The Decent Soul

By Shakuru Baba

King Sampaani is murdered and tension mounts in the Kunda kingdom.
Consequent to long deliberations of the council of elders, a new king, King Nangbanyini, is enthroned and royal glory returns to the kingdom of Kunda, and the two feuding royal gates are admonished to embrace unity.
Furthermore, a commission is set up to investigate the murder of the king. The commission eventually discovers the assassins. And the culprits, except Guuni who was impenitent, are caught and brought for justice but are later pardoned to facilitate reconciliation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: Jan 27, 2014
• ISBN: 9781493139996

Shakuru Baba

I was born in the city of Tamale in the northern part of Ghana. I received my primary and part of my high school education in Tamale and obtained my first degree with the University of Ghana in Accra. I completed my ACCA examinations with Kaplan whilst studying in the United Kingdom. I am married with two kids and live with my family in the city of Tamale.

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PROLOGUE

‘If there is present herein anyone whosoever thinks cohesively and owns up for this kingdom, let them believe I am solidly in ambience with them. And if there is present herein anyone whosoever thinks divisively and owns down against this kingdom, let them believe I am solidly in defiance of them. This kingdom will progress with the will of the Highest Companion. We, on our own will, can do nothing. We, with the will of the Highest Companion, can do everything. Vote for me and your lives will never be the same,’ Mr Ankini Azindini, the presidential hopeful ranted. He was obviously in contest for the highest office of the land with the National Socialist Party (NSP). It was the second attempt of Ankini to assume the seat after he had lost in the previous election. There was the National Unity Party (NUP) too, which was constitutionally led by the more charismatic President Gilliani Dandani, the incumbent head of state. The speech of the presidential hopeful was greeted with spontaneous applause from the teeming crowd that had surrounded him; they chanted political slogans and sang party lyrics in frantic frenzy.

‘I do not think this young man behind the podium can do anything good for this kingdom as his speech purports to signify. He even mixes the Highest Companion with politics, unfortunately. It is both immoral and ungodly for some politicians to seek the help of the Highest Companion to win an election and only turn back and break the very electoral promises they swear to deliver on. What a shame!’ Dawuni said. ‘I think a lot of people actually get into politics for personal gain. It is absolutely against all reason to pretend to serve to the detriment of honest intentions.’

Dasani said, ‘The skills of life we inherited from our forebears morally taught us that the success of every act, whether or not it is political, depends on the prior motivation that gives rise to the act in the first place. The Highest Companion recognises honesty and rewards them that are honest.’

From a distance, one party loyalist shouted, ‘We will support you even to the very peril of our dear lives! Right or wrong, you are our choice!’

‘My dear friend,’ Dawuni said, ‘I have the strong conviction that our democracy will endure and mature. It is high time our society is purged of such leaders of the kind who place personal interest before the public one. It is better to be led by a despot with angelic intentions than by a democrat with satanic aspirations. Decent politicians are those who are socially democrat and morally honest.’

‘I agree strongly with you. Political office should be sought from the people and used for the people,’ Dasani said, smiling heartily.

And as they walked down the street, the wind whined and a parrot hooted from a distance. The rants of the politician began ebbing gradually away.

Oh! What a life!

CHAPTER 1

As the sun assumed her reddish glare and steadily but slowly sank down behind the horizon, the proud kingdom of Kunda gradually descended into an envelope of darkness. The pleasant spirit of optimism held supreme. And a vibrant sense of royal stability held sway. Giant traditional drums hummed, their effect resonating pleasantly across the kingdom. Kunda women could be seen scuttling wearily back home from the market, to place pots on fire. The men could be seen trudging awkwardly back home from their farms, to rest and spin off all toil that had brewed over the course of the day. Across the road to the palace, a dog that lived—had lived—in the kingdom for nearly a decade barked and howled. Several spots of young people sat under trees, playing the draft game. An aged female lunatic sat miserably but pathetically under a baobab tree, smiling heartily, her head bobbing to the rhythmic hum of the royal drums. The dog barked again and growled. And a child chuckled from a distance. Elder Kankani lay on a straw mat, his neck craned over a pillow at a comfortable angle, pondering over the problems of the day just ended. Pungent and pleasant smell of okra meal soup hung heavily in the air as Mistress Nabia laid bare her ability to please the nostrils. Elder Kankani smiled heartily and adjusting his neck, shouted praises at Mistress Nabia and smiled again.

