The One Who Swam with the Fishes

by Meenakshi Reddy Madhavan

  ‘Oh yes, they were having a councillors’ meeting. I was not supposed to be there but Adamya, one of the soldiers, you know, asked me to bring him a drink. He said, ‘Baana, be a good boy and fetch me a pitcher of wine, for I fear this is going to be one of those nights where I shall not be allowed to set foot out of the royal tent for several hours, not even to slake my thirst.’

  ‘Baana,’ I say, patiently, for I am used to boys and their way of embellishing absolutely the wrong part of a story, ‘pray continue.’

  Baana has to stop for a second to get back to the tale. ‘So then I went in with a pitcher, and the king was talking and General Vidura was by his throne, kneeling at the king’s feet. Which I thought was a little strange, because usually’ – here his ears went pink and he glanced at me to see if I had noted that casual ‘usually’ – ‘usually, the meetings during the hunts are informal and no one kneels. It’s a large tent, with bolsters and bedding for the men to lie on. Sometimes there is dancing and they bring in women. The women stay on that side of the camp.’ He waves towards the far side of the lake and sure enough, I can see a few sari-clad figures in the distance, hanging up clothes and bathing in the lake.

  ‘You tell a fine story,’ I praise him, and he grins at me and I notice a dimple dancing in his still baby-plump cheek. ‘Then what happened?’

  ‘Then, well, I didn’t want to go straight to Adamya through the men.’ He looks a little sheepish and I quickly reassure him that it was the right thing to do among so many important people – make yourself small so you disturb no one. I almost want to laugh at how readily he accepts my reassurance – what do I know about royalty or royal manners?

  ‘So I stayed by the side, holding the pitcher of wine, and oh, I almost dropped it a few times, and then everyone would have noticed me. I was so scared I wasn’t even listening to what the king was saying, I was so busy holding the wine steady. But then’ – here he gleams at me, my praise has gone straight to his head and he’s enjoying dragging out the story – ‘then I heard the commander saying, “Fisher girl!” and I wondered what he meant and why he sounded so angry. And the king said, “Fisher girl or not, I must see her again, Vidura! Do not defy me on this!” And I thought to myself, “Aha, a fisher girl? Just like my lady,” except I didn’t know that they were talking about you just then.’ He shrugs at me. ‘There are many fisher girls.’

  I pat him on his back. ‘It’s all right, Baana, how were you to know?’

  ‘Then the king said, “Satyavati. She who speaks the truth. I need her, Vidura, I must have her,” and the commander said, “But, Your Highness…” and the king said, “We will have no further argument on this, Vidura, you will go and bring her to me.” And then everyone started talking. I heard some people say the king had lost his mind, and other people said you must be very special, maybe hidden royalty, for the king to lose his mind over you after just one meeting. And then I delivered the wine and left, and that’s all.’ He throws himself down on the grass, exhausted, but I am sitting up straighter than ever, thinking rapidly.

  ‘Baana,’ I say, after a while, ‘does the king know who you are?’

  ‘Who I am? Not likely, I’m just a foot soldier. One day, though, I will command his army!’

  ‘Would you like him to know who you are?’

  ‘Well, I’d rather the crown prince knows who I am,’ says Baana dreamily. ‘But to meet the king, that would be a great honour too, my lady.’

  ‘Take me to him,’ I say. ‘And the king will know your name now and forever. Perhaps you shall even be rewarded!’

  He looks doubtful. ‘The only true reward is doing my duty,’ he says, parroting from some script he’s learned.

  ‘Well, as a soldier, isn’t your only true duty doing as your king commands?’ I say. ‘The king wants to meet me, and here I am.’

  Baana pulls at his lower lip, not looking at me. ‘Well, after that meeting, my lady, the commander told his soldiers they were not to look for you. He said, “The king is restless but it will soon settle once we find him a princess from a noble royal family. This girl is mere whimsy, and we shall just tell the king we could not find her.”’

  The cheek of Vidura, I think to myself – how dare he keep me from my destiny? No wonder he stuck me by the healer’s tent. I decide he only rescued me from the other soldiers to not get into any trouble himself. The only way to avenge myself is to defy him.

  ‘Do you have a sister, Baana?’ I ask him. ‘Or a mother?’

