that the whisper had been from a host of angels; so beautiful was the sound. An almost musical lilt it had to it. He cocked his head to listen for it again, but it only echoed in his mind. It must have been the voice of the Gods he thought to himself, sometimes They only speak once. In a way, it really had been the voice of the Gods. 'The-red-eyed-mob' continued to walk away.