Elder Kankani was a short and stocky man, with broad shoulders and long but wide feet. He had a towering frame that tilted a bit as he walked; he had suffered a spinal injury when he had fallen whilst hunting a deer. His tiny head sat on a huge neck, and his face was carved with tiny eyes and a flat nose. His looks were frightening, but he was harmless. He smiled a lot to the pleasant feeling of many. Dawuni was the eldest son of his first wife, Mistress Sahabia; he was stocky but taller than his father ever had been. He had a big head with tiny eyes reminiscent of those of his father. Nevertheless, his sense of humour was peculiar.

‘Dawuni! Dawuni! Where are you? Respond!’ Elder Kankani shouted.

And respond Dawuni did. ‘My son, I am getting older and older by the day. When I was young like you are, your grandfather had advised me to do things not in expectation of what others could do. This was what he regarded as the narrow ethic. At the same time too, he had advised me to do things right because they were just as right to do so. This was what he regarded as the broad ethic.’ The voice of the elder croaked as his throat began to turn sore.

Dawuni empathised. ‘Sorry, my father, I love you. I can discern you intend to put forth to me invaluable pieces of elderly wisdom. Please go on, my dear. I am forever listening as long as it may—will—take.’

‘I can see so much of good potential in you, my son. Endeavour always to act on the broad ethic. This is the universally acceptable option. This kingdom has suffered for far too long in the hands of self-seeking politicians and greedy charlatans who place personal interest before public interest. These are the most dangerous to human equality and dignity. Never become anything like them, ever.’

‘Father, how do we identify them?’ Dawuni asked.

‘These political hoodlums can be clearly identified with little effort. Some of them have ridden political platforms in the last couple of years and had promised to build hospitals, roads, and schools. Our kingdom sits presently without these facilities, as it was when these promises had been made. These are the charlatans who fall silent after all the noise they make at political rallies. These are the rogues who do not even care a hoot to discern and decipher the concerns of those they purport to represent, let alone address such concerns. With their colours, they are easily recognised.’ Elder Kankani groaned and turned in his seat, coughing out brown spittle. Dawuni filled a calabash with water and handed it over to his father.

‘Please take this, Father. Do not be eaten up by grief and frustration. It will soon be over with. The day of reckoning is nigh. Each shall account for every action and inaction. Every commission from all action shall be reckoned and every omission from all inaction shall be beckoned.’

A multicoloured pigeon fluttered in its nest and squeaked pleasantly. From outside, an ostrich gobbled noisily too. A pleasant squeak and a noisy gobble were good omens, Elder Kankani had once said.

‘The true spirit of every action is reflected in the intention of the actor,’ Elder Kankani continued. ‘It is why I strongly advise you, my son, to maintain an attitude that selflessly seeks to serve in the interest of all, an attitude that generally seeks to consider whatever is borne in the sensitivities of each son and daughter of Adam and Eve.’ Gradually, the night envelope drew closer, and the multi-coloured hen fluttered again.

Dawuni cleared his throat. ‘My dear Father, I wholeheartedly offer my sincere gratitude for all that you have advised for and pledged. With all I can muster in me, I will try to maintain such an attitude that will not only self-serve, but that will equally weed out the moral illnesses that have bedevilled this kingdom for far too long.’

‘That is excellent, my son,’ Elder Kankani said and coughed.

‘I will do all it takes to—as long as it will take—to establish clarity in that which distinguishes between what is socially right and what is socially wrong. I will not disappoint you, Father. An ancient aphorism once held that the more things changed, the more they remained the same. Yes, Father. I agree with your pattern of reflection. There are so many of that which threatens the very foundation upon which our nation rests.’

Elder Kankani coughed again and wiped his face. ‘What is it that you think is there which works against the good of this dear country of ours?’

‘It is the unconstitutional commission and omission of acts that do not play to the best interests of the people of this proud and sovereign nation. There is widespread violation of political and social ethics of conventional behaviour. Murder. Corruption. Dishonesty. Robbery. Prostitution. Money laundering. And conflicts.’

‘Our country needs stability, regardless of who we ethnically are or where we regionally come from. Our kingdom needs peace, regardless of who we ethnically are or where we regionally come from. Were I to wish anything for you as a son, I would wish that you engage in such an assignment that can purge this country of economic and social corruption,’ Elder Kankani said.

‘But, Father, it does require strong political and economic will to do so. Doesn’t it?’

