The Contract Marriage (5)

Previously,

"Jesauma looked at her from the back and spewed out a sincere ‘thank you’. Kilahya exhaled breath she held back just like the way she held her pride up high so that no one could see the emotional side of her after hearing running footsteps of Jesauma out from her room..."

***

Huya was still immersing in the mood of celebration in getting the land back from The Scribe. He called for a feast with priests at his service.

“Let us drink to our hearts’ content!” he raised the golden cup high with Jesauma in her right arm. He forced Jesauma to drink the cup of wine until her chin and garment stained red. The priests cheered and laughed but Kilahya sat motionlessly at the other side of Huya.

“Your father is indeed a noble man!” Huya said this while looking at Kilahya. The noise from the crowd surged again. Kilahya chose to remain silent in front of all the priests.

“Kilahya, the King would be giving your father a plot of land by the Grubo Lake after the Khuy Festival [2]. You must be happy for him,” said one of the old priests.

“I am a married daughter. Dead in his family. But I would be happy for him as any other ordinary man but not as my father,” Kilahya replied with a stiff smile. The priests became quiet especially.

“It is not appropriate for a daughter to say such words unless your father himself says so,” advised the old priest.

“Just like his land, I was his possession. But he now does not own me anymore, for he had had me traded for a land,” she continued. The priests looked at each other and commented her disrespectful words towards her father.

“You would understand the disappointment of a daughter of not able to see her father even when her father was around,” kissing her on the cheek while scratching her waist with his nails till it bled. Kilahya sat still on her seat and stared hollowly at a distanced front.

“Let us drink and be merry!” The priests cheered once again for Huya with cups of wine in their hands. Huya then signaled the crowd to calm down.

“I am calling for a celebration. We shall conduct a dance of Bhu-guinah!” The priests immediately stood up from the chair and applauded Huya for the announcement. But it struck Jesauma. Her cup slipped down from her hands and wet her stained garment for the second time.

The Dance of Bhu-guinah, or the Dance of Sacrifice required a warrior to sacrifice his life to Bhu, the god of victory. A warrior would be picked from his contribution to the people. He must master and present the dance, in front of the priests, to Bhu. It was a tradition in Huya’s family that the warrior was chosen from among the servants. The last Dance of Bhu-guinah performed was five years ago, when the drought lasted more than a year ended.

“Kilahya, do you remember the servant who saved you from the crocodile at the Senio river?” asked Huya. Kilahya was alerted by his voice. She looked at Huya in the eye.

“I don’t remember him.”

“I would suggest him to be warrior for the dance. Bhu would be pleased with this man of great courage.”

“We will see to it,” echoed the priests at the table.

Jesauma knew the Dance of Bhu-guinah was merely for Huya’s own pleasure. Warrior sacrificed to Bhu for unintended purposes would not be accepted by the god. His soul would wander restlessly in the world until the day the god of peace, Tellash decides to take him in.

She ran at lightning speed to inform the servant guard named Jorasil the news and wanted him to flee before the priests make a proper announcement.

“You must flee for your life,” advised Jesauma. “Bhu will be not pleased with this ritual.”

Though deeply bothered by the announcement at first, Jorasil refused to heed her advice.

“I am staying.”

“You will die for nothing! You must go or else you will die!”

“…if that is my master’s wish,” said Jorasil. He looked at Jesauma and said: “Just like the day you obediently married master Huya.”

Jesauma recalled the day when Kilahya warned her to fight against Huya.

“Look what he has done to you. You are the mistress- not a slave to him and you should not suffer such humiliation!”

“Huya’s my master…”

Jesauma came to a realization that fate of these slaves were not in their hands. She wanted to be bold as Kilahya but did not have the courage to fight her destiny. But she saw hopes in Jorasil to rise above injustice faced by her people.

She sat on the soil and embraced Jorasil with tears.

“You are right. Huya is your master,” she gave him a kiss on his forehead and blessed him: “I would pray to Bhu and Tellash that your dance would be pleasing in their eyes if by any chance you are picked.”

Jesauma wiped off tears on her cheeks and gave him a warm smile.

Most of those serving Huya’s family were treacherous priests. Huya would reward those abide by his order greatly and demote those refused to succumb to his tyrannic decision. So many of them tried their utmost best to win his favour except the righteous old priest who uphold the teaching of Bhu. But like The Old Priestess, he no longer held priestly authority as he had before.

Jorasil, indeed, was the chosen one.

