Gala and the Great Zulu King

Gala and the Great Zulu King

 

Have you read the stirring ballad or epic poem Song of Hiawatha by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow? In stirring verse, it tells of incidents in the life and times of Hiawatha, a legendary indigenous American.  

 

If you’ve not read the American epic, perhaps you’re familiar with The ballad of Abdul Abulbul Amir, dealing with an incident in the Russo-Turkish War of 1877? It reflects a battle to the death by two powerful military protagonists who will give no quarter. It was written by Percy French. Both are worth reading if you like fairly robust, descriptive work, and have not done so before.

 You might need a snippet of Zulu history to appreciate the ballad I have written and reproduced below. It refers to an incident that happened in 1828, almost a year after the death of King Shaka’s mother Nandi. It occurred a few months before the death of the king himself at the hands of his servant Mbopha, and brothers Dingane and Nomahlanjana.

 

King Shaka ka Senzangakhona

 

As was customary after the death of a significant royal, the king of the Zulus ordered a period of national mourning when Nandi died. During the tumultuous year that followed, many people killed cattle as sacrifices and tokens of grief, ate little solid food, and bore no children. Those who disobeyed were treated harshly. Some were executed.

 

Eventually in frustration at the loss of livestock and even human lives, a brave man by the name of Gala confronted the king directly, roaring out his fury. His actions were done more an act of loyalty to jar the king from his misery, than as a simple show of defiance. Gala, who no doubt anticipated being put to death, took an astonishing risk on behalf of the nation. The result is recorded here in ballad form.

                                    
The author of the present ballad has no pretensions to conceiving great epic poetry, but felt that South Africa should not be left out. We have many remarkable historical traditions that lend themselves well to an epic poem or ballad. The ballad below follows the same distinct, throbbing rhythm of the two great epic poems mentioned above.
 

The ballad.

 

He sat stony-faced with a shield on his knees,

And sealed neighbours fate with an army like bees,

Moments of kindness, and then hard to please.

Muscles of steel and thighs like young trees,

The great Zulu king!

His praises still ring.

 

When his mother died it stunned him a while,

Wept on his shield, no hint of a smile,

The people were shocked; was this the king’s guile…

He’d never shown weakness, most easy to rile,

This stern man of war!

He’d laid down the law.

 

The king gave his orders, harsh and grim,

Mourn deeply his mother, or answer to him,

Take no solid food, or risk life and limb.

‘We kill many cattle to comply with each whim,

For the king will not bend…

Oh, when will this end?’

 

But then came a brave man, Gala his name,

Strode up to the king, erect was his frame,

‘The cattle are dying, long gone are wild game,

Your people are starving, will you take the blame?

The harvests all wither; there is no corn…

You’ll soon have no army; no children are born’

 

Shaka was angered, he stood tall and proud,

He turned to the councillors and then to the crowd,

‘Who brought this man here? Go find him a shroud.

Glowering down now, he bellowed out loud,

‘The stranger has drawn his very last breath,

Impertinent dog, you ask for your death’.

 

The sycophants raged, they ranted and cursed,

But Gala spoke on, his veins near to burst,

‘I have more to tell you, and then do your worst…

Stuff a stone in your gut; you’re not the first,

To lose his mother in Zululand.

Like any loyal man, here I stand.’

 

The counsellors gasped, the crowd fell back,

Would this brave stranger now pay for his lack,

Of courtesy…   or take a tack,

That begged forgiveness or sought a crack,

In the king’s stern countenance…

Atone to him for the grave offence?

 

For an age Shaka stood, lost deep in thought,

Fighting once more the great battles fought,

And, wondering again at the virtues brought,

By such men as Gala who often had nought,

But to offer their lives,

That the nation might thrive.

 

Then Shaka relaxed, and quite soon he said,

‘It’s better for all he’s alive and not dead.

How can I kill him, he speaks words so true,

When will you councillors do so too?

Toe to toe, and eye to eye,

He is a man prepared to die’.

 

‘You have no head ring’, he said to the man,

‘I give you the honour, and know that I can…

Honour the fighters who fight for your clan,

And that I do gladly, as part of my plan.

Great courage you bring,

…Your men have the ring.

 

‘I reprieve you Gala, brave amongst brave,

You spoke well of a mother now in her grave,

The great she-elephant, head of her clan,

Stern in her wisdom and strong as a man.

See that he sleeps, and see that he’s fed,

And give him a hut and make up a bed’.

 

Gala left early, set forth on the trudge,

Leaving a king who bore him no grudge,

For the harsh words he spoke and the bellicose tone,

And the blunt admonition to swallow a stone.

Whatever they say of the great Zulu king,

Courage it was, that made his heart sing.