The king needs to live; we cannot overlook the matter on the ground. Who will occupy the throne? If the throne remains empty, then we are in great danger. If the king can still speak, then let him choose who will replace him—despite his childlessness.
Chief Araba, one of the king's councilors, suggested,
"Let us consult the Priest of Onachi kingdom. I have heard of his powers from one of my cousins who lives there. She described him to me as a man of great authority—one who can even prolong a person's days if he so desires."
At once, the other councilors burst out in anger.
"Araba! Araba! Stop deceiving us. Do you think anyone can help in this matter, despite what our own priests have already done to heal the king? Have we not yielded to the demands of the gods, yet no result has come forth? Instead, the king's condition worsens with every passing day."
But Araba persisted.
"My lords, I only suggested what I believe may help. I desire nothing but the best for our kingdom. Do not be angry with me; after all, a man who fetches water early does not drink muddy water. Let us try him out."
Then Chief Brutata, the traditional Prime Minister, raised his voice.
"Let us not fight over this matter. He is only giving a suggestion. When a tree falls, the branches scatter, but unity will gather them again. Let us try this priest of Onachi and see if he can help. Tomorrow, we will all journey there together."
Meanwhile, in the forest of Palula, Paramodice expresses his sense of romantic love to the princess:
"My princess, I want you to know that I love you, and I will do anything to protect you. As my heart beats, so does my love for you. From the very day I first saw you in the palace, I could not take my eyes away. Even when I was beaten, I counted it as nothing, for I am ready to sacrifice even my life for you.
The princess, with tears in her eyes, responded,
"I also love you. That is why I could not bear to see you beaten. Each stroke of the cane felt as though it was on my own back. You are my comfort, Paramodice."
They embraced each other, smiling. Paramodice whispered,
"I thank God for giving you to me. You have filled the void my mother left. I love you, princess."
The following morning, the king's councilors journeyed to Onachi kingdom. Chief Araba's cousin led them to where the priest lived.
As they stepped foot on the sacred ground, a voice echoed in the air:
"You are welcome. Why do you seek a leopard if you have no reason?"
The councilors trembled, for they could not see who was speaking. Araba's cousin urged them, "Be strong, do not be afraid."
Suddenly, the priest appeared in their midst. The chiefs nearly fainted.
"You seek a leopard who can solve your problems," the priest declared. "I know why you have come—it is because of your king. I can help you. Bring me three virgins from your kingdom, and the work will be done."
The chiefs of Sakoma looked at one another in fear.
"Just three virgins?" one asked in disbelief.
"Yes," replied the priest firmly. "That is all I require. Then your king shall be restored."
But before the demand could be fulfilled, the king of Sakoma gave up the ghost.
The councilors were devastated. All their efforts had been in vain. The king had finally joined his ancestors. It was a day of great sorrow and tragedy in Sakoma kingdom.
The palace courtyard was filled with wailing. Women tore their wrappers, rolled on the ground, and poured ashes on their heads. The men beat their chests and shook their staffs in grief. The drummers struck their talking drums slowly, the sound echoing like a heart that had lost its strength. The flutes wailed, as though crying with the people.
The corpse of the king was wrapped in white cloth and laid on a wooden bier, covered with palm fronds, symbol of purity and journey to the spirit land.
The chief mourner raised his voice:
"O sun, do not hide your face from Sakoma! Our great king has gone to join the spirits. He fought for us like the lion of the forest, yet the gods did not bless him with a child. Who will sit on the throne now?"
Songs of mourning filled the air:
O great king of Sakoma, you left without a child.
You fought so hard for us—yes, you did.
Your agility and bravery cannot be compared to any other.
Why did the gods not bless you with a child?
Why, oh why?
The hearts of Sakoma are broken, for who will lead us now?
Great king, you fought well—yes, you did.
Rest now with the ancestors.
Throughout the night, dirges were sung. The royal drummers played the sacred rhythms reserved only for the burial of a king. The elders reminded the people that "death is the cloth that every man must wear," and that though the king had no heir, his spirit would watch over them.
Finally, before dawn, the body of the king was carried to the royal grove, the place where only kings were buried. His crown was placed beside him, and his staff of office laid across his chest. As the earth swallowed his remains, the priest declared:
"Sleep well, great king of Sakoma! May your spirit guide the land you left behind."
The people replied in unison:
"A king never truly dies; he lives on through the memory of his people."
A week after the mourning rites of the late king, the council of elders gathered again in the palace. The atmosphere was heavy, as though the very walls carried the burden of grief and uncertainty.
Chief Okere rose first, his laughter sharp and cutting through the silence like a spear.
"Did I not warn you to prepare for this day? Yet you mocked me and said my mouth was smelling. Now look—whose mouth smells?"
The other chiefs hissed and shook their heads in anger. Chief Brutata, the traditional Prime Minister, struck his staff on the ground to silence the noise.
"Okere, swallow your laughter, for laughter in the house of mourning is like salt poured on a wound. You know well that we could not make any decision while the king was alive. But now that he is gone, we must choose wisely."
Chief Araba added with a grave tone,
"If the throne remains empty for long, strangers will mock us. A house without a head soon becomes a playground for goats. We must decide on what to do next.
Chief Efe shook his head.
"But the king left no child. Who among us is worthy? If we rush, we may set the kingdom on fire. When two elephants fight, it is the grass that suffers. We must be careful, lest our people bleed from our quarrels."
The elders murmured in agreement, though some shifted uneasily.
Then Chief Okere, still restless, said,
"What if we choose from among ourselves? After all, we have labored for the kingdom. Why must the crown always remain in one bloodline? Let us not chain ourselves to customs that may drown us."
This caused an uproar. Some elders clapped their hands in protest, others shouted that Okere sought to break tradition. The tension was so high that even the guards at the doorway tightened their grip on their spears.
Chief Brutata, raising his staff again, declared:
"Peace, my brothers! The lizard that jumped from the high iroko said it would praise itself if no one else did. But the throne of Sakoma is not for praise-seekers. The gods alone can show us the rightful heir. Our next step is clear—we must go to the chief priest. Let him consult the gods of the land and reveal who shall wear the crown."
The councilors nodded reluctantly, for they knew that without divine guidance, bloodshed might follow. In Sakoma, the throne was not just a seat—it was the heartbeat of the kingdom.
The next day, the elders and chiefs went to the sacred grove of the chief priest. The air there was thick with incense and the rustle of ancient trees. The priest, clad in white and chalk markings, received them with a knowing smile.
"Yes," he said, before they even spoke, "I knew you would come. Your king has no child to succeed him, and your hearts are troubled. Wait outside while I consult the gods, for a man does not enter the shrine with both feet at once."
The chiefs bowed and stepped outside, their faces lined with fear and expectation, knowing that the destiny of Sakoma now rested in the words of the gods.