  He looks pleased to see I have dropped the uncomfortable subject.

  ‘No mother, my lady, she passed away when I was small. I do have a sister though and an aunt who brought me up.’

  ‘Well, you may not want a reward but don’t you think it would be very nice for your women to have one?’ I look at him from the corner of my eye, careful to make my voice sound very casual. ‘After all the sacrifices they made for you, surely there is one thing they want very much for themselves?’

  ‘My sister’s husband is not a nice man,’ says Baana. ‘He beats her at night and torments her. Were the king to say she could have a dispensation, she could leave him and make a home with my aunt. My aunt misses her too.’

  ‘I’m sure the king is gracious and kind enough to see that his best foot soldier cannot have a bad man as a brother in marriage,’ I say. ‘And isn’t your duty also to your family?’

  Baana is torn, I can see that, but he’s also suspicious. I can see him wavering. I try the last tool in my bag. ‘Please?’ I plead, making my eyes go large and round, sticking out my lower lip a little bit. I have used this very face to get the biggest fish, the prettiest basket, quite recently on my father, who used to be a lot smarter where I was concerned but now lets me get away with anything. ‘I need to see him, Baana, dear Baana. I just need one moment of the king’s time.’ I touch him on the arm. There’s no need for this final gesture, but I can tell it’s working because he leans into my touch and then leaps away as though he has been scalded. I glance at his face, suddenly conscious of my heart beating rapidly.

  ‘As you wish, my lady,’ he says stiffly, and stands up, waiting for me to follow him. He’s gone all stand-offish and proud now, probably ashamed. Never mind, I think, if I am proper royalty I shall give him a nice reward. I straighten the crumpled edge of my sari and wonder if I could lure all men this easily. Or was it just young Baana? Maybe he can be my own personal bodyguard. I’d like that.

  When I am royalty. I cross my fingers behind my back to ward off the evil eye.

  Baana leads me to the royal tent and the guards there, standing with crossed lances, stop us. ‘She seeks an audience with the king,’ says Baana, his voice clear but trembling a little bit. I drop my head, pull my sari over my hair and try to look modest.

  ‘And who might she be?’ asks one of the guards, sounding bored.

  ‘Lady Satyavati of the fisherman tribe,’ says Baana, and then turns to me. ‘Are you a lady? Who is your father?’

  Well, he’s certainly interested in my lineage all of a sudden. I bite back the urge to snap at him and instead say sweetly, still addressing the ground, ‘My father is the fisher king of these banks.’

  ‘The king is resting and must not be dist—’ begins the same guard, but his friend looks across at me curiously and then tells him, ‘I think this is that girl.’

  ‘Which girl?’ asks the first guard, and his friend nudges him violently. ‘The one the king has been searching for, you idiot. If we take her in, we’re certain to be rewarded.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ The first guard appraises me. ‘I see. How very interesting. Come along with us, little lady, so we can show you into the presence of the king.’

  I glance at Baana who looks away from me, still cross at the way I have manipulated him, and then step forward, leaving him behind. I look ahead. ‘Lead the way,’ I say.

  Then

  By the time I had dragged the old boat up the shore after I dropped the old woman to the island, the sudden thunder burst
had vanished, the clouds had cleared, and the sun was shining tremulously again. The boat shuddered across the sand, instantly losing whatever spell had been cast on it. It was a rotten piece of wood again, the sides caving under my fingers, the moss re-growing rapidly. I put it back where I had found it, and it settled in, the creepers growing over it so fast, it was as though I imagined the whole incident. When I turned to look back at the river, she was as calm as silk, the tracks on the bank made from where I dragged the boat had vanished, and through the clearing fog, I could see nothing at all. Was it a dream, I wondered, but I didn’t have very much time to wonder; the sun was moving across the sky rapidly and it was nearly time for me to see Joshi again, so he could work his medicine on me.

  I hurried back to the village, only to find my mother standing at the door of our hut looking out for me. ‘There she is, the princess,’ she said crossly. ‘As if we have nothing else to do but wait for you all day.’ Out of habit, she aimed a blow at my head, out of habit, I ducked out of her way and went in. ‘Pah, you smell like a day-old fish in the sun,’ she said, wrinkling her nose. ‘Matsyagandhi, you were named, and you’re staying true to it.’

