The Crocodile King

A river is never silent, but sound escaped the air that day, only to be replaced by a harmony of unidentified chants. The stream carried along its course ever so quietly, as if waiting for a command from the man who was surrounded by many of its followers in a gazebo on the river banks. He dipped his toes in the river before spreading his long yellow scarf on the meticulously arranged flowers and food placed before him. Like a well-practiced routine, a woman delicately placed banana leaves in the middle of the wooden pavilion near the riverbanks and waited for the man to sit on it. Right after that, a momentary loss of balance compelled him to steady himself. His followers were ready to catch him, but his hand found its way to rest firmly on the leaves. A subtle streak of light seemed to dance across his eyes as the rhythmic chant escalated. A change of demeanor started on the river edge, a swift current heading in their direction, making the chant cease abruptly.

A crocodile emerged, its demeanor marked by aggression as it advanced toward the man. The beast then halted near the banana leaves, positioned perilously close to the man’s hand. But the man stood his ground, unwavering and bold, inspiring his followers to resume the cadence of the chant.

“Praise to the Almighty, we are all here today to support our beloved Salmah, whose hardship is getting more serious every day. But we don’t need to worry anymore since our friend is here with us.” The man caressed the crocodile’s tail; his greenish drab scar made it look like they were chameleons to each other. Out of nowhere, a yellowish strike of light rose in his eyes.

In front of everybody, the man asked Salma to sit near them and placed her hand on the upper part of the crocodile’s body. He then fed the crocodile with a fresh placenta still attached to its umbilical cord. A bloodstained egg sat in the same bowl, and he continued to feed Salmah and himself with it.

As usual, the man always found revelation after the food was consumed. “I know what she needs now,” he couldn’t help but break into a sly grin, “Someone who we never see but we always love, someone who forgets us but can’t escape us. That person must deliver greetings to her friend far in the River’s Heart.”

Everyone looked pleased with the answer. Right away, another woman helped Salma’s limp body to move aside from the banana leaves to let the man continue giving sermons to his people. But the ritual has to be cut short; something about the weight of Salma’s disease makes him need the extra energy. Just as the man stroked the crocodile goodbye, his face turned ashen; as if he nearly fainted, all the head turned toward the crocodile that followed an unseen trail back to the river.