Elder Kankani bulged out his eyes and groaned. ‘Yes. It does. And it is why it also requires that you acquire such political and economic will by virtue of education.’

‘I would be privileged were I to get involved with this mission,’ Dawuni said, nodding his head. ‘It has always been my ardent hope to happen on an opportunity that corresponds with this dimension. It appears as though such an opportunity is about to unfold in this country. But it should unfold for the glory of our present and the honour of our past.’

The ostrich gobbled once moreoutside. And Mistress Sahabia groaned in her thatched hut, the very while when thunder cracked across the kingdom, the storm building up gradually.

‘My dear Father, may I seek your permission to leave? It is time I went off to see how my ailing mother is reacting to the antidote she had drunk an hour ago. Thank you, my Father,’ Dawuni said and ran across the compound to the thatched hut of Mistress Sahabia.

‘You’re granted,’ Elder Kankani said and frowned and fell back into his usual reverie.

Oh! What a life!

Whenever it progresses,

The tortoise lays eggs on a pine tree

Whenever it regresses,

The termite goes on a hunting spree

Oh! What a life!

CHAPTER 2

The seventeen-year-old albino girl walked along the small path to the Okom River, her water basin dangling perilously but steadily on her head. The sun had already set and birds had stopped singing, but the ugly face of evil was lurking imminently. Two strong young men lay in ambush for the body of this young girl; one of them was short and stocky and the other one was tall and lanky. As the girl approached them, about twenty yards from where they lay, they whispered in their hiding under the cover of tall savannah grass leaves.

‘I think she is coming closer,’ the short man said.

‘Be careful and let’s strike at her and get her done at once without much struggle,’ the tall man said. The use of albino human parts for get-rich-quick ritual purposes had become common in the southern part of the Bunda kingdom. And many of them, the albinos, had been pathetically killed, albeit unfairly.

‘We shall soon say goodbye to poverty for good,’ the short one whispered.

‘Sshh! Make less noise! She is coming closer,’ the tall one said, barely above a whisper.

As the girl neared their hideout, the tall one flew out like a bird and pounced on her; she screamed and, under the weight of the tall man, struggled to wriggle free of her attacker, but he wielded more strength than she did.

In a split second, the short one jumped out too; he held her legs whilst the tall one held her torso, and, with her body held in their hands, they disappeared with her into the bush thicket.

As soon as they were out of view of the path, they placed her under a tree and the tall one fetched a black bandana from his coat pocket; the albino girl pleaded. ‘Please! For the sake of our Lord, allow me my life. I am the only one left for my blind grandmother after my parents had passed away. Please, don’t kill me. If you kill me, my blind grandmother will wallow in painful sorrow of this life all alone. Please!’

‘Be quiet!’ the short one said. The girl did so.

Oh! What a life!

The tall one quoted weird incantations and grinned. And the girl shivered.

‘Turn her over and tie this bandana around her neck,’ the tall one said to the short one. And tie it he did. The girl shivered again, warm tears coursing down her cheeks. But eventually, she stopped pleading and capitulated.

‘Maybe, for me, the die is sure cast to return to Him, but it is that my grandmother will miss me,’ She thought but kept quiet and still.

The tall one got hold of the bandana from the short one and grinned, but as he was grinning, he squeezed the knot of the bandana. The girl moaned and shuddered. Whilst this was happening, the short one held her legs together firmly. The tall one squeezed harder on the knot, and the poor albino girl growled, quick but little outbursts of dog-like moans emerging from her throat.

The short one began grinning too; he thought he was closer to riches by the minute. The tall, stone-hearted one squeezed more. Oh! What a poor girl! The girl eventually blurted a deep but faint growl and remained limp and silent.

She had been ritually murdered.

Oh! What a life!

But her ghost would continue to loom as long as life continued to zoom.

CHAPTER 3

The people of Kunda traditionally gathered once more at the royal ground of King Sampaani for the royal encounter; the loyal, royal wives of the king and fourteen children filed out from the gates of the palace, proceeded to the royal ground, and took their royal seats on a platform fitted about ten metres above the silvery cobblestones with which the ground was paved. Tulip-designed flowers of varying colours provided an excellent decor to the posh image of the scenery; they hung loosely from palm leaf ropes that ran through tiny holes drilled in bamboo sticks firmly erect across the ground. Traditional, royal music played out, exuding a befitting royal description of the courage and generosity of the king. An hour later, a white vulture flew over the sky above the ground, fluttered down on one of the bamboo sticks and squeaked. An elderly woman blew an ancient trumpet thrice, with premeditated, equal intervals.

