A Voyage Through Traditions: The oracle’s unspoken warning

Take This.
The old woman stretched out her right hand, fingers curled into a tight fist. Bagyina hesitated, but the woman wasted no time—she seized Bagyina’s hand, pressed something into her palm, and curled her fingers tightly around it.

A task of secrecy
Then, locking eyes with her, the oracle’s gaze deepened, as if piercing through layers of flesh and bone to see the soul beneath. Her voice, low and firm, carried the weight of an unspoken warning.
“The child will be brought here for the naming ceremony in a few weeks,” she said. “I want you to find a private moment with her—just a moment—and put this around her neck.”

The marked shell
Bagyina slowly uncurled her fingers. Resting in her palm was a pure white cowry shell, unlike any she had ever seen before. Strange, intricate markings adorned its surface, symbols unfamiliar to her yet pulsing with an energy that made the hairs on her arms rise.
She swallowed. “What is—”

The prayer of protection
“Now,” the oracle interrupted, her voice brooking no delay, “recite the prayer of protection I taught you when you first came here. It will shield her from evil eyes.”
A shiver ran down Bagyina’s spine. She knew the prayer well—had spoken it in solitude, had whispered it over bowls of sacred water, had traced its meaning into the dust with trembling fingers. But never before had she been tasked with using it in this way.

A forbidden act
“As soon as you finish the prayer,” the oracle continued, her voice taking on a solemn edge, “remove the necklace. Keep it hidden, keep it safe. I will tell you what to do with it later.”
She leaned in, the scent of earth and ancient herbs thick around her. “But I warn you, child—no one must see you. Not even her mother.”

The weight of destiny
The weight of the command settled over Bagyina like a heavy cloak. She clutched the cowry, feeling its cool, smooth surface against her palm.
The rain outside had stilled, leaving behind an eerie silence. Somewhere in the distance, a single night bird let out a mournful cry.
Bagyina took a slow breath. She had so many questions—Why this child? I thought I had already done everything the gods had asked of me.
What did the symbols mean? What would happen if someone saw? But she knew better than to ask.
The oracle’s words were never idle, and her warnings were never without reason.
So instead, she nodded. “I understand.”

A final warning
The old woman studied her for a long moment, then gave a single, satisfied nod. “Good.”
She turned away, disappearing into the shadows of the dimly lit hut, leaving Bagyina standing alone, the weight of destiny resting in the small, white shell in her palm.