By Prem Gongaju
Time passed. A side glance informed Grandfather of his grandchild’s pupating self in the chrysalis of her recollection. He understood that his grandchild should be protected from the interference from without, and she should be left undisturbed so that she could transform and transcend the banality of existence into sublime, poetic one at her own pace and measure. Later on, Kamala would discover that she is the dancer and the dance on the dais of existence. Therefore, Grandfather kept regulating the rhythm of liminality by punctuating the silence with the intermittent sound of gurgle deep within the coconut belly of the hookah.
It wasn’t a new occurrence with the consummate storyteller, for he himself was heir to the portentous moments gifted by his father once upon a story hour in the selfsame ambience at night awash with moonlight. Incidentally, it was the same hookah that Kamala’s Grandfather’s father smoked during the moonlit night, interpolating the silence with the rhythmic gurgles from the coconut belly of the hubble-bubble. Thus Grandfather remained true to the narrative flowing from his father down in his storyteller’s vein; he considered the liminal moment linking him to his granddaughter an umbilical yarn of generational continuity.
The hookah was finished a while ago. And yet Grandfather kept regulating the rhythmic punctuation of silence with the gurgle from the belly of the smokeless hookah.
Suddenly aware of the smokeless hookah, Kamala exclaimed, “O Grandfather!” and ran with the spent chillum to fetch a fresh one.
After thanking Kamala for the fresh chillum, Grandfather asked, “Where was I?”
“The pearls of pain followed by the spectacular rise of the Sun God,” Kamala promptly cued in her Grandfather.
“Righto!” exclaimed Grandfather and began the story. “The Sky Goddess pined for the missing daughter and was at her wits’ end. She was left with no place to look for her missing daughter in the vast sky. So, shading her eyes with her tremulous hand, she scanned the seven seas from her palace window. She found the sea face more dazzling than the previous day. ‘The sea face is extraordinarily bright today,’ muttered the Sky Goddess to herself, ‘I don’t know why.’ Just at that instant there appeared a humongous cloud sailing in the sky, shielding the sun momentarily. But the Sky Goddess noticed the sea face radiated from within in the absence of the sun. ‘Fascinating,’ she thought to herself, ‘never have I seen such event before.’ She called her pet cormorant and delegated it to fly down swiftly all the way to the seafloor and scout around for the source of brightness. Pleased with the watery assignment from her Mistress, the cormorant dove deep into the belly of the sea. Following the beams of radiance, it soon arrived at its source: the missing moon radiating from the middle of the pink ornate throne in the inner sanctuary of the coral palace. The starfish were thrilled to have the full moon in their midst; they danced their little starry dance with precision and panache to entertain their newfound queen of the sea, while the seahorses went round and round in circles around the radiant moon. Armed with the knowledge of the whereabouts of the truant moon, the super sleuth flew straight to her Mistress in the sky and conveyed the news. The news pleased the Sky Goddess to no end. Her daughter was found at last! She rewarded her loyal pet with its favorite morsels of shrimp and salmon sushi dipped in the sardine sauce.
Then the Sky Goddess let herself be tired happily and reclined on the purple sofa for a much needed rest. But, alas, her rest was short lived.”
“How come, Grandfather?” asked Kamala anxiously, “why couldn’t she rest for as long as she liked?”
“You see, my child,” answered Grandfather, “running away from home is a serious matter in heaven as it is on earth. There are laws governing the heavenly bodies as there are domestic rules for the family members on earth.”
Grandfather paused to let the importance of observing the laws of nature and the rules of nurture sink in her granddaughter.
“I don’t run away when I disagree with Timila, right, Grandfather?”
“You’re right, Kamala,” Grandfather agreed, “when you two siblings squabble over some silly stuff, your sister runs to your mother.” Then he added with a chuckle, “And you run to me.” Kamala shook her head in agreement.
“The truant moon should have run to her mother instead,” said Kamala.
“Indeed, Kamala,” Grandfather hugged Kamala, and her face disappeared into the Niagara of her Grandfather’s beard.
“Soon after the Sky Goddess realized the irrefutable laws governing the celestial bodies, her erstwhile happiness ebbed away,” continued Grandfather, “and she is left with the aching heart with no recourse for its cure.”
Grandfather surveyed Kamala’s face for the signs of perturbation before he proceeded with the story.
“The Sky Goddess summoned her pet cormorant back from the garden pond and asked it to deliver the ultimate message to her wayward daughter lounging in the coral palace in the sea: ‘My dearest lost child: Because you transgressed the laws governing the heavenly bodies, you forfeited the rights and privilege of a lunar member, thereby disinheriting yourself the celestial place next to your sister moon. And from this night forward you shall have the watery domain and forever dwell therein in harmony among the creatures of the sea, not as a moon with its luster and luminescence but as a turtle, dull and lusterless.'”
“Poor moon-turtle,” said Kamala sadly.
Kamala’s Grandfather patted her head caringly and continued with the story.
“The Sky Goddess was overcome with sorrow. Her sobbing drew her pet cormorant to her side. She ran her hand nervously over its head arching like a question mark against her heart. Soon she cried out the last note of lamentation to her sea-bound daughter: ‘if you had come to me first! Alas, if you had come for my help first!'”
(The wise old raconteur left out the aftermath in the living room of the Sky Goddess. No sooner than the pet cormorant left on its final mission, she collapsed on the floor with a broken heart.)
“What would become of the moon marooned at sea?” Kamala asked nervously.
Grandfather caressed Kamala’s head lovingly and carried on with the story.
…To Be Continued on Feb. 3
