A reddish streak cuts across the dark sky, stirring the popped-eyed villagers to look skyward. Thereafter, breastfeeding mammas in sleepwear flogged the preschoolers, yelling at them to hide inside the thatch-roofed huts. Luckily, the bright moon glowed over hills. The next sunrise, the knobkerrie men shuffled their feet towards the 700-year-old tree. 

Soon, they quarrelled over the heavenly sign that almost put a match to the dry grass. First, the jaw-dropping men pressed their eyes at the door-like opening in the tree. “The village was founded under this tree,” sorrowed an old man, pointing with his tongue. The tree was split into two, and an owl fluttered through the gap. By now, the men spotted elephants’ footprints, but quarrelled that the ear-flapping animals did not wrestle down the evergreen tree. 

Inside the hollow tree, the death-watch beetles ticked their alarms. “Peter’s naked feet walk beside his deerskin boots,” the headman said. He cracked a joke, trying to calm the raised-eyebrows men. Instantly, skull-like moths alighted and clapped their black wings as puzzled villagers strayed between the cow-dung-plastered huts and the tree. Since the sunup, no dog had barked, and no child came out to play with their stick castles. 

Even the red and cream cows greedily graze the thatch-roofs. Immediately, a man suffering from runny stool squatted behind the thorny shrubs. The rumbling tummy-man pulled down his trousers before a lock-hair lion roared between the yellowy grasses. In split seconds, he blindfolded himself with the trousers but came across the warriors who were tracking the lion’s spoor. “Let’s hunt down the mane lion!” yelled the ballooned-eyed man. 

The bow-carrying men spotted dewdrops dripping from the leaves. “The leaves are crying,” shrieked a skeletal man. “The tree trunks are sopping whitish teardrops,” sobbed a dwarfed man. Even the lion-fearing cows had tearstains, which triggered the men to send a missing-teeth toddler to tip off the king that straying lions had plagued his village. The naked-chest boy dashed towards the pole-fenced palace. Seconds later, the boy puffed air through his mouth, before tripping over the queen. The tear-spurting queen clutched her head inside her shaking hands. 

Then, she puts on black wristbands. Finally, she knotted a black bib that matched her black dress. “The king has been sleeping since last night,” she sobbed, soaking the black handkerchief with tears. A black-winged pigeon cooed over the age-old tree before dropping the ear-bursting news that was scribbled on a half-chewed leaf.