This is my feeble attempt at story-telling.
She was a mother. Sitting beneath a mango tree which had begun flowering at the fag end of Spring, she thought about her grown-up children who had gone fishing in the roiling sea.
Looking up from the task of making brooms from the green coconut fronds spread around her, she saw that grey clouds shrouded the sky, threatening to pour pails of water from their cottony wombs.
Calling out to her husband who was resting inside their hut after two days of fishing in the sea, she voiced her concern about their two sons and the imminent storm.
When she could hear no answer from the hut, she went inside, only to find her husband shivering with fever and uttering incoherent words in his incognizance.
Worried about both her husband and sons, she was torn between rushing out to seek the help of her neighbours and the urge to run to the beach to look out for her sons’ return before the storm began. Finally she made a choice. Standing before the angry waves whipping the sands for being naughty and shifty, she prayed to the Sea Mother to protect her sons and all other sons of the sea who were out fishing and thus were vulnerable to the vagaries of nature. Then she ran to her neighbour’s house where she found that her friend’s husband, also a fisherman, was not at home. Sensing that she would not find help anywhere else in the storm, she desolately walked back.
When the mother returned home, she could see that a full storm had begun and the high tide had reached the coconut trees which were swaying dangerously low and close to her hut. As she stood horrified, the fronds lashed out and hit the roof of the hut, which flew off in its entirety and landed at the top of a group of cacti plants.
Standing before the now roofless hut and watching as rain took possession of their meager belongings as if collecting its long due debt, she cried thinking of the fate of her children and cursing herself for letting them go fishing that day.
Running inside, she called out to her husband. When he did not stir, she went to him and dragged his inanimate body to a corner of the hut. She tried desperately to cover him with the two silk sarees -one red with peacock dancing in the pallu, the other blue with gold stripes- which were kept safely in a trunk and were her only prized possessions since marriage. Before long, the sarees were soaked and clung to her now-unconscious husband.
Night fell, with no sign of her children. Her gaze rooted to the broken door with no roof, she sat silently beside her husband, tears dissolving in the rain which now flowed as a stream near her feet.
She was a mother. Sitting beneath a mango tree which had begun flowering at the fag end of Spring, she thought about her grown-up children who had gone fishing in the roiling sea.
Looking up from the task of making brooms from the green coconut fronds spread around her, she saw that grey clouds shrouded the sky, threatening to pour pails of water from their cottony wombs.
Calling out to her husband who was resting inside their hut after two days of fishing in the sea, she voiced her concern about their two sons and the imminent storm.
When she could hear no answer from the hut, she went inside, only to find her husband shivering with fever and uttering incoherent words in his incognizance.
Worried about both her husband and sons, she was torn between rushing out to seek the help of her neighbours and the urge to run to the beach to look out for her sons’ return before the storm began. Finally she made a choice. Standing before the angry waves whipping the sands for being naughty and shifty, she prayed to the Sea Mother to protect her sons and all other sons of the sea who were out fishing and thus were vulnerable to the vagaries of nature. Then she ran to her neighbour’s house where she found that her friend’s husband, also a fisherman, was not at home. Sensing that she would not find help anywhere else in the storm, she desolately walked back.
When the mother returned home, she could see that a full storm had begun and the high tide had reached the coconut trees which were swaying dangerously low and close to her hut. As she stood horrified, the fronds lashed out and hit the roof of the hut, which flew off in its entirety and landed at the top of a group of cacti plants.
Standing before the now roofless hut and watching as rain took possession of their meager belongings as if collecting its long due debt, she cried thinking of the fate of her children and cursing herself for letting them go fishing that day.
Running inside, she called out to her husband. When he did not stir, she went to him and dragged his inanimate body to a corner of the hut. She tried desperately to cover him with the two silk sarees -one red with peacock dancing in the pallu, the other blue with gold stripes- which were kept safely in a trunk and were her only prized possessions since marriage. Before long, the sarees were soaked and clung to her now-unconscious husband.
Night fell, with no sign of her children. Her gaze rooted to the broken door with no roof, she sat silently beside her husband, tears dissolving in the rain which now flowed as a stream near her feet.
Soon she heard someone approaching the ruined hut. Glancing up, she saw that her neighbor couple had come to their aid. The fellow fisherman picked up her husband and carried him to their home while she followed with her friend, looking back at what was once their home, hoping against hope that her sons would miraculously materialize there at that instant.
The next morning, she found out that along with the hut and all their possessions, the storm had also snatched away her husband’s life from her. Realising that nothing else was left to be lost, a calmness pervaded her aged soul. She walked slowly to the beach and stood in the rain, facing her Sea Mother. Grey sheets of rain continued to fall on the raging sea, angering it further and causing the waves to lash out with increasing frequency.
Turning to the sea, she saw with shock that a boat was being gently carried to the shore atop an enormous wave which neither had a crest, nor diminished as it approached her. Transfixed at the sight of her two sons clinging to the sides of the boat, she thanked the Sea Mother for returning her sons unharmed. Love misting her eyes, she saw only her sons and not the wave, which swept her up as it gently lowered the boat. Her sons watched from their boat as their mother was taken away by the Sea Mother into her womb, in exchange for their lives. Climbing down from their boat and running towards the receding wave, they heard their mother’s voice: “Get away from the storm, my children. You’ll catch a cold.”
The next morning, she found out that along with the hut and all their possessions, the storm had also snatched away her husband’s life from her. Realising that nothing else was left to be lost, a calmness pervaded her aged soul. She walked slowly to the beach and stood in the rain, facing her Sea Mother. Grey sheets of rain continued to fall on the raging sea, angering it further and causing the waves to lash out with increasing frequency.
Turning to the sea, she saw with shock that a boat was being gently carried to the shore atop an enormous wave which neither had a crest, nor diminished as it approached her. Transfixed at the sight of her two sons clinging to the sides of the boat, she thanked the Sea Mother for returning her sons unharmed. Love misting her eyes, she saw only her sons and not the wave, which swept her up as it gently lowered the boat. Her sons watched from their boat as their mother was taken away by the Sea Mother into her womb, in exchange for their lives. Climbing down from their boat and running towards the receding wave, they heard their mother’s voice: “Get away from the storm, my children. You’ll catch a cold.”
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