When the water at high tide was just a few feet from their doors, the villagers of Chandipur had to finally relent and agree to relocate. Many had already left over time, so those who remained were the most resilient ones. Or, you could call them stubborn. Either way, they could not fight the sea, and time had finally run out.
“It is not a surrender”, said Shom, the headman, “we have to respect the sea’s wishes. She hasn’t denied us our catch, if anything she comes closer to us. But, we cannot survive in her lap, so we must move. This village of our forefathers will soon merge with the waters and that is a matter of pride for us. What the sea doesn’t want, she throws back, and what she likes, she makes a part of herself. The love of the sea, like the sun’s, destroys without trying.”
Shom didn’t know if these words were believable, but he knew it was his job to make his people believe. They had to take this news with courage, and courage would come from a happy acceptance, not resignation.
“Are we in agreement?”
The heads in the room nodded, but the faces were still not at ease. Shom’s wife came out in support of his decision, “We know it’s everything we’ve built. Homes, families, temple, and community. But these are not found in the sand, they are found in us. If we move, everything moves with us, and within us. And if we stay…well, if we stay then it’s all gone with us.”
There wasn’t much more to it really. There were just about fifty families left in the village, all with some fisherfolk. The sea had been coming further and further inland for the last twenty years. At first it was a surprise, but not a threat. These people had been one with the sea for generations, and they had heard the lore of the sea. In those stories the sea could always be pacified by behaviour correction, what they called rituals. Maybe she was angry because they weren’t praying to the Goddess, so Iswaradas, the priest, carried out a big four-day ceremony with heaps of fruits, flowers, and fishes. That didn’t help. Maybe she was angry that because of overfishing, her children weren’t able to breed. So, the villagers followed a week-long abstinence from fishing, then a fortnight-long one, and then a month-long. None of it worked, and they just lost a lot of their trade. Neighbours started getting suspicious of each other’s activities, in case one of them was indulging in immoral behaviour and, thereby, attracting the ire of the sea. Accusations of adultery, theft, and blasphemy started flying, tensions began peaking, but none of it made a scratch of difference to the waves.
The conclusion was foregone, but Shom was not willing, at first, to be the one who cut the umbilical cord. It took him a year to muster up the determination to deliver this verdict.
“If we are agreed, then the next question is where do we go. Again, I think on this matter we all see eye-to-eye. Dilip, can you please tell everyone what we discussed.”
Dilip was the village’s best fisherman and scout. He had an uncanny sense for finding where the fish were, often even diving into the water to look for them. All the others would wait for his signal before casting their nets. He stood up now, muscular and broad-chested, and said “You all know the open patch, where our children play football with the children from Sajnidanga, that’s where I think we should move. It’s not far, our children run back and forth many times a day from there. We can clear a wider path between here and there so we can easily relocate, and access our boats and the sea. Anyway, since the sea is closing in, these distances will also decrease. Headman and I have spoken to the men of Sajnidanga, and they have agreed to help us.”
“But, how will all of us live in that small field?” asked one of the others.
“We don’t move immediately. By turns we will go and clear more area, cut down trees, clear the grass and shrubs. Then we build the first huts, and move in batches. It will be a gradual process. The sea isn’t heartless, she’s giving us enough time.”
“If we go there and expand, won’t we merge with Sajnidanga?” asked someone else. “Are they okay with that?”
Headman needed to answer this, “As of now they haven’t raised any objection. They know what is forcing our move, and I have assured them that we only expect neighbourly love, nothing more. We are going there with everything we have, not as beggars.”
Dilip kept a close eye on his Headman as he spoke, to be sure there weren’t any cracks in his composure. Just the two of them knew that the only way they had managed to strike this deal with the people of Sajnidanga was by assuring them that it would be their village headman, and not Chandipur’s, who would take over the administration of the village. In reality, Chandipur would cease to exist, and Headman would become an ordinary fisherman.
Dilip had warned him, “You don’t have to do this under such conditions. We can find a different site, far enough from Sajnidanga or any other village.”
But Shom was clear. “If we go farther, we risk breaking up our community. People might choose to leave forever, and we may no longer be the same. Is it right to ask people to triple their troubles so I can continue in my seat?”
This was logical, but did not sit well in Dilip’s heart. “Things have to change. We need to make the right decisions about what should be conserved, and what should be the cost.”
“I agree. That is how I’ve made this choice. And I’m requesting you to honour my final decision as Headman by keeping this between us.” And so his friend did.
