THE CAULDRON THAT’S ALWAYS FULL

 

[from ‘Collected Works of Daud Pekar,

also known as David Baxter, and Dá∙hwyth Oh·fé,’

by P Mamrick (ed.)]

 

— Once, there was a tribe living at the far end of the World, before real history had been invented. They had practically nothing worth talking about, but they succeeded to scrape an existence by scavenging for food and eating roots, shoots, and nuts whilst wandering from place to place in search of pure, running water. They believed that it was necessary to move, and that they would die if they stayed in the same place, since they were moving creatures. And they also had an enormous cauldron of green brass that they would take with them wherever they travelled, although no-one could remember from where the cauldron had come originally, nor who had made it, not whether their forefathers had found it centuries ago, even, in days of yore. The cauldron would always hold the roots, shoots, and nuts (and sometimes also the leaves) that they found whilst foraging so diligently. One day it would be full, the next day it would contain next to nothing. No-one, and especially not the wise-men and the great-women, could say which from one day to the next.

 

Now, as the tribe wandered, they flourished, and the number of them increased incredibly until there were seven great families. But as time progressed, the land became barren, and the people began to starve. They kept on wandering, beseeching the Sun and cursing the Moon until they were completely exhausted and dead on their feet. When the cauldron was totally empty, they stopped on the bank of a vast, flat expanse of still liquid as black as jet in the middle of a desolate wilderness. And there they declared: “Let us all walk straight into that lake of thick, dark stuff whilst our strength persists, until it flows over us, and destroys us, and takes away our pain.” Unanimously the horde agreed, and they went to it, walking or crawling into the hot, black oil, the old carrying the babies, the adults leading the aged, and the children running in front of their parents. And when they had all reached the crater containing the enormous pool and were on the verge of jumping, or falling, into the treacly substance, a voice began to hold forth as follows —

 

SOCIAL MATTERS: Wedding Party in the Chapel of Non-Denominational Enquiry. Here in the Air-Masher, we avoid faith matters as a rule, after all the problems associated with the Festival of Glory and Gladness organised by the Ecumenical Council on Peace and Reconciliation a couple of years ago. They should have used Mitlkontinentál as well as Kimbric and Modern Pretanic, I still say! Anyway, there’s a very special occasion to celebrate, which will be happening in the New Barn, Hellsgate at 6 o’clock, 7th Jubilee-moon, a fortnight today. That’s the happy day when we’ll see the civil marriage of our favourite Pastor (well, my fave Pastor), Canon Tommo, and Stevie G, Skilled Leader of the Community of Alternative Youth, who’ve been together for 10 long years now. I shall be officiating in my role as Full Master in the Guild of Secrets and Keeper of the Old Secrets of Bifrōns. Barry Barnes will be the page-boy (although he can appear a bit of a lout, and very frightening when he’s driving that motorbike he’s souped-up), and Harriet Potiwr will be the bridesmaid (and what an enchanting sorceress she is!). There’ll be brand-new traditional entertainment from the Guild Choir, like arias from the opera ‘The Bloody Kingdom’ composed by Gertrude Llwynlesg based on a text by Mamrick. 

 

There’ll be a ceremony including lots of hypnotic chanting in myriad languages to bewitch your senses and transport you to Other Worlds, and a party to follow where there’ll be plenty of scorched spicy-bean curry and mushrooms preserved in honey, as well as goblets of ‘Black Gold’ – and every one of you is invited. Perhaps you don’t know, but the Chapel of Non-Denominational Enquiry was established after the Great Split that splintered the World-Wide Church. During the recent years, the Chapel (which isn’t a faith institution, of course, but a sophophilic one), has been taking a leading viewpoint on many burning topics – such as including everyone on the fringes of society, spreading a message of peace and love, encouraging an attitude of constant enquiry, and working to overthrow every oppressive authority – with the complete support of the congregations and strong support from the public. 

 

When the Chapel was founded, it was the first institution of the kind to encourage and help its officers actively – the Pastors, men and women – to form civil partnerships with a person of the same sex – if they wanted to do that, of course. At the moment, the Chapel of Non-Denominational Enquiry is still much more liberal than any one of the other Minor Churches, and Tabernacles, and Temples with respect to this topic. Jelena Pekar, Chief Elevated Student and Spokesperson for the Chapel (we must remember that this first title is only an honorary one), has declared that she’s most happy to welcome civil weddings for couples of the same sex, particularly inside the Chapels. She’s said she wants to draw people’s attention to the fact that the Chapel’s ministry is one of inclusiveness.

 

And the Chapel has been working very hard with us the members of the Guild of Secrets to come up with particular rites and ceremonies which will be part of the marriage service. The CES says: “These words can be recited over a couple as they celebrate a civil partnership of marriage, to express their love and their determination to spend their lives together, since it’s through giving yourself to another person (or, under different circumstances to other people) that you can begin to transform yourself and the entire World.” Come to join us, then (say the lovely couple), to celebrate our love for each other, our Chapel, and for you, all our friends – don’t forget the loaves, fishes (and chips!), and the bottles of wine (red and white!). A polite note: Although Tommo used to fight literally, you must not do this during the happy pair’s nuptials – thank you very much! 

 

SAVING THE LANGUAGE: At one time Hellsgate beside the sea was an area where most of the population (every one of them distantly related to the Baxters, the Grossmann Family, or the Procters), could speak the ancient language called Yrthian. It has a slight affinity, some say, to Vodahí from Southern Meryk-land, to Po'onof  from the Lawless Territories of Diznarnia on the Southern Continent, and to Ropiha from the Impenetrable Dominions of the Uttermost East. But, more’s the pity, the United Independent Educational Institutions of Aberdydd and the Region (UIEIAR) have grown enormously recently, and the number of students too. Because of this the residents who’ve been living there all year round for years and years have been pushed out of the homes, and the strange and powerful language with them. “Our language is our way of expressing ourselves, and it’s at the root of who we are. It’s our medium of interacting with the World, and the heart of our culture,” says one resident, adding that “killing a language is a violent act, whether through repression, or negligence, or ridicule. And it is shameful.” 

 

But don’t give up all hope! A group called “Language Journey” has been campaigning fiercely to establish “Sa(l)ve da Lingo E-Caff [sic].” {Talisman} They say that the name refers to the “troublesome journey of the language towards jubilant flourishing.” Even the little super-heroes in the Training Centre’s nursery understand how important the Old Language is, and so they’ve been organising sponsored nose-picking, and racing flying shopping-trolleys with grandma and grandpa in the ‘Super-shops’ car-park to raise money for the project. There were only a couple of serious accidents, thank goodness, and it was so terribly heartening to hear the kiddies chanting ‘Gorgon’s Verse’ together like a swarm of mad demons — 

 

“Greetings, hail, O fire and snow! 

Call the Masters; then we’ll go 

Far away, to gorge with glee – 

Fearful Masters come to me!

And then we’ll stir up mayhem! 

All hail! Greetings! Behold them!”

