A couple of years ago I was traveling around Australia. While I was exploring the area around Alice Springs, a old aboriginal came up to me and asked for a smoke. I gave him one, and decided to relax and enjoy a smoke with him. As soon as he had inhaled his first puff, he pointed towards a little mountain range and said:”What is it you see there?” “Mountains?” My answer clearly did not impress him. “Look again, can you see it?” Truth be told, i didn’t see anything, so he started to tell me a story…
A long time ago, there were several tribes surrounding this mountain range. One of them was the Baluchi tribe, a tribe of peaceful people. Yet, they were regularly attacked by a warrior from the neighbouring Ugarapuls, who would come in the early mornings, kill the defenceless men and take the most desirable women. One day, this warrior stood on top of the mountains and yelled:”Send me your best warrior, and I kill him, or if you are scared, send many, and you shall feel my power. Soon, there will be nothing left of you but women and old men….”
It was decided that a warrior would be sent out to best this Baluchi warrior, and due to the cruelty of the attacks and the mocking, every young warrior volunteered. So, a contest was made to find the strongest among them, and after several days of trials, the young Butcha was chosen. He had neither wife nor kids, and was the strongest of all the Ugarapuls.
The next day, the Baruchi warrior came back, and Butcha went to meet him on the mountain. After running up all the way, he finally stood face to face with the warrior. The Batuchi was much older than Butcha, heavily scarred from battle, but strong like an ox.
“You are the best they have to offer? “, the Baruchi said. “I was chosen, and now we shall find out who will rule this area, Baruchi or Ugarapul.” With these words, the battle began. Butcha was lightly jumping on his feet, almost dancing, yet the older warrior had more experience in battle. Time and time again he would penetrate Butcha’s defence and wound him with his spear. Yet, Butcha kept dancing, and ever once in a while would cut the Baruchi with his spear.
During the battle, which lasted for a long time, the villagers, both Baruchi and Ugarapul, came closer to watch. Both warriors were tired and heavily wounded, when suddenly the Baruchi lowered his shield to catch his breath. That was the opportunity Butcha had been waiting for, and without any hesitation he dropped his spear, grabbed his waddy with both hands, and brought it down on the Baruchi warrior’s head for the killing blow.
For a second that seemed to last forever, everything went silent, until the Ugarapul started yelling and roaring, having finally beaten the Baruchi, who were creeping away into the shadows. The Ugarapul swarmed in to see the body of the dead warrior.
All the while, Butcha started swaying all of a sudden collapsed. His fellow tribesmen leaned over him and found that their champion, their liberator, had died. His body had died long ago, and it was only his spirit that kept him dancing and fighting for his people, until the final blow, when he had led his people to victory.
He was buried in honour for having liberated his people. No one knows exactly where the bones are, yet when you look closely at that mountain, you can see his face, smiling, forever etched into the country, and the heart of his people….”
Once the old aboriginal had finished the story, I got up and took a closer look again at the mountain, and indeed, I saw the features of a face in it. I turned around to tell him that I saw it, but there was nothing or nobody close by…