Pancha was uncertain whether he was human or not. His physique did not suggest anything beyond that he was a very ordinary man, well, except for his exceptionally large bulbous nose which he initially despised but had learned to love. He also did not have any preferences or needs unusual for a human being; he ate quinoa almost every day, harvested his own vegetables at the foot of the mountain near his adobe house, and drank llama milk with his friends after work. He relished at the sound of his wife's neighing laugh, and for years, longed to have a child of his own.
But unlike any human, he had an extraordinary gift. He could summon rain, light or heavy, with a flick of his hand. He could grow potatoes, corn, lilies, and any other plants at his command. He could communicate with animals as if they were people. It was a mystery to how he received his peculiar abilities as he was the only one in his family born with it.
"A gift from God," his mother had said, "only serves as a test, my son. It can either be your light or your darkness."
He chose light. He served his people prosperous crops all months. Weddings and ceremonies remained untouched by rain and adorned with thousands of flowers. The growls of pumas were only heard from a safe distance from villages and herds. In return, the villagers gave him kindness and love. He prayed and hoped that God would be pleased with him. Perhaps, one day, He would grant his desperate wish of becoming a father.
After many years, he finally did become a father. However, he also became a widow on the same day.
Unfortunately, his gift was not only a servant to his will but also his heart. For many weeks, his village was a chaos of storms and lightning and springs of flowers and sunny skies.
His heart eventually found acceptance but never found love. He raised his daughter on his own as best as he could. He named her Qantuta for she was beautiful like the flower, but he knew she was much more beautiful than any flowers or sunsets or stars he had ever seen. She had his tan skin and wavy black hair, her mother's big eyes, and also her delicate nose. There were moments when he felt he did things right with her, and there were moments when he dreadfully wished his wife, Asiri would be there to help him.
She grew up into a gorgeous young woman, catching the eyes of many men wherever she went. He hated the way they looked at her as if she was only beauty and not a human. Despite his numerous warnings and nagging about the matter, she refused to understand his concerns. Often, she would yell back at him when he forbade her to go to certain places with certain boys. It made him burn with anger when she did so, and at the same time, wished she was still small and still struggled to walk so he could catch her, and she would let him.
Many men wanted her, but she only wanted one. It was a young man from another village named Sumaq. His beauty was at par with hers and his manners were laden with charm. Qantuta was immediately blinded by love. Pancha was not. He saw the way the young man looked at other women when Qantuta was not looking, the way he leaned close to them during talks when she was not present. He was not evil, Pancha knew, but being kind and funny worth nothing if he was not loyal.
When he asked her for marriage, he sternly disapproved. He did not want her to get her heartbroken but it seemed it was already in pieces after he made his decision clear. Their talks became scarce of funny jokes and sweet words. They hung heavy with the same arguments and the same outcomes. Talking to her became a tiring and painful war, so they talked less and less. He wondered if the damage was permanent, but he trusted his daughter's love for him that it would not be so.
She did not love him as much as he thought she did.
He woke up to the humming of llamas in the middle of the night. Illuminated by the hallowed light from the moon peeking from his window, he groggily searched for his stick and walked out from his house. He thought he would catch a few pumas violating their agreement, but he caught his daughter and Sumaq instead. They were standing by two saddled llamas, with sacks on their backs, and hands clasped.
Lightning flashed across the distance, startling both of the young lovers. Heavy rain poured down, drenching them with icy water. They both immediately tried to cover themselves from the rain with their sacks. Pancha saw their body shivering, but he barely felt any cold.
She whispered something to Sumaq. He rode away from them with their things without any hesitation.
"Tayta," Qantuta started, her voice muffled by the thundering sound of rain.
"You chose him over me." His voice sounded as if a cloth was wrapped tightly around his neck.
Her lower lip trembled. "I do not have to make this choice if you have accepted him," she said. The wind around them grew colder and howled wilder, ruffling their dark hair. He knew he should restrain himself, but he was scorching lava running down a mountain slope. "He is a nice man," she said, "but you are too stubborn to see it."
