The vast expanse of the large prayer room was extravagantly decorated with tapestries that hung on the wall depicting their ancestors carrying out the wishes of their gods and the remains of the previous Chiefs and Shamans in gem studded urns that were placed on pedestals designated for each Shaman at the borders of the room along with their capes, crowns, head-dresses and armors. The room had one throne like seat for whoever was to preside over the rituals and it had no other chairs. The big seat was generally assumed to be allotted to the Shaman because he was in-charge of the religious matters and more often than not, the supervisor of these rituals. The throne was placed near the center of the circular room, just a few meters away from the Circle of Power where the pyres were lit and offerings were sacrificed. The Circle was drawn on the ground, with skulls of the sacrificed animals, villagers and infidels, accurately at the center of the circular expanse. The Circle of Power was believed to be the earth's end of the portal connecting the creation on earth with the realm where the gods resided. All the good the gods bestowed on the creation, be it the fruitful harvests, the luck in hunts or the profit in trade, were believed to be conveyed by the previous Shaman from a similar portal on the other realm. During the annual ritual, the Earthly Shaman made twelve sacrifices for the twelve months in the circle in front of a large crowd while the other-worldly Shaman answered the prayers and conveyed the good fortunes granted by the gods in return for the year. Weekly and monthly prayers and rituals were quite miscellaneous but were dutifully adhered to because of the overflowing religious emotions and rampant superstition in the village. The Circle was surrounded by hundreds of cushions for the public use during the prayers. But today the matter at hand was of less religious significance and the Shaman was deprived of that throne of a chair. Several chairs had been transported to the room as per the order of the Chief.
The vast sealed room was silent for several minutes. Nothing but the faint thumping of drums, being bashed outside the temple, was heard. The Chief sat on the throne like chair while the Shaman and a few tribal leaders were seated around the Circle of Power. The silence was broken by a visibly troubled tribal leader, apparently from the Inyoka tribe, as he expressed his concern, "I do hope that the huntsmen catch the blasphemer, the people desperately need the favor of the gods". Another leader, bearing the stamps of an Elephant's head on his robes and tusks on his jewelry, but with higher spirits said, "Don't worry, I can't recall the last instance when our huntsmen failed us, surely they will be back with the infidel and I see the people putting him out of his misery before the break of dawn". The Chief, possibly the youngest of them all, sat quietly and ignored those comments. He was in a deep thought and wanted this frenzy to end as soon as possible. A few more encouraging comments were passed by the tribal leaders until the Shaman spoke.
"Fret not, for the jungle god and the moon goddess watch each wretched step of the blasphemer. The prey will be hunted with their assistance", he shouted on, "The soul of the blasphemer will be offered to the gods. HE WILL BE CLEANSED OF HIS SINS!"
The Chief glared at Shaman with all the circles of hell visible in his eyes. He stood up so hard that his chair fell behind him. And he yelled with all his might, "His sins!? Favor of gods!? Are these the reasons we are chasing him?", he leaned mockingly towards the startled Shaman, pretending to wait for his answer. He knew that the Shaman had none. "Gods will assist us in catching that blasphemer? Why don't you save this crap for the naïve villagers?", he roared at the peak of his anger.
The room fell silent again but this time the emotions on every face had changed. The Shaman frowned at his audacity but could not gather enough courage to respond. There was now a strong stink of guilt in the air. The tribal leaders showed their displeasure but held their gaze low in embarrassment. The Shaman was staring furiously dead in the eyes of the Chief as if he would devour him alive but he did nothing. The Chief continued, "Everyone in this room knows why we have arrived at this very moment, at least be honest to yourselves if you cannot be so to your people". The Shaman had had enough, he spoke in a stone-cold voice, "Boy! You speak in the matters you don't understand! You dare defy the traditions of our ancestors!?"
"Since when did raping and killing the devotee girls and women become our ancestral tradition?" the Chief fired, "We all could have averted this crisis if only you had kept your lust under control".
The remarks hit the Shaman like a truck. He uncontrollably stood up with his eyes filled with rage, threatening to fall out of his skull. He started sweating and was breathless as if he had just run a mile.
"The female apprentices would have happily complied with whatever you asked of them but No! it just had to be someone new that you needed to defile for satisfying your lust everyday", the Chief pleaded.
