Saturday, December 06, 2008

Maacha ko mol – Shivkumar Rai (translated* by Vikash Pradhan)

The Price of Fish

(1)


The torrential shower had just ended. As a frisky southerly wind spread tiny cloud shards across the sky, a dazzling blue sky, freshly washed, peeked through small tears in the cloud cover. There was no trace of the recent tumult. After a fit of madness, nature seemed resplendent in glory. Only the stream, washed clean by the rain, raged on. The nooks and corners of the hill resounded with the mountain brook’s roar as it made its way through them.

Emerging from his hut, fisherman Raaney stretched his right hand, and covering his eyebrows with his palm, looked up at the sky and then shifted his gaze to stare at the raging torrent. Shortish and stocky, clothed in a very old black denim daura suruwal^, patched all over and little more than rags, a striped waistcoat with a dozen white buttons lined up, an old faded cap, and with his suruwal legs pulled up to over his calves, Raaney looked one-of-a-kind.

Wonder what Raaney saw with his enquiring glances at the raging stream, picking a small fishing net from behind, he set out towards the stream. Sitting atop an algae laden rock he looked here and there. His snares were undisturbed, but the small embankment at the confluence had been washed away by the surge. Heaving a sigh of disappointment, Raaney drew in a long breath. A short fellow, he moved quite a way below with a few nimble leaps. Seeing the swirling froth and the swollen waters of the pool, Raaney gave his net a big spin and hauled it in the water. A little while later, Raaney pulled it out with his stocky, muscled limbs. Swept in with pebble, sand and some vegetation, a dozen or so fish writhed on the bank.

(2)

This was how Raaney made a living. His father had also been a fisherman - one night about ten years ago, he had been swept away by a monsoon spate: his memory might now be wandering in some forgotten realm. Ordinary people are scared of ghosts and spirits. As they believe, one should not venture out after dark: by doing so, one incurs the evil eyes of the supernatural. Raaney with his ghoulish ways was soon to touch the ranks of the ghosts. When the people of the diurnal world fell asleep, consciousness went on a trip to dreamland, and an eerie silence descended all around, it was the time Raaney, under the cover of darkness, went out with a blazing torch to search for fish in their nests and nooks. His weather beaten face looked sinister, lit by the flickering blaze of the torch. His white eyes set on his ghoulish face scoured the stream, the rocks, the hills and the walls. Possibly, the spirits of the stream got a chill themselves on seeing such a living ghost.

Raaney whirled his net and threw it again into the green pool. The fish disoriented and scared by the raging current got trapped in his net. A trace of joy flickered across his weather-beaten face. Tears welled up in his eyes. He started weaving his catch of fish on thin bamboo strips. Losing his mother very early, he was alone in the changing world. He may have his own fantasies about a life partner though. A small household by the stream, a toddler who would walk up to him while he was fishing and say, “Father, I want to fish too.” He would shout at his wife in irritation, “O Goray’s mother, take this child away.” Otherwise, returning home exhausted after selling his fish at the market, Goray’s mother would pour him a hot cup of tea, garnished with pepper, with a coy smile on her face. During these moments he would experience the joys of a householder.

(3)

Raaney headed for the market with his catch. His legs were drenched to the knee and bore blue marks due to bumps suffered on the uneven rocks of the stream. Blood flowed from those places where the skin had peeled. Despite the intense cold of the water, his heart was filled with the warmth of hope. He was set to make his biggest profit today.

At the crossing a man enquired, “How much is the fish for?”

“Eight annas a seer.”

“That much for fish that rollicks in the stream?”

“What is this price looking at the effort,” Raaney replied looking at the wounds and blue marks on his limbs. Raaney felt that he ought to price his fish more, but he himself did not know the real value for his fish.

By five, he sold off his entire catch. Counting the money in his hands, he found that he had earned ten rupees in total. He swelled even more with hope. If such sales sustained, he could easily earn no less than one hundred and fifty rupees in a month. With just two months labour, he could earn enough to raise a small hut and bring home a wife. Raaney’s covetousness took roots all around.