  Joshi was sitting on the ground at the back of the hut, with the rest of the tribe clustered around him. Cradling a small boy in his lap, he gazed into his nostrils with great interest. ‘Ah, there, now I see it,’ he said to the child’s mother, and then rifled through his bag for a long twig, carved with a flat scoop at the end. The child noticed this and began to wail. ‘Hush now, little brother, this won’t hurt a bit,’ said Joshi and tilted the boy’s head back again, deftly inserting the twig into his nostril. He gave his wrist a twist and pulled out the scoop, and there at the end of it, shining like a gem, was a small pebble. The child forgot to cry in his amazement, and Joshi handed the pebble to his mother. ‘See that you don’t put any small things inside your nose again, all right?’ he told the little boy, stroking his head. ‘Otherwise they’ll have to cut it off and you’ll be the noseless wonder. I’ve seen it happen to one child; he had to shave his head and become a monk.’ The boy looked suitably warned, his mother carted him off, and Joshi glanced around and spotted me.

  ‘Ah, there’s my last patient of the day,’ he said to the surrounding crowd. ‘Brothers and sisters, I ask for some privacy while I work with this young lady here.’ The people stood up, some glancing at me sympathetically – private consultations were almost always painful – others murmuring about me and my smell. They stepped back in unison when I stepped forward, some covering their noses. ‘I don’t know how her family stands it,’ I heard one woman whisper as she left.

  What Joshi did for the next hour or so, I cannot say. I only remember being made to lie down, my clothes stripped off me, a cloth laid over my body for modesty. Smoke billowed from the fire he made, pungent smoke that made me cough and sweat, my eyes tearing from the fumes. He muttered incantations into the fire, rubbed me down with an unguent he said was cow urine mixed with other herbs, made me stand, my cloth held up around me, while he tipped my head back and looked into my mouth, dropping charred lumps of something into the back of my throat. When I sputtered, he stroked my back gently. ‘It’s just the medicine working, little sister,’ he said. Because he was a man of honour, he averted his eyes when, calling my mother to help him, he asked her to look for lumps or boils between my legs. She peered, she pinched, but she couldn’t see anything, at which answer he sighed, and gave her some more of the liquid to spread there.

  ‘Change the way you eat,’ he said, ordering me off my afternoon meal and prescribing just a light snack of rice and buttermilk in the evening – no fish, definitely no fish for as long as it took. I was to gnaw on roots, peel tubers and boil them whole, after which I was to mash them and eat them like that. ‘Maybe a little bit of salt,’ said Joshi. ‘But not more than this much…’ he clarified, holding his finger and thumb apart the size of a mosquito.

  And finally, when I had been almost falling asleep twice, only to be roused by a stinging solution he smeared under my nose and eyebrows, he sighed and put out the fire. ‘I have done what I can, little sister,’ he told me, bidding me to get dressed. ‘And now the rest is in the hands of the gods. If this is a larger, greater curse from a previous birth, I am not the one who can help you. Pray to Narayan every day and night, chant his name one hundred times before you arise from your bed and before you close your eyes, and maybe he will have mercy on you.’

  He left the next day, after my father paid him a hefty sum in silver and copper coins, and the choicest dried goods, almost depleting our store for the winter. I saw also my mother’s gold bangles clink in Joshi’s leathery palm before he put them away in the pouch he kept around his waist, as well as the necklace of pearls I was to have upon my marriage. We watched him go as a family, Chiro standing near our mother, who put her arm around him, I by our father, who placed his hand upon my shoulder. ‘There he goes with our family’s riches,’ said my father, finally. ‘Maybe we will make it all back by bride price.’ My mother, surprisingly, had no sharp words for me, and when I glanced at her, I noticed her eyes were swimming with tears. The bangles had been in our family for as long as five generations; they were saved for the first daughter-in-law of the house, and they would have been for Chiro’s bride. I had ruined them all – I, a foundling girl with nothing of value to offer, only a smell that followed me around like a bad reputation.

  At first, my mother pretended that the smell had finally left. She allowed me to sleep indoors with them again, let me work right next to her without making a comment about it, even sat me outside to oil and comb my hair. She did all of this with very bad grace and a few sharp remarks, but said nothing about the way I smelled. After a while, I wondered whether it had really gone. I could still smell it – acrid and almost angry, as though it was upset I had tried to get rid of it, but perhaps the scent was still lingering in my nostrils like a ghost. Perhaps I was so used to smelling it, I couldn’t get used to not.

