How Elegguá Saved Wisdom From Arayé

It was late in the land of Intelligence, and the king, Baba Domá, the father of wisdom, slept, lost in his dreams, while his two younger brothers, Baba Dogun, the father of war, and Baba Dòtá, the father of adversity, walked through darkened halls. In shadows they crept with only the light of a lamp to guide them, and they nodded to the guards as they slipped outside the palace walls, into the dark forest that lay beyond the town gates. The moon was full, casting an ethereal silvery glow that blanketed the woods. Into this they walked until they were deep in the trees and bush, in a place the moon could no longer touch. There they stopped and rested. When they were sure the only sounds in the forest were those of the trees swaying and settling against the midnight breeze, they whispered among themselves.

“We live in our brother’s shadow,” said Baba Dòtá. “There was a time he sought our counsel, but now that the kingdom is in peace he won’t even consider the thought of war and expansion. He only needs us when things are bad. In peace, he feels he needs only himself.”

“We should rule, together,” said Baba Dogun. “You and I live as his subjects and not as royalty. And never once has he taken up a machete. Never once has he taken up an arrow. Never once has he ridden into war. He diffuses his enemies with words, and instead of growing our kingdom by conquering our neighbors, we remain a small land with untapped potential. We should rule this world, not just this small corner of it.”

“It is time to remove him from that throne and then we can rule. We are his brothers. We have as much right to it as he!”

“I agree,” said Baba Dogun. “But how?”

“Do you not know?” Baba Dòtá asked. “His most loyal followers are small in number. There are the guards who guard him each night while he sleeps. There are the servants in the castle who work for him. But beyond those, the people of this village care not who leads them. All they care about is that their larders are full of food and their children are safe and healthy. As for the rest of the army—if he were gone, his loyalists would follow us, no questions asked.” Dòtá reached into his dark robes and pulled out a flask. “I have some poison. It works slowly. We can poison his loyal guards and staff with their morning meal, and then, while our brother eats his own breakfast, he will see his people fall over, dead. He, too, will die not long after he eats. He will suffer first, watching his loyalists die, and then he will die. With him gone, we can take over the land.”

“Where did you get that?” asked Dogun. The flask was made of clear glass, and by the lamp’s light he could see the dark fluid, viscous and thick, swirling into itself.

“I got it from Arayé,” he said. “She told me that with this medicine I could destroy all who were loyal to Domá, and then the kingdom would be ours.”

“It’s so simple a plan,” said Dogun. “Almost too simple. Are you sure it will work?”

“Arayé is a powerful witch,” Dòtá said. “It will work.”

They slipped back inside the compound, making their way to the kitchen. As they were brothers to the king, no one challenged their entrance. The morning pots were already laid out for breakfast. A few drops of the poison went into each pan. “Just make sure you eat nothing this morning,” said Dòtá. “By the time they serve breakfast to our brother, as he is taking his first bites they will begin to die.” He smiled, and in the shadows it was a wicked sneer. “The kingdom is as good as ours.”

The next morning, Baba Domá was seated at the head of the dining room table, as he always was, and his brothers, Dòtá and Dogun, sat on either side. Normally refreshed, Domá couldn’t help but notice the dark circles under their eyes. “Did you sleep well, brothers?” he asked.

“Not so well,” said Dogun. “I had much on my mind. The safety of our kingdom, for example.”

“We have enemies everywhere,” said Dòtá. “Enemies who would stop at nothing to destroy us. In this world, it is kill or be killed.”

“Wisdom can overcome any adversity,” said Baba Domá. “That is why we prosper in a world filled with war and turmoil. We live in peace because we live with wisdom, and that is how it should be.”

A weary chambermaid shuffled to the table, bringing bowls and spoons. Instead of setting them gently on the table, she let them down hard. The bowl she sat in front of Domá cracked. “My lady, are you alright?” asked Domá. “You look fatigued.”

He motioned for a guard stationed by the door to come help her, but he saw that the guard’s eyes were half slits and he was rubbing his belly.

“I need to sit down, sir,” said the chambermaid. “I do not feel well. I have not felt well since breakfast this morning.” She barely made the chair, and her body slumped over the table. There was a great crash from the kitchen, and then the guard, who was moaning silently, fell over on the floor.

Baba Domá jumped up from the table. Fear slipped into his eyes; they were wide with terror. Dòtá and Dogun sat back, their arms crossed over their bodies. They watched Domá with smiles on their faces. “Poison!” he cried. “You have all been poisoned!”

“But not us,” said Baba Dòtá. “We were the ones with the poison.”

Domá ran from the room, cutting through his own kitchen where the bodies of his servants lay writhing on the floor. Some lay still while others convulsed. “Guards!” he heard his brothers yell from the next room. “Guards! Seize our brother before he escapes.”

Dogun looked at Dòtá and seethed, “The poison worked too quickly, or you used too much. Domá never took so much as one bite.”