 

The work on the Café was finished in time to celebrate Aberdydd Wýkingish Festival there, where they’ve been pouring endless cauldronfuls of ‘Black Gold’ (the best khawví in the Two Worlds, with a secret ingredient in it), ancient fern tshay, and dry gin with aromatic herbs in, for the crowds of merry customers, with the lads and lasses dressed as Pirates. Now, the moreish cakes made according to old Mrs Blodeuwedd Grossmann’s special recipe are selling like wildfire too. It’s a great place to shelter from the non-stop but invigorating rain, and everyone’s working like crazy to make sure that everything goes like clockwork. Come to help them pull the old Yrthian out of the grave. You’ll see, and hear, and experience everything there entirely through the medium of this extraordinary language, and the words and the environment will begin to transform your life, I promise. I went there myself a week ago, and I’d be back again like a whippet (if it was absolutely necessary), but I’m sorry to say that I’m always a very busy man, and I won’t get another chance in the near future, and that’s that! 

 

SPORTS and FINANCE – BLACK GOLD: Unusual things are happening in the exciting world of local sport. You’ll remember that I always draw your attention to the good luck and misfortune of my favourite Death-Tag team, namely The Old Wanderers who play on the redeveloped waste land beyond the old Tar Refinery on the south side of the Pine-trees Estate. After all, they are sponsored by Tesbyro’s Bank, which has lent them a considerable amount of money over the years to try to promote their development, but unsuccessfully. As you know, they have not come on over the past year, and indeed, they have performed terribly. I might as well explain that it is as if the enemy teams have been playing hide-and-seek with a blind horse every weekend through the latest season, I do not wish to be sparing with the truth. How would it be possible to lose 0 – 350 in Division 3 of the 3rd Teams’ League last Sadderday, otherwise?

 

Of course, there were mitigating circumstances. The majority of the old devils are over twenty-five years of age and come from one of the seven main families in Hellsgate. They labour full-time every day from dawn till dusk and beyond, under the bitter lash of the Terrible masters in that Sweat-shop called the Training Centre for Alternative Youth (I’m sorry, I cannot but make fun of them!). They had spent 3 hours on the bus beforehand travelling 120 miles to get to the game. They had been celebrating a small bit of luck also, more’s the pity. Richard Radish almost died during the previous game, Fireday night, but he was resuscitated in a secret laboratory in the guts of the Centre that everyone is now calling the ‘House of Rebirth,’ by Doctor D B Procter who gave him a dose of some strong liquor. Needless to say, everyone was carousing thereafter, going out boozing until the early hours of the morning. But then everyone was suffering from an enormous hangover the day after the night before. On the other hand, everyone on the other team was under eighteen years old, and as fit as a fiddle, although they were not Z-People. The writing was on the wall, and heads on the block. And the axe fell – harshly! Of course, our brave heroes were trounced! 

 

By now, however, amongst many other very exciting things, the boys (and the girls) have improved beyond all expectation – very suddenly. And on top of that, they can now buy Dean Drysglog, the Armoured Bears’ best player, for the princely sum of £5000. This boy is 18 years old and 17 stone, and he’s 6’3” when he stands up to his full height. And that's when he stops dragging his knuckles on the ground, he’s such a crude and primitive beast, but so strong, too. His EvtecHs Build Factor is 568, and so he’s an excellent outside-centre. But, by Goodness, the lad can run! Furthermore, they can borrow Barry ‘Basher’ Barnes from the Alternative Youth for a substantial sum too. How can the old wasters afford to do such a thing, I hear you asking in astonishment? 

 

Well, I must tell you that the girls (and the boys) have found quite a tidy little sum of money, from their benefactor ‘Uncle’ Jack Procter (in a manner of speaking), who had bequeathed them the Refinery in his will in the first place. It appears that there are enormous reservoirs of the purest aromatic oil, formed from fungus and ferns liquefied over the millennia, under the playing field, which will be worth billions of pounds to the innovative pharmaceutical industry. We believe that the Old Wanderers have noticed the fact that the oil has substantial rejuvenating properties if one imbibes it. How, in the Two Worlds, did they discover such a thing? Well, no-one will confess that. But many of them are already feeling a lot better than they were even a few weeks before. The deposits were found during a friendly game against the Z-People when one of the Alternative Youth accidentally caused an explosion, which allowed a fountain of ‘Black Gold’ to gush into the air from a crater in the middle of the field.

 

However, by all accounts, this potentially miraculous treatment has some unexpected consequences. Drysglog’s great-grandfather used to be a wizened and feeble creature over ninety years of age, but after taking the medicine for only a month, he has now become like a young bull with enormous muscles. He has also developed a sharp pair of horns and a lovely tail, and continues to change. He’ll be a valuable and useful addition to the Old Wanderers’ squad. Similar things are happening to several of the other players too (or to members of their family), but every one turns into a different beast, according to his character. Of course, some of the Z-People can already turn into animals voluntarily, but it’s possible for them to choose the creature and control the process which is not permanent in those cases. Then again, one of our girls has developed into a shafiq with exquisite slate-grey fur, who is now working very successfully throughout the land as a self-employed tree-surgeon. 

 

In their jubilation, the players expressed considerable interest to start with in buying the Training Centre and turning it into a school, hospital, library, and community leisure centre. However, after a little debate about socialist principles and inclusive ideals by the team, they decided to invest in a new factory on the site of the old Refinery. A million pounds (more or less), should do the trick, and their manager, Tretru "Wandering Whelp" Molruku, is working hand-in-hand with the Honourable J B Grossmann, Exalted Inquisitor of the International Technocratic Council, and Professor Mow-káhta Káhzwel, Vice-chancellor and Chief Executive Officer of the UIEIAR, to appoint a Senior Practical Researcher, and to find able workers as well as willing test subjects. After many long years of being so unsuccessful, they are ready to take the entire Eyrth over in due course, say our favourite Death-Tag team, who have just begun using the name The Wild-Things. (The UIEIAR are saying the eactly same thing on the sly, too!)

 

The crew's going to invest in the Les-min Bonds released recently by the Lord President's Platinum Palace to encourage the super-rich to support "rebuilding the nation" – whilst becoming even wealthier, of course. (Lots of people say "Complete Confidence Bonds," in imitation of the phrase on the lips of every Public Voice in every Department, Ministry, Collegiate Manse, and Pulpit when they defend the actions of their masters who are drowning in seas of sleaze. But I'm not going to comment on that!)

 

BUILDING BRIDGES: You must all know the old adage: “Things to be shared are secrets,” and it’s this idea that’s at the heart of the latest try at promoting the Old Language in Hellsgate. The secret they’re talking about is the Yrthian language, and they intend to let a tribe of “secret speakers” loose in the Mayhem-day Fair, on Wily Twvrok's Day (1st Mayhem). There’ll be a pick-up rubbish party, from daybreak till nightfall, where the participants can learn appropriate vocab like “recycling,” “alternative renewable and sustainable green energy,” and “overthrowing the oppression by the putrid paternalistic system.” Through the afternoon, classes in seagull-taming will be held by the Fake Fakir of the Flaming Forest, Fred Fantastic, on the village green. At 3 o’clock you can take part in games of Death-Tag against the devilish kids from the Training Centre for Alternative Youth or put a small bet on the results (unofficially of course!). But don’t worry, we’ll be blindfolding them to take account of their special powers and make things harder for them.

