Mwari’s Sacred Mountain
Reading time: 7 min
About this story: Mwari’s Sacred Mountain is a Myth from Zimbabwe set in the Ancient. This Descriptive tale explores themes of Wisdom and is suitable for All Ages. It offers Cultural insights. A young woman embarks on a journey to Zimbabwe’s sacred mountain, seeking wisdom, truth, and destiny.
In the heart of Zimbabwe, where the land hums with the whispers of spirits and ancestors walk among the living, there exists a mountain untouched by time. Dzivaguru, the sacred mountain of Mwari, is a place where the divine and mortal worlds meet, where wisdom is granted to those who are worthy, and where the unworthy are swallowed by the mist, never to be seen again.
For generations, the elders of Chivi village told stories of those who sought the mountain’s secrets—heroes, seekers, and fools alike. Some returned bearing gifts of wisdom and power, while others vanished, leaving behind only their names, whispered in fear.
Tariro had grown up hearing these tales, never imagining that one day, she too would be called. But the ancestors had plans for her—plans greater than she could ever comprehend.
This is her story.
The Prophecy of the Elders
The night sky stretched wide above the village, a vast canvas painted with stars. The people of Chivi gathered around a roaring fire, their faces illuminated by flickering light. Tonight was no ordinary night—tonight, the elders spoke of the sacred mountain.
Sekuru Mukanya, the oldest of the elders, stood at the center, leaning on his carved wooden staff. His voice, weathered by time, carried the weight of stories passed down through generations.
“It has been many years since the last chosen one made the journey to Dzivaguru,” he began. “But the spirits stir once more.”
A hush fell over the villagers.
“There is one among us,” he continued, his gaze sweeping across the faces in the crowd, “whose destiny is tied to the mountain. One who has been marked by the ancestors.”
Tariro felt her grandmother’s hand tighten around hers. Her pulse quickened.
“The signs have been clear,” Mukanya continued. “The moon’s halo, the cries of the night birds, the shifting of the winds. The ancestors have spoken.”
Then, his gaze settled on her.
“Tariro.”
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. Tariro’s breath caught in her throat.
“You are the one.”
The Calling of the Spirits
Tariro couldn’t sleep that night. The village had fallen into silence, but in her mind, Mukanya’s words echoed like a drumbeat.
The one.
She rose quietly, stepping outside. The air was cool, tinged with the scent of damp earth. Above her, the full moon cast a silver glow over the landscape.
Then, she heard it.
A voice—not human, not entirely spirit—calling her name.
“Tariro…”
She turned, her heart hammering. The wind rustled through the trees, and in its whispers, she heard it again.
“Tariro… Come.”
She knew then that this was real. The mountain was calling her.
At dawn, she prepared to leave. Her grandmother pressed a small bundle into her hands. “Inside, you will find all that you need,” she said. Her voice was steady, but her eyes shone with unshed tears.
Tariro unwrapped the cloth. Dried herbs for protection. A gourd of sacred water. And a carved wooden token—an heirloom passed down through her family for generations.
She clutched it tightly. “I will return.”
Her grandmother smiled, but Tariro could see the worry etched into her face.
“Follow the wind,” she whispered.
And with that, Tariro set out towards the sacred mountain.
The Journey Begins
The path was long, winding through thick forests and across roaring rivers. Each step brought her closer to the unknown, but she walked with purpose, her grandmother’s words guiding her.
Days passed. The mountain loomed closer, its peak shrouded in mist.
One evening, as she rested beneath an ancient baobab tree, she heard footsteps in the underbrush. She reached for the small knife at her waist.
A figure emerged—a man, cloaked in the hide of a leopard. His eyes, dark and knowing, studied her.
“You walk towards Dzivaguru,” he said.
Tariro nodded, gripping her knife tighter.
The man chuckled. “Put that away, child. I am not your enemy.”
“Who are you?” she asked.
He knelt beside the fire she had built. “A traveler, like you.”
His presence unsettled her, yet there was something familiar about him—something ancient.
“Be careful, Tariro,” he murmured. “The mountain does not welcome all who seek it.”
Then, as quickly as he had appeared, he was gone.
The Guardian of the Gate
The base of the mountain was marked by an archway of towering stones, their surfaces covered in ancient carvings. Beyond them, a narrow path twisted upward into the mist.
As Tariro stepped forward, a deep rumbling filled the air.
A figure emerged from the rock—a massive guardian with eyes like burning coals.
“Who seeks passage?” it demanded.
Tariro swallowed hard. “I am Tariro, daughter of the land. I seek the wisdom of Mwari.”
The guardian’s gaze bore into her. “Then answer my riddle, or turn back.”
It spoke:
“I have rivers but no water,
Forests but no trees,
Cities but no people.
What am I?”
Tariro’s mind raced. She repeated the words, turning them over in her thoughts.
Then, she knew.
“A map,” she said.
The guardian’s eyes dimmed. The earth trembled as the stone figure stepped aside, revealing the path beyond.
She had passed the first test.
The Cave of Ancestors
The path led into a cavern, its walls glowing with faint blue light. At the center, a circle of spirits shimmered.
A woman stepped forward, her face eerily familiar.
“Tariro,” she said. “Do you know your heart?”
Tariro hesitated. “I… I do not know.”
The spirit woman nodded. “Then you must choose.”
Two paths appeared—one bathed in golden light, the other in darkness.
“The path of light leads to wisdom, but you must sacrifice something dear,” the spirit said. “The path of darkness leads to power, but you will lose yourself.”
Tariro thought of her people. She wanted wisdom, not power.
“I choose the path of light.”
The spirits smiled, and the golden path opened before her.
She stepped forward.
Mwari’s Gift
At the mountain’s peak stood a great tree—a baobab with golden leaves.
From its roots, a figure emerged. A presence so vast, so powerful, that the very air trembled.
Mwari.
His voice filled the world. “You have proven yourself, child of the land.”
Tariro knelt.
“You sought wisdom, and wisdom you shall have.”
A vision filled her mind—of her people, their struggles, their strength. She saw the past, the future, the truths hidden beneath the surface.
When she awoke, the sacred mountain was silent once more.
In her hand lay a single golden leaf—the sign of Mwari’s blessing.
The Return of the Chosen One
Tariro descended the mountain, her heart forever changed.
When she returned to her village, the people gathered, sensing something had shifted.
Sekuru Mukanya stepped forward. “You have seen Mwari?”
Tariro nodded. “And I bring his message.”
She spoke of the vision—their land, their future, their unity.
The village rejoiced. Tariro had returned not just as a seeker, but as a leader.
Under the moon’s watchful eye, Chivi celebrated the return of the chosen one—the one who had climbed Mwari’s Sacred Mountain and lived to tell the tale.
