Chapter 4: Roots of Sacrifice
Mumbo sat on a rock at the edge of his father's land, staring out at the barren fields stretching before him. The same soil that had fed generations now lay idle, cracked under the weight of drought and neglect. His father's pride had refused to sell even a square foot of it, no matter how high the offers climbed.
"This land is our legacy," his father often said, standing tall even when he had nothing to show for it. "What's wealth if you lose your roots?"
Mumbo knew the story well. His great-grandfather had been a wealthy man, owning vast tracts of land in the region. When he passed, the land was divided among his sons, each inheriting a portion to make their own way. Competition soon grew as the brothers began to compare crops, livestock, and wealth. Rivalries deepened when portions were further divided among their children, leading to a patchwork of family-owned plots, each jealously guarded.
Mumbo's father had received the smallest share and the least fertile land. Unable to afford the tools or labor to farm it properly, he had fallen far behind his wealthier cousins, who now boasted thriving farms and fancy homes. They looked down on Mumbo's family, mocking their poverty and questioning his father's stubborn refusal to sell the "useless" land.
The humiliation had always lingered in Mumbo's mind. He had grown up watching his father endure the sneers and whispers at family gatherings, his head held high despite the scorn. It wasn't lost on him that his own failures had deepened the family's struggles.
But now, for the first time, Mumbo had the power to change everything. The money sitting in his account was a lifeline, but it came with complications. The moment anyone discovered the truth that it came from writing stories about his sad, failed life. They would judge him. They'd call it luck or mock him for making a living off misery.
No. He couldn't let them know. Not yet.
That evening, as the family gathered for tea, Mumbo cleared his throat. "Baba, I've been thinking about the land."
His father looked up, his weathered face wary. "What about it?"
"I… I came into some money recently. I want to help. We can start farming again. Invest in seeds, equipment, maybe even hire workers."
His father frowned. "Money? Where did you get money?"
Mumbo hesitated, the lie forming on his tongue. "A friend from the city. He owed me for helping him with some work a while back. He finally paid me back."
His mother beamed, relief washing over her face. "Oh, Mumbo! That's wonderful."
His father, though less enthusiastic, nodded. "If you're serious about helping, then yes, let's use it wisely. But remember, this land is sacred. It's not just dirt—it's our bloodline."
Mumbo smiled, but guilt gnawed at him. His father had sacrificed everything for him, even risking the land itself to fund his education. Yet here he was, hiding the truth about the money that could save them.
The next day, Mumbo used a portion of the funds to pay off a significant part of the loan. He kept it quiet, telling his parents that a local benefactor had stepped in to help. The rest he poured into farming, buying high-quality seeds, fertilizers, and modern tools.
Soon, the barren fields began to transform. Workers tilled the soil, and rows of green shoots sprouted where there had once been only dust. Mumbo's father was hesitant at first, but as the crops began to flourish, a spark returned to his eyes. For the first time in years, there was hope.
But not everyone was pleased. Mumbo's cousins, who had always looked down on his family, began to take notice.
"Where did they get the money?" one of them muttered at a family gathering.
"Probably borrowed it again," sneered another.
The rivalry between the extended family had never been just about wealth. It was about power and pride. The idea of Mumbo's family rising from their ashes was unthinkable to them.
As whispers spread, Mumbo felt the pressure mounting. The lies were piling up, and the truth felt like a ticking time bomb. Yet, he couldn't stop.
Back in the city, his writing career was flourishing. Fans bombarded him with messages, begging for new chapters. Publishers sent him emails offering lucrative deals to turn his online series into a full-length novel.
"Mumbo," one publisher wrote, "your story is captivating millions. People see themselves in you. They want more."
But Mumbo was paralyzed. How could he write more about his struggles when his life was shifting so drastically? He felt like a fraud, cashing in on a misery he no longer fully inhabited.
One evening, after a long day in the fields, he sat in his room and opened his laptop. The blank screen stared back at him, a mirror of his own conflicted soul.
"I can't do this anymore," he muttered. But then he thought of his fans, the people who had supported him, who had found solace in his words.
Taking a deep breath, he began to type. This time, he wrote not just about his struggles but about his family's history;the land, the sacrifices, the rivalries. He poured his soul into the story, blending truth and fiction into something that felt raw and real.
When he hit publish, he felt a strange sense of relief. For better or worse, the story was out there now.
As the days passed, the comments began pouring in. Fans called it his best work yet, praising the depth and emotion of the new chapter. The publishers reached out again, offering even more money for the rights to his work.
But Mumbo couldn't celebrate. The weight of his lies and the growing tension with his family overshadowed everything.
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Mumbo stood at the edge of the fields, watching the crops sway in the breeze. His father joined him, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"You've done good, son," his father said quietly. "I don't know how, but you've given us a chance. Don't lose sight of what's important."
Mumbo nodded, the guilt tightening in his chest.
As the first stars appeared in the sky, Mumbo realized he was standing at a crossroads. He had saved the land, but at what cost?