On the day of the ritual, Huya’s relatives were invited to celebrate the sacrificial offering. As usual, Kilahya and Jesauma were seated at the two sides of Huya. Watching Jorasil dressed in the traditional Jubite warrior costume coming out to the court centre, Jesauma's hands could not help but shivered.

The priests first had his chain between his neck and right arm unlocked. Eyes smeared charcoal and earlobes pierced through by a pair of golden earrings, Jorasil had his eyebrows and hair shaved. The headpiece on his head seemed heavy and he could hardly balance it well.

The crowd calmed down as one of the priests started chanting the prayer of victory around the bow and arrows lifted up by two servants at the sides. The music began to play. The drumbeat, the flute, the trumpet and the bells built up the momentum of the dance.

As the sounds of the flute and trumpet faded out, leaving the drumbeat and the dance, the priest took over the arrow and the bow. He was trying to aim right at the heart of the dancing Jorasil. Jorasil panted fast and gasped for air. It was not the tiresome Dance of Bhu-guinah. It was the fear of the unknown consequence once the arrow penetrate into his heart.

The drumbeat stopped. The dance ended. He lifted his hands, sweat and tears intermixed on his face.

Jesauma shoved her head aside. All she knew that time was to cry while Kilahya kept her eyes shut.

The bow raised with an arrow in the priest's hands. Jorasil kept his eyes open to prepare for Bhu to accept his soul. The priest released the arrow at his heart. The thrusting sound into his body made Jesauma burst out in a loud scream and Kilahya could not hold her tears back any longer. Huya stood up and raised his hands up above. He mumbled a prayer and pronounced with a laugh: “His spirit has ascended to be with Bhu!”

The crowd thunderous cheers arose amidst silence. The music of victory drowned the cry of Jesauma and overshadowed the bloody body lying motionlessly at the court beside the fire pit.

Bhu hid the stars away from the night sky. The night was as dark as a blind man could see. Jesauma wished her vision was taken away from the moment the arrow which murdered her friend. She could not see Jorasil in the sky. She refused to look around her to feel a wandering homeless soul. For every prayer she made for Bhu’s acceptance of the sacrifice, she shed a tear unknowingly.

Slaves cannot be mourned for. She recalled her mother’s words.

But he was a slave before the ceremony. He was freed from the enslavement as a warrior in the dance of Bhu-guinah. Jesauma wanted to believe that Jorasil entered Bhu’s kingdom as a warrior though deep down she envisioned the gate slammed at his face. And his spirit would return to land and be burned by the ray of sun, now and then.

Jesauma knelt down on the dirt and took down her Guhaty. Replacing the Guhaty was a black ragged veil on her head. She grabbed a handful of dirt and smeared on her face all over to mourn for the warrior.

Burying her head in the soil moist by her tears over and over again, she rubbed her arms against few stones on her hands until they bled, for the blood she shed was insignificant compared the death of her warrior. She could only cry a soundless mourn to avoid attention from the house.

Heavy footsteps came closer to her from behind but Jesauma did not realized. Kilahya came up to her while looking to the sky. Jesauma stopped her cry when she saw Kilahya standing beside her. She quickly took off the black veil and held the Guhaty in her arms. Kilahya looked at her in the eyes. This was a gentle gaze Jesauma had never seen in Kilahya before.

They did not speak to each other.

Jesauma was surprised when Kilahya fell to the ground and took down her Guhaty. The daughter of The Scribe, who had great pride in the presence of the people, was mourning for Jorasil.

She repeated what Jesauma did, as acts to mourn for the sacrificial death. Jesauma was astounded.

She actually cares for a life that she would only regard as a slave.

Jesauma moved closer to her and put down the Guhaty beside. Kilahya finally collapsed in great sadness on the soil. Like a child. Jesauma reached out her hands to lay on her shoulders but she was afraid that Kilahya might push her away.

She did not. Instead she raised her head to look at Jesauma and fell into her arms and cried.

I am tired of acting ruthless. I can be strong but cruelty was surely not of my nature.

The night was dedicated to Jorasil. Though stars were not found in the sky, the moon lit the brightest light that shone on the women.

(to be continued...)

Khuy Festival [2]: In ancient Froyale astrology beliefs, that the first full moon on the eighth month [3] of the year signifies the beginning of the second new year known as the 'cleansing month', where Froyaleans believed they were given a chance to redeem themselves after committing wrongdoing in the last eight months.

Month [3]: There are 25 days in the first to the fifteenth month in the Froyale calendar but only 10 days in the sixteenth month, also the last month of the year, making up 385 days a year. The sixteenth month was a 10-day countdown and preparation in welcoming the arrival of the first new year.