A note from Hilary Bradt...
In 1999, Janice Booth and I travelled to the Isles of Scilly hoping to see the total eclipse of the sun. We were lucky: it was the only place in the British Isles that had clear sky at the moment of totality. We were hooked. A guide to the two forthcoming eclipses in that Bradt-friendly continent, Africa, was already in the pipeline, and Janice’s story, reproduced below, was published as a prologue.
Janice died in 2024.
If moved by some event or episode in her life, a short story would often follow. The total eclipse in the Scillies was one such happening, but it had its foundations in her decade of work with villagers in southern India and also her immersion in the culture and people of Rwanda. The location of Ahmi’s village is deliberately vague. It could be Africa, it could be India. The traditions of rural people in both continents are not so different.
I have reread this story many times and am always moved to tears by the precision of the text and the story that unfolds.
I hope you will share my appreciation.
***
Daughter of the Sun
A traditional story by Janice Booth
They called her Ahmi, which in the old language meant 'small', and indeed at eight years old the sad, silent child stood scarcely higher than her mother's waist. No- one had ever heard Ahmi speak. She was lost in the forest for two days as a baby; and some said her voice had fled to the treetops in terror, or been stolen by the Snake Spirits who live among the tightly twisting creepers. Or perhaps it had been taken by the Forest Giant, whose breath is the rasp of the wind on winter nights, as a gift for his newborn child. Whatever the reason, words were as strange to Ahmi as moonbeams to a hungry jackal.
Nor had Ahmi ever been seen to smile. Her eyes stayed dark as the forest pool and her face tight as the new skin on a wooden drum. She spent her days alone, sitting beneath the big tree or in the shadow of her mother's hut, scratching strange and careful patterns in the dust or arranging small pebbles into cryptic lines and curves. The other village children learnt to avoid Ahmi, for her rage if they teased her or touched her patterns had the ferocity of a cornered beast.
On some days a great sadness swept over the little girl and she broke into heavy sobs, crouching beneath the tree and covering her head as she rocked in grief. At other times the villagers, from kindness, might try to speak to her; but quickly the tears welled up and she turned her head away, or closed her eyes tight in dismissal. Her mother spent more and more time with her other children, ill at ease with this withdrawn and solitary daughter who shrugged off love.
The oldest man in the village - no-one remembered his childhood - was also the wisest, and he watched Ahmi with gentle eyes.
'She knows things that we do not, and feels things that we do not,' he explained to her mother. 'So life for her is a fearsome thing. Spirits torment her in ways we cannot understand.'
Of all the villagers, he was the one Ahmi trusted most. Sometimes they sat together beneath the big tree, while Ahmi made her strange patterns and the old man watched sunlight dapple through the leaves. Sometimes he spoke to her, softly and slowly so as not to frighten her, about the moon and the stars and the creatures of the forest; she listened, her eyes locked on to his, but made no sound. Deep in his mind an ancient memory stirred and he began to hatch his plan, waiting until the time was right.
The Sun was high in the sky, throwing fire on to the dusty ground, when he took Ahmi by the hand and led her into the forest. Slowly they walked, the child and the bent old man, until they reached the deep pool whose waters lie dark and smooth as polished stone. In one corner, where the foliage overhead grows less thickly, the sky reflects as if in a mirror, and the Sun, Moon and stars visit the pool's surface day by day. Here, his limbs weary, the old man sank to the ground and pulled Ahmi down beside him, pointing to the Sun as it lay golden in the water.
'Ahmi, little sister,' he told her softly, `Today you will work a great magic, for I know the power that dwells in your heart. You, Ahmi - you, my little sister - must save your mother Sun, for today a hungry Sky Monster waits to gobble her up. Then darkness will come, and a wind from the edge of space; our bones will grow cold as the flowing river, the old will sicken and the young will not be born. Birds will fall silent and the Sun will have died forever.'
The child's eyes grew wide and full of questions. She clutched his hand. The old man pointed to the pool, where the Sun was changing shape.
'You see, already the Sky Monster has taken a bite,' he whispered urgently. 'We have so little time. Quickly, my sister - you must cry out "Sun!" as loudly as you can. Then the monster will hear and be afraid.'
In great distress, Ahmi gazed up into the treetops, and searched with her eyes among the tightly twisting creepers. She opened her mouth, but no voice came - and all the while the Sky Monster was gnawing away at the Sun. The air grew cold, and far in the distance a harsh wind blew.
Then the old man reached deep into his bones for an even greater magic. He held Ahmi's wrists, and she felt a warmth spreading up her arms and into her heart. The wind became closer and louder, until suddenly standing behind them (although of course they dared not turn their heads to see him) was the Forest Giant, his head bowed in shame and Ahmi's voice cupped gently in his hand.
Quickly it flew into her throat.
'S-sun!' she whispered; and then, more loudly, 'Sun!' Throwing back her head, she called into the darkening sky: `Sun! You are safe! Come back! I am Ahmi, and I have chased away the Monster!'
Slowly, so slowly, light spread once again over the water. The Sun's wounds healed, and shadows reappeared beneath the trees. High overhead, a bird sang joyfully. All was as before.
'Well done, little Ahmi,' sighed the old man, in a voice as fragile as a fallen leaf. 'You see, you have saved your mother Sun. Now she will watch over you every day and turn the hours to gold. You need never be sad again.'
The old man did not return from the forest, for his time had come and his gift to the child ended his life well. When Ahmi reached the village, the hunter sharpening his arrows by the gateway stared in amazement. 'Ahmi is smiling!' he cried, and laughed with such pleasure that Ahmi's smile widened.
'Ahmi is smiling!' cried the fat woman grinding her grain, and chuckled so happily that Ahmi smiled even more.
'Ahmi is smiling!' cried her mother, and wrapped her daughter in a hug so big and warm that the little girl could scarcely breathe.
The months passed, and then the years. If you go to the village today (which probably you will not, because the forest grows thick around it and the walk takes many days), you may see Ahmi sitting under the big tree, making patterns of such intricacy and beauty that the villagers gaze admiringly, and wonder at her skill. She still speaks little, knowing that words are really only useful for chasing monsters, but she smiles a great deal, and so radiantly that those who see her find themselves smiling in return.
And if, some day in the far-off future, a Sky Monster again tries to gobble up her mother Sun, Ahmi will have no fear, because she knows she can scare it instantly away.
