Ever so many years ago there lived a little boy and girl called Duma and Dumasane. They were brother and sister and lived happily together in a tiny kraal at the foot of a great mountain. Duma was four years older than Dumasane, but both were born in summer in the midst of a great storm, so they were called alike children of Duma, the thunder. Their father and mother were poor, and had but one hut surrounded by a fence, and possessed no herds nor cattle of any kind. Their only food came from the fields which they worked themselves, and often at the end of the day the father and mother would long for a good calabash of thick milk. But they were too poor to [116]buy even a goat, and could only sigh and shake their heads over their misfortune.

One morning they all went forth to hoe their lands, for the sun was growing warmer every day and the spring rains would soon arrive. “We will try new ground,” said the father, “the old lands are getting worn out, and there is plenty of good soil farther down the valley.”

He walked first along the narrow path, then came the mother, and then Duma and Dumasane, each with their pick. Presently they reached a beautiful piece of land, smooth and level and free from stones, and soon all were hard at work turning the first sods. At sundown they went home, well satisfied with their day’s work. You can imagine how puzzled they were the next morning when they found all the sods turned back in their old places, and the ground as smooth as if no one had set foot on it.

They set to work once more, and again prepared a big piece of land for sowing. But the following morning the same thing happened again: not a sign remained of yesterday’s labour. They persevered for many days, but every night their work was made of no avail. [117]

“There must be some reason for this,” said the father at last. “I will stay behind to-day, and see what happens.”

So when Duma and Dumasane and their mother went home the father slipped behind a great rock, and watched the newly-turned lands. He had not been there long when he saw the most beautiful bird come out of the bushes and alight on the fresh sods. It was like no bird he had ever seen, for its feathers were of every colour; its wings were of vivid scarlet, its tail a metallic blue, and its head a bright gold, which shaded into a bronze-green on its breast. It shone like a jewel in the sun, and seemed to laugh with joy. It flew to the very stone behind which the father lay hidden, and alighted on the highest point. Then it flapped its wings and said in a high clear voice: “Chanchasa! Chanchasa! Kilhisa!”

At that very moment every sod in the field turned over; you would have said no one had ever been near the valley. The father kept very quiet and waited till the bird was within arm’s reach. Then he caught it suddenly.

“Now,” said he, “I have got you! You are clever enough to take my food, so it is only fair [118]you should now provide me with a meal.” And he prepared to wring its neck.

“No, no! Spare me!” cried the bird. “If you will only give me my life I will provide you with cream, fresh milk, and curds and whey all your days.”

The father opened his eyes at this. “I can see you are a fairy bird,” said he, “and if what you say is true I will keep you alive.”

He went straight home, holding the bird in his hand. At the kraal gate he bade his wife send the children out while she prepared the evening meal. He then shut the door of the hut and showed her the bird.

“Of what use is the bird to us?” said she.

“You will soon see,” said her husband. He took the sack of woven grass through which they strained their beer, placed the bird in it, and hung it in the middle of the hut. Then he took a great calabash and held it up—for only a man may have anything to do with dairy work—and called on the bird to fulfil its promise.

“Chanchasa! Chanchasa! Kilhisa!” called the bird in its high voice, flapping its wings.

First the calabash was filled with cream, then with sweet milk, and then with thick milk, as [119]much as ever they could use in one day. The wife was delighted, for the cream would keep their karosses in the most beautiful condition, and the milk would make the children big and strong.

“Do not let us tell any one about this bird,” said she, “he is far too wonderful. He must live here, but we will say nothing about him, and not let the children know how we get the milk and cream.”

That night they feasted well. The next day they went out to hoe their lands with a light heart, and sang merry songs:

But Duma and Dumasane were much puzzled at the big basin of curds which they had every night. Where did it come from? There was neither flock nor herd within many miles, and yet there was cream, fresh milk, and thick milk every day.

“I know,” said Dumasane to her brother one day. “They get it in the evening when they sit alone in the hut and will not let us in.” [120]

“Suppose we look through the thatch,” said Duma. “I know where there is a chink.”

That evening they both watched; they saw the bird come out of his sack, flap his wings, and fill each calabash to the brim. The next morning their parents left them alone in the kraal, for they had far to go. They started merrily enough, singing songs of rejoicing over their wonderful prosperity:

The wife sang even louder than her husband, for now she was as rich as any of her neighbours and her heart was full of pride. Little did they think of the misfortune which awaited their return.

They came back at dusk, tired, but eager for their welcome meal. A most dreadful sight met their eyes. The whole kraal was swimming in milk and cream, and the sack was empty. The little boy and girl were crying at the outer gate, and presently made confession.

