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  ering humans masquerading as animals and revealing their true nature, and

  turning them into Shilluk clans.

  The latter is actually a curious element in the story. Godfrey Lienhardt

  (1952) insisted that, unlike Nuer or Dinka heroes, who, as ancestors, created

  their people as the fruit of their loins, Nyikang creates the Shilluk as an “intel-

  lectual” project. He discovers, transforms, gives names, grants roles and privileg-

  es, establishes boundaries, gathers together a diverse group of unrelated people

  and animals, and renders them equal parts of a single social order. This is true,

  though putting it this way rather downplays the fact that he does so through

  right of conquest: that is, that he appears amidst a population of strangers who

  have never done anything to hurt him and threatens to kill them if they do

  not do his will.30 It is not as if this sort of behavior was considered acceptable

  conduct by ordinary people under ordinary circumstances. In most stories, the

  figure of Nyikang is saved from too close an association with unprovoked ag-

  gression by effectively being redoubled. He plays the largely intellectual role,

  solving problems, wielding magic, devising rules and status, while the sheer ar-

  bitrary violence is largely pushed off onto his son and alter ego, Dak. In the

  Shilluk heartland, especially, Nyikang is always described as “finding” people

  who fell from the skies or were living in the country or fishing in the river, and

  30. I will return to this point later. Of course, one could argue that this sort of behavior

  was considered legitimate in dealing with strangers: Shilluk were notorious raiders,

  and were in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries apparently not above acts of

  treachery when dealing with Arabs or other foreigners in the “raiding country”—for

  instance, offering to ferry caravans across the Nile and then attacking, robbing, or

  even massacring them. (At the same time, foreigners who entered Shillukland itself

  were treated with scrupulous courtesy and guaranteed the safety of their persons

  and property.) Still, as we will see, ordinary Shilluk tended to rankle most of all at

  attempts to turn predatory violence into systematic power, which is exactly what

  Nyikang was doing here.

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  ON KINGS

  assigning them a place and a ritual task (to help build the some house or shrine,

  to herd Nyikang’s sacred cattle, to supply the king with certain delicacies, etc.).

  Only in the case of people who transform themselves into animals—fish, turtles,

  fireflies, et al.—does he usually have to call in Dak, to net or spear or otherwise

  defeat them, whereon they ordinarily turn back into human beings and submit

  themselves. Submission is what renders people Shilluk (the actual word, Chollo,

  merely means subjects of the reth).31 Though in a larger sense, intellectual under-

  standing and physical conquest are conflated here; the stories of shape-shifters

  are paradigmatic: one can only tell what they really are by successfully defeating,

  even skewering them—by literally pinning them down.

  For all this, Nyikang’s conquest of Shillukland, however, remains curiously

  unfinished. The myths specify that he managed to subdue the southern half

  of the country, up to about where the capital is now. After this things stalled,

  as the people, tired of war, begin to murmur and, increasingly, openly protest

  Nyikang’s leadership. Finally, at a feast held at the village of Akurwa (what is

  later to become his temple in Fashoda), Nyikang chides his followers, instructs

  them on how to maintain his shrine and effigy, and vanishes in a whirlwind of

  his own creation.

  Nyikang, al Shil uk insist, did not and could never die. He has become the

  wind, manifest in animals who behave in strange and uncharacteristic ways,

  birds that settle among crowds of people; he periodical y comes, invisible, to

  inhabit one or another of his many shrines (C. G. Seligman 1911: 220–26;

  1934; Westermann 1912: xlii; Oyler 1918b; Hofmayr 1925: 307; P. P. Howell

  and Thomson 1946: 23–24). Above al , he remains immanent in his effigies,

  and in the sacred person of the king. Yet in the story, his transcendence of

  the bonds of mortal existence fol ows his rejection by the people. Neither is

  this mere mumbling and discontent: some versions make clear there was at

  least the threat of actual rebel ion. In one (Crazzolara 1951: 126), Nyikang

  is speared in the chest by an angry fol ower, though he survives. He then as-

  sembles his people to announce his ascent. In every version, he is replaced by

  an effigy of ambatch, and remains as the vehicle of the prayers of his people,

  31. Westermann (1912: 127–34) summarizes the origins of seventy-four different

  clans. If one discounts the three royal lineages included, and the six for whom no

  origin is given, we find that forty-nine were descended from “servants” of Nyikang,

  six from “servants” of Dak, six of Odak, one of Tokot, and, most surprisingly, three

  from servants of Queen Abudok, the last royal figure to play this role—another

  testimony to her one-time importance.