 

The highlight of the day will be an exhibition of the Yrthian language’s powers to transform reality by Efan Balrog Baxter (I must get the names right here!), at 5 o’clock in Smugglers’ Bay (weather permitting), or in the Refectory of the Training Centre otherwise. To prepare, he suggests you meditate on the saying: “The fear within everyone is the beast that will devour him.” In order to be inclusive, from 9 o’clock in the morning onwards in Comrades’ Hall, there’ll be games of Kimbric Scrabble to be played, using 165 tiles. “Angenrheidiol [Necessary]” is the best word, but it’s very hard to use it. Also, there will be a Minstrelsy display where local poets will compose amusing poems on the spot, using the strict metres {Poetic Fusion}. 

 

Then, there will be a trilingual public meeting (in Yrthian, Kimbric, and Pretanic) at 7 o’clock, to discuss: the problems with multi-dweller homes for students in the area, the need for many more parking places, provision of indestructible rubbish sacks to defend against predation by seagulls, and how to encourage (or force) incomers to attend the completely free Yrthian classes. Helen Grossmann will be performing her one-woman show, “I Married an Alien: A Tragedy in Seven Acts,” on the temporary stage in the sand-dunes, with the entrance fee of £1 going to the fund to build a reserve for new hybrid chimeras in Yellowhill. Some of you will remember that this is the very ambitious young woman who used to run the Clinic which then became the Training Centre when she moved on to better things. The world-famous mentalist gave up her important but stressful job after her son finished his exams, in order to concentrate on communing with nature, and experimenting with therapeutic community theatre. The shindig will finish with a twmpath in the Paths of Wickedness at 9 pm. All the profits (apart from the money for the sanctuary) will go to the Language Journey coffers for an all-expenses-paid research trip to the White-land so that the Committee can experience how minority languages are treated there.

 

LITERATURE CORNER: Over fifteen years ago by now, the lad who was a war-hero, author, and campaigner for social justice we know as David Baxter came to live amongst us here in Aberdydd. He was born and brought up in the Old Eastern Kingdom which has now become the Independent Eastern Commonwealth. Of course, his parents spoke one of the many local languages, more than likely, and it appears now that ‘Dá∙hwyth Oh·fé’ was his correct name – or perhaps his mystical, magical name (although I’m not sure about the spelling). It means, “The man who is always beloved, who leavens dough with fire.” The first name is famous in the Old Tales from the Heart of the Continent. Dá∙hwyth was a kid who won magical powers by accident, becoming a powerful magus, who used to communicate with the World-Spirit (as he explains in ‘Love, Loss, Coleoptera’). When he arrived in Aberdydd the lad was completely confused, and using the nom-de-guerre ‘Daud Pekar’ which is derived from one of the area’s other dialects. But then he adopted the nickname ‘David Baxter’ to help us foreigners, so let me use this from now on. 

 

The line, “The Haunted Homeland’s so puny, stinking the River Sed; So stupid the regions’ natives, who killed their home-comforts stone dead” is very often attributed to David as evidence that he hated his birth-land. We must bear in mind, however, that he put the words in the mouth of a vicious character called Ivan the Devil who appears in the play, ‘The Atrocious Prince.’ His best friend on the other hand insists that he always wanted to know, “How the ravens on top of the Rosy Fortress’s high minaret were croaking, what secrets they were sharing, what was the shape and colour of the scream rising with the dawn from the umber caves of the rabid rats beside the ancient salt mines.” 

 

Well never mind about all that, because now, documents have just come to light, which prove beyond a reasonable doubt that David was a talented translator. A fireman came across the papers in a secret cellar under the old Lost Sheep, which was burned to ashes in the fire that consumed the entire estate, a pub where David would like to while away his time pretending to cast the rwnen and tell fortunes, as well as beguiling the large audience by narrating stories. Amongst the manuscripts were ‘Alré Kineltien hlí’ (‘Under the Pines’), ‘The Tale of the Princess and the Lout,’ ‘Prayers and Threats,’ ‘The Cauldron that is always Full,’ ‘Dē Khan·ōkh Invocātiōnibus’ (‘Concerning the Invocations of Khan·ōkh’), ‘The Shameful Tale of the Boisterous Red Monkeys,’ ‘Love, Loss, Coleoptera,’ and ‘Exsecrātiōnēs Gentium Innumerābilēs Profānārum’ (‘Countless Curses of the Profane Peoples’).

 

Now, the Student Union of the United Independent Educational Institutions of Aberdydd and the Region (SUUIEIAR) has raised money to save the soul of the old refuge for the parched, creating on the site a hall of residence, an ultra-modern information technology centre with mind-melding machines and organic printers, and a trendy but cheap bar (called the ‘Paths of Wickedness,’ of all things under the Sun!). They intend to keep the memory of David the Man-of-Letters alive through events in the bar stimulated by cocktails containing Blasted Brains, Fake Ambrosia, Boiled Owl, and Fermented Honey-dew. Roll up, roll up, then, to offer a toast to the old Dá∙hwyth (whatever his real name was) and enjoy some new tall tales from the Eyrth and the Nw Yrth! The band Hebé Lwyd will be playing their unique brand of seyko-punk on the first Moanday night of every month – that’ll be nice, won’t it? Here, our taste of one his strangest stories continues —

 

“Wait! You are ready to sacrifice yourselves to the Old Masters, although you do not know them yet. Thus, we ourselves, the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers, are delighted. We shall be most pleased to have your fealty and accept your tribute from now on. And in our turn, we shall feed you and cause you to flourish. You need only do this one little thing. You shall put every one of the tribe who dies into the cauldron of green brass before the body rots. We shall welcome them all in glory on the Nw Yrth, having snatched them from the jaws of oblivion. And as a result, the cauldron shall never be empty, and you shall dominate the whole fruitful Planet. If you agree, we shall be your masters, and you shall be our servants. ‘Delkurí’ will be our secret name for you (although you shall be known by the World as ‘Deklo’), as we shall feed each other. And the names of the seven families shall be: Ampashu, Azarié, Eldo, Namana, Nekendu, Silba, and Ulkru. You shall own the whole World in our Name. These are our final and immutable words. Believe me, as it is I, Swtakh, Lord of the Wilderness, and servant to the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers, who speaks!”

 

Immediately, every member of the tribe shouted with one voice: “We agree! Do as you have said! Save us and cause us to flourish!” And thus it was, and this it is. Into the cauldron went every one of the tribe who died, and the cauldron was always full to overflowing of delicious ambrosia, a jet-black liquid which made everyone who drank it become very strong but rather stupid. And as the people flourished and grew without restraint, they began to build a city and keep animals, and in the middle of the city they raised up a House of Rebirth in the form of a great ziggurat to contain the cauldron which was the Bridge to the Other World. Soon thereafter it came to pass that they struck upon other peoples. Every time this happened, the voice issuing from the depths of cauldron would tell them that they needed to force their beliefs on the unclean strangers with sword and fire. And so they did. And as the piles of bodies lying around the cauldron grew higher and higher, reaching towards the Moon even, before they were put into it, the Terrible Old Masters rejoiced on the Nw Yrth. And indeed, the cauldron of green brass always was full.

 

 

Y CROCHAN SY WASTAD YN LLAWN

 

[o “Holl Weithiau Daud Pekar, a adwaenid hefyd

fel David Baxter, a Dá∙hwyth Oh·fé,”

gan P Mamrick (gol.)]