“It is our fault,” they said. “We always wondered what you did in the hut alone, and one day we looked through a chink and saw [121]everything. So we took the bird down this morning and told him to say ‘Chanchasa.’ But the milk and cream came so fast that we thought we should be drowned, and in our fright we let the bird go and he flew away.”

At this the parents were very, very angry. “You have brought starvation upon us,” cried the mother. “We can no longer keep you; you must die.”

She carried them away there and then to a big ravine in the mountain-side and threw them down a rocky precipice. The little girl was nearly killed, but the boy was not so much hurt, for a tree broke his fall and he was only bruised. He soon came to himself and found they were in a deep narrow valley or creek, which penetrated into the heart of the mountains. Great trees in full leaf almost shut out the sun, and a clear stream ran down the bottom of the valley among tall ferns and flowering bushes. Duma lay there two days; then he was able to walk to the mouth of the creek and search for food. He found some delicious berries and great elephant leaves, which he filled with water and carried to his sister; and thus he fed her every day till she also recovered.

[122]

“Now,” said he, for he was the elder, “we must seek a new home. Our parents are wicked, and we dare not go back to them. Let us walk right up this valley; perhaps we shall find a kraal among the mountains where we can get food.”

Dumasane agreed, and they set forth up the creek, following the bed of the stream and singing as they went:

The words went to a sad little tune, and the little girl wept bitterly to think of the pleasant home she had lost. They mounted higher and higher till they came to the top of the creek. There they saw a great tree covered with black-berries. They stopped singing and ran to pick them, but they had scarcely eaten one when all the berries turned into a flock of tiny blackbirds, who flew out of the tree with shrill cries. Among them, bright as a flower and gay as ever, was the fairy bird himself.

Directly he saw the children he stopped and perched on a bough to talk to them. [123]

“I see you are in trouble,” said he, “because you gave me my liberty.” Here he snapped a twig off the tree and gave it to them. “Take this,” said he, “and go straight on till you come to a huge rock. Walk round it, striking it with this stick, and say:

At the end, cry ‘Chanchasa! Chanchasa! Kilhisa!’ with every blow till you come to the right spot. There a door will fly open, and you will find a home in which you can live till you are grown up. Everything is there which you can possibly want to eat, but remember one thing. Never leave a morsel of fat on the fire, or evil will come of it.”

The children took the stick with sparkling eyes. Duma held it and Dumasane followed [124]him, her tears all forgotten. Soon they came in sight of an immense rock standing by itself in the tall green grass, the biggest they had ever seen. They walked round it, singing the appointed song and striking it with the fairy stick. All at once a door flew open, and they looked inside into a huge cave. It was more beautifully furnished than any hut they had ever seen; a king might have lived in it. There were finely plaited mats to sleep on, little wooden pillows most daintily carved, and great fur rugs or karosses to keep the cold away. There were beautiful bead necklaces and girdles for Dumasane, and for each of them a skin cloak worked with beads, while for Duma there was a bow and arrows, the bow strung with python-skin, a long curly koodoo1 horn to blow on, and the most perfect little assegais. And all round the walls stood pots and calabashes in shining red and black, containing cream, fresh milk and thick milk, and delicious porridge already cooked. There were besides three great baskets, one full of corn, another full of nuts, and the third full of maize. There was abundance of food for months to come. [125]

The two children both said at once: “This is the most lovely place we have ever seen. Now we shall be quite happy.”

And there they lived for many years, till at last Duma had become a fine young man and Dumasane the prettiest girl you can imagine. There was always plenty to eat, for every day the calabashes and baskets were filled as fast as Dumasane emptied them. They had no troubles and led a free and happy life. Dumasane learnt to cook and keep house, and Duma practised daily with bow and arrow till he became an expert huntsman. Then one day they found that their stores of food were no longer being replenished. The baskets were gradually growing empty.

“It is time we worked for ourselves,” said Dumasane to her brother. “I will see to the house while you go out hunting and bring me some meat to cook.”

“Very well,” he said. “But if I bring you meat remember not to leave any fat on the fire, for the fairy bird said if we left any fat burning harm would certainly come of it.”

The first day Dumasane was very careful, and the second day. But the third day a little tiny [126]piece of fat was left smouldering on the flames. Duma went out to hunt and she was left alone. She set to work to arrange the cave, and was just placing the cooking-pots in order when she heard heavy footsteps coming along the path and two voices saying “Hum, hoom! Hum, hoom!” in deep bass notes. Her heart was filled with terror at the sound. Next minute the door flew open and there stood an Inzimu and his wife. They were monsters dreadful to behold. They stood upright, and had hands and feet like a human being, but their flesh was covered with big lumps and they had long scanty red hair all over their bodies. Their eyes were tiny and close-set, and their mouths extended from ear to ear, and were filled with sharp, pointed teeth set wide apart. Their hands had very short fat fingers, and their feet resembled their hands exactly. The woman was even uglier than the man, for while he had two horns growing out of his head she had one in the middle of her forehead, and a long snout just like that of a wolf. Each of them had a long tail like an elephant’s trunk, which had the power of sucking up all they wanted.

