Welcome, dear reader!!
I present to you one incredible tale from the pen of Dabar. A tale of evil and good. One that’ll live in your memory for a long time to come. Hope you’re ready. Let’s go!
Amidst the embrace of lush rolling hills and picturesque meadows, there existed a hidden gem known as Mandeland.
Standing as a serene and enchanting haven of peace, this village served as home to a people that had chosen to embrace a way of life that differed from the frantic and stressful pace of the modern world. The absence of honking horns and the constant rush of urban life was striking. Here, the streets were serenaded by the gentle rustling of leaves fallen from trees, and the only ‘traffic’ consisted of the occasional horse-drawn carriage passing by.
The pace of life here was refreshingly slow. People strolled leisurely along the nicely cobbled pathways, taking time to exchange warm smiles and engage in unhurried conversations. The atmosphere between the people was a generally calm and friendly one. Where conflicts arose, they were settled as quickly as possible.
Enter this unique village, and you would be welcomed by charming cottages adorned with colorful flowers in window boxes. The architecture seamlessly blended rustic charm with modern comfort, harmonizing with the surrounding landscape that never failed to wow both villager and visitor.
The heartbeat of Mandeland could be found in its central square, a bustling hub where many of the locals gathered for daily interactions and occasional celebrations. The square was adorned with a magnificent old oak tree in the middle, its branches spreading wide and providing shade under which villagers found much needed respite from the warm sun. Wooden benches encircled the tree, inviting conversation and fostering a sense of community.
The aroma of freshly baked bread regularly wafted through the air any time you passed by the village’s beloved local bakery, where the widely renowned bakers skillfully crafted loaves and delicious pastries using traditional methods handed down through generations.
The village market, a lively scene adorned with colorful stalls, not only showcased a vibrant array of organic produce and homemade crafts but also stood as a testament to Mandeland’s deep-rooted commitment to sustainability and self-sufficiency.
For the villagers, sustainability wasn’t just a choice; it was a way of honoring the land they cherished and preserving it for generations to come. It symbolized a harmonious coexistence with nature, a pledge to protect their precious surroundings while reaping its bountiful rewards.
Under the benevolent rule of their beloved king, Mandeland’s people possessed a profound happiness in their simple, harmonious way of life. Their commitment to the land, coupled with their sense of community and their simple, peaceful way of life, created a haven where the beauty of nature and the warmth of human connection coexisted in perfect balance.
***
It was late afternoon, and the canvas of the sky was a breathtaking masterpiece of colors as the sun descended after a long day.
Admiring the divine sight of the heavens set ablaze with hues of crimson and tangerine, young Billa sighed with contentment and gladness as he happily skipped on the path that he had taken many times over. “Just another beautiful sunset in my beautiful village of Mandeland!” he declared, a smile on his face.
Indeed, such sights were no stranger to the eyes of the inhabitants of this village. The rising and setting of the sun each day provided them with a timeless photo of majestic beauty, and it was almost second nature to them to look up and proclaim its gloriousness.
Making his way unto the path, Billa whistled to himself cheerily as he walked up to the gigantic gates he had stood before many a time. He waved at the guards standing by, who waved back to him.
“I’ll call him for you!” one of the guards assured him before running to call the person he had come to see.
Billa looked around and nodded. An awe-inspiring piece of architecture stood before him, and he never grew tired of seeing it.
The palace of Mandeland, where the royal family dwelt.
From meticulously manicured gardens, adorned with vibrant flowers and fragrant herbs, to serene fountains whispering melodies of cascading water, to the pet peacocks gracefully strutting along cobblestone pathways, the sight from the gate to the front door of this palace was enough to leave one’s jaw hanging. It was an absolute sight.
Billa grinned as he stared at two of the peacocks busily moving about. The last time he was around, they had quite a squabble. “Hah! Ankl and Elaf seem to be getting along today,” he chuckled to himself. “I sure hope they don’t act up like they did last week…”
“Billa my bosom buddy!”
The familiar mirthful voice he came to hear called out his name. He turned, and there he was.
Chika. The only child of King Karomo and Queen Marenah of Mandeland. The precious Prince of the beautiful village.
His fellow fifteen year old mate and best friend in the whole world.
“Chika my best friend!” he responded gleefully at the young man approaching him.
The two best friends, meeting right in front of entrance to the palace of Mandeland, embraced happily.
“Good to see you, Billa. How are you doing this evening?” Chika asked his friend.
“I’m doing great, Chika. It’s been a blissful day as always. Had to round it off with a visit to my best friend.”
“Haha! Very important. I can see you’re really fired up for the festival tomorrow,” Chika commented as they separated and began to walk towards the front door of the palace.
“Oh, absolutely!” Billa enthusiastically responded. “I’m absolutely psyched! But then again, who in Mandeland doesn’t look forward to Ashrei Day? Aside from the babies, of course. They just care about their breastmilk and sleep.”
“Haha! Good point there, my bosom buddy. Good point.”
***
“Did you see the way Mr. Azibo danced last year during the procession? I’m pretty sure he might just try to outdo himself this year,” Chika chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mirth.
