The day had arrived for Mandeland’s most beloved festival, the enchanting Ashrei Festival. A joyous celebration deeply rooted in the village’s history and values of unity and coexistence. Originating centuries ago as a means to foster harmony among the diverse communities that dwelt in the village, this annual event had evolved into a grand spectacle of music, dance, and communal harmony.

And this year was to be no different. It promised to be as joyful and exciting as it had always been.

With the sun slowly making its way up the sky, a giddy Billa stepped out of the cottage with his older brother, Diyaka. This was one of their favourite things to do; get up early, step out of the house and see how beautifully the village had been decorated.

Checking out their street and the next, they were not disappointed at all.

The entire village was adorned with very vibrant decorations on virtually every corner one would turn. Colorful banners and ribbons fluttered in the breeze, intertwining the village’s streets, symbolizing the interweaving of cultures and the beauty of diversity.

“Man, this never gets old. Just getting up and seeing all the magnificent work done on the streets,” Billa commented, starry-eyed as he looked around.

“It sure doesn’t,” Diyaka agreed. “Madam Zakiti and her team really go all out with the decorations each year, and it’s as stunning as ever. And to think they do it throughout the night?”

Billa nodded. He had seen the lady and her team assembling to get the work done as he headed home from the palace the previous night. “They really do well. Working all night to get this result. And the standard never, ever drops; they’re always on point.”

“Uh-huh. Of course, once it’s Ashrei, the standard’s always got to be high. And they always rise to the occasion.”

“Indeed. Come on, Diyaka, let’s go check how the market stalls are looking. I’m sure we’ll be back in time before the procession starts!”

***

It was about eight o’ clock when the festival officially kicked off with the usual opener.

A grand procession through the village streets, starting from the square in front of the palace and ending at the central square, led by a troupe of musicians playing traditional instruments and dancers following them with the deftest of skills.

Billa and Diyaka had gathered by the sidewalk with their parents and other villagers, excitedly watching on as the troupe prepared their instruments and discussed among themselves to ensure all was in order.

Once they were all satisfied, the leader among them turned to the crowds and raised his hands. “Ladies and gentlemen, let the countdown begin!”

Using his fingers to run down the time, the villagers all counted down with it.

“Five… four… three… two… one!”

They all joined in one voice as the troupe kicked things off with the popular Ashrei song.

Rise up, rise up for Ashrei’s grace,

In Mandeland, our hearts embrace,

With unity, we stand as one,

A festival beneath the sun.

Ashrei Festival, joy’s decree,

A tapestry of cultures free,

Diverse and rich, in harmony,

Together we find unity.

Nothing felt better than when everyone, young and old, male and female, lifted up their voices to sing this tune of celebration of their joyful coexistence as one. Whether you had a glorious voice that rivalled that of angels, or had a voice that made screeching nails on a chalkboard sound sweeter, it was a privilege to sing that song out loud and proud.

A joyful way to start their favourite day of the year.

Once they were done, it was to move to the square and get groovy as they did so.

The dancers behind the musicians, clad in vibrant costumes representing the four various tribes, twirled and swayed to the delightful melodies that followed the festival anthem, their movements reflecting the graceful blending of different artistic expressions. Of course, the villagers were all too happy to dance along.

Including Mr. Azibo, who Billa and Diyaka were observing with humour as he followed the dancers.

“Hahaha! Look at those moves!” Billa giggled, watching the elderly plump man amuse the crowd with some special moves of his. “He’s definitely worked on those moves these past few months.”

“No doubt about that!” Diyaka chortled. “Nothing like a display from Mr. Azibo to kick off the day! Nothing quite like it!”

***

The procession came to an end at the central square of Mandeland, which had been transformed into a bustling hub of activity, adorned with stages and pavilions representing each cultural group. From the Lushari and Solari to the Zephyria and Montara tribes, every ethnic group that called this village home was represented, with the pavilions offering an immersive experience of their traditional crafts, culinary delights and enthralling tales of their heritage.

