Four days later, on the day Awom released his chicks and mother hen from the basket, a trap set for civets by his father, Ekwulu, in the nearby bush caught his hen. The crowing, the chirpings, and the screaming echoing everywhere forced Awom to enter inside the bush. He was maddened and angered when he saw his chicken fighting a force beyond its strength. He started shouting, crying for help as the remaining four chicks were seen chirping and running around their helpless mother, helplessly. The trap held its two legs.
Awom ran home with as much speed as he could muster. It was Dunuora, his immediate senior brother he met at home. He had put on his shoulder his palm climber for the afternoon tapping. Awom, with tears, explained the danger his chicken was in and begged him to accompany him to the bush to set his nursing hen free. He was bewildered and astonished when Dunuora told him that that should be after his return from tapping. ''Dee Dunuora, biko, asina oge ibatara, okuko m na ebe akwa. Okuko m na anwu anwu- senior, Dunuora, please, don't say when you return, my chicken is crying. My chicken is dying'' Awom pleaded with his brother, but his brother wouldn't listen, and left him ridden with pains in his heart.
In his helplessness, he ran back to the bush, and in his desperate attempt to set his chicken free from the grip of the trap, he lost his right eye. There was no doubt he had succeeded in setting his beautiful nursing chicken free, but that he paid for, with his precious eye.
When Ekwulu returned and was told of what had happened, his anger reached to high heaven, and more against Dunuora, who refused to help his little brother. He took off time from his busy schedule to nurse the child of his old age and never saw Dunuora again as a worthy son of his.
''You were here when he lost his first chick. You saw how we all mourned along with him, days for peace to reign. But a little help you couldn't render to your little brother. You made my son lose his eye in the trap that I, his father, set for civets'' Ekwulu bashed Dunuora.
The nursing chicken was seen struggling to win the battle of life three days after the accident. To Ekwulu, it was obvious that the chicken was not going to make it. While Awom was still lying on the sick bed recuperating, Ekwulu put a knife across the chicken's neck. Ureaku, his stepmother, made a delicious Ora soup with it. It was eaten by the entire family. Ekwulu had earlier instructed Ureaku to make sure that Awom was given the fattest part. Culturally, among Igbos, the head of every chicken that falls in the family automatically goes to the last child of the family.
However, Ekwulu instructed Ureaku not to give Awom the head to avoid him suspecting that his chicken was no more. The news was hidden from him to allow him to recuperate faster. Ureaku chose to hide the chicken's head in her kitchen basket hung above her cooking stand- ekwu. It was to remain there until the time when more heads would fall. Ureaku was counting on the Nkwo Ukutu festival that was a few days away to give all the heads to Awom, who would have no time to ask questions. The Nkwo Ukutu festival takes many chicken heads before sundown.
After Awom's nursing chicken found rest in Ureaku's cooking pot, leaving behind her four little chirping chicks to mourn her, it became a concern to Awom, who never again heard the chucking from their mother. Ureaku became their mother. She would sun-dry chaff from cassava and corn for their feeding, making sure that they had enough around to eat, in order to lessen the frequency of their going out to look for food elsewhere, which always ended up exposing them to dangers.
After some weeks, Awom got some relief and walked around the house. On getting to the backyard, he was surprised to see his chicks making some pickings on the floor without their mother around. He was heartbroken. On sighting him, the chicks ran to him, trying to perch on his body, looking for new food, a trait they had developed over the weeks, seeing Ureaku often come with a basket of dry chaff.
''Where is your mother?'' Awom sickly asked the enthusiastic chicks while trying to hold them on his chest. Ureaku heard his voice and ran to the backyard. ''Nnaa, kedu ka imere ugba- son, how do you do now?'' she asked. ''Mma, ona adi mma- mother I am getting better'' Awom replied, as he controlled both free tears dropping from his damaged eye and the chicks that looked restless. Ureaku was very happy to hear that from Awom.
''Kedu kwanu nne okuko m?'' Awom asked again. Ureaku seemed to have lost what to say immediately, so she bent down to get a broom. All was her effort to delay her answer in order to come up with something more suiting ''It started having pain again yesterday, and your father took it to ulo ogwu okuku, uyaa- hospital for chickens, yesterday, at Nkwerre'' Ureaku replied. The truth was there was no hospital for chickens in the whole of Igbo land. Chickens were either treated at home or taken to the homes of local avian veterinarians to be attended to, and afterward, taken home.
Ureaku made haste and quickly went inside the house and started pondering how she was able to quickly create such an answer to over-probing Awom whose avalanche of questions would come like angered bees.
To make sure another person did not give Awom information about what happened to his chicken, Ureaku went inside his hut and took out her old clay cup that her parents used to perform sent-forth- idu uno, for her during her marriage. She quickly washed it and poor drinking water inside it. She took it to Awom and told him that it was medicine that her father instructed her to give him when he woke up. ''Nnaa, nuo ogwu a, Ekwulu, nna gi, si m nye gi ya mgbe obula ibilitere- son, take this medicine, Ekwulu, your father, instructed me to give it to you when you wake up'' Ureaku said while giving the water to Awom to drink.
Awom did not perceive anything that tasted like medicine in it except water. ''It is as tasteless as water, not medicine'' he said after sipping some. Ureaku, creatively, nodded her head in admittance. ''Yes, that was what your father said. He also said that you must go to bed immediately after taking it and try sleeping'' Ureaku replied.
