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Updated: September 12, 2025
You will take the pathway tonight, and if you can ride your horse past the Ghoda, well and good you will go home to your wife. If not, you will return and sleep here. The kid will be roasted, and you shall hear the story. Do you agree?" "Certainly I do." "Just one thing: remember that you are to ride past.
Tomorrow, when you are going home, get off your horse and walk into the Ghoda bush at its lower extremity. These are the graves. But my story is not yet finished. "Lukwazi never saw another Shwama. The corn-yield that year was very plentiful, and in the early part of the winter beer flowed like water at every kraal.
Nearly all my father's people having been killed, the few who remained were placed under Lukwazi, his kraal was the one on the top of the second ridge beyond the Ghoda. No one liked Lukwazi, though many feared him on account of his cunning, and his wealth gave him power.
There was an old ant-bear hole hidden in the grass, into which the horse trod, and falling, rolled over on its rider. Lukwazi lay quite still. His neck was broken. "Since then, no horse will ever pass the Ghoda bush between sunset and sunrise when the Moon is new." Next morning I dismounted at the Ghoda, and walked into the forest.
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