Waru

It’s a warm sunny day. Waru sits by the billabong, his usual spot, pensive, dipping his toes in the water, surveying the surrounds with a sadness rather alien to his typical pep.  Jolly, his pet cockatoo, scrapes the ground nearby, clucking with pleasure whenever he finds a delicious new root.

There’s a swish in the grass. Jolly jumps in alarm, squawks loudly and flies to perch on Waru’s shoulder. It is Badjahr the snake slithering to the water edge for his morning drink. His long, sleek and graceful body looks up at Waru.

How you doing today, dear Waru? I see you are sad. He flicks his long, forked tongue inquiringly. His senses tell him Waru is depressed.

Waru deeply loves the billabong and its surrounds - its calming, silvery waters; its swampy surrounds; the swaying reeds which welcome the waterbirds; the sweet smelling acacias guarding its rim; the mighty red gums whose branches lean over protectively to kiss its waters.

Waru has grown up here, in the Aboriginal township a stone’s throw away.  All the local animals and birds who come daily for their drink of water are his friends and companions. Each morning he catches up with Badjahr, Bunjil the eagle, Luurn the kingfisher, ginibi the black swan, mahr the duck and the rest.  The animals and birds love this 12 year old human and his gentle mother, Kilwarra. Waru has grown up with them, playing each day alongside the billabong, talking with them, exchanging animal gossip. He and his mother are the only humans who understand what they say and whom in turn they understand. The billabong is their joy and home. 

What’s the matter, Waru? asks Badjahr.

We are going to lose the billabong soon, says Waru.

What do you mean ‘lose’? asks Badjahr indignantly. This is our land and billabong, Waru. Nobody can take it away.

Waru sighs. I’m afraid, Badjahr, they will. And soon. This is the way of the city humans. They want to cut the trees, fill the swamp, and build big buildings around the billabong. Then people from the city will visit, pay money and enjoy our water.

Badjahr rears his head. He stands stock still, and flicks his tongue in and out at speed, a sign he is upset.

I will not allow it, Waru. This billabong belongs to you and me and all our other friends. Other  humans are welcome to come and enjoy it. But they must not destroy it.  They have their own towns and cities. Why must they come here to disturb us, our peace, our lives?

….

In the distance the whirr of an engine gradually approaches, drowning out nature’s sounds. Badjahr slithers hurriedly away, diving deep into the bushes. A screech of tires, the opening and shutting of car doors, the tramping of feet and human voices approach the billabong.

Jolly squawks and Waru looks up to see three people approaching the billabong. Mr Jones, in board shorts, is in the lead. Waru knows him as the real estate broker and developer from Abbottsford, about 25 kms from their Aboriginal hamlet. He sometimes passes through the hamlet on his way to other towns.

This is what you call sublime, he says in a triumphant voice as he gestures to the billabong.

Mmmm, says the young, fair lady. It does look charming darling, she says addressing the man with her. He’s a fat, profusely perspiring and middle aged. They step gingerly among the weeds at the billabong’s edge and check out the scene.

Who’s the little boy sitting at the water’s edge? She asks.

Oh, that’s the little abo urchin from the hamlet close by. Just ignore him. He’s usually out and about here. Look, this land has just come on the market. It’s a fantastic investment opportunity for the kind of resort you want to build in the outback wilderness.

My worry, says the fat man, is that the Aboriginals in this area continue to claim this as ancestral land, but you insist it’s freehold.

Absolutely. It is government land. There is no other legal claim on it. It’s an attractive proposition – just 25 kms from Abbotsford. Your resort would provide unique access to this peaceful wilderness.

Waru walks up to the group who now look at him warily.

This land belongs to the Aboriginals and all the animals and birds here, Mr Jones. You have no right to take away our heritage. Waru is surprised at his own courage. He usually shies away from humans. He prefers his animal friends.

Mr Jones goes red in the face. You little abo runt. Get the fuck out of here. You should be in school, he declares.

Waru stands astride and defiant. He looks the visitors in the eye. If you try to take our land, we will fight for it. But his voice quivers, giving lie to the courage he tries to demonstrate.

Mr Jones has had enough. He strides forward, grabs Waru by the ear, and shoves him towards hamlet. Get your bum out of here. You abos are a bloody nuisance.

Waru cries out in pain. Badjahr please help, he cries.

Suddenly, a swish of grass, and Badjahr slithers into view. He is majestic, almost half upright, eyes flashing, tongue flicking in and out, hissing his hostility. Badjahr does not understand what these humans are saying. But he smells their evil intentions, their animosity to Waru, and Waru’s distress. The man in board shorts appears to be their leader. In a flash Badjahr slides up, strikes his exposed calf with a deep bite and then moves to attack the others.

Mr Jones screams in pain and fear. Jolly squawks in support.  Waru is astonished at Badjahr’s aggressiveness.  He has never before had occasion to call on Badjahr for help like this.

Don’t Badjahr, shouts Waru. Let the others be, please.

Badjahr stops mid strike. Waiting.

Please Badjahr. That’s enough. You may kill them.

They deserve to die, Waru.

Let them be now, insists Waru. Perhaps they will leave us in peace.

The snake looks at Waru, then reluctantly, gradually backs away and disappears into the grass.

Mr Jones is on the ground, crying out in pain, pleading for help. The fat man and the fair lady cringe in the background, panicked, mortally afraid the snake may reappear.

Waru takes command. Lie flat, Mr Jones, he orders. Do not move.  Waru quickly moves into the weeds, pulls up a handful, and tightly wraps Mr Jones’ thigh above the bite in a tight tourniquet.

This is not enough. I will run and bring my mum. But you must not move. She is a nurse and keeps antivenom and bandages. But before I go I need you to promise me one thing.

Gawd! What the bloody hell is it? Hurry up and get your mum. I am short of time. I may not survive to reach the hospital if I don’t get help now.

Will you promise never to try and sell this billabong again? If you don’t agree, I will leave you with the fat man and the lady and you can find your way.

No! No! Please. Yes I agree.

I take you at your word, Mr Jones. I will get my mum.

But what about the snake? pleads the fat man, still cringing with fear.

He will not bother you. Waru turns, and calls loudly into the bush – please Badjahr. For my sake do not attack these people. I think you have convinced them to leave us alone. They will not return.

All three of them are taken aback.

What language is that? Were you actually speaking to the snake? Does he really understand you?

Yes. He does. I am the king of the billabong. The snake protects me and the billabong. But you come to destroy it. He was simply defending it. If you come here again, I will call up not just Badjahr, but all of his family to defend the billabong

The three shiver. Mr Jones screams again - Did you not hear me. I promise not to sell this land, never to come here again. Now get your mother and that damn antivenom you little runt.

I will as soon as you say ‘please, my dear Waru’, responds Waru with a sweet smile.  

Please, my dear  Waru. And yes, I promise. You can keep your damn billabong. I have many more places to develop. Now get your mum?

….

Kilwarra arrives with Waru, breathless, and immediately sets about addressing the bite. She is an experienced nurse and the medical support of the hamlet. Mr Jones’ whole limb is soon wrapped tight in bandages. The antivenom is injected. She sends them off then to the Abbotsford hospital with the injunction - please do not come back here again. The snake remembers.

Yes. I can assure you we will not be back, says the fat man. Mr Jones looks exhausted and defeated.

KIlwarra looks down at Waru proudly and hugs him. Badjahr, she calls towards the grass. The snake emerges and slithers to Kilwarra’s feet. Thank you for defending the billabong, Badjahr. But can we in future tone down the aggression, please, she begs. Badjahr looks at her, then at Waru, bows and glides down to the water to take his well-earned sip of water.