  THE DIVINE KINGSHIP OF THE SHILLUK

  97

  as their intercessor before God. It is through Nyikang, for example, that the

  king appeals to God for rain (Schnepel 1991: 58–59). Though even here the

  relationship of animosity does not disappear. Unlike more familiar gods, who,

  by definition, can do no wrong, the hero continues to be the object of periodic

  anger and recrimination:

  Their veneration of Nikawng does not blind their eyes to his faults. When a

  prayer has been offered to Nikawng, and the answer is not given, as had been

  hoped, the disappointed one curses Nikawng. That is true especially in the case of

  death. When death is approaching, they sacrifice to Nikawng and God, and pray

  that death may be averted. If the death occurs, the bereaved ones curse Nikawng,

  because he did not exert himself in their behalf. (Oyler 1918a: 285)

  This passage gains all the more power when one remembers that illness itself

  was often assumed to be caused by the attacks of royal spirits—most often,

  Dak—and that mediums possessed by the spirit of Nyikang were the most

  common curers. Yet in the end we must die, as Nyikang did not; his transcend-

  ence of death resulted from, and perpetuates, a relation of permanent at least

  potential antagonism.

  In fact, it was not just Nyikang. None of the first four kings of Shillukland

  died like normal human beings. Each vanished, their bodies never recovered; all

  but the last were then replaced by an effigy. Nyikang was replaced by his timid

  elder son Cal, who disappeared in circumstances unknown; then by the impetu-

  ous Dak, who vanished in yet another fit of frustration with popular grumbling

  over his endless wars of conquest; then, finally, by Dak’s son Nyidoro.

  Nyidoro, however, marks a point of transition. He vanished, but only after

  death. He was, in fact, murdered by his younger brother Odak, whereon his

  body magically disappeared. As a result, there was some debate over whether

  he merited a shrine and effigy at all, but in the end it was decided that he did.32

  32. An alternative vers
ion from Howell’s notes:

  In the past Shilluk kings never died but flew in the air. Now then Odak flew

  in the air trying to go away (die), then one man saw him flying. He shouted

  “there he goes!” Odak came down and said to the people, from this date no one

  of your kings will go away again. They have to be buried, and this is the last

  chance of your king. Odak is the person who started the burial of Shilluk king.

  (P. P. Howell n.d.: SAD 69/2/48–49)

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  ON KINGS

  Duwat

  Nyikang

  Cal

  Dak

  Nyidoro

  Odak

  Duwat

  The Ororo

  The Royal Line

  Figure 1. The mythic origins of the Ororo and the Royal line.

  N.B.: solid arrows refer to rulers who, rather than dying, vanished and were replaced by

  effigies; the broken arrow refers to rulers who died but whose body vanished and was

  not replaced by an effigy.

  If Nyidoro was the first king to die, his killer and successor, Odak, was the first

  to be ritually killed. This, however, was a consequence not of internal conflict (as

  in the case of his own usurpation), but of external warfare: Odak was defeated

  in a battle with the Dinka and the Fung. After witnessing the death of all of his

  sons except one, he threw Nyikang’s sacred spears in the river in a gesture of de-

  spair, crying “Now all my sons are dead!” As one might imagine this greatly hurt

  the feelings of the one son who remained alive. This young man, named Duwat,

  had been often belittled by his father in the past, but this was the final straw.

  After promising his father he would degrade all those sons’ children to com-

  moners, Duwat snatched one of the spears from the river and single-handedly

  routed the enemy (Hofmayr 1925: 66–68, 260–62).

  THE DIVINE KINGSHIP OF THE SHILLUK

  99

  Apparently, Odak was discreetly finished off soon afterwards, and when

  Duwat became king, one of his first acts was to degrade the descendants of his

  brothers to a lower status than the royal clan. They became the Ororo, excluded

  from succession, but who nonetheless play a key role in royal ritual.

  The story began with a Duwat, and with this second Duwat, one might say

  the first round of the mythic cycle comes to an end. It begins with stories mod-

  eled on birth and ends with stories of death: first, the nondeaths of Nyikang

  and Dak, rejected by their subjects; then, establishing the two typical modes of

  putting an end to a particular holder of the royal office, that is, either through

  internal revolt (challenge by an ambitious prince) or being ritually put to death.

  The role of the Ororo is crucial. This is a class who represent a veritable insti-

  tutionalization of this constitutive relation of hostility, and potential violence, on

  which the eternity of the kingdom is founded. General y, the descendants of any

  prince who is not elected, should they grow numerous, become a named lineage

  within the royal clan, and the tomb of their princely ancestor becomes their line-

  age shrine. Al members of such lineages are considered royals. In theory, the king

  can degrade any of these branches to Ororo status by attempting to sneak into

  their lineage shrine at night and performing certain secret rites, but the shrines are

  guarded, and if the king in question is caught, the attempt is considered to have

  failed. Some (e.g., Crazzolara 1951: 139) suggest that one reason a king might

  wish to demote a royal lineage in this fashion is that, since marriage is forbidden

  between royals, it is only by reducing a branch to Ororo status that a king can

  then take one of its daughters for his wife.33 One reth (Fadiet) is remembered for

  having tried to reduce the descendants of Nyadwai—the famous bad king—to

  Ororo status in this way, but he got caught and the lineage remained royal; it’s not

  clear if any king—that is, other than Duwat—has ever been successful (Hofmayr

  1925: 66; Pumphrey 1941: 12–13; P. P. Howel 1953a: 202). Most sources suggest

  none have—another dramatic reflection on the limited power of Shilluk kings.