 

— Unwaith, roedd ‘na lwyth yn byw ym mhen draw’r Byd, cyn i hanes go iawn gael ei ddyfeisio. Doedd ganddyn nhw fawr o ddim gwerth sôn amdano, ond llwyddon nhw i grafu byw trwy chwilota am fywyd a bwyta gwreiddiau, blagur, a chnau wrth grwydro o le i le gan chwilio am ddŵr rhedegog, croyw. Ro’n nhw’n credu bod rhaid symud, ac y bydden nhw’n marw ‘sen nhw’n aros yn yr un fan, am taw creaduriaid symudol o’n nhw. Ac roedd ganddyn nhw hefyd grochan enfawr o bres gwyrdd, y bydden nhw’n mynd â fe gyda nhw i ble bynnag y teithien nhw, er na allai neb gofio o ble roedd y crochan wedi dod yn wreiddiol, na phwy oedd wedi’i lunio fe, nac a oedd eu cyndadau wedi dod o hyd iddo ganrifoedd o’r blaen hyd yn oed, yn yr hen amser gynt. Byddai’r crochan bob tro’n dal y gwreiddiau, y blagur, a’r cnau (ac o bryd i’w gilydd, y dail, hefyd) y daethon nhw o hyd iddyn nhw trwy chwilota mor astud. Un dydd, byddai’n llawn, y dydd nesa’, byddai’n cynnwys y nesa’ peth i ddim. Doedd neb, ac enwedig nid y dynion doeth na’r gwragedd mawr, allai ddweud p’un o’r naill ddydd i’r llall.

 

Nawr, wrth i’r llwyth grwydro, ‘naethon nhw ffynnu, a ‘naeth y nifer ohonyn nhw gynyddu’n aruthrol nes bod saith teulu mawr. Ond gyda threigl amser, aeth y tir yn ddiffrwyth, ac roedd y bobl yn dechrau newynu. Dalion nhw i grwydro wrth ymbil ar yr Haul a melltithio’r Lleuad hyd nes eu bod nhw wedi blino’n lân ac yn cysgu ar eu traed. A’r crochan yn hollol wag, stopion nhw ar lan ehangder dirfawr, gwastad o hylif llonydd cyn ddued â’r muchudd yng nghanol anialdir diffaith. Ac yno datganon nhw: “Gadewch i ni oll gerdded yn syth i mewn i’r llyn ‘na o stwff tywyll trwchus tra bo’n cryfder barhau, nes iddo lifo droston ni, a’n distrywio ni, a dileu’n poen.” Yn unfryd cytunodd y lliaws, a aeth ati i gerdded, neu gropian i mewn i’r olew du, poeth, a’r hen yn cario’r babis, y rhai mewn oed yn arwain yr henoed, a’r plant yn rhedeg o flaen eu rhieni. A nhwthau oll wedi cyrraedd y crater yn cynnwys y pwll enfawr ac ar fin neidio, neu syrthio, i mewn i’r sylwedd trioglyd, dyma lais yn dechrau datgan fel a ganlyn —

 

MATERION CYMDEITHASOL: Parti Priodas yng Nghapel Ymholiad Anenwadol. Yma yn y Malwr-Awyr, dyn ni’n osgoi pynciau crefyddol fel arfer, ar ôl yr holl broblemau yn ymwneud â Gŵyl Gogoniant a Gorfoledd wedi’i threfnu gan y Pwyllgor Eciwmenaidd ar Heddwch a Chymod gwpl o flynyddoedd yn ôl. Fe ddylen nhw fod wedi defnyddio Canolgyfandireg yn ogystal â’r Gimbreg a’r Pretaneg Cyfoes, medda i o hyd! Ta be’, mae achlysur arbennig iawn i’w ddathlu, fydd yn digwydd yn yr Ysgubor Newydd, Pyrth-y-Fall am 6 o’r gloch, 7fed Gorfoledd-fis, bythefnos i heddi’. Dyna’r dydd hapus pan welwn ni briodas sifil ein hoff Fugail (wel, fy hoff Fugail finnau), y Canon Tommo, a Stevie G, Tywysydd Medrus Cymuned Ieuenctid Amgen, sy wedi bod gyda’i gilydd ers tua 10 mlynedd hir erbyn hyn. Fi fydd yn gweinyddu yn fy rôl fel Meistr Llawn yn Urdd Cyfrinachau a Cheidwadwr Hen Ddirgelion y Dauwynebog. Barry Barnes fydd y gwas bach (er ei fod e’n gallu ymddangos yn dipyn o labwst, ac yn frawychus iawn pan fydd yn gyrru’r motor-beic ‘na mae ‘di rhoi mwy o gic yn ei injan), a Harriet Potiwr fydd y forwyn briodas (ac am hudoles swynol ydy hi!). Bydd ‘na adloniant traddodiadol newydd sbon gan Gôr yr Urdd, fel arias o’r opera ‘Y Deyrnas Waedlyd’ gyfansoddwyd gan Gertrude Llwynlesg ar sail testun gan Mamrick.

 

Bydd ‘na seremoni’n cynnwys llawer o siantio llesmeiriol yn ieithoedd fyrdd i gyfareddu’ch synhwyrau a’ch cludo chi i Fydoedd Eraill, a pharti i’w chanlyn ble bydd digon o gyri ffa sbeislyd wedi’u deifio, a madarch wedi’u preserfio mewn mêl, yn ogystal â goblediaid o ‘Aur Du’ – a gwahoddir pob un ohonoch. Falle’ch bod chi ddim yn gwybod, ond gaeth Capel Ymholiad Anenwadol ei sefydlu ar ôl y Chwalfa Fawr a dorrodd yr Eglwys Fyd-Eang yn yfflon. Yn ystod y blynyddoedd diweddar mae’r Capel (sy ddim yn sefydliad crefyddol, wrth gwrs, ond un athronyddol), wedi bod yn cymryd safbwynt blaengar ar lawer o bynciau llosg – fel cynnwys pawb ar gyrion cymdeithas, lledu neges heddwch a chariad, hybu agwedd o holi cyson, a gweithio i ddymchwel pob awdurdod gormesol – gyda chefnogaeth lwyr y cynulleidfaoedd ac anogaeth gre’ gan y cyhoedd.

 

Pan gaeth y Capel ei sefydlu, roedd y sefydliad cynta’ o’r fath i annog a helpu’i swyddogion yn weithredol, – y Bugeiliaid, yn ddynion a menywod – i lunio partneriaethau sifil â pherson o’r un rhyw – os o’n nhw eisiau ‘neud hyn, wrth gwrs. Ar hyn o bryd mae Capel Ymholiad Anenwadol yn llawer mwy rhyddfrydol o hyd nag yr un o’r Eglwysi Lleiaf, a Thabernaclau, a Themlau eraill ynglŷn â’r pwnc ‘ma. Mae Jelena Pekar, Prif Efrydydd Dyrchafedig a Llefarydd dros y Capel (rhaid i ni gofio taw teitl er anrhydedd yn unig yw’r un cynta’ ‘ma), wedi datgan ei bod hi’n falch iawn o groesawu priodas sifil am gyplau o’r un rhyw, yn enwedig tu fewn i’r Capeli. Mae hi wedi gweud ei bod hi eisiau tynnu sylw pawb i’r ffaith taw gweinidogaeth y Capel yw un o gynwysoldeb.

