In the palace of King Ikem, something strange began to stir.
The king who once filled the great hall with his voiceβalways speaking of war, wisdom, and wealthβno longer carried himself like the man the people knew.
His mind seemed lost.
His eyes wandered.
He no longer listened to the words of his council, nor did he respond to the Queen when she called him to the royal bed.
His gaze, sharp as an eagle once, had turned soft and restless, fixed on one thing alone.
Not the throne.
Not his mountains of gold.
Not the affairs of the kingdom.
It was now fixed on the form of Princess Oluebube, his own daughter.
At first, Queen Adaobi dismissed it as a careless glance, the kind a father might cast without meaning.
But soon, it grew into something else.
During the royal dances, whenever the princess stepped gracefully across the marble floor, the king would shift uneasily in his throne as though the chair itself had grown hot.
At every feast, while musicians played and nobles laughed, his eyes would fall shamelessly toward her back, clinging to her movements like a goat tied to ripe cassava.
The queenβs heart tightened when she saw it.
Worse still, the king began instructing the palace tailor to fashion tighter wrappers for the princess.
βLet her steps shine more,β he said.
βLet her beauty be known.β
The whispers began among the servants.
The palace maids exchanged glances, the guards shook their heads.
The queen heard them, though they spoke in hushed tones.
And in her heart, anger grew like a storm refusing to be silenced.
One night, when the king lay on the royal bed pretending to sleep, Adaobi rose from her side of the chamber.
She stood over him, her chest heaving.
βSo this is what I have become? Invisible in my own palace? A queen reduced to air? You look at me and see nothing, but at herβ¦ at her, your eyes cannot rest.
β Her voice shook the walls.
The king tried to remain still, but Adaobi pressed harder.
βWhat is so special that you cannot close your eyes? Tell me!β
Slowly, as if dragged by unseen chains, the king sat up.
His eyes, half shadowed by the torchlight, glinted.
βIt is not her fault,β he said coldly.
βShe was blessed by the godsβ¦ unlike you.
β
The words sliced through Adaobiβs chest.
She stood frozen, staring at the man she once loved, the man she bore children for, now comparing her to her own daughter.
That was the moment her anger turned into fire.
Before dawn, Adaobi left the palace without a word to anyone.
She journeyed far beyond the hills and rivers, deep into the mountains where people said no sane person should go.
She went in search of the woman they all feared: Mama Ukwu.
The stories of Mama Ukwu were endless.
Some said she could make yam grow the size of a manβs head overnight.
Others said she could stretch a nose until it touched the ground.
And still others whispered that she could make the Nyansh of women swell until even mountains would envy it.
When Adaobi finally found her, the old woman laughed as if she had been expecting her.
βAh, the Queen herself,β Mama Ukwu said.
βYou want to fight your own daughter in a battle of Nyansh.
Do you even know the price?β
Adaobiβs voice was steady though her heart trembled.
βI am the Queen.
My husbandβs eyes will not stray.
I must win him back.
Do it, no matter the cost.β
Mama Ukwu shook her head but wasted no time.
She poured a thick, black paste into her palms, a mixture that smelled of fire and earth.
βLie down,β she commanded.
Adaobi obeyed.
When the substance touched her skin, it burned like molten iron.
The Queen screamed, her cries echoing through the mountain caves, but she refused to move.
Sweat poured down her body.
Her nails dug into the dirt.
When it was over, she stood, trembling.
She looked behind her and gasped.
Her Nyansh had doubled in size, heavy and full.
βGo home,β Mama Ukwu said.
βBut donβt say I did not warn you.β
When Adaobi returned to the palace, the courtyard erupted.
Guards nearly dropped their spears.
Palace maids whispered and giggled, covering their mouths.
Even the king, seated in his hall, coughed loudly and adjusted his robe, his eyes wide as though he had seen an apparition.
Adaobi smiled proudly.
She had come back transformed.
That night, she stormed into the kingβs chamber without knocking.
The torches flickered against the walls as she turned slowly, showing him the heavy weight behind her.
βDo you miss me now?β she asked.
King Ikem sat bolt upright, his jaw slack.
βWho gave you this burden?β
The Queen laughed.
βIf our daughterβs beauty distracted you, mine will bring you back to your senses.
β
For a time, it worked.
The king forgot the princess.
He followed Adaobi everywhere like a goat following fresh yam leaves.
She walked slowly on purpose, swaying left and right, making him suffer.
The Queen was triumphant, and she relished every moment.
But then came the curse.
Slowly at first, then quickly, her Nyansh began to grow.
It grew past what Mama Ukwu had given her.
It grew until sitting became impossible.
She could not wear her royal wrapper.
She could only eat while leaning against the wall, only sleep flat on her stomach.
The whispers spread again through the palace, louder this time.
βIs that the Queen, or has the mountain moved into the palace?β
The king grew fearful.
He ordered the guards not to look directly at her.
He stopped touching her.
Even Princess Oluebube, once the object of his obsession, looked at her mother with pity.
βMama,β she asked softly, βwhat have you done to yourself?β
Then came the day of collapse.
Early one morning, a scream shook the palace.
The Queen had fallen in the courtyard.
Her Nyansh, now heavy like a boulder, had dragged her down.
She could not rise.
She wept in pain, her body trembling, her pride broken.
The king sent for healers from every corner of the land.
They brought herbs, they sang chants, they made sacrifices to the gods.
But nothing worked.
Nothing could stop the growth.
And in the silence of her suffering, Adaobi remembered Mama Ukwuβs words, echoing like thunder in her mind: βDo not say I did not warn you.
The mountain always takes back what it gives.β