When Awom went inside the house to sleep, Ureaku went straight to Obi, with her akidi- native bean pods to pill, something that she seldom does in Obi. She stayed hours, mounting surveillance of her eyes, in order not to miss anyone that returned home. She was so determined to make sure that the information or lie she told Awom would be the exact thing others would tell him when they returned. She remained in Obi till the last person that returned was given the same lie to tell Awom. The last person that returned was Ekwulu, who sat briefly with her in his Obi before going in to see his son, Awom.
Three weeks later, only one chick was seen chirping and returning home in the evening. Awom was heartbroken and the entire family of Ekwulu went back into mourning again. Some, pretentiously, for peace, and for some others, it truly hurts. However, Dunuora, in particular, was unperturbed, and was hardly seen asking his brother how he was recuperating.
One afternoon, Ekwulu was seated in his obi to refresh with a keg of palm wine while Ureaku was pilling her cocoyam for dinner. Suddenly, the lonely chick of Awom made a sharp entry into one of the huts where Dunuora was, and he immediately chased it out. With the speed of light, a kite came hard on it and took it away for prey. This angered Ekwulu, and he rose up from his seat and cried like a baby. ''Dunuora, you even did this one in my presence. How could you have chased away a chick that ran to you for protection?'' Ekwulu roared in anger.
Ureaku looked towards Awom who was seated next to her and what looked like a river of water was gushing out of her son's eye sockets. The more Ekwulu roared, the more Awom's little cheeks got drenched in rivers of his own tears. Ureaku went to Dunuora in a rage of anger and gave him two unequaled dirty looking slaps on his scornful cheeks and some pieces of her tongue to add up to Ekwulu's rage.
''I have seen it, this house cannot contain the two of us. You have grown enough to look for your own family. You have grown enough to have your own ama- living space with its own pathway. I mustn't wait till you get married to do that. I mustn't wait till you have ozo title before you get your own ama. I mustn't wait till you make everybody go blind in this house. I swear at the grave of the mother of this child who I was mistakenly thinking was also your mother, that I will not allow you to be that river that will swallow all of us while I am still breathing. I will send for Nkwerre people so that they will come here and bear witness to the day I washed my hands off their grandchild. I am going to Ezedike's house now. Tomorrow is Nkwo Nkwerre market day. He would send my message across to the Nkwerre people'' Ekwulu screamed as we started walking to Ezedike's house.
While Ekwulu was roaring as he moved on, Dunuora took backyard root to Utu, the maternal home of Ekwulu. He got married there and when his children grew into men, he took them back home to their ancestral home when age was no longer on his side. He did not bury and did not mourn his parents. The Ugas welcomed them and showed him his land inheritance across the Oma river. It was said that Ekwulu, while sharing his lands among his children said, ''the wickedness in the heart of Dunuora is capable of passing into his children. Let him live at ofe mmiri- across the river, so that the water will always calm his rage before getting to you my innocent children.''
When the descendants of Ekwulu were trying to initiate a new cultural system of Iri Ji that would bring the family branches together once a year, which was later known as the Iri Ji Ekwulu festival, some years after Ekwulu had passed, a message was sent to the Dunuoras, across Oma river about the plan. None of them showed interest. Some of Dunuora's descendants said they won't be part of any gathering or celebration honoring a man that chased away his son and never cared to look for him for many years when he was away in Utu. Because of this, they were cut off, at least, physically, from the cultural tree that the descendants of Ekwulu had successfully planted.
Awom was consoled by the lies that his chicken was recuperating in Nkwerre and that on her return it would, of course, as a matter of days, start laying eggs again, to raise him another set of beautiful chicks. All this while, Ekwulu had been going around, both in the market squares and some sellers' homes looking for chickens that had almost or seemingly the same spots as Avom's chick which the monsterous kite took away in the broad daylight.
One day luck shone on Ekwulu at the market right in front of his house, later known as Eke Uga. It was Ntu, his son, that spotted the chicken and went to the Odoakpu- cassava sellers' line, to inform his mother, Ureaku about it. Ureaku went to Odo-okuko- chicken sellers' line and bought the chicken. She went straight to Ogbo-Ji- yam tubers sellers' line, where Ekwulu once in a while sells his yam tubers, and handed the chicken to him.
Ekwulu was so happy that the chicken was a good resemblance to the eaten chicken which they had lied to Awom was hospitalized in Nkwerre village. He was overjoyed that he gave Ureaku double the amount she spent buying it.
The chicken was handed to Ekwulu's friend right there in the market square, and after two days, his friend Ezedike brought home the same chicken and handed it over to Ekwulu in the presence of Awom as he was seated next to him. He was so emotional as smiles filled up his face.
''Dibia nkea no na Nkwerre na agwo ncha- that avian veterinarian at Nkwerre is good at what he does'' Ezedike said, pretentiously as he caressed the head of the dalmatian chicken. ''Eziokwu, mgbe ahu igwara m na obu onye Nkwerre, obi m guara m na oga ogwota ya- truly, when you told me that he was from Nkwerre, my mind told me that he would get it right'' Ekwulu replied, smartly.
''Awom, you must tie it to a sizable wood club to allow it to become familiar with the environment once again. You know it has been a long while it last slept here. At least keep it tied for four days and release. It will learn faster, and those spots on its body that were lost will still reappear, especially if it eats good food. I wish we could get a Yee palm fruit to give it. All its old body spots will reappear in eight market days. I will look for it'' Ekwulu said pretentiously.
However, in the whole of Igbo land, there was nothing like a Yee palm fruit anywhere, and none had seen it. It only grew in the head of Ekwulu that day so that peace could return to the heart of a troubled child.