 

Ac mae’r Capel wedi bod yn gweithio’n galed iawn gyda ni aelodau Urdd Cyfrinachau i ddyfeisio defodau a seremonïau neilltuol fydd yn rhan o’r gwasanaeth priodas. Mae’r PED yn dweud: “Mae’r geiriau ‘ma’n gallu cael eu hadrodd dros gwpl wrth iddyn nhw ddathlu partneriaeth neu briodas sifil, i fynegi’u cariad a’u penderfyniad i hala’u bywydau gyda’i gilydd, am taw drwy roi’ch hun i berson arall (neu, dan amgylchiadau gwahanol i bobol eraill), byddwch chi’n gallu dechrau trawsnewid eich hun a’r Byd i gyd.” Dewch i ymuno â ni felly (medd y cwpl hyfryd), er mwyn dathlu’n cariad at ein gilydd, ar ein Capel, ac atoch chi, ein ffrindiau i gyd – peidiwch anghofio’r torthau, y pysgod (a’r sglods), a’r poteli o win (gwin a choch)! Nodyn poléit: Er bod Tommo'n arfer brwydro’n llythrennol, bydd yn rhaid i chi beidio â ‘neud hyn yn ystod neithior y pâr llawen – os gwelwch yn dda!

 

ACHUB YR IAITH: Ar un adeg bu Pyrth-y-Fall ar lan y môr yn ardal ble medrai’r rhan fwyaf o’r boblogaeth (pob un ohonyn nhw sy’n perthyn o bell i’r Baxteriaid, y Teulu Grossmann, neu’r Procteriaid) yr iaith hynafol o’r enw Yrtheg. Mae iddi ryw debygrwydd tenau, medd rhai, i Vodahí o Wlad Meryk Deheuol, i Po’onof o Diriogaethau Digyfraith Diznarnia ar y Cyfandir Deheuol, ac i Ropiha o Ddominiynau Anhreiddiadwy’r Dwyrain Pellaf, a honnir bod iddi nodweddion hudol. Ond, gwaetha’r modd, mae Sefydliadau Addysgol Annibynnol Unedig Aberdydd a’r Cylch (SAAUC) wedi tyfu’n aruthrol yn ddiweddar, a’r nifer o fyfyrwyr hefyd. O achos hyn mae’r trigolion sy’n byw yno trwy'r flwyddyn gron gyfan ers blynyddoedd ar flynyddoedd, wedi cael eu gwthio o'u cartrefi, a’r iaith ryfedd a nerthol gyda nhw. “Ein hiaith yw ein dull ni o fynegi ein hun, ac mae hi wrth graidd pwy ydym ni. Ein cyfrwng rhyngweithio â’r Byd ydy hi, a chalon ein diwylliant,” medd un preswylydd, gan ychwanegu taw “gweithred dreisiol yw lladd iaith, un ai trwy ormes, neu esgeulustra, neu watwar. A gwarthus ydy.”

 

Ond, peidiwch anobeithio'n llwyr! Grŵp o’r enw “Taith yr Iaith,” sy ‘di bod yn ymgyrchu’n ffyrnig dros sefydlu “Caffi Achub y Iaith [felly].” Gwedan nhw fod yr enw’n cyfeirio at “daith drafferthus yr iaith tuag at ffynnu’n orfoleddus.” Hyd yn oed yr uwch-arwyr bach ewn ym meithrinfa'r Ganolfan Hyfforddi sy’n deall pa mor bwysig yw’r Hen Iaith, ac felly buon nhw’n trefnu pigo trwyn noddedig, a rasio trolïau siopa hedegog gyda mam-gu a thad-cu ym mharc ceir ‘Uwch-siopau’ i godi arian at y prosiect. Fuodd ond cwpl o ddamweiniau difrifol, diolch byth, ac roedd mor arswydus o galonnog clywed y cryts yn siantio ‘Pennill Dera’ gyda’i gilydd fel haid o gythreuliaid gwallgo’ —

 

“Henffych, henffych, dân ac eira!

Dewch â’r Meistri, fel yr awn ni

Bell i ffwrdd, er mwyn gorwledda – 

Feistri erchyll, dewch i’m helpu!

Ac wedyn, cyffrown y gwagle! 

Hawddamor! Hawddamor! Wele!”

 

Gaeth y gwaith ar y Caffi’i gwpla mewn pryd i ddathlu Gŵyl Ficingaidd Aberdydd yno, ble maen nhw wedi bod yn arllwys crochaneidiau di-ben-draw bron o ‘Aur Du’ (y coffi gorau yn y Ddau Fyd, ac ynddo elfen gyfrinachol), te rhedynen hynafol, a jin sych gyda pherlysiau aromatig, i’r torfeydd o gwsmeriaid diofal, a’r llanciau a llancesau wedi’u gwisgo’n Fôr-ladron. Erbyn hyn mae’r teisennau ac arnyn nhw flas mwy wedi’u ‘neud yn ôl rysáit sbesial yr hen Mrs Blodeuwedd Grossmann yn gwerthu fel tân gwyllt hefyd. Mae’n lle gwych i gysgodi rhag y glaw di-stop ond iachusol, ac mae pawb yn gweithio fel lladd nadredd i ‘neud yn siŵr bod popeth yn troi fel deiol. Dewch i helpu nhw i dynnu’r hen Yrtheg i lan o’r bedd. Fe fyddwch chi’n gweld, a chlywed, a phrofi popeth yno drwy gyfrwng yr iaith anghyffredin yn unig, ac fe fydd y geiriau a’r amgylchedd yn dechrau trawsffurfio’ch bywyd, dw i’n addo. Fe fues i’n hunan yno wythnos ‘nôl ac elwn i ‘to fel gwenci (‘tase’n hanfodol), ond mae'n ddrwg ‘da fi weud taw was prysur iawn dw i bob amser, a cha i byth cyfle arall yn y dyfodol agos, a dyna fe!

 

CHWARAEON a CHYLLID – AUR DU: Pethau anghyffredin sy’n digwydd ym myd cyffrous chwaraeon lleol. Byddwch yn cofio fy mod wastad yn tynnu eich sylw i ffawd dda ac anffawd fy hoff glwb Mig Farwol, sef yr Hen Grwydriaid sy’n chwarae ar y tir diffaith wedi’i ailddatblygu tu hwnt i’r hen Burfa Dar ar ochr ddeheuol Ystâd y Pinwydd. Wedi’r cwbl, noddir nhw gan Fanc Tesbyro, sy wedi benthyca cryn dipyn o arian iddynt dros y blynyddoedd i geisio hybu’u datblygiad, ond yn ddi-fudd. Fel y gwyddoch, nid ydynt wedi dod yn eu blaen tros y flwyddyn ddiwethaf, ac yn wir, maent wedi perfformio’n wael. Man a man imi esbonio: mae fel petai’r timau gelyniaethus wedi bod yn chwarae chwiw gyda cheffyl dall bob penwythnos trwy’r tymor diwethaf, ni ddymunaf fod yn gynnil gyda'r gwir. Sut byddai’n bosibl colli 0 – 350 yn Adran 3 Cynghrair Timau 3ydd y Sobr-ddydd diwethaf, fel arall?