“That stupid chambermaid,” he said, “she broke his bowl before he had a chance to even lift his spoon!”

Being the father of wisdom, Baba Domá, unbeknownst to his brothers, was prepared for emergencies inside his own walls. He dashed to the back of his palace and ripped a mat up from the floor. Beneath it was a trap door no one knew about, not even his brothers. It snapped open easily and he jumped inside, pulling it shut behind him. The door was reinforced with heavy iron beams, and on the inside was a latch and a lock. Years ago, without his brothers’ knowledge, he had had this secret passage built for emergencies. He locked it behind him and ran down the tunnel that would take him to freedom. It would take the guards hours to smash through the iron and find the tunnel. And when they did, Baba Domá would be long gone.

The tunnel ended at Baba Domá’s private stables, and there he mounted his horse. As quickly as he could, Baba Domá rode north, to Oshogbo, the land where his orisha, Oshún, lived. He rode all day and half the night before he stopped to rest, and then only briefly. By the next morning he was at Oshún’s home, and the orisha was surprised to see him.

“Baba Domá,” she said, touching his shoulder lightly while he put his head to the ground before her in obeisance, “what brings you here to my land?”

Exhausted and dirty as he was, Domá embraced her. And then he told her the story of his brothers’ treason.

“And you, the father of wisdom, the king of the land of Intelligence—why have you not used your own wisdom and intelligence to resolve this problem?” Oshún smiled. “Wisdom and intelligence overcome all adversity, Baba Domá. If I were coming to you for advice right now, what would be the first thing you would tell me to do?”

Domá sighed. “I would tell you to see the diviners.”

“And that is what I’m telling you to do now.”

Domá thanked her, and he sought out the wisest diviner he knew, Mofá.

Late at night, Arayé slipped into the land of Intelligence. No one saw her come; she was a shadow, as ethereal as a breeze slipping through the forest. Dòtá and Dogun were in the dining hall surrounded by their guards when she took form. She rose tall and mighty among them, almost a goddess among men. Wickedness flowed through the room, an ashé thicker than the air they breathed. It was stifling. It felt like chaos.

All the guards froze. Dòtá walked to her and tried to embrace her, but she stood back, her eyes dark and cold. “Do not touch me. You have failed me.”

“We have not failed you, Arayé. The kingdom is ours now.”

“But your brother lives.”

“He escaped through a secret tunnel,” said Dogun. “A tunnel we knew not existed. It was in the floor under a door reinforced by iron. It took us hours to break through, but we traced it to the stables. His favorite horse is missing, so we know he rides into the countryside. We have the army out in the woods looking for him even as we speak. Soon we will find him. Soon we will kill him.”

“He should have been dead already,” Arayé seethed. “As long as wisdom lives, I cannot reign supreme. I had my sights set on bigger things than just this tiny town.”

Dòtá froze. He thought he saw fire in Arayé’s eyes.

She gave a small flick of her wrists. The guards, who stood motionless, lifted their swords. “What are you doing?” said Dogun, alarmed when he saw his guards with their swords unsheathed.

“Put your swords down,” Dòtá commanded them. He, too, was alarmed. “Arayé is our benefactor.”

“No,” she said, “I am your queen. Guards, take these two brothers to the dungeon. I will decide what to do with them later.”

The guards took down the brothers easily, and with them kicking and screaming, they dragged them, by their hair, to the dungeon.

Arayé settled herself on the throne and crowned herself queen. With war and adversity locked up and under her control, there was still hope that she could rule the world.

Mofá was a simple man, preferring to live outside the bustling city to the north, where there were only thick forests and a fresh, running river close to his home. Fruit-bearing trees grew freely, and he knew every edible herb and berry that grew for miles around his home. He spent his days studying the wisdom of odu, and he devoted his time to learning medicine, the herbs that cured every ailment known to humans. When Baba Domá arrived by horseback both he and his steed were exhausted, and Mofá, being the best of hosts, offered both the king and his animal refreshment.

When they were settled he asked, “What troubles you, Domá? You are many days’ travel from your home.”

“My own brothers have stolen the kingdom,” he said, “and through their treachery they have murdered everyone in the palace who was loyal to me.”

“That is indeed a problem,” Mofá said, inviting Domá into his divining room. “But as always, there is something that can be done. As long as one is not in the grip of Ikú herself, there is always something that can be done to save a man.”

Mofá laid a mat on the floor and sat with his back against the wall. Carefully, he counted sixteen cowries from a red and black bag, putting five on a plate that sat beside his mat. He invited the king to sit on a low stool before him. Rapidly and indecipherably, with words that seemed to blur into one another, he chanted, and then he let the cowries roll out on the mat twice. Oché Metanlá was the odu that fell that day.