King Sampaani, svelte in full royal regalia that palpably signified the authority bestowed on him, walked majestically to the royal throne, waving to the teeming crowd and smiling pleasantly. A gong-gong beater, Gong Illiani Ditani suddenly appeared from behind the crowd and hunkered—in reverence to the king—and sang:

The warrior has arrived,

The conqueror has returned,

Walk slowly and keep all minds dormant,

Talk mildly and keep all hearts pleasant,

The warrior has arrived,

The conqueror has returned.

The king eventually took his seat and accepted a white calabash that was handed over to him by the royal assistant. The calabash held green water and was traditionally descended from his royal forebears. He drank from the calabash, took a deep breath, and handed the calabash over to the royal assistant. The vulture, which had initially flown over the royal ground, flew back and squawked, apparently signifying to the king to find his voice. The king said, ‘My fellow inhabitants of Kunda under my rule, I thank you all for taking valuable time off your occupying engagements to attend to my royal call. A saying once had it that there can’t be smoke without fire, but it is equally true that there can’t be fire without smoke. It has come to my conscious attention that law and order in this kingdom is gradually breaking down. This condition has had a worrying effect on my mind, as the sound rule of this kingdom essentially requires my mind being sound and free from all that worries it.

‘To this noble and extended end, I therefore consulted with the Council of Elders—’ he sneezed wearily and blinked naturally ‘. . . and a body of rules have been born to help restore law and order in this proud kingdom of ours.’

A male dog barked and another one, ostensibly a female one, responded to the male’s from afar, signifying the incontestable perfection of the Highest Companion in the nurture of His nature. ‘I henceforth expect all citizens of Kunda to uphold the following rules, obligatory and prohibitory. Listen with dedicated attention to the obligatory covenants,’ he said and then read out:

‘Code 1, all shall worship the Highest Companion alone.

‘Code 2, all shall be truly loyal to the king alone.

‘Code 3, all shall defend the kingdom against aggression.

‘Code 4, all shall pay all taxes due to the kingdom.

‘Code 5, all shall cohere with each other in unity and love.’

The king paused and cleared his throat. A cross section of the crowd muttered, but three voices growled like dogs, albeit derisively. The king then asked for the white calabash, opened his eyes bulgingly, and drank again. ‘Now listen with committed attention to the prohibitory covenants,’ he said and then read out:

‘Code 6, none shall innocently kill.

‘Code 7, none shall gainfully steal.

‘Code 8, none shall engage in adultery.

‘Code 9, none shall engage in bribery.

‘Code 10, none shall gainfully deceive.

‘Code 11, none shall unfairly connive.’

He paused again and looked across the entire ground. ‘These covenants shall live above every citizen of Kunda Kingdom, including myself. Now, listen to the penal consequences for those who neither uphold the obligatory ones nor avoid the prohibitory ones,’ the king paused again, spat out a thick phlegm, and looked up. ‘For those who do not comply with the prohibitory covenants, a fine of 100 cola nuts and a cow shall be imposed on them. But if they do not settle the fine, they shall be banished from this kingdom and shall not be allowed to return until after a period of five years. And for those who do not comply with the obligatory ones, a fine of 200 cola nuts and two cows shall be imposed on them. But if they do not settle, they shall be banished equally be from this kingdom and shall not be allowed to return until after a period of ten years.’ When the king had finished reading the covenants, some murmurs were heard from sections of the crowd.

Three minutes later, the royal assistant ceremoniously rose up and bowed before the king. ‘All hail the king. Shall we all comply with the royal words of His Highness?’ he said and bowed again obsequiously.

‘Yes! Yes! The king is great!’ a large section of the crowd shouted.

The elderly woman blew into the trumpet, its pitch rising higher than the former. Slowly, the king rose from his royal throne, waved at the crowd, and trudged back to the palace, the pageantry of the occasion gradually ebbing away as he walked majestically away. His wives rose too. The council of elders did too. The crowd then began dispersing. The royal encounter ended and a new regime was born with rules, obligatory and prohibitory.

