THE ANCIENT ONES

My name is Tayla. My people passed into the haze of time many centuries ago. We are now called the Anasazi, which to present day Navajo means “the ancient ones.” Our disappearance as a distinct culture has baffled archeologist for many years. Various theories have been bandied about, but I am here to clear up the misconceptions of what took place. I was there and saw with my own eyes the receding tide of the Anasazi, my people.

 

Much like the world you live in today, the Anasazi were trying to survive in an earth of dwindling resources. Our most severe limitations were the lack of water and arable land. Being a tribal society, our immediate allegiance was to family and neighbors. People of other tribes were considered outsiders, and during hard times could become lethal enemies. The elders knew that the climatic changes had been progressing for several seasons. Less rain, more heat was strangling the life force out of our culture. Like a coyote carcass lying on the desert sand, our way of life was slowly drying up.

 

Inevitably neighboring tribes began attacking other Anasazi groups in order to obtain more food, and to control water resources. This was the era when our people began living in cliff dwellings, and abandoning the areas near water sources that were difficult to defend. Life on the high cliff faces was dangerous, especially for our children and elderly tribal members. To live with the fear that attack from competing tribes could come at any time changed the mindset of my people. No longer peaceful farmers, because of the changing environmental conditions the Anasazi people had become warier of other tribes even though we were closely related by tradition, as well as, blood.

 

Our lands were beautiful beyond description. The sky was many shades of blue, often filled with white puffy clouds that seemed to go on eternally. Like today, the rocks were a rusty red and sculpted into numerous forms and configurations that were a constant stimulation for the eye. However, as climatic conditions continued to deteriorate our once poetic visions of beauty evolved into the mindset of a warrior. The rocks became not beautiful sculptures, but hiding places for our enemies whose desire was to exterminate my tribe and gobble up diminishing resources.

 

My father was a tribal leader and was under tremendous pressure to maintain the welfare of the group. This was a tall order due to the fact that so much was out of his ability to control. Late one summer evening a competing tribe, who were in dire circumstances, attacked. Their crop of corn had failed that season for lack of water, and the children had bloated stomachs that come with starvation. The hollowed eyed monster of hunger had claimed many of their people. Like hungry wolves, they began to look for food in new territories. No longer farmers, they had become land pirates, predators of the deep valleys and high mesas.

 

Despite attempts to keep vigil on our surroundings, the attackers were able to sneak up to our high perches on the cliff face. Food was their quarry, but they did not hesitate to kill anyone that posed a threat. Many of my people lost their lives after being pushed from the heights to the canyon floor. Our granaries were ransacked, and a few of the young women were taken as slaves. After the raiding party had left we were able to take stock of losses in lives and grain. The attack had wiped out our stores of food, and the growing season was months away. The only option was to attack a neighboring tribe, just as had been done to us.

 

We were not a warlike people, but as any human, our will to survive was strong, and there was no limit to what we would do to protect our way of life. My father had been severely injured in the attack and was in no condition to lead a raid. Being his oldest son, I was elected to lead. Starvation is a slow and miserable death. The thought of seeing my people waste away in agony was more than I could bear. I regretted what needed to be done, but the welfare of my tribe was at stake.

 

The nearest clan to us was a two-day walk. In the past, our two tribes had done some trading and I was familiar with the layout of their dwellings, and most important, where they stored their corn. Some of the women in my village had family ties to the tribe we were about to attack and were very upset about what was transpiring. As you say, desperate times call for desperate measures, and we were most assuredly desperate.

 

For two days my party of raiders trotted through the desiccated desert that you now call New Mexico. Our plan was to attack late at night to catch them off guard; similar to the way we were over run. We wanted to avoid killing but were under no illusion that we would be able to circumvent it. Without food, the tribe would slowly perish and so a fight was sure to ensue. The people we were about to attack was known as The Clan of the Snake and had a reputation for being fierce even prior to the draught.

 

We attacked as planned with initially little opposition. That state of affairs soon evolved into a desperate fight. Battling on the small ledges of the cliff face was extremely hazardous, and many people were either pushed or stumbled to their deaths. Eventually we were able to get ourselves into a position where only a few men could keep the enemy at bay because of the narrow space on the cliff edge. While this was going on the others raided the granary and filled sacks with as much corn as a man could carry.

 

We had lost a quarter of our number, and some severely wounded had to be left behind, surely to die a tortured death. After dogging rocks thrown at us from above, we managed to again be on the desert trail headed back to our village. The enemy remained in hot pursuit, and as a result, we lost a few more men, and some of the corn had to be left behind. Our prize had come at a high cost, but our need was great. Sadly, we left the Snake Clan in total disarray with several dead and now staring starvation clearly in the face.

 

We were greeted as conquering heroes until it was noticed how many of our number was missing. Tears flowed, and we were all demoralized by what we had needed to do just to survive. This could not continue. Something needed to change. That night there was a counsel presided over by my ailing father. He knew well that we would all eventually starve if we continued trying to live in this ever more inhospitable environment. The only answer was to move and find better lands to settle.

 

At the same time as our counsel was taking place many other Anasazi were having the identical conversation. The Anasazi world was rapidly falling apart, and the only solution was to leave our sacred land and seek a better life in the world of the unknown. Unable to carry much with us, many of our belongings were just left in place to be found by others countless years in the future. It is believed that eventually when climatic conditions improved remnants of our people returned to our lands. The influx of these people, many believe, evolved into what you now call the Pueblo Indians.

 

The most important message that we can pass on to our brothers of the future, where you now reside, is to treat your environment gently, and don’t take the world of nature for granted. What has happened to us can, and most likely will, happen again.

Reviews

[emmajoy]

My goodness, what a truly superb account - although tragic, it's fascinating, and extremely interesting. If we saw the episode in a film/movie we'd think it unbelievable but historians have assembled facts over time, so ..
Seems to me that you really donned the character of one of the Anasazi, told how it was as if standing before a crowd of people listening to the truth ..
As to your final paragraph - if ever there was a warning to be taken to the heart, this is it.

[Brad]

yes, zeek, loved every word of this. love native american lore, and history. a very stoic tale and message

[roarke]

Z, very smooth. Great transitions between paragraphs. Very much like a tribal storyteller might relate. To keep the ancient flavor and style to the tale, avoid any modern jargon or contractions.

Ancient people were not primitive, they lived simple lives guided by common sense and choice. They realized how one change, changes all. The spiritual comes from the sublime, the simple. This story is told in this same fashion. Good job.

All we can do is speculate from archeological evidence what the ancient peoples did and thought. I contend we aren't even close to understanding, we've changed that much. Too bad for us. It's hard to undo the complexity we've chosen to inject into our lives.... Tayla's message is very relevant.