“Yes, you are the victim of greed,” Mofá said. “It was Arayé herself who made your brothers rise up against you. And Arayé has won. No longer is your kingdom known as the land of Intelligence. Soon everyone in the world will know it as the land of Adversity and War, and its new queen is Arayé herself. You can never reclaim it. But there is another land to which you must go, a land in which you will be well received and do much good. It is to the land of Elegguá that you must travel, and Elegguá himself will keep you safe from all harm.”

“My kingdom? It is gone? Forever?” Baba Domá was not one to cry, at least not since he was a child, but there at the mat his tears came freely. His family had ruled the land of Intelligence for centuries; they were descendants of the mighty Odua himself. In one act of treachery the entire kingdom had been lost. The tears that came at the mat were hot, burning his eyes with their salt. “But my people—I love them! I devoted my life to making that land prosperous!”

“Humans are notoriously ungrateful for the good we do, Domá. You devoted your life to them and gave them prosperity. You gave them leisure. And now your reign there is over. But in this new land to which you will go you will be received again as a king. Instead of having enemies at your side, you will have Elegguá with you. Elegguá himself is a king, but once you arrive with your limitless wisdom he will accept you as his equal, and together the two of you will rule more than a kingdom—you will rule the world.”

Domá put his head on the mat to the old diviner, Mofá. It was an act of obeisance, an acknowledgment that the diviner’s wisdom through odu was greater than his own worldly wisdom. Gently, Mofá touched his shoulders and blessed him. The king stood and then helped Mofá to rise, for age had made his legs weak. Still standing on the mat, the two men embraced.

“Don’t worry so much, Domá,” said Mofá. “Things might seem dark now, but there are greater forces in the world than the osogbo Arayé. She might be all things seductive and wicked, but the orishas have ashé greater than hers. And your destiny lies beyond that tiny kingdom. Wisdom will swathe the world, and the misfortunes of life will pale in comparison with your ashé. You will see. Odu never leads us astray.”

With reddened eyes, Domá mounted his horse. Thankfully, it seemed that his steed knew the way to Elegguá’s kingdom, and he was just along for the ride.

Arayé wanted to leave nothing to chance. She, too, mounted a horse and raced through the countryside, a mad specter bringing fright to all who saw her. She was a terror in the day and a nightmare at night, but no matter how hard or fast she rode she could not find Baba Domá.

The world was trembling beneath Baba Domá’s feet when he arrived at Elegguá’s palace. Elegguá was outside his front door, alone, when he slid off his mount.

“The world trembles, Baba Domá,” he said, “for at this very moment Arayé rides through the world like an angry beast looking for you. And your kingdom, the land of Intelligence, has fallen into disarray. How did this happen?”

Domá offered no words; instead, he prostrated himself on the ground, putting his head at Elegguá’s feet. Smiling, the orisha blessed him and lifted him. The two embraced, and Domá felt strength flowing into him from the orisha.

Finally, he spoke. “My brothers—they betrayed me. They betrayed me to Arayé, and poisoned my most trusted servants and guards. I escaped with my life, but barely. I went to Oshún for help, but my own orisha turned me away and sent me to the diviner, Mofá. Mofá read for me, and told me to seek refuge here.” Again the tears came, and this time they came more freely. “My family has ruled the land of Intelligence for centuries with peace and wisdom, and my younger brothers, they betrayed me to an osogbo.” He could say no more; in shame, he turned away from Elegguá.

“Osogbo is seductive, Domá,” said Elegguá. “Arayé herself is the senior of them all, and most find her wickedness beautiful and desirable. She is a very seductive creature.” Elegguá crossed his arms over his chest. “Don’t be so sad. Arayé cannot be trusted. Just as she deceived your brothers into betraying you, so she has betrayed them. They don’t rule in your place. She does. The land of Intelligence has become the land of Adversity and War; your brothers are in prison, and soon Ofo and Iñá will come to rule by Arayé’s side.”

And that is the story of how Wisdom came to rule at Elegguá’s side. And, of course, we know that Elegguá’s kingdom is the world itself. It became his kingdom because with Domá (Wisdom) in his spiritual court, there was no wisdom not at his disposal. Herein lies a great secret, the reason why Arayé is unable to outright destroy anyone who comes to Elegguá for help or advice. Wisdom itself cannot be an effective ruler, for a good king has not only wisdom at his disposal, but also strength and ashé to make all things possible in life. Elegguá benefited from the wisdom he gained that day, and Arayé, no matter how hard she tries, cannot remove wisdom from the world as long as Elegguá owns and protects it.

And what happened to the land of Adversity and War, the kingdom once known as the land of Intelligence? Adversity invites many enemies, and war itself cannot be sustained forever. In time, the kingdom crumbled. Baba Dogun and Baba Dòtá were forgotten in the dungeon; they died because no one wanted to feed war and adversity, and the osogbos Arayé, Ofo, and Iñá were forced to wander the world, never again having a place of their own to call home. Such is what happens when greed is the core of one’s character.