 

Wrth gwrs, bu amgylchiadau lliniarol. Mae’r rhan fwyaf o’r hen ddiawliaid dros bump ar hugain oed ac yn dod o un o’r saith prif deulu ym Mhyrth-y-Fall. Maent yn llafurio llawn amser bob dydd o wawr hyd fachlud a’r tu hwnt, o dan lach chwerw'r Meistri Erchyll yn y Slafdy hwnnw o’r enw Y Ganolfan Hyfforddi i Ieuenctid Amgen (mae’n ddrwg gennyf, ni fedraf fi beidio â chwerthin am eu pennau!). Roeddent wedi treulio 3 awr ar y bws ymlaen llaw’n teithio 120 o filltiroedd i gyrraedd y gêm. Roeddent wedi bod yn dathlu rhyw damaid o lwc hefyd, gwaetha’r modd. Bu bron i Risiart Rhuddygl farw yn ystod y gêm flaenorol, nos Wendid-ddydd, ond cafodd ei adfywio mewn labordy cêl ym mherfeddion y Ganolfan, y mae pawb yn ei alw’n ‘Dŷ Aileni’ bellach, gan y Doethur D B Procter a rodd iddo ddogn o ryw ddiod gadarn. Ni raid dweud bod pawb yn gloddesta wedyn, gan fynd ar y criws tan oriau mân y bore. Ond dioddef gan andros o ben mawr roedd pawb drannoeth y ffair felly. Ar y llaw arall, roedd pawb yn y tîm arall dan ddeunaw oed, a chyn iached â'r cricsyn, er nad Pobl Sed mohonynt. Roedd yr ysgrifen ar y mur, a phennau ar y bloc. Ac fe ddisgynnodd y fwyell – yn ddygn! Wrth reswm cafodd ein harwyr gwrol eu cystwyo!

 

Erbyn hyn, fodd bynnag, ymhlith llawer o bethau eraill tra chyffrous, mae’r bois (a’r rhocesi) wedi gwella y tu hwnt i bob disgwyl – yn sydyn iawn. Ac ar ben hynny, fe allant bellach brynu Dean Drysglog, chwaraewr gorau i’r Eirth Arfog am y swm tywysogaidd o £5000. Mae’r bachgen hwn yn 18 oed a 17 stôn, a bydd yn 6’3” pan ymsytha i'w lawn daldra. A dyna pan fydd yn peidio â llusgo ei figyrnau bys ar y llawr, bwystfil mor amrwd ac mor gyntefig ydy, ond mor gryf hefyd. 568 yw ei Ffactor Gorffolaeth EvtecHs, a chanolwr allanol ardderchog ydy felly. Ond, ‘neno’r Mawredd, fe all y llanc redeg! Ymhellach, byddant yn gallu cael benthyg Barry ‘Basiwr’ Barnes gan yr Ieuenctid Amgen am swm sylweddol hefyd. Sut y gall yr hen bwdrod fforddio gwneud y fath beth, rwy’n eich clywed yn ei ofyn yn syn?

 

Wel, mae’n rhaid imi ddweud wrthych fod y lodesi (a’r bois) wedi dod o hyd i swm bach teidi o arian, oddi wrth eu cymwynaswr ‘Ewythr’ Jack Procter (mewn ffordd o siarad), a’u gwaddolasai â’r Burfa yn ei ewyllys yn y lle cyntaf. Ymddengys bod cronfeydd enfawr o’r olew aroglus puraf a ffurfiwyd o ffwng a rhedyn wedi’u hylifo dros y milenia, o dan y maes chwarae, fydd yn werth biliynau o bunnoedd i’r diwylliant fferyllol arloesol. Rydym yn credu bod yr Hen Grwydriaid wedi sylwi ar y ffaith bod gan yr olew briodweddau ifanceiddio sylweddol os bydd dyn yn ei yfed. Sut yn y Ddau Fyd y darganfuant y fath beth? Wel, ni fydd neb yn addef hynny. Ond mae llawer ohonynt eisoes yn teimlo’n llawer gwell nag oeddent hyd yn oed ond sawl wythnos cynt. Daethpwyd o hyd i’r dyddodion yn ystod gêm gyfeillgar yn erbyn y Bobl Sed pan achosodd un o’r Ieuenctid Amgen ffrwydrad ar ddamwain, a adawodd i ffynhonnell o ‘Aur Du’ ffrydio i’r awyr o grater yng nghanol y maes.

 

Fodd bynnag, yn ôl pob golwg, mae gan y driniaeth hon, a allai fod yn wyrthiol, rai canlyniadau annisgwyl. Arferai hen dad-cu Drysglog fod yn greadur crebachlyd a musgrell dros ei ddeg a phedwar ugain, ond ar ôl cymryd y moddion am ddim ond mis, mae bellach wedi dod yn debyg i darw ifanc â chyhyrau enfawr. Mae hefyd wedi magu pâr o gyrn miniog a chynffon hyfryd, ac yn parhau i newid. Bydd e’n ychwanegiad gwerthfawr a defnyddiol iawn at sgwad yr Hen Grwydriaid. Mae pethau tebyg yn digwydd i sawl un o’r chwaraewyr eraill hefyd (neu i aelodau’u teulu), ond mae pob un yn troi’n fwystfil gwahanol, yn unol â’i gymeriad. Wrth gwrs gall rhai o’r Bobl Sed eisoes droi’n anifeiliaid trwy fodd, ond mae’n bosibl iddynt ddewis y creadur a rheoli’r broses nad yw’n barhaol yn yr achosion hynny. Eto i gyd, mae un o’n merched ni wedi datblygu i fod yn shafiq â ffwr llwydlas, odiaeth, sydd yn gweithio bellach yn llwyddiannus iawn fel meddyg coed hunangyflogedig ledled y wlad.

 

Yn eu gorfoledd, roedd y chwaraewyr yn mynegi cryn ddiddordeb i gychwyn mewn prynu’r Canolfan Hyfforddi a’i throi’n ysgol, ysbyty, llyfrgell, a chanolfan hamdden gymunedol. Fodd bynnag, wedi ychydig ddadl am egwyddorion sosialaidd a delfrydau cynhwysol gan y tîm, penderfynasant fuddsoddi mewn ffatri newydd ar safle’r hen Burfa. Dylai miliwn o bunnoedd (mwy na heb) wneud y tro, ac mae’u rheolwr, Tretru "Cnyw Crwydrol" Molruku, yn gweithio law yn llaw â’i hen gymrawd yr Anrhydeddus J B Grossmann, Chwilyswr Aruchel y Cyngor Technocratig Rhyngwladol, a’r Athro Mow-káhta Káhzwel, Is-ganghellor a Phrif Swyddog Gweithredol SAAUC i benodi Uwch Ymchwilydd Ymarferol a dod o hyd i weithwyr galluog yn ogystal â gwrthrychau arbrawf bodlon. Ar ôl blynyddoedd maith o fod mor aflwyddiannus, maent yn barod i gymryd y Ddaear gron drosodd maes o law, medd ein hoff dîm Mig Farwol, sydd newydd ddechrau defnyddio’r enw Y Gwylltfilod. (Mae SAAUC yn dweud yn enwedig yr un peth ar y slei bach, hefyd!)