  But then I noticed how my mother sent Chiro outside almost as soon as he came in, how her nostrils flared and her nose wrinkled at the top whenever she was too close to me, how she faced away from me when I talked. I noticed too how Chiro didn’t come and lie next to me as he used to, how my father decided it would be better for him to sleep outside. They were lying – to themselves and to me, because they didn’t want to admit we had failed.

  It was Chiro who finally broke the silence. His birth star day was around the corner, at the next full moon, our mother said, and he would be a full ten rains old. It was the time when he was considered to be very nearly a man, when my father would give him a special gift of his own boat, and the two of them would spend more time together as Chiro prepared to take over from my father as fisher king. Chiro would also have to stop his classes with the rest of the children under the old man who taught all the small ones, and move to learning how to fish and read the winds and trade. At my own tenth naming day, two rains ago, I stopped learning how to read and write and began to help my mother around the house more than I had before. I could take over from her if she had to go away or was ill – that was how all the girls in the tribe were trained. As the daughter of the fisher king, I also had to know about trades and seasons, but not as much as Chiro did, so my father decided the best time for me to learn would be with Chiro so he didn’t have to repeat himself. I was looking forward to these lessons, and to being away from the house for some time.

  ‘We’ll have a feast for my little prince,’ said our mother, gloating over Chiro, stroking his face. ‘We’ll invite everyone, and you shall have all your favourite foods.’

  Chiro said nothing, only looked mutinous and down at the dirt floor.

  ‘What is it, my heart?’

  ‘I don’t want a feast,’ he said finally.

  I had been scrubbing the cooking pot with a coconut husk with my back to the room but I stilled then. I had a feeling I knew what he was going to say next.

  ‘You don’t want
a feast? Of course you do! We’ve been talking about this for two rains now!’ Our mother laughed – a surprisingly pretty laugh – and I heard her give him a big smacking kiss on the forehead. ‘You’re just shy,’ she concluded. ‘And no man is shy. It’ll be a good time for you to learn how to host your friends and the tribe.’

  ‘I told you, I don’t want a feast,’ he growled, and she grew impatient. ‘What is all this drama?’ she snapped. ‘You’re getting a feast, you ungrateful boy, because that is what happens when you have your tenth birth star day. If you have such a problem with it, take it up with your ancestors who decided this should be the way.’

  ‘No, I don’t want it,’ he burst out. ‘Because no one wants to come to our house! They won’t come, and you and Ba will be shamed!’

  ‘Why on earth would they not come?’ Our mother sounded very puzzled. ‘Your father is the king of this tribe, they’ll come to pay their respects.’

  ‘Well maybe they’ll come but they won’t stay for the feast. They said so, all my friends said so. They said’ – he heaved a great sobbing breath – ‘they said they can’t bear the smell in our house. They said it’s like being poisoned.’

  Then, howling, he launched himself at my back. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Mut-di! I didn’t want to say anything because I don’t want you to feel bad!’

  Our mother was quiet for some time and then said in a soft, terrible voice, ‘Chiro, get up.’ When he did not move immediately, she walked over to us and said it again. This time, I felt him look up at her and what he saw must have scared him because he scampered outside.

  ‘Look at me,’ she said to me, and I dared to glance at her face. It was as I had never seen it before. Her nostrils were flared and white around the edges, her eyes large and red and glaring at me, her mouth set in a firm, straight line. She looked like the avenging goddess Kali.

  ‘I want you to go,’ she told me. ‘You have eaten our food, drunk our water, slept by our fire, and I have let you, because my husband wanted me to, but you are no kin of mine and I owe you no more. We are poorer because of you, and I am more unhappy, but I am just a woman, put on this earth to serve. I will not, however, allow you to take my son down with you. Your curse cannot spread over this home any longer. I will not allow it. I should have banished you long ago, but my husband seemed to think you might have a greater future than we allowed for. I see now that you are an evil beast that we have nurtured, a demon in the form of a girl, and whatever past life you have been cursed for, I won’t let you spread its effect over my son.’