Bronze And Sunflower

It had happened the year Bronze turned five. He’d been swept from his bed in the middle of the night and had felt himself jiggling up and down in his mother’s arms, vaguely aware of her hurried breathing. But it was the cold, rich air of the late-autumn night that woke him. An air filled with terror.
He saw the sky as red as the morning sunrise. He heard dogs barking for miles around. There were wails and screams, and pounding footsteps. Panic and chaos shattered the peace.
“The reeds are on fire! The reeds are on fire!” people shouted until they were hoarse.
The villagers ran from their homes to the safety of the river. Parents carried their infants; older siblings took the little ones by the hand; adults helped the elderly to walk or carried them on their backs.
As they fled the village, Bronze saw the crimson beasts hissing and screaming, lashing out at Damaidi, and buried his head in his mother’s chest.
“Don’t be frightened,” she said. She could feel him shaking and patted him gently as she ran. He could hear children crying.
There hadn’t been time to untie the buffaloes from their posts. As the fire glowed in the night sky, the animals struggled for their lives. Some uprooted the tethering posts, others managed to escape the rope through their noses. Those that broke free charged off into the wild.
Chickens and ducks flapped about in the sky. Pigs squealed and ran amok. Goats and sheep rushed with the crowd to the river or ran wildly around the fields. One child saw two goats heading for the fire and, thinking they belonged to his family, raced to save them. He was hauled back. “Do you want to die with them?” shouted an adult. The helpless child watched in tears as the animals ran into the flames.
Bronze’s father took the water buffalo and nothing else. It was a strong, obedient creature that had come to them as a calf, covered in sores. They’d treated it well, given it the sweetest grass, washed it every day in fresh water from the river, picked medicinal herbs and pounded them to a liquid to smear on its sores. The sores had healed quickly, and since then its coat had been sleek and glossy. It didn’t charge off like the other buffaloes, but followed calmly behind its master. They were a family, and in times of crisis, a family sticks together. Bronze’s grandmother Nainai walked slowly, and every so often the buffalo stopped to wait for her. The five of them-Bronze in his mother’s arms, his father, Nainai and the buffalo-walked together, and if other people wanted to go faster, they and their livestock had to pass around them.
Now and again Bronze would peer out. He saw the fire reaching the edge of the village, the first buildings turning gold in the light of the flames. The dry reeds burned furiously, spitting and popping like firecrackers. Some chickens flew too close, flashed gold for a moment, then fell into the ashes. A rabbit darted in front of the fire. As it dodged the flickering tongues, its shadow loomed as large as a leaping horse. Then it vanished; the fire had swallowed it up. Soon those buildings had caught alight. A flock of ducks rose into the air: some were caught in the flames; others flew off into the dark.
The villagers ran to the river. Boats went back and forth, taking people to the other side, where the fire could not reach them. In the scramble to get on board, some people fell in the water. Shouts and cries filled the air. Those who could manage it stripped off their clothes, held them above their heads, and swam across. One man put his four-year-old son on his shoulders and waded into the river. When the boy saw the water flowing around him, he wrapped his arms around his father’s head and howled. The man continued to swim. When they reached the other side, he lifted the boy down; he was now as quiet as a mouse, frozen with terror.
The fire rolled in waves down the streets and alleys until the village became a sea of flame.
Having managed to get Nainai onto a boat, Bronze’s father led the buffalo to the water’s edge. It knew exactly what to do and, without needing to be told, headed straight into the water. Bronze’s father helped his wife climb onto the buffalo, then held the rope as they swam across the river. Bronze was cold and scared. He trembled in his mother’s arms.
A child fell into the river. Screams of shock and cries for help rang out in the dark. But how could they find him? Even if he surfaced, no one would see him. The fire raged closer. A few people waded into the water to look for the boy, but most stayed on the shore, waiting for a boat. Those already on a boat were desperate to get to the other side. The boy’s mother’s screams tore through the sky.
Just before dawn, the fire began to subside. The villagers looked back across the river at Damaidi. The remains of their village lay wretched and black.