Billa grinned, his voice warm and playful. “Oh, absolutely! That man always goes crazy during Ashrei. It’s like he prepares all year for that. And let’s not forget about the eating contest. I still can’t believe Ekene managed to devour that entire watermelon last year. What is in that man’s stomach?”
The two friends laughed as they reclined in two of the couches in the vast and expansive room that served as the throne room where the King usually held court. An awe-inspiring space that always left Billa breathless whenever he entered it, it was a majestic place to be, with golden embellishments all around, magnificent crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and the throne sitting atop a dais, setting it apart as the one special place where the respected and revered King took his seat.
On any other day, he would not even dare to dream of entering this room, much less feel this relaxed and at ease in one of the couches. But as the best friend of the King’s only son, and the heir apparent to the throne, he was graciously granted that freedom whenever he was with Chika.
“Well, I guess we shall never find out,” Chika remarked, crossing his legs. “Because he’s quite the secretive man.”
“Yes, that’s true. Men like him never really reveal themselves to the rest of us. I guess it’s just one of those things,” Billa shrugged.
As they chatted, a servant entered the room, dressed in the resplendent attire befitting a royal attendant. Bowing slightly, he spoke, “Prince Chika! His Majesty, King Karomo, will be entering the room in a bit.”
The two immediately sat up. “Oh, okay, okay,” Chika acknowledged.
Billa quickly straightened his posture, an air of formality descending upon him as he prepared to meet the King. He may have met the monarch numerous times, but he never wanted to let familiarity deceive him into neglecting to show honour where it was due.
Just as he adjusted his attire, the massive double doors at the far end of the room creaked open, and out walked the King of Mandeland.
King Karomo.
A tall, dignified figure with eyes that had a laugh of its own, Karomo’s appearance carried a regal bearing that commanded respect from all and sundry. His robe, adorned with intricate patterns, shimmered in the soft light of the chandeliers. His beard and hair were speckled with gray, a testament to his years of wisdom.
Chika rose from his seat and approached his father with a graceful bow. Billa followed suit, making sure his obeisance was as respectful and deferential as always.
“Father,” Chika greeted, his voice carrying warmth and respect.
“Chika,” King Karomo replied with a nod, his eyes crinkling into a smile. “You and your best friend having a rest in my room as usual, yes?”
The young prince laughed. “Yes, my liege.”
King Karomo nodded, then extended a hand to Billa, who stepped forward to shake it. “Deepest greetings, Your Majesty,” he saluted the benevolent monarch.
“Greetings to you too, Billa. How are your parents and brother doing?”
“They are doing well, Your Majesty.”
“Magnificent. My regards to them.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“So, what have you two been chatting about in here?” King Karomo asked curiously, a hint of amusement in his voice.
“Oh, we were just talking about tomorrow and what we’re expecting tomorrow. Fun dances, eating competitions, the whole lot…”
***
The skies had turned dark as evening arrived, and Billa was still in the palace, chatting heartily with Chika and King Karomo in the throne room.
They had spoken at length about the upcoming festival, and it was abundantly manifest that the king was excited about it. With the way his eyes twinkled with excitement as he spoke about the traditions, the food, and the camaraderie that would be shared among the people of their kingdom, one would assume this was his first time witnessing the festival as king.
“And that lamb stew the Montara tribe makes… my oh my, it’s heaven on earth!” he marveled, a dreamy expression on his face. “I don’t know what it is, but the one that’s served at Ashrei is just next level.”
“It’s true, Your Majesty!” Billa agreed excitedly. “My brother and I have been saying it all the time. Whatever spices that lamb stew has, it’s obvious they’ve been preserving it for Ashrei, because it’s just different.”
“Yes, yes. And it’s good, you know. Adds to the preservation of their precious heritage. Those of us from the Solari, Lushari and Zephyria tribes have learned how to make it with time, and that’s good. But they need to have that special something to hold on to, you know.”
The two young men nodded.
“Just like how we Solaris have our incredible spicy couscous on display for the day. It’s on another level and is way different from what you’d regularly eat. It’s all about keeping something special for this generation and the generations that follow to appreciate. You understand?”
They responded accordingly.
“Good. Because they’re more than just recipes, you know. They are the threads that weave the tapestry of our history. They are the embodiment of our ancestors’ love, creativity, and ingenuity, and it’s essential we keep them preserved as such. Posterity will thank us when we do that, and those who handle this festival know that too well, so thank goodness they do their job well. Our children and their children must come and appreciate the heritage given to us.”
Briefly gazing at the nearest window as he spoke, King Karomo’s eyes grew wide upon noticing the dark skies. “Well goodness me, it’s virtually evening! Billa, I’ve kept you here for longer than usual; please, get moving before your parents get worried.”
He then rose from his seat, his face glowing with anticipation as the boys did same. “It’s been good having this chat with you both, though. We should definitely have another one of these. For now, let’s get some rest and prepare for tomorrow. Tomorrow will be a grand day of joy and celebration, and we should be ready for it.”
“Yes, Your Majesty! Tomorrow shall be awesome!” the boys echoed zealously.
Nice. This looks like a pretty neat village to be. Let’s see how the festival goes…
