Dreamtime Legends - The Hero who turned into a Mountain | |
On the Dividing Range the face of a young warrior stares up at the sky. His descendants see the proud profile silhouetted against the setting sun and in their hearts they know that while he remains there, a carved figure in the changeless hills, they will have peace and will be unafraid of their enemies. It is no handiwork of man, this sharp-edged profile. The hand of nature has set it there for all men to see, and to remind the people of the valley that it is to Butcha that they owe their freedom. Cut off in the full strength of manhood, he left no children to remember him and carry on the divine spark of courage and sacrifice to succeeding generations; but there is no need for these while his face can be seen in the dividing hills.This is the story of how the face of Butcha has been carved into the timeless hills. A fighting man of the Baluchi tribe had made several raids on the Ugarapuls, traversing the pass in the early mornings, killing defenceless men and capturing the most desirable women. The raids were made stealthily and no one had seen him until one morning when he stood on a rock high above the camp and shouted insults and threats.'Choose the best of your weakling warriors,' he called, 'and I will cut him into little pieces. Or if you are afraid, come and attack me in force and you will learn the strength of a Baluchi fighting man. Already I have taken many of your wives and young women. Soon no one will be left except old men and women, and babies crying for their mothers' breasts.'Goaded by his words some of the younger men of the tribe hurled themselves up the steep slope, but when they arrived breathless at the rock the Baluchi warrior was no longer there.The elders sat in conference round the camp fire that night.'This is a task for young men,' they said. 'We must accept the challenge or our people will never live in peace. We dare not fail.'They called the young men to them.'The honour of our tribe is in your hands,' they were told. 'Who will accept the challenge of the upstart Baluchi people?'The young men stepped forward eagerly and a chorus of voices answered, 'I will! I will!''That is good,' an old man grunted. 'At least we do not breed cowards among the Ugarapuls. But bravery is not enough. Only one man can be chosen, and we must be sure that he is the most skilful fighter among you. Go to your gunyahs now and sleep with your wives. Sleep well, and in the morning we will choose the one who is to serve us all.'The following morning the eager young warriors danced with excitement. Individual contests were fought, and many a proud young man shed his blood on the grass as he failed to parry the spear of his opponent. There were sore heads and broken legs and arms, but when the sun was high there was no doubt who was most worthy to fight on behalf of the Ugarapuls. It was Butcha, who had passed the bora rites so recently that he had not even selected a young woman as his mate.Before the sun had touched the peaks of the Dividing Range the next day he was on his way. He held the sharp-tipped spears and the polished waddy in his left hand, while a light wooden shield with brightly painted designs rested comfortably on his right arm. He ran nimbly between the trees and was lost sight in the folds of the hills. When he reached the flat rock where the Baluchi warrior had shouted his challenge the sunlight gilded his body. Standing erect, he heard the distant deep-throated roar of the men of his tribe.Another sound made him turn his head quickly. It was the fighting man of the Baluchi tribe. He was older than Butcha, his body scarred with ancient wounds, his hair shaggy, the muscles rippling like snakes under his skin. The men stood facing each other like a huge gnarled tree and a young slender sapling growing side by side.'Come, my little man!' the Baluchi warrior sneered, showing his teeth in a grin and shaking his hair out of his eyes. 'Are you
