The smell of smoke still hung over the Sikalima Farm as the first light of dawn spread across the plains. Black ash covered the ground where the haystack had burned during the night. The workers stood silently, staring at the damage. Although they had managed to save the cattle feed storage and nearby buildings, everyone knew that the fire could have destroyed far more.
Mubita knelt beside the burnt grass and picked up the broken bottle he had found earlier. The smell of petrol was unmistakable.
He looked toward Mr. Sikalima.
"This wasn't lightning."
"No," Mr. Sikalima replied quietly. "Someone wanted this fire."
Officer Mwansa arrived shortly after sunrise with two police investigators. They carefully examined the scene, taking photographs and collecting evidence.
One officer crouched beside the remains of the haystack.
"Look here."
He pointed to several footprints leading away from the burnt area toward the northern boundary.
"They tried to hide them, but last night's dew preserved the impressions."
Officer Mwansa nodded.
"Follow them."
---
The footprints continued for nearly five hundred metres before disappearing near the main road.
There, investigators found fresh tyre tracks.
One of the officers measured them carefully.
"These belong to a pickup truck."
Mubita immediately remembered Kelvin's black pickup.
"So they're back."
Officer Mwansa looked thoughtful.
"Perhaps."
"But we need proof."
---
The workers spent the rest of the morning cleaning the burnt area.
Despite the damage, no one complained.
Jacob picked up a shovel.
"We'll rebuild."
Brian nodded.
"We always do."
Even the younger workers who had joined recently worked with determination.
Watching them, Hamusonde smiled proudly.
He leaned on his walking stick and called everyone together.
"My children..."
The workers stopped.
"When fire destroys grass..."
"It does not destroy the roots."
"The rains come."
"The grass grows again."
He looked around at every face.
"Our strength has never been these buildings."
"Our strength has always been the people standing here."
The workers applauded.
Their spirits lifted.
---
Later that afternoon, Luyando and little Mutinta played beneath the great mango tree.
Mutinta was now learning to walk without support.
She laughed as she chased chickens around the yard, often stumbling into the grass before getting up again.
Luyando gently held her hand.
"Slowly."
"You'll fall."
Mutinta ignored him and continued laughing.
Mrs. Bwalya watched from the veranda.
"She reminds me of Mubita."
Chipo laughed.
"Always determined."
"Even when she falls."
Mubita overheard them.
"I hope she keeps that spirit."
---
Inside the farmhouse office, Mr. Sikalima spread several old maps across the table.
The court hearing was only three weeks away.
He, Mubita, and Chipo carefully organized every document they could find.
Old title deeds.
Tax records.
Survey reports.
The leather ledger.
Receipts dating back decades.
Suddenly, Chipo noticed something unusual.
"Wait."
She pointed toward an old envelope tucked inside one of the files.
"I've never seen this before."
Mr. Sikalima carefully opened it.
Inside was a faded black-and-white photograph.
The picture showed Mr. Sikalima's father standing beside several government surveyors.
Behind them were freshly planted boundary stones.
One surveyor held a measuring chain.
Another carried official equipment.
Written neatly on the back of the photograph were the words:
'Official boundary survey completed. Witnessed by District Lands Office. 14 September 1972.'
Everyone stared at the photograph.
Mubita smiled.
"This proves the boundary stones were placed legally."
Mr. Sikalima nodded slowly.
"It may be even stronger than the map."
---
The next day, Officer Mwansa returned with unexpected news.
"We've made another arrest."
Everyone looked up.
"One of Kelvin's former drivers."
"What did he say?" Mubita asked.
"He admitted transporting fuel to the farm two nights before the fire."
Mr. Sikalima folded his arms.
"Did he know why?"
"He says Kelvin ordered him to leave several containers near the northern boundary."
"Can he testify?"
"Yes."
The room became quiet.
This evidence could connect Kelvin's criminal group to the attempted arson.
---
Meanwhile, in Lusaka, Victor Ndlovu sat angrily behind his desk.
His secretary entered nervously.
"The fire failed."
Victor slammed his hand on the table.
"I know."
"The police arrested another man."
He remained silent for several moments.
Finally he spoke.
"If fear cannot drive them away..."
"Then we'll beat them in court."
He picked up the company's legal file.
"Prepare every document."
"We cannot afford to lose that land."
---
That evening, the workers gathered beneath the mango tree for prayer.
It had become a tradition whenever the farm faced a difficult season.
Mr. Sikalima stood before them.
"I have always believed that this farm belongs first to God."
Everyone bowed their heads.
"We have worked hard."
"We have been honest."
"We have helped others."
"If we have done right..."
"Then we should not be afraid."
The workers joined hands.
Mubita held Chipo's hand.
Luyando stood beside Hamusonde.
Little Mutinta reached up and grabbed her grandfather's finger, making everyone smile.
The prayer ended with quiet confidence.
---
As darkness covered the farm, a gentle wind rustled through the branches of the old mango tree.
Far beyond the fields, thunder echoed across the valley.
Not from a storm.
But from heavy trucks travelling the highway.
The court date was drawing closer.
Both families were preparing for the greatest battle they had ever faced—not with fire, not with thieves, but with the truth itself.
And before the judge's decision, one final secret buried in the past would come to light.