As he was heading ahead with similar thoughts in his mind, his attention was suddenly drawn towards a new shop on the roadside. A woman of about twenty or thirty was standing at the door. Though he lacked any influential grounding on matters of sex, there still remained some faint traces of arousal.

“Oh fisherman, do drop in at our shop for tea at times.”

Greedy at the prospect of exchanging a word or two with the woman, young Raaney thought it unwise to let go of the chance. He said, “Why won’t I eat at your place? OK get me what you have.” The woman served Raaney some sel, potato curry and tea and asked, “Shall I give you some fish too?”

Raaney looked at the plate and was enticed by the sight of the fish deep-fried with red spices. Drooling, he asked, “How much?”

“Two annas for a piece.”

“That’s the price of one piece of fish?” He panicked for a moment unable to gauge the valuation.

The woman replied with flair, “What do you think? This same fish will cost eight annas per piece as soon as it reaches a hotel. So, how is two annas for it expensive?”

Raaney thought it fair. Maybe fish should be priced in that manner. I am selling it at too little. Even then the two valuators had been unable to gauge the real value of fish.

The same thought again; a hut by the stream and a life-partner. Raaney suddenly looked at the woman. He felt his heart miss a beat. It then beat louder and faster. For a moment his thoughts became disordered. He asked, “So, where is your husband?”

The woman answered matter-of-factly, “My spouse is no more, my in-laws live in the market. My father-in-law does love me, but my mother-in-law is a harridan. She cannot stand the sight of me, so I moved out.”

These sentences fuelled up his hopes even more. He thought, what if she is a widow, she is still young. Moreover, being a widow she might love me. Now all I need to do is gather money for the hut. As he was about the leave, the widow said, “Please drop in at times, if fate does not intervene we will meet again.”

Raaney felt elated.

(4)

It was already seven when he reached the stream. Tonight there is jest in his body, joy in his heart and his young soul flitted about on its own. Yet again that dark monsoon night, the celestial beings have disappeared into some faraway realm. The sky is covered with clouds. Tears seem ready to drop from the sad faces of the clouds. Thunder struck the mountainside and the sound echoed all around. The stream flows on with its incessant roar. Raaney leaves for the stream with a burning torch. Thunder strikes again. Even the never fearing Raaney is momentarily shaken. He remembers the face of his father during the flash of lightning. But he thought it was just an illusionary shred of memory. The clouds appeared to roar, “Stay away from the water.” But why would he listen - he was resolute to earn double the money he earned today and to make the longings of his heart a reality.

Yet again Raaney cast his net in the pool; the fishes were in a stupor due to the light of the torch. About twenty-thirty carp and trout were caught in the net. He scours beneath the rocks and finds fish, he checks his snares at the embankment, and finds even them teeming with fish. Raaney is neither hungry nor is he sleepy. His hopes have found wings. He has no concerns about physical labour.

A dark cloud blew from the south. A flash flood rushed down from the top of the mountains with a whoosh. Little did Raaney know that riding the flood was the Lord of Death, Yamaraj. Hearing the water gush over the rocks, he started gathering the fish on the bank when the current swept them away. Raaney felt very sad to see the fruits of his hard labour carried away thus, but he did not realize that he was being swept away along with the fish. “The value of this much fish…,” escaped from Raaney’s mouth as he was carried down by the flood, but before the sentence could be completed, the water submerged him.

Everything came to an end – Raaney’s hope, ambitions and aspirations were born in that pool. They died at the same place. A foreboding silence descended all around again. Raaney’s net had already been covered by the sand. Only the remains of his torch flickered in the darkness as if awaiting his return. A cold breeze flew down from the nooks of the mountains. The perennial music of the flowing stream had spread to every corner of the mountains. Disorder was again absent in nature’s laws.

*Disclaimer - This is not an authorized translation
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^ Daura Suruwal: A Nepali attire worn by males, comprising a top (daura) and breeches like trousers (suruwal).

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