Long communal tables had been set up, stretching across the square, providing everyone the chance to have a seat and engage in laughter and conversation while they had their fill of the various dishes on display.

From the renowned lamb stew of the Montara tribe to the super delicious couscous of the Solara tribe, and from the garlic-flavoured potato and vension treat of the Lushari tribe to the rice and grilled salmon and seaweed the Zephyria tribe took pride in, every staple food was available, along with other dishes the villagers loved.

It was about 11:45, while Billa and Diyaka were hungrily wolfing down that good lamb stew, that some guards entered the central square, ordering all those standing to take their seats.

Everyone murmured excitedly. They knew what this meant.

Once all were seated, one of them announced with a loud voice. “The royal family is here!”

This announcement was immediately met with cheers. Seconds later, they walked into the square.

King Karomo. Queen Marenah. And Prince Chika. All dressed in their regalia.

As they waved at the cheering villagers, the father of Billa and Diyaka, Ubar, shook his head in wonder. “What a king!” he remarked to the boys and his wife, Tabani. “I’ve been here for fifty-five years, and I don’t think I’ve seen a monarch this loved before. Honestly. We’ve had a lot of great kings over the years, but… honestly, King Karomo is just amazing. So humble. So pleasant. Loves to mingle with the common folk. It’s just amazing.”

“Yeah!” Billa agreed. “Whenever I go to the palace to meet with Chika and I meet him, he’s just so pleasant. Yesterday, I honestly marveled at how the three of us were busily chatting like he’s just another villager here. It is amazing.”

“This king has a heart of gold, that’s for sure,” Diyaka added. “It’s no wonder we love him so much. Mandeland truly is fortunate to have him as our leader.”

“Yes indeed,” Tabani agreed, her eyes on the family as they made their way to their seats. “Mandeland truly is a fortunate village with him at the helm. And we couldn’t be happier. Long may it stay this way.”

***

Midday arrived, and it was time for the performances to take center stage.

This was another exciting aspect of Ashrei, where folk dances and theatrical displays would be performed to the watching village. Every year, each tribe would have the opportunity to enact a special folktale that existed in their history, and it was always a joy to watch.

For the Montara tribe, the play was centered on the tale of Eren, a Montara lad who ventured into a well-known, deep, and thick forest in an attempt to seek an ancient tree that whispered secrets of wisdom of old. After a difficult and demanding journey, he finally chanced upon the said tree and received from it whispers of the harmony of nature and the importance of preserving their homeland.

Billa and Chika had been exchanging grins while the show was ongoing. Chika was set to play the role of Eren next year, and to say he was excited was an understatement. His best friend was as excited as he was; he couldn’t wait to see Chika on that stage, showing Mandeland that their future king was a pretty good actor.

The Zephyria tribe delivered a play on the Oasis Miracle of Hasan, a folktale about how their people, on an exodus from their former land to current Mandeland, were on the verge of dying out after a perilous journey across a desert. The resilience and determination of their leader Hasan, who was being led by a vision, just about got them to a hidden oasis just as they were ready to throw in the towel. The intent of the play, obviously, was to honour the memory of this great leader of theirs.

Then the Solara play came next. This was about another hero: a shepherd boy named Kale. Many years ago, before they settled in Mandeland, up in the mountains where they dwelt, a fearsome snowstorm trapped their tribe’s shepherds and their precious flock high in the peaks. It took the extraordinary bravery of Kale to battle the blizzard and make his way to the peaks and find a way to rescue his fellow shepherds and their sheep.

Finally came the Lushari tribe. Their story was one of magic.

There once lived a Lushari girl named Elara, who was known for her graceful dance movements, which seemed to mirror the ever-changing winds that swept across the plains. Elara’s dances were said to have the power to calm storms and soothe restless spirits. This was proven one day when a great storm threatened the Lushari camp, and upon calling her, she danced the Dance of the Eternal Wind, which changed the course of the storm and carried it away from their home.