 

Mae'r criw'n mynd i fuddsoddi yn y Bondiau Les-min wedi'u rhyddhau'n ddiweddar gan Balas Platinwm yr Arglwydd Lywydd i gymell y rhai tra chyfoethog i gefnogi "ailadeiladu'r genedl" – wrth fynd yn gyfoethocach byth, wrth reswm. (Mae llawer o bobl yn dweud "Bondiau Hyder Llwyr," gan ddynwared yr ymadrodd ar dafodau'r Lleisiau Cyhoeddus i gyd ym mhob Adran, Gweinyddiaeth, Mans Athrofaol, a Phulpud pan fyddan nhw'n amddiffyn gweithredoedd eu meistri sy'n boddi mewn moroedd o lygredd. Ond dw i ddim yn mynd i roi sylw am hynny!)

 

ADEILADU PONTYDD: Rhaid bod chi i gyd yn gwybod yr hen briod-ddull, “Pethau i’w rhannu yw cyfrinachau,” a’r syniad ‘ma sydd yn wraidd y cais diweddarach i hybu’r Hen Iaith ym Mhyrth-y-Fall. Y gyfrinach maen nhw’n sôn amdani yw’r Yrtheg, ac maen nhw’n bwriadu rhyddhau llwyth o “siaradwyr cudd” yn Ffair Gŵyl Mathu, ddydd Dwyffrog Gyfrwys (1af Maethu-fis). Bydd parti pigo sbwriel lan, o fore gwyn hyd nos, ble gall y cyfranogion ddysgu geirfa briodol fel “ailgylchu,” “ynni gwyrdd amgen sy’n adnewyddadwy a chynaliadwy,” a “dymchwel y gorthrymder gan y gyfundrefn baternalistig lwgr.” Drwy’r p’nhawn, bydd ‘na ddosbarthiadau mewn dofi gwylanod yn cael eu cynnal gan y Ffacir Ffug o’r Fforest Fflamllyd, Ffred Phantastig, ar y clwt pentre’. Am 3 o’r gloch gallwch chi gymryd rhan mewn gemau o Fig Farwol yn erbyn y cryts cythreulig o’r Ganolfan Hyfforddi i Ieuenctid Amgen neu roi rhyw swlltyn ar y canlyniadau (yn answyddogol wrth gwrs!). Ond peidiwch becso, fe fyddwn ni’n rhoi mwgwd dros eu llygaid i ‘gyfri’ am eu pwerau sbesial, a ‘ neud pethau’n anos iddyn nhw.

 

Uchafbwynt y dydd fydd arddangosiad o bwerau’r iaith Yrtheg i drawsffurfio realiti gan Efan Balrog Baxter (rhaid i fi gael yr enwau’n iawn yma!), am 5 o’r gloch ym Mae’r Smyglwyr (a bod y tywydd yn caniatáu), neu yn Ffreutur y Ganolfan Hyfforddi fel arall. I baratoi, mae’n awgrymu’ch bod chi’n synfyfyrio uwchben y dywediad: “Yr ofn oddi mewn i bob un yw’r bwystfil a’i hysa.” Er mwyn bod yn gynhwysol, o 9 o’r gloch y bore ‘mlaen yn Neuadd y Cymrodyr, bydd gemau o Sgrabl Kimbreg i’w chwarae, sy’n defnyddio 165 o deils. “Angenrheidiol” yw'r gair gorau, ond mae'n anodd iawn i’w ddefnyddio. Hefyd, bydd arddangosiad Mydryddu ble bydd beirdd lleol yn cyfansoddi cerddi difyr yn y fan a’r lle, gan ddefnyddio’r mesurau caeth.

 

Wedyn, bydd cyfarfod cyhoeddus teirieithog (yn yr Yrtheg, y Gimbreg, a’r Bretaneg) am 7 o’r gloch, i drafod: y problemau gyda chartrefi amlfeddiant i’r myfyrwyr yn yr ardal, angen llawer mwy o lefydd parcio, darparu sachau sbwriel annistryw i amddiffyn rhag ysglyfaethu gan wylanod, a sut i annog (neu orfodi) mewnfudwyr i fynychu’r dosbarthiadau Yrtheg rhad ac am ddim. Bydd Helen Grossmann yn perfformio’i sioe un wraig, “’Nes i Briodi Bod Arallfydol: Trasiedi mewn Saith Act,” ar y llwyfan dros dro yn y twyni tywod, a’r tâl mynediad o £1 yn mynd at y gronfa i adeiladu gwarchodfa i fwganod hybrid newydd ym Mryn Melyn. Fe fydd rhai ohonoch chi’n cofio taw’r fenyw ifanc uchelgeisiol iawn ‘ma oedd yn arfer rhedeg y Clinig sydd y Ganolfan Hyfforddi bellach, a hithau wedi symud ‘mlaen i bethau gwell. Fe roes y meddyliaethydd byd-enwog y gorau i’w swydd bwysig ond ingol ar ôl i’w mab gwpla’i arholiadau i ganolbwyntio ar gymuno â natur, ac arbrofi gyda theatr gymuned therapiwtig. Bydd y randibŵ’n cwpla gyda thwmpath yn Llwybrau Drygioni am 9 o’r gloch. Â’r holl elw (ar wahân i’r arian ar gyfer y gwarchodle) at goffrau Taith yr Iaith ar gyfer taith ymchwiliol i’r Wlad-wen a'r holl gostau wedi’u talu fel gall y Pwyllgor brofi sut mae ieithoedd lleiafrifol yn cael eu trin yno.

 

CORNEL LÊN: Dros bymtheng mlynedd yn ôl erbyn hyn, fe ddaeth y llanc o arwr rhyfel, awdur, ac ymgyrchwr dros gyfiawnder cymdeithasol dyn ni’n nabod fel David Baxter i fyw yn ein plith ni yma yn Aberdydd. Gaeth e’i eni a’i fagu yn yr Hen Deyrnas Ddwyreiniol, sy wedi datblygu i fod y Wladwriaeth Ddwyreiniol Annibynnol bellach. Wrth reswm, roedd ei rieni’n siarad un o’r ieithoedd lleol fyrdd, mwy na thebyg, ac mae’n ymddangos bellach taw ‘Dá·hwyth Oh·fé’ oedd ei enw cywir – neu falle’i enw hudol, cyfrin (er mod i ddim yn siŵr am y sillafiad). Mae’n golygu, “Dyn sy wastad yn annwyl, sy’n lefeinio toes â thân.” Mae’r enw cyntaf yn enwog yn yr Hen Chwedlau o Galon y Cyfandir. Dá·hwyth oedd crwtyn a enillodd pwerau hudol ar hap a damwain, gan ddod yn ddewin grymus, a gyfathrebai ag Ysbryd y Byd (fel mae’n esbonio yn ‘Cariad, Colled, Chwilod’). Pan gyrhaeddodd e Aberdydd roedd y llanc wedi drysu’n llwyr, ac yn defnyddio’r ffugenw ‘Daud Pekar’ sy’n tarddu un o dafodieithoedd eraill yr ardal. Ond wedyn mabwysiadodd e’r llysenw ‘David Baxter’ i’n helpu ni dramorwyr, felly gadewch i fi ddweud ‘David’ o hyn ‘mlaen.