"A nice man would never separate a father from his daughter!" Lightning struck down a tree near them, lighting it up on fire. The fire burnt furiously for a moment before gradually doused by the rain and wind. Lava running down. "I am protecting you from a pig, but you choose to run towards him."
"He is not a pig!" The familiar fury in her eyes lit up and was brighter than ever. "Not every man is a pig, by God! You think you are protecting me, but all you are doing is keeping me in a cage. Sumaq makes me feel free. He understands me. He loves me, and I love him."
"I loved you first!" He felt the ground shaking underneath his feet, growling like a hungry bear. "I loved you before you were even born." He remembered placing his ear against Asiri's protruding belly to hear his little flower kicking, her first smile, and her first wobbly steps. The way she ran towards him with her tiny legs. He remembered his sleepless nights of milk and cries when she was a baby, and of bitter medicines during her sick days when she was older. "Yet you are leaving me for a man you just know, with no intention of saying goodbye."
For the first time in their many arguments, she was tongue-tied. And she was crying.
The storm and wind instantly went calm.
"Qantuta." His voice had shredded all anger and carried only softness and love. "Forgive me, my little flower." He held out his hand. "Please, stay with me."
She stepped towards him. She took his hand with both of hers and kissed it. Her body shook as she sobbed. "I'm sorry," she said. Guilt instantly clawed his chest.
She looked up at him with her round eyes, his wife's eyes, and said, "I'm sorry, tayta. But I need to go."
Pancha stared silently at his daughter as she went to the man she clearly loved more than him. Words and thoughts seemed to freeze inside him, and so did everything else. There was no wind, no rain nor cold. There were only silence and numbness.
It was when he finally saw no trace of her when the pain truly hit him, like a merciless wave of hot water. Right then, he was at the side of his wife's deathbed again, holding her lifeless hand as he truly realized that she was gone.
Chaos returned but was fiercer, a rampaging jaguar hungry for blood. Lightning and storms wreck over the village; trees snapped and fell, and soil turned to muddy rivers. He saw the roof of his house being thrown off by the wind to the ground near him, but he did not move. The ground grumbled and shook, but he still did not budge.
I loved you first.
He should have had agreed with the marriage, even if it was detrimental to her. It was better than her leaving. He hated her so much for leaving.
But you chose him over me.
He wanted his Asiri back. She would know what to do.
Villagers, young and old, scrambled out of their houses to escape the madness. He saw the fear in their faces and heard it in their screams.
"Stop!" He willed himself. But the chaos did not listen. The pain did not listen.
He felt the land underneath him shift, moving his body to the east, the monstrous grumbles rattling his bones. On his left was a hole forming in the earth, swallowing trees and houses in its abyss as it grew. As it did, so did the pain in his chest, as if a bloody wound was ripping his flesh wide open.
Stop. Please.
The pain was unbearable, reducing the words in his mouth and mind into the simple form of agonized screaming. Soon, he found himself thrown into oblivion.
He woke up to his village's devastation. To his utter relief, no one had died. But only a handful of houses were left, and most were only fractions of their whole bodies; piles of rubble and dirt and mutilated furniture. Toppled trees, pieces of rocks, and buildings riddled the grassy land. The west side of the village, where the plains and herds were, had vanished, replaced by a colossal, long hole. Debris and dust floated in the air and created a dark fog in the open space inside.
The earth had cracked.
After the event, Pancha decided to live in solitary in the comforts of the forest, proclaiming that his gift brought too much darkness to others. Word had traveled that he had died alone. However, some claimed to see abnormal sightings of nature; sudden springs of flowers, unusual rain and clouds. The villagers believed that he was still alive, and given his love for his daughter, was still waiting for her to come back.
Author Notes: Personally, I think the whole "let's run away from our parents and get married" has been romanticized so much without highlighting the parents' feelings. I think it is important to get a parent's perspective when this happens.
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New Zealand • 26 years old