So many great stories to tell, and the people of Mandeland never grew weary of watching these tales of yore come to life before their eyes, complete with folk songs and poems crafted for the occasion.

***

By the time the sun began to set, the final play had been completed. Now it was time for another special part of the day.

A speech by the king.

Rapturous applause and cheers greeted the king’s every step as he made his way to the center of the central square. His eyes smiling as always, he grinned and waved his hands, acknowledging every shout of joy before beckoning them to sit down.

Clearing his throat, he started.

“Brothers and sisters of Mandeland, it gives me great joy to speak to you once more on a day as glorious as this. We just saw the last play and indeed, I loved it. I loved every single one of the plays we’ve been privileged to watch. It simply reminds me how lucky we are to have a family this diverse, yet so connected.”

The villagers applauded and nodded.

“My dear people, we are a village blessed with a rich tapestry of cultures, languages, traditions, and histories. Each one of us carries a unique heritage, a treasure that we hold close to our hearts. And today, I want to emphasize the importance of celebrating each other’s heritage as we come together on this special occasion.

“Ashrei Day is not just another date on our calendar; it is a symbol of our commitment to unity and understanding. It is a day when we gather to appreciate the incredible diversity that makes Mandeland what it is. We are a village where a number of traditions have found a home, where languages are spoken in harmony, and where cultures blend seamlessly.

“But it is not enough to merely coexist. We must actively celebrate and embrace one another’s heritage. And you know why? Because when we do so, we enrich our own lives in countless ways. When we learn about our neighbors’ customs, we gain a deeper appreciation for the world around us. When we listen to their stories, we understand the struggles and triumphs that have shaped their histories.”

More applause followed.

“So let us learn from one another, appreciate one another, and stand together as one people, proud of our diversity and committed to a brighter future. One where we continue to love each other’s differences and celebrate each other genuinely. Thank you, and may Ashrei Day fill our hearts with the warmth of shared traditions and the promise of a united Mandeland. Long live Mandeland!”

“Long live the king and his family! Long live Mandeland!” the villagers roared in approval.

***

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the excitement among the villagers reached its peak. They gathered around in eager anticipation of the crowning moment of Ashrei Day. The air was charged with an electric atmosphere as the moment they had been waiting for had arrived.

Billa stood with Chika and Diyaka, staring up into the skies expectantly. “This is always the best part,” he breathed excitedly.

“It sure is,” Chika agreed.

Then, in a dazzling burst of color, fireworks lit up the night sky.

The villagers collectively let out a loud cheer of joy, their eyes fixed on the mesmerizing display. It always felt as if the heavens themselves had come alive in that moment and had painted the darkness with all those vibrant hues, each explosion met with gasps of amazement and joyful cheers, and the entire village bathed in the magical glow.

The three young men stood there, spellbound by the beauty of it all.

“This has been an awesome day,” Diyaka commented, still watching the fireworks display.

“No doubt about it,” Billa agreed. “A wonderful, wonderful day.”

“As it always should be!” Chika declared, the biggest of grins on his face. “I love this village. Love it to bits.”

Diyaka looked at him briefly and smiled, nodding. “We too, Chika. We too. No other place like Mandeland. There is joy here, there is peace here… yep, we couldn’t love this village more.

“This… is home.”

***

Little did they know, however, that a distance away from the picturesque scene, a sinister presence observed from the shadows.

A young man, a tall figure with a scruffy beard and a twisted smile, wrapped in an all-black hood.

A man who once dwelt among the kinfolk of Mandeland watched on with a malevolent gaze. A mirthless and evil smirk spread across his face.

“Poor simple fools. They don’t know what’s coming.”

That was a fantastic one right there, getting so engaged in the festival and everything about Mandeland. But… who’s that man?