 

Tadogir y llinell, “Mae’r Famwlad Aflonydd mor bitw, drewllyd yw Afon Sed; Mor wirion brodorion yr ardal, ‘naeth chwalu’u bodolaeth gled” ar David yn aml iawn, fel tystiolaeth iddo fe gasáu gwlad ei enedigaeth. Rhaid i ni ddwyn mewn cof, fodd bynnag, iddo roi’r geiriau yng ngheg y cymeriad mileinig o’r enw Ivan Gythraul sy’n ymddangos yn y ddrama ‘Y Tywysog Dybryd.’ Mae’i ffrind gorau ar y llaw arall yn mynnu ei fod e wastad eisiau gwybod, “Sut oedd y cigfrain ar ben minarét uchel yr Uchelgaer Rosliw’n crawcian, pa gyfrinachau o’n nhw’n eu rhannu, beth oedd siâp a lliw’r sgrech yn codi gyda’r wawr o ogofâu wmbr y llygod mawr cynddeiriog ar bwys y pyllau halen hynafol.”

 

Wel, ‘sdim ots am hynny oll, achos taw nawr, mae dogfennau newydd ddod i’r golwg, sy’n profi y tu hwnt i unrhyw amheuaeth resymol taw cyfieithydd campus oedd David. Tarodd dyn tân ar y papurau mewn seler gêl o dan safle’r hen Ddafad Golledig, losgwyd yn ulw yn y tân a ysodd y ‘stad oll, tafarn ble byddai David yn lico difyrru’r amser drwy gymryd arno’i fod yn bwrw’r rwnau a dweud ffortiwn, yn ogystal â swyno’r cynulleidfaoedd mawr drwy adrodd storïau. Ymhlith y llawysgrifau oedd ‘Alré Kineltien hlí’ (‘Dan y Pinwydd’), ‘Hanes y Dywysoges a’r Llabwst,’ 'Gweddïau a Bygythiadau,’ ‘Y Crochan sy wastad yn Llawn,’ ‘Dē Khan·ōkh Invocātiōnibus’ (‘Parthed Arddeisyfiadau Khan·ōkh’), ‘Hanes Gwarthus y Mwncïod Cochion Hwyliog,’ ‘Cariad, Colled, Chwilod,’ ac ‘Exsecrātiōnēs Gentium Innumerābilēs Profānārum’ (‘Melltithion Fyrdd y Cenhedloedd Cableddus’).

 

Erbyn hyn, Undeb Myfyrwyr Sefydliadau Addysgol Annibynnol Unedig Aberdydd a’r Cylch (UMSAAUAC) sy wedi codi arian i achub enaid hen noddfa’r sychedigion, gan greu ar y safle neuadd breswyl, canolfan technoleg gwybodaeth dra modern yn cynnwys peiriannau cymysgu meddyliau ac argraffyddion organig, a bar ffasiynol ond rhad (o’r enw ‘Llywbrau Drygioni,’ o bob peth dan Haul!). Maen nhw’n bwriadu cadw cof David y Llenor yn fyw trwy ddigwyddiadau yn y bar wedi’u symbylu gan goctels yn cynnwys Meddwl Mall, Ambrosia Ffug, Tylluan Ferw, a Mêl-gawod Eplesedig. Dewch yn llu, felly, i gynnig llwncdestun i’r hen Dá·hwyth (beth bynnag oedd ei enw go iawn) a mwynhau rhai hanesion hynod newydd o’r Ddaear a’r Nw Yrth! Fe fydd y band Hebé Lwyd yn chwarae’u brand unigryw o seiko-pynk nos Aflun-ddydd gynta’ pob mis – dyna fydd yn neis, on’ fydd? Dyma’n blas ni ar un o’i straeon mwya’ rhyfedd yn parhau —

 

“Arhoswch! Yr ydych yn barod i aberthu’ch hunain i’r Hen Feistri, er na wyddoch mohonom ni eto. Felly yr ydym ninnau, y Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd, wrth ein boddau. Fe fyddwn ni’n falch iawn o gael eich gwrogaeth a derbyn eich tynged o hyn ymlaen. Ac yn ein tro, byddwn ni’n eich bwydo a pheri ichi ffynnu. Ni fydd ond yn rhaid ichi wneud yr un peth bach hwn. Fe fyddwch yn rhoi pob un o’r llwyth a fydd farw i mewn i’r crochan o bres gwyrdd cyn i’r corff bydru. Fe fyddwn ni’n eu croesawu hwy i gyd mewn gogoniant ar y Nw Yrth, wedi’u cipio o safnau ebargofiant. Ac o’r herwydd, ni fydd y crochan byth yn wag, ac fe fyddwch chi’n deyrn ar yr holl Blaned ffrwythlon. Os cytunwch, nyni fydd eich Meistri, a chwychwi fydd ein gweision. ‘Delkurí’ fydd ein henw dirgel arnoch (er yr adwaenir chi gan y Byd fel ‘Deklo’), gan y byddwn ni’n bwydo’n gilydd! A’r enwau ar y saith teulu fydd: Ampashu, Azarié, Eldo, Namana, Nekendu, Silba, ac Ulkru. Chwychwi fydd biau’r Byd i gyd yn ein Henw ni. Dyma’n geiriau terfynol a digyfnewid ni. Credwch fi, oblegid mai myfi, Swtach, Arglwydd yr Anialwch, a gwas i’r Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd, sydd yn siarad!”

 

Gyda hynny dyna weiddi pob aelod o’r llwyth ag un llais: “Cytunwn! Gwnewch chi fel rydych chi wedi’i ddweud! Achubwch ni a pheri i ni ffynnu!” Ac felly yr oedd, ac felly y mae hi. I mewn i’r crochan o bres gwyrdd yr âi pob un o’r llwyth a fu farw, ac roedd y crochan wastad yn llawn hyd yr ymyl o ambrosia pêr, hylif purddu a ‘nâi i bob un a’i hyfodd ddod yn gryf iawn ond yn eitha’ twp. Ac wrth i’r bobl ffynnu a thyfu’n ddilyffethair, dechreuon nhw adeiladu dinas a magu anifeiliaid, ac yng nghanol y ddinas fe godon nhw Dŷ Aileni ar ffurf sigwrat mawr i gynnwys y crochan oedd yn Bont i’r Byd Arall. Yn fuan wedyn, ddarfu iddyn nhw ddod ar draws pobloedd eraill. Bob tro y digwyddai hyn, fe fyddai’r llais yn tarddu o ddyfnderoedd y crochan yn dweud wrthon nhw fod arnyn nhw angen gorfodi’u credau ar y dieithriaid aflan â chleddyf ac â thân. Ac felly y ‘naethon nhw. Ac wrth i’r pentyrrau o gyrff yn gorwedd o gwmpas y crochan dyfu’n uwch uwch gan ymestyn tuag at y Lleuad hyd yn oed, cyn iddyn nhw gael eu rhoi ynddo, roedd yr Hen Feistri Erchyll yn llawenhau ar y Nw Yrth. Ac roedd y crochan o bres gwyrdd wastad yn llawn yn wir.