There they told the chief that they had been attacked by a large gang of robbers, who had taken the oxen, the cows, all the food, the presents, and even the princess Soyane with them, while they, the ox drivers, barely escaped after putting up a heroic but hopeless resistance against an overpowering enemy.

Meanwhile, Prince Masilo returned to where he had left Soyane, his bride, with all the oxen, the presents, the food, and the luggage. Not a trace remained of anything—except for one thing: Blood had soaked the grass where the oxen and Soyane had been eaten by the helotomies. Above Masilo’s head, in a tree, a bird sang beautifully. But he paid no attention to it, even though Manyope had warned him: “Do listen carefully to what the birds sing!” He only had regard for his despair.

Back in her new house, Manyope was brought to grief, for Soyane’s cup cracked and her blanket fell into rags. She knew that disaster had struck, but where? Manyope wept sad tears in despair: “Now the child the pigeons gave me has died!” But the story has not ended yet. Oh, no, it goes on … She forgot that her daughter was born from birds’ magic: She could fly.

Now Prince Masilo had a sister with a limp; hence her name, Pechakana. Following Basotho custom, she had returned to her father’s village as the time for her first baby approached. One day, when all the men had gone hunting and all the women were out in the fields hoeing and harvesting, Pechakana was resting in her hut with her newborn child. Suddenly there descended upon the village a flock of birds (presumably turtledoves, though the story does not say so). The birds chopped wood and piled it neatly up near Pechakana’s hut. She strewed millet for them, which they picked up avidly, all except one bird. It just watched the others sadly. Pechakana said to herself, “How beautiful that bird is! As pretty as Masilo said his bride was!” The birds flew up and disappeared as suddenly as they had arrived.

The next day, they returned and ground millet for Pechakana. That work done, they all flocked into her hut to admire her baby. The sad bird caressed the baby with her soft dove’s head. Then, once again, up and away they flew as rapidly as they had come. The next day and for many days after, they returned, fetching water and sweeping the floor for Pechakana. They even soaked the millet and brewed yoala, the national beer of Lesotho. Every night Masilo’s mother, Ma-Masilo, wondered who had done all that work; to each question, her daughter Pechakana answered, “I did.”