  Moreover, it is precisely this degraded nobility whose role it is to preside

  over the death of kings. Male members of the caste who accompany the king

  during ceremonies are sometimes referred to as the “royal executioners,” but

  here meaning not that they execute others on the king’s orders, but rather

  that it is they who are in charge of presiding over the execution of the king.

  A reth would always have a certain number of Ororo wives; it is they who are

  33. However, Charles and Brenda Seligman (1932: 48) say kings would only take

  Ororo wives if they were “unusually attractive,” since no child of an Ororo could

  ever become king.

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  ON KINGS

  expected to announce when he is sick or failing in his sexual powers; as we’ve

  seen, according to some, it is they who actually suffocate the king after the

  announcement (C. G. Seligman 1911: 222). In other versions, it is the male

  Ororo bodyguards, who also preside over his burial.34 Al sources stress it is

  difficult to know anything for sure about such matters, about which discreet

  people knew better than to much inquire, and, doubtless, practices varied. The

  one thing al agreed, though, was it was critical that the king was constantly

  surrounded by those he had original y degraded, and who were eventual y to

  kill him.

  At this point we have reached historical times, which begin with the long

  and prosperous reign of King Bwoc, immediately followed by Tokot, Queen

  Abudok, and the historical creation of the sacred kingship at the end of the

  seventeenth century. Of this, we have already spoken.

  * * *

  Still, there is one last story worth telling before moving on. This is the story of

  the mar. The mar was some kind of talisman or element of royal regalia that had

  originally belonged to Nyikang. By the early twentieth century, no one quite

  remembered what it had been: a jewel of some kind, or perhaps a crystal, or a

  silver pot. According to some, it was a magical charm capable of assuring victory

  in war. According to others, it was a general token of prosperity and royal power

  (Hofmayr 1925: 72–75; Paul 1952).

  According to Dietrich Westermann (1912: 143–44), the mar was a silver

  pot that, waved in front of one’s enemies, caused them to flee the field of bat-

  tle. Tokot employed it in many successful wars against the Shilluk’s neighbors,

  many of whom he incorporated into Shillukland, but eventually—a familiar

  scenario now—his followers grew tired of fighting far from their wives and

  families, and began to protest and refuse his orders. In a fit of pique, Tokot

  threw the mar into the Nile. Here the story fast-forwards about a half-century

  to the reign of Atwot (c. 1825–35), who is elected as a warrior-king on the

  behest of a cluster of settlements plagued by Dinka raiders. Atwot attempts to

  drive off the invaders but is defeated. So, in a bold move, he decides to retrieve

  34. In some versions, the Ororo men are responsible for killing the king “by surprise” if

  he is wounded in battle or grievously ill (Hofmayr 1925:178
–80); the women kill

  him otherwise.

  THE DIVINE KINGSHIP OF THE SHILLUK

  101

  the talisman. The king consults with the descendants of Tokot’s wives at his lin-

  eage shrine, and, defying widespread skepticism, rows out with his companions

  to the place where the mar was lost, sacrificing three cows along the way, and

  dives to the bottom of the river. He remains underwater so long his companions

  think he has surely drowned, but after many hours, he returns with the genuine

  article. Atwot proceeds to raise an army, repels and then conquers the Dinka,

  and is victorious against all who stand in his path. However, before long, the

  same thing begins to happen. He is carried from conquest to conquest, but his

  warriors begin protesting the incessant wars, and finally Atwot too throws the

  pot back in the river in frustration. There have been no subsequent attempts to

  retrieve the mar.35

  The story seems to be about why the Shilluk kingdom never became an

  empire. It as if every time kings move beyond defending the home territory

  or conducting raids beyond its borders, every time they attempt to levy armies

  and begin outright schemes of conquest, they find themselves stymied by pro-

  tests and passive resistance. To this the kings respond with passive aggression:

  vanishing in a huff, throwing precious heirlooms into the river. As we’ll soon

  see, the scene of the king sacrificing cows and then diving down into the river

  to find a lost object appears to be a reference to a stage in the inauguration

  ceremonies in which the candidate must find a piece of wood that will be made

  into new body of Nyikang. Yet here, instead of an image of eternity, the river

  becomes an image of loss. According to one source (Paul 1952), the mar was

  “the luck of the Shilluk,” now forever lost. It seems likely the debate over the

  nature of the mar reflected a more profound debate about whether military

  good fortune was always luck for the Shilluk as a whole—a question on which

  royal and popular perspectives are likely often to have differed sharply. And the

  fact that such arguments were said to be going on in the time of Tokot, in the

  generation immediately before the creation of the institutions of sacred king-

  ship, once again underlines how much debate there was at that time about the