The Folktale of the Lying Circles
The Tale of the Lying Circles
Long ago, in a vibrant African village nestled among rolling hills and whispering baobab trees, there lived a clever weaver named Kalifu. Kalifu was renowned for his intricate tapestries, each telling stories of the ancestors through patterns of circles within circles within circles, sometimes partially encased in one another, woven with threads of gold, indigo, and crimson. His designs were so mesmerizing that people traveled from distant lands to marvel at them, believing they held the wisdom of the ages.
One day, a greedy merchant named Tetro arrived in the village, his eyes glinting with ambition. He sought Kalifu’s most magnificent tapestry, one said to contain ten layers of circles within circles, each partially encased in the next, a pattern so complex it was rumored to hold the secrets of truth itself. Tetro wanted it not for its beauty, but to sell it for a fortune in the great city beyond the hills.
“Kalifu,” Tetro said, flashing a sly smile, “I will pay you handsomely for your finest work. But I must have it by tomorrow’s dawn, or I’ll tell the village you’ve lost your skill and weave only lies.”
Kalifu, though wise, was prideful. He knew the tapestry Tetro demanded would take weeks to complete, for the pattern of ten nested circles, each partially encased, required perfect precision. Yet, fearing Tetro’s threat would tarnish his name, Kalifu agreed. “By dawn, you shall have it,” he declared.
That night, under the watchful gaze of the moon, Kalifu sat at his loom, his fingers trembling. He tried to weave the sacred pattern, but the threads tangled, and the circles refused to align. Time slipped away, and desperation crept in. In a moment of weakness, Kalifu decided to lie. He wove a simpler tapestry, with only three layers of circles, hastily stitched to mimic the fabled ten. To mask his deception, he adorned it with dazzling beads and shimmering threads, hoping its beauty would blind Tetro to the truth.
At dawn, Tetro arrived. His eyes widened at the tapestry’s splendor. “Magnificent!” he exclaimed, snatching it up without inspecting the pattern closely. He paid Kalifu a sack of gold and hurried off toward the city, eager to sell his prize.
But the tapestry, born of a lie, carried a restless spirit. As Tetro traveled, the threads began to hum, a soft, eerie song that grew louder with each step. By the time he reached the city’s market, the tapestry glowed faintly, and the circles seemed to shift, as if alive. The city’s wise woman, Mama Zawadi, approached, her eyes narrowing. She traced the pattern with her fingers and gasped. “This is no sacred design,” she said. “The circles are incomplete, a lie woven into the threads. Only ten nested circles, partially encased, hold the truth’s power. This is a falsehood, and it will unravel.”
As she spoke, the tapestry’s threads began to fray. The beads fell like rain, and the circles collapsed into a chaotic tangle. The market crowd gasped, and Tetro’s face burned with shame. “Kalifu deceived me!” he cried, but Mama Zawadi shook her head. “You sought to profit from another’s work without understanding its truth. The lie began with your greed, and Kalifu’s pride completed it.”
Word of the unraveling tapestry spread back to the village. Kalifu, hearing of the disaster, fell to his knees, ashamed. He sought the village elder, Baba Tembo, and confessed his lie. Baba Tembo, wise and kind, placed a hand on Kalifu’s shoulder. “The pattern of circles within circles teaches us that truth is layered, each truth holding another within it. A lie, even one hidden in beauty, cannot hold, for it lacks the strength of harmony.”
Kalifu vowed to make amends. For ten moons, he wove the true tapestry, each circle carefully placed, partially encased in the next, layer upon layer, until the tenth was complete. He worked with humility, seeking guidance from the ancestors and the village’s weavers. When finished, the tapestry shimmered with a gentle light, its pattern a testament to truth’s enduring power.
Kalifu gifted the tapestry to the village, hanging it in the communal hall for all to see. It became a reminder that lies, like poorly woven threads, unravel under scrutiny, while truth, like circles within circles, holds strong, each layer supporting the next. And so, the village prospered, bound by the wisdom of the pattern, and Kalifu wove no more lies.
Moral: Lies may dazzle for a moment, but only truth, layered and harmonious like circles within circles, endures the test of time.
