SHE REFUSED TO BATHE HER BABY FOR 22 YEARS – IF ONLY THEY KNEW WHY!
In a village nestled between rolling hills and whispering streams, Mutundi welcomed her newborn son, Ni, into the world. Unlike the other mothers, who proudly bathed their babies in calabashes of water before their huts, a ritual believed to bless the child with the village’s spirit, Mutundi kept Ni hidden. She never brought out a calabash, never joined the communal bathing tradition. The villagers waited, but days passed, and Mutundi’s door remained closed. Whispers grew into gossip. “She’s lazy,” some said. “Possessed,” others hissed. Soon, the whispers turned to mockery. “Her child must stink like a dead rat,” the women laughed, their voices sharp as they bathed their own babies by the hearths.
The village children, heeding their parents’ warnings, avoided Mutundi’s hut, calling Ni an abomination. Some urged the elders to banish her before her unbathed child brought ruin. Yet Mutundi remained unshaken, her face calm as she bought perfumes and burned sweet incense around her hut, filling the air with fragrance. When Ni cried at night, she held him close and whispered, “My son, endure for a little while. When the time is right, they will understand.” Her defiance only fueled suspicion. Her neighbor, Mina, spread tales, claiming she saw Ni floating in the hut at night or Mutundi casting out dead birds. “She’s a witch, using her son for dark powers,” Mina declared, urging the village to act.
Mutundi defended herself, insisting her refusal to bathe Ni stemmed from no evil intent, but the village turned deaf ears. They banished her and Ni to the forest, a place feared by all. With her son strapped to her back, Mutundi walked silently into the thick woods, her heart heavy with sorrow as the villagers jeered, calling her a witch and Ni an abomination. Mina stood at the forefront, smirking, her eyes on Mutundi’s fertile land, which she had coveted for years. Her lies about Ni were a scheme to seize it. As Mutundi wept, building a small hut in the forest, Mina celebrated her triumph.
In the forest, Mutundi raised Ni alone. Despite never being bathed, Ni grew strong and radiant, his skin glowing as if kissed by the sun. He lifted heavy rocks with ease and hunted animals with bare hands, becoming his mother’s protector. Mutundi warned him, “Never set foot in the village. This is our home now.” Ni nodded, vowing to obey.
One morning, while hunting, Ni heard a scream. Creeping through the forest, he reached its edge, near the village, and saw a young woman, Aduk, crying as her stepmother berated her to clear a vast plot of land. Aduk toiled until nightfall, leaving much undone. Moved by her tears, Ni remembered his mother’s humiliation. Under cover of darkness, he cleared the land, his hands swift and powerful. By dawn, the plot was pristine. Aduk returned, stunned, and fell to her knees, thanking the heavens for a miracle. Her stepmother, suspicious, accused her of lying. “No one could do this alone!” she thundered. From the shadows, Ni watched, fists clenched, but his mother’s warning held him back.
Ni continued aiding Aduk in secret, completing her impossible tasks—clearing fields, stacking wood—while she prayed for miracles. Her gratitude filled the forest, a comfort to Ni’s hidden world, though he never revealed himself. One day, Aduk’s stepmother, revealed as Mina’s daughter, pushed Aduk into the stream, knowing she couldn’t swim. Aduk’s screams pierced the forest as the current dragged her under. Ni, unable to stay hidden, leapt into the water to save her. As his body touched the stream, it dried instantly, plants withering around it. Terrified, Ni left Aduk on the bank and fled to his mother.
Trembling, he confessed, “Mother, the river dried when I touched it. The plants withered.” Mutundi’s eyes softened. “Long ago, a strange woman told me you carry a power to reveal the village’s true foundation. But it would awaken only when you met the one whose tears of joy, not sorrow, would water the earth again.” Ni’s heart raced, understanding dawning.
At the village, the dry river sparked panic. Villagers wailed that the gods were angry. Mina, fearing Aduk’s body would expose her crime, rushed to the river but found it empty. At home, she saw Aduk, wet but alive, and trembled. That night, Mina crept into Aduk’s room with a rope, intending to strangle her and claim she died in her sleep. As she leaned over, a sudden wind lifted Mina, slamming her to the floor. She fled, terrified. By morning, Mina lay paralyzed and blind, her eyes clouded like mist. Her daughter, Bumi, screamed, accusing Aduk of witchcraft. The villagers, noting Aduk’s wet clothes from the stream, called her a witch who dried the river.
As they dragged Aduk to the village square, stones in hand, the skies darkened, thunder rumbling. A fierce wind surrounded Aduk, shielding her. The chief priest’s voice cut through the storm. “Fools! You stone the innocent and embrace the guilty. The gods protect her. Harm her, and you’ll meet an unusual fate. Only her joy will restore this land.” The villagers dropped their stones, begging forgiveness. “Forgive us, special one,” they cried, but Aduk’s heart, scarred by their cruelty, couldn’t smile. Days passed, the village showering her with gifts, but her sorrow persisted, and the land remained barren.
Bumi, consumed by envy, plotted against Aduk. One evening, as Aduk thanked the forest spirits by the dry riverbed, Bumi brought elders, accusing her of dark magic. As Bumi lunged with a knife, Ni emerged from the shadows. “Enough!” he roared, revealing himself as Mutundi’s son. The crowd gasped. Bumi, undeterred, attacked Ni, but froze mid-strike, collapsing. Ni declared, “I saved Aduk from the evil woman who tormented her. I am the child you called an abomination.” Aduk, recognizing her savior, smiled—a true, joyful smile. The skies cleared, sunlight piercing the darkness.
Mutundi stepped forward, revealing the prophecy: an old man had warned that bathing Ni would let evil spirits claim him, for he was destined to undo them. When Ni touched the stream, he destroyed their power. She recognized Mina’s bracelet on Bumi, linking her to the lies that banished them. The king, shamed for banishing the innocent, adopted Ni and Mutundi into the royal family, as tradition demanded. Mina and Bumi were banished.
Ni and Aduk grew close, their love blossoming. The village’s prosperity hinged on their happiness, and the people, humbled, cherished them. Rivers flowed, crops flourished, and children grew up hearing how a smile healed the land. Ni and Aduk married under clear skies, their love a reminder that mercy triumphs over rumor and love over curses.
