We think that we can shape our fate, but it is fate that shapes us, and nothing befalls except fate will it.

All things are a great pattern, my father, drawn by the hand of the Umkulunkulu upon the cup whence he drinks the water of his wisdom; and our lives, and what we do, and what we do not do, are but a little bit of the pattern, which is so big that only the eyes of Him who is above, the Umkulunkulu, can see it all.

Even Chaka, the slayer of men, and all those he slew, are but as a tiny grain of dust in the greatness of that pattern.

How, then, can we be wise, my father, who are but the tools of wisdom?
how can be build who are but pebbles in a wall?
how can we give life who are babes in the womb of fate?
or how can we slay who are but spears in the hands of the slayer?
This came about, my father.

Matters were made straight in the land after the death of Chaka.