Original Konkani Story: Addvonn Author: Pundalik Naik
Translator: S. M. Borges
As usual, I was climbing the steps. Generally, I don’t have the habit of looking around… here and there. After climbing the steps, I look only at the spot where Sadanandbab keeps his slippers, just to be sure that he is in. But today, inexplicably, my eyes strayed sideways towards the scullery and for a moment it felt as if my feet had been stuck to the steps. I soon realized that it was a maid who was cleaning the vessels in the scullery. I felt that I had seen that face earlier … sometime… somewhere. Yes, I was sure that I had and that too from close, very close. And, subconsciously, I missed a step whilst climbing.
“This is Mr. Nilkanth Naik, the young story writer.” Sadanandbab introduced me to all the respected gentlemen sitting there. After taking my seat, from the corner of my eyes, I began to observe the stranger who was sitting in front of me. Sadanandbab also introduced him. He was not a writer. But he was a great lover of literature. I came to know that he had read many of my stories. From his expression, I could guess that he had liked them. His expressive eyes also conveyed the fact that he was quite pleased to meet me.
When Sadanandbab would interrupt his talk suddenly, it was as if he had lost his vocal cords. It seemed for a moment that peace and quiet were spreading all around. And as if to deliberately sour the atmosphere, the rasping karr, karr, karr sound made by the maid while scrubbing the vessels could be clearly heard, as though it had climbed up the steps of its own volition.
“The whole rural scene has been excellently described in his writings. Those cowherds, their cattle, they are the main subjects of his stories.” I was hardly listening to Sadanandbab. In fact, every time I am praised and admired, instead of feeling elated, I get more pleasure out of observing the one who is praising me and those who are listening to him. I have gotten used to this. Indeed, it has become a habit. All of sudden, my attention was drawn towards that particular sentence. In fact, I heard it quite clearly. “Those cowherds, their cattle…….”.
May be, it was due to the fact that the particular rasping sound of the vessels being scrubbed in the scullery had suddenly stopped. It may have stopped but I felt as if it was still buzzing around my ears, like the yelling sound that the cowherds make while coming down the slopes of the mountain. It kept buzzing and, along with the sound waves, my thoughts too went to my rustic village, away from Sadanandbab’s house, leaving Panaji far, far behind.
I was reminded of my days as a cowherd. Some fifteen years earlier, when was only nine years old…very vivid…just like ’twas yesterday. Like a freshly plucked sheaf of leaves. Like those evergreen trees from the forest, the memories also came back like the reverberant crowing of a rooster. By clearing the bushes, the pathway was opened. By forcing themselves through the bushes, and chasing away the flies with their sprightly tails, my cattle went on grazing.
While I was chasing them, someone made away with my shirt. The thief had run away with it. Hardly had I opened my mouth to curse him when a thorn of “kandin” pricked my foot, like a sharp needle. And then as I bent myself down to take it out, the hind knot of my “kashti”, my loin-cloth, came off loose. “The devil take you!” said I, not really knowing whom I had cursed. It could have been anyone. But it would never be Shalu. No Sir, never!
“Kh-u-u-hu……..” I gave out a loud yell by way of call to Shalu. As is the habit with cowherds, whenever they are cursed, they reciprocate in kind. Likewise, a yell is always returned with another yell. But, even though she is a cowherd, Shalu is an exception to this rule. She will reply in words alone. May be because she doesn’t know how to yell, or may be, she doesn’t like to yell. I don’t know the reason. But every time I yelled to other shepherds while climbing the mountain, she would say: – You will lose your voice, why are you yelling so loudly?
– I can yell still louder.
– But please don’t.
Shalu didn’t respond to my yell. She might have not reached our grazing spot on the mountain yet, but even that little thought of her was enough to give me some relief from the throbbing pain in my foot caused by the thorn. A look at all that greenery, and for a moment, I felt as though a calmness was getting hold of me. By the time I arrived at the grazing land all the other cowherds had reached there. As usual, Kushta was sprawled on his blanket with a huge stone for a pillow. Yeso had plucked some blades of grass and was engrossed in weaving a small mat. Shiva was busy scouting the bushes to find some
“red berries” and to chew. And the rest of them were getting ready to play koindobal— the game of ‘trap sticks.’ One of them was carving a small furrow in the ground and another one was chopping a piece of the root of the banyan tree to make a thick stick, as also a smaller one sharpened at both ends. Yet another one was sharpening the “khole” stick used to putt the bail. Others were busy dividing and distributing the players into two teams by throwing enigmatic posers at them.
-Hep, hep, hurray
Put salt and open
Choose Panaji or village
-Panaji is better. We can watch films every day.
-Are you coming, Nilloo?
– To play koindobal?
-Why are you calling him. Then who will play with Shalu?
– It’s about time for your pubic hair to sprout and you still want to play with girls?
-Casanova.
-May be he is a girl.
-Nilloo’s Nillee!
-How will we know?
-Let us pull off his loin cloth and see.
-Why remove it? It is always loose.
-Hey, Nilloo! Why are you running?
-Go. Go and hide under Shalu’s skirt.
-God only save Nilloo’s cattle.
– Nilloo’s cattle went into wilderness to the bridle, into wilderness to the bridle… oh-ho…oh-
ho
And the mountain began to blossom and glow, to blossom and glow. However, badly the other cowherds might have teased me, I would get annoyed only for a moment.
By that time, Shalu had reached the grazing ground with her cattle. And our steps unconsciously turned in the direction of our usual meeting place.
-Please don’t get angry with the cowherds.
-Why?
-Because cattle don’t die of a crow’s curse.
She explained to me. Everything in detail. And then, when I understood what they meant, I became terribly angry with the cowherds. But one thing was still bothering me and I wanted to get it clarified. More so, since the cowherds started teasing us with that song. Nilloo’s cattle went into wilderness to the bridle, into wilderness to the bridle. oh -ho -oh-ho. And the mountain began to blossom and glow, to blossom and glow. -There is a tale behind it.
-What tale?
-Behind that song. They are only linking your name with it.
-But why?
-Anybody’s name can be attached to it. But only when the cattle goes into wilderness to the bridle.
-I have not understood.
-Do you see this mountain of ours? It never blossoms aglow. There are only rocks and stones at its peak. Completely bare and naked.
-So what?
-If it has to blossom one thing should happen.
-That is?
-Someone’s cattle must go into wilderness to the bridle that exists in that far away mountain.
-That wilderness bridle? So far away? Even my yell will not reach there.
-The cattle that reaches that wilderness bridle, is not visible from here. They never return.
And only then this mountain begins to blossom.
I felt a chill inside me. Like the little partridge, I sat down in a hunch. Looking far away,
towards that wilderness bridle.
( To be continued…)
