Storytelling

A round steel thali winks at me as steam arises from a bowl
of curry, a stick of cinnamon floats like driftwood seeking
welcoming shores. Little fingers trace the faint etchings of

a name engraved lovingly by a twice removed aunt. A pigeon
with eyes bloodshot from loneliness pauses a moment from
the scattered birdseed and coos a mournful strain on a broken

terracotta pot. Unbothered, ma narrates the story again
of that one proud fish who will not attend the xabha. The creaky
ceiling fan too keeps pace as Gedgedi bai pouts and preens

while a desperate mother debones a piece of tender rohu,
the sweet flesh finding its way into a ball of rice, the xaak
picked that morning ; little specks of green, a glint of

peridot on a white rock. The wind murmurs its love song to the
bamboo, the jasmine spreads its sweetness, a kingfisher
carries away a tadpole in its beak, the sparrows loud protest

drowned out by my mother’s ardent storytelling. “Akou,” I yell,
thumping the table with plump fists, and she sighs yet begins again.
Another mouthful of food, another round of placating a little despot.

The years dissolve like an early morning dream, now the sun curls
up like a cat in a warm corner of the old house. My mother’s umber
eyes vacant, the afternoon mute. Suddenly a grey-bellied cuckoo

belts out a short strident rhythm and a lost narrative tumbles out
as my fingers mash a plate of rice to a pulp, the fish bones still, like
the unsheathed swords of a vanquished army. Gedgedi bai puts on

her finery again. As the old matriarch surrenders to Gangatoop’s persuasion,
ma too relents and opens her mouth once more, a lone tear rolling down
leaves a salty trail on a sunken cheek. A half smile hovers on the threshold

of her lips. The Nahar has bloomed this summer, the parrots still ravish
the starfruit trees, the fallen fruit unpicked, the neighborhood bereft
of children’s laughter. My girlhood, a page bookmarked in memory.

Mother ‘s hands caress my greying strands. The tale concludes
on a joyful note, peace reigns, the fish rejoice. Ma thumps on the
derelict table with frail hands and whispers in a gravelly voice “Akou.”
And I begin again.

Note:
Gedgedi bai: The name of a fish in a folktale by Lakshminath Bezbarua, an eminent Assamese writer renowned for his short stories. The term “Gedgedi” is a reference to the Gangetic Leaffish.
Gangatoop: The name given to an Ocellated Puffer fish in the story.
Xabha: A congregation or public meeting.
Nahar: A tree with fragrant flowers with white petals and a yellow core. The tree has an irregular blooming schedule.
Akou: Again in Assamese.