A story of a lion, a warrior, a man cub. This is a story of a little boy of the horn, the north side of the horn.
“Move!…”- with his striking but young voice shouted the boy.
It was a tormenting experience for the boy to endure the silence of Ogri Gore, a giant of this land, a vicious giant…legend tells.
People feared Ogri, for the tales spoke of the dark times where the Pincers arrived. No harvest, no food, no dream had come out of those days. Only darkness polluted the air. And out of the poisonous ground came creatures of the underwater, with eyes bloody red, tooth sharp as a crown saw, protruding out of their slimy skin covered face. Their claws pincer onto anything that gets on its way, and hence the name Pincers… a name that rang in the ears of the cowardly and the gossipers. People of those times never allowed for their children to go out alone, for the Pincers fed on the young and soft. They found the flesh of the old repulsive and sickening. So, if ever they came across one, they’d only pierce his heart out.
The sun glared for only seven hours of the day. The only time the people came out of their houses was to pick a wild fruit and hunt wild animals for food. The Sun was a figure for some, but for most it was an unquestionable god. So, the people chose to stand burning under its scorching might when it was sky high and its light was so intense that it scarred their skin. They called it “A sacrificial respect to the Most-high”.
One day an old man lost his way from hunting. The air was still heavy from the rotten stench of the burnt skins… even till the dusk. The old man cried to the Sun which was setting an hour earlier than usual. “god, whose light defeats the evil darkness, find me a way or the Pincers will kill me…” said he in despair. The old man then journeyed past the forest to the aqua-lands, where the pincers hid from the light inside the deepest parts of the waters, hoping they wouldn’t find him.
The darkness arrived and the lost old man was searching for a shelter to hide from the Pincers that were piercing their way out of the dark waters. With a fast beating heart and sweating body, the old man run towards a huge stone that laid on the uphills of the grassland, and hid behind it. His ears could hear the scratches and crawls of the Pincers. They were close… so close. The Sun has already given way to the dark of the night. The old man embraced a quiet and calm figure to camouflage his presence. Hours passed while he still hid behind the giant rock. However, no Pincer had found its way to him. As the night blackened on, the old man’s eyes began to grow weary. He tried to keep himself awake but to no avail, as he soon found himself defeated in deep sleep.
A single Pincer crawled above the giant rock and jumped on the old man; its claws piercing through the old man’s eyes. Blood everywhere. The old man, blind as a bat, struggled to pick his hunting spear. He scuffed and floundered in desperation. When he finally found it, he wildly forced the spear into the Pincer’s guts. The Pincer’s scream called the rest of the herd. And as other Pincers swarmed their way towards the now blind old man, a cracking sound that the wind created against the dry tall grasses woke the old man from his nightmare.
It was almost morning, the old man was feeling happy that he could see, and all was just a dream. But his body was sore and aching. So, he slowly picked himself up with his spear and gazed around; but there was no sign of the Pincers. In confusion, he walked slowly towards the aqua-lands… but nothing. It was then he knew for sure they never existed!
No Pincers!! It was the jolliest realization there is but the old man was still perplexed. He was perplexed at how he could tell the village people. He knew they would mock him, say ‘the Pincers are repelled of your old and weary flesh; they did not even bother to smell you’. The old man then scratched the giant rock with his spearhead. He cut his hands and marked the stone with his bloody fingers.
The old man’s wife and children, weeping with the village people, came searching for the old man believing they would find him in corpse. But when they found him well and standing all were shocked. He told them the giant rock saved him from the Pincers. The people were standing with an awestruck stare at the giant rock, as if the rock would start speaking anytime. All the people started mumbling ‘so is this giant rock going to be our god?’ ‘but it’s just a stone…’. The old man started to fear his lies were going to be exposed. His wife saw the villagers and took a stand with her husband, and said ‘we shall call him Ogri Gore’.
Twenty summers later…“Move!…”-with his striking but young voice shouted the boy. But Ogri Gore didn’t move. The young boy came closer to Ogri. And as he did, the shadow casted by Ogri draped over him. He looked even more bigger. But the boy did not come to accept defeat that easily. Guardedly, he walked past him and stood on the shimmering side of the hill. Now, he could see his shadows growing bigger than Ogri.
“I am not going to say this again. Move!”- shouted the boy, but Ogri Gore never moved. Angry with the silence, the boy charged in rage and shoved the stick on his hand into Ogri’s back. He stood there for a whole minute as if he was silently exclaiming his new dominance to the now wounded Ogri. Suddenly, a rumbling sound broke the noiseless tension. Ogri screamed. He rumbled and tumbled as his huge build reduced to pieces.
The boy, with his chest puffed in pride, eyes looking sharp in the shine, turned his gaze towards the only witness to what had happened…
“I will go to the village and tell the people the truth. Sun!… be my witness then, for no talking, nonliving thing won’t be my god. Or else you’re next!”