In the early hours of one Tuesday morning on January 20, a penetrating cry was heard from the thatched hut of Mistress Sahabia. Why? What had gone amiss? The entire compound of Elder Kankani had been awakened by the shrilling cry. All the other four wives of the elder—Mistress Kambia Gawani, Mistress Nabia Sapini, Mistress Zamabia Bahani, and Mistress Salmabia Onini, had as well been awakened. These women immediately popped out from their thatched huts, met with one another, and talked in whispers as they converged in messy confusion over the strange cry.

‘Have all of you heard the frightening cry as I did quite a while ago?’ Mistress Zamabia asked.

‘Yes,’ the women chorused in a cacophony of confused voices.

‘It is a cry that I, for one, never had heard before. What has gone wrong, my sisters, in marriage?’ Mistress Salmabia asked.

‘Probably and hopefully not. Mistress Sahabia might have woefully succumbed to her long, agonising ailment,’ Mistress Nabia said.

‘Beware! The proud ego of a woman stands to frown on any cry that could potentially be shameful. This sort of cry, I believe, evokes a purpose that does not come out of nothing.’

‘Let’s all hope to the Highest Companion—as we always do—that this early beep does not lead to a late sleep. He is the Final Arbiter,’ Miss Zamabia said. ‘We all hope so. We all hope so.’ The other wives all chorused in unison. Elder Kankani had awakened too but still lay pensively on his straw mat. ‘What has happened at this time of the night? Has Mistress Sahabia finally succumbed to her ailment that stood overlong? Even it were so, I do not think the good Highest Companion will let her depart us at this hour of time. It is and has always been in my prayer that my ailing wife be finally accepted back by the Highest Companion during the hours of the day. Probably, the evil spirits have descended on this peaceful compound, but these spirits will not and can never prevail. They will fail. Yes, they will,’ the elder thought and rose wearily from his Oriental blanket, felt around the room in the stark darkness, and trudged towards the door. By the time he was out of his hut, the entire family had gathered outside the hut of Elder Sahabia. Custom had it, as it had had it before, that a calamity be first felt by the elder so as to signify an incontestable acceptance of full responsibility for such a calamity.

‘Permit me a way to the hut,’ Elder Kankani said as he trudged along. ‘Allow me all access to my wife. This is my right as it was the right of my forebears that had lived before me. It is a right that is inalienable. It can’t be taken away from me. Every elder is allowed by custom to do so. I must first feel it on how she feels, for it will be damn abominable not to do so.’

An aisle naturally broke out in the huddled crowd of the household, and the elder trudged through agonisingly towards the thatched hut of Mistress Sahabia. Outside, an owl hooted, signifying something out of nothing—Mistress Sahabia would soon depart to her ancestors. Mistress Sahabia had been sick from cancer for almost a decade and a half. Traditional medicine had not been of any good help to her. Orthodox medicine had not helped either. Medical doctors had recently declared her terminally ill. She had endured considerable pain from the disease, to the extent that she had hitherto wished to die before, so as make her and the elder free—she, from the debilitating shackles of the ailment, and he, from the nagging worries of the same. ‘My dear wife, is anything the matter? What explains your early dawn cry? Is the Good One’s calling destiny visiting on you?’ Elder Kankani asked seriously, with guttural tones, as he sat by his wife in her thatched hut.

‘If your life were to extend with happiness, I would hope to the Highest Companion to work on its extension. But if your life were to extend with sorrow, I would hope to the Highest Companion to limit its extension. Either way, we would be ever grateful to Him.’

A deafening sound of thunder cracked across from outside the compound, with an accompaniment of lightning that lit up the kingdom in a flash and immediately went off just as quickly. Mistress Sahabia coughed successively, turned convulsively on either side, and then calmed. Dawuni, together with other three eldest wives of Elder Kankani, stormed into the hut of the first mistress when they heard the coughs of the ailing mother.

Mistress Sahabia, who now lay sprawled on her back, sneezed and coughed again. She struggled to speak, but the words hardly came. Dawuni meditatively, perhaps naturally, easily discerned that the poor old woman needed water. And provide water he did. Mistress Sahabia drank a little water offered by Dawuni and coughed out spittle matter and said, ‘My dear husband, my son, and sisters in marriage, nothing contests the fact it was my early cry that had awakened all of you present here in my hut. I owe all of you profound gratitude for such a profound expression of concern.’ She coughed, jerked up her head, and lay back again. As she did so, black goo oozed out in rivulets from her left nostril and travelled quickly along a perceptible borderline of her left cheek.

‘I have overly endured so much from this nagging ailment that has been with me for more than