Dumasane was terribly frightened when she [127]saw them, for she knew they were cannibals. The monsters walked straight into the cave, twinkling their little eyes and grunting at every step.

“Take everything in the cave,” said Dumasane, “but leave me here.”

“No, no,” said they, “if we have you we shall be able to get all these things as often as we want them, for you have magic power.”

And in spite of her entreaties they carried her away. In the afternoon her brother returned and found everything gone, the cave empty and no sign of his sister. He sat down in despair, for he thought she was dead.

Suddenly, gorgeous in gold and scarlet, in flew the fairy bird holding a stick in his mouth.

“Do not despair,” said he. “Take this stick and a big bag and go into the bush. Wave the stick before you as you walk and every reptile and every stinging insect you meet will instantly enter the bag. When it is full come back here and hang the bag in the middle of the cave.”

Duma sallied forth bravely, bag in hand, and sang a fairy song as he walked into the forest. Instantly every deadly thing within call came [128]and took its place in the sack. There were two great black mambas, there were scorpions and big hairy spiders, fierce little black bees, great yellow wasps and hornets, and clouds of poisonous mosquitoes, newly hatched and venomous as could be. When the bag was quite full Duma returned and hung it in the middle of the cave. Then he sat down to await events.

Presently he heard the Inzimus singing “Hum, hoom! Hum, hoom!” and trampling heavily. The door flew open and they walked in.

“Ah, we will take the boy,” said the Inzimu, “he will be useful to us.”

“Let us take the bag too,” said the wife. “No doubt it is full of good things.”

So they took the bag and opened it to see what was inside. The animals all came out at once and attacked them unmercifully. The snakes and scorpions ran along the ground, the bees and mosquitoes circled round their heads, joined by the wasps, and deafened them with their angry cries. The two monsters fled screaming and ran away down the ravine, stumbling over thorny bushes and great rocks. They did not stop till they came to a deep pool in the river. [129]There they plunged in to escape from the stings and bites of the insects, but no sooner did they put their heads out of the water than they were attacked again. In the end they both were drowned and Duma was safe.

“Now,” said the fairy bird, “go straight to your father’s kraal, and you will find your sister. These two Inzimus were your father and mother. They were changed into monsters as a punishment for their wicked conduct. Now they are dead, and you are both free.”

Duma went in haste to his old home, and on the threshold he met his sister crying. He took her to the forest, and there they met the fairy bird for the last time.

“I will change you both into royal birds,” said he. “In that way you will both find a better home than I can give you, for you are now no longer children.”

Then he flew away, flashing in the sun, and they never saw him again. But they themselves became two beautiful green lorys, with scarlet and black wings, and a great green crest on their heads edged with white. They were almost as lovely as the fairy bird himself; no one but a King had the right to own them. They lived in [130]the trees on nuts and fruit, and bathed in the clear river-pools morning and evening.

Now there was a great King who reigned over all that country. One day his Queen sent out an Induna to cut wood in the forest. The Chief was chopping at the foot of a tree when he heard human voices singing in the higher branches. He stopped to listen. The voices sang:

The Chief looked up and saw that the voices belonged to two beautiful green lorys, and that no human beings were near. “Those are royal birds,” said he; “some great witchcraft is at work here.”

He went straight to the King’s kraal and told the whole story.

“Such a thing is impossible,” said the Queen, “but we will go and see for ourselves.”

So the Chief took the Queen and all the Princesses into the forest and placed them at the foot of the tree. Then he started chopping once [131]more. Presently the birds began to sing, and the Queen was soon convinced that these were enchanted creatures. She told the Chief to catch them and bring them to her.

The Chief climbed up the tree and held his hands out under the broad green leaves, waiting for the birds to come near. As soon as they were within reach he seized both and brought them to the Queen.

But directly the Queen touched them they were changed, and became a most beautiful young man and woman. They were taken to the King, who heard all their adventures. “This is wonderful,” said he. “I will bring you to your uncle, who is a great Chief and lives near here.”

So Duma and Dumasane found a beautiful home and many friends. The Queen was especially fond of Dumasane, and married her to her own son, while Duma married one of her daughters, and became a great Chief. [132]