The Shaman was embarrassed but at the same time angry beyond comprehension. The Shaman Tai had been suspected of abusing the young devotees that came to him seeking enlightenment or cure. Often the girls were brought to him by the parents. He had been using intoxications to subdue them and carried out his desires. When the girls found out, he blamed it on the gods and presented it as a sign of impending prosperity or wrath that the gods have done this to them. The villagers were dumb enough to buy whatever the Shaman sold but Baka was not as gullible. The issue had just come into the attention of the Chief and it took him days to get to the bottom it. The Chief noticed the reaction of the others in the room which showed that this was not news for them.
"You all knew? Yet you chose to keep quiet about it?" he pleaded. He asked them again, "Why did you let him be?"
The Shaman violently pointed to the occupants and the room and interjected, "Boy! They did not choose to stay quiet. You plead to these witless morons and ask them why didn't they squeal? I can topple their century old 'noble' dynasties in a matter of seconds."
The Chief didn't seem to believe him and the Shaman took notice of that. Shaman was in no mood of bluffing. "I am the only Elite Shaman in the village and the six tribes, and have been so for decades. I have eyes and ears everywhere. I know many things that can make one fulfil my demands just as you will", he continued.
The Chief fired back, "You wouldn't possibly be trying to blackmail your own chief, would you?"
The Shaman gave him the most spine-chilling grin he had ever seen when he responded with, "It wouldn't be the first time". The Chief was struck hard and the Shaman saw it as an imminent victory. He chuckled and said, "What number are you on? twelve or thirteen?"
"Number of what?", The chief was genuinely puzzled.
"The shipments. You know the usual, buy one get one free. The kind of trade you inherited from your father, 'Your Highness'?", the Shaman fished.
The young Chief sank, he knew the Shaman was accurate. His father was not the wealthiest of Chiefs in the beginning of his reign but he had fertile land on his hands. He had found cannabis in his village and almost immediately, a buyer, a wealthy white businessman. He had started farming the plants and expanded the business. One day a European businessman offered him a handsome amount for his tribesmen. He knew what the white man meant when he said that he wanted to arrange some laborers for his home country. Baka's father knew that no man would voluntarily let himself to be sold into slavery, so he had taken help from this same Shaman and used the religion to make his people consume the drugs he offered. The Shaman had convinced the villagers that the drugs would help them reach out to the gods. Which they kind of did, because many died and even more were left addicted and spent majority of their days sleeping intoxicated. Then he sold the addicted walking corpses to the outsiders. The buyers did not mind because they would get them cured in no time and then worked them to their deaths. The Chief's father had died two years ago and immediately his son, the present Chief Baka, had taken charge of the position. Since then he had continued the trades his late father had established. He had been dealing the drugs as well the slaves but he had stopped offering drugs to his own common villagers to sell them into slavery and had started to sell his prisoners, both criminal and political, into slavery instead. He had thought about leaving these two evils for good but the villagers had no idea that the luxuries they consumed everyday were being paid for by their own tribesmen in ways they cannot even imagine.
The Chief was shoved back to reality by the unwelcoming voice of the Shaman, who was finding the present state of the chief very satisfying. He held his laughter and asked, "Have we reached an understanding?"
"But how could you possibly…", the chief wanted to ask but was interrupted midsentence by the cunning old man. "Take a wild guess, who advised your father to dive in it?", Tai interjected.
The Chief looked at the others in the room and understood by the look on their faces that they had no the idea what the riddle was about. The Shaman smirked, took a step back, looked to the sky, started dancing and shouted at the top of his lungs with his staff in the air while shaking a rattle, "The Gods have revealed unto me. The Shepherd is the wolf. He must be purged. The gods have commanded me to cleanse the land of the wretched wolf in their names. Gods demand its blood!", he abruptly stopped, staring into the Chief's eyes and asked with a commanding voice, "Do we understand one another?" to which the Chief reluctantly nodded with his eyes red with rage.
There was a loud knock on the door. The occupants of the room just realized that they had been in the room for more an hour. The Shaman was the only one with sensation left in his body so he answered the door. The search party was back and the leader of group was at the door. The Shaman waited for the good news that never came. The hunter casually blurted, "We lost him near the river".
"And the others?", a tribal leader warily asked.
"No sign of them. We found their houses deserted. Someone must have tipped them off", the hunter answered dutifully as if he was about to be rewarded for returning empty handed. But his excitement faded once he saw the look on the faces of his masters.
The dawn was about to break in a matter of minutes and the night rite had been compromised. The Shaman had a lot of new words and addresses to think of to re-engage the villagers.