Someone who wasn’t from the village might wonder why there was such upheaval in their minds when it was only a matter of moving a few hundred feet. Such a person would have to be told that the matter was that from a few hundred feet away they couldn’t see the sea anymore. They would be a few hundred feet away from the spots where they, their parents, and their children were born, where their grandparents left their lives. One’s world is one’s world, no matter how small, because everything you know, believe, and value is contained within it.
Iswaradas, the priest, and Robi, the tea-seller, sat on a wooden bench outside Robi’s shop and sipped hot, milky tea while staring at the waves. The sea was not their trade, and yet even their lives were intrinsically tied to it. The priest had to bless the men and their boats every season, especially the new ones. In a small community like this, marriages and domestic ceremonies were few, so most of his work was centred around the fishing seasons, like everyone else.
Robi was alike. Along with household provisions, he would also bring in new nets, diesel, knives, baskets, and anything else the fishermen needed. He also served tea when everyone gathered around his shop to listen to the weather forecasts on the local radio. Being a seller, he would sometimes bring in new buyers for their catch, and was trusted to vet and negotiate on their behalf.
“The sea is kind even when she’s claiming this land,” said Iswaradas with devotion in his voice. “She isn’t hurrying us, after all what is time to her? It took us years to even notice her intent.”
They loved the sea, but also saw opportunities in the proposed move. “It won’t be bad,” said Robi staring at the water, “if we move closer to Sajnidanga. We’d actually get some more comfort. Now our numbers don’t count, it’s harder to get the attention of the middlemen. I don’t get my stock regularly, nor do our brothers in the boats get buyers. Things were different when we were younger. There were a thousand of us probably. That meant something.”
Iswaradas too had good memories of earlier days. “I remember that my father was a much busier man than I am today. Every day somebody would come to call him to their home; “Bless this”, “Interpret that”, “Predict something.” Things would happen. They needed blessing. Nothing happens now that needs blessing. My only job now will be to consecrate the new site for our village. That’s when we can think of a return to the better days.”
The steam from their tea was blown away as soon as it emerged. The sea wind was blowing inland and over them. The strings of hanging tobacco sachets were all swaying and kept getting entangled with each other. When Robi’s grandfather had built this shop, it was strong, and sheltered by trees, and at a much safer distance from the water. When the salinity in the soil increased, the trees died, and either fell over or had to be cut down. They had to put extra tarpaulin sheets on all the shanty huts that were now exposed to the direct sun. Robi had to go to the nearest town, well over a hundred kilometres away, to buy a good fifty of them for the entire village. That took care of the roofs. But, the current problem was that the sand was coming up to their thresholds. There was nothing in the market to fix that.
The sun eventually dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky ablaze in orange and red. Robi brought out three incense sticks and using his body to shield the match from the wind, lit them and stuck them into a crack in the wall. There was a small shelf with an idol of Shiva, the God of destruction, and next to it a photograph of their village deity, the Goddess of the sea. Everybody in the village had these two in their homes. The children were tasked with getting flowers from the forest in the morning, which they would hand over to the priest. He in turn would go door-to-door giving a small handful as offering to the idols. All day the flowers would surrender their sweet fragrances, and by evening they were shrivelled.
“Give me those,” suddenly said Iswaradas, pointing to the dry flowers on the shelf.
“These are done. Dried,” explained Robi.
Iswaradas didn’t care, he stretched out his hand and gestured for Robi to put the flowers in his hand, which he did. Without a word, he got up and started walking to the water. A few steps away from the edge, he threw off his slippers and kept walking until he was ankle deep in it. He held the flowers cupped in his hands and raised them to his forehead. “Goddess, you know best. If you push us away we must listen to you. But we can’t keep away. Everything must return to the sea, and so will we someday.” So saying, he threw the flowers into the sea. Robi was shocked by this. The flowers were used, they were dead and impure. He had never seen Iswaradas use old flowers as offerings in all these years. But, Iswaradas just stood there and watched the flowers start as a cluster, then slowly float away from each other even as they bobbed up and down riding the waves. Iswaradas didn’t know if these would be returned to the shore or float away with the tide, that was the sea’s decision, not his.
When he came back to the shop and sat back down, Robi asked him, “Why did you use those for your prayer? The sea won’t be happy.”
Iswaradas looked at him with a gentle smile on his face. “You had offered them to the Goddess on your shelf. What’s the difference? It’s all her. And besides, soon she will start entering this shop and these homes herself. Why bother with photographs anymore?”
Shiv is the God of destruction. Destruction is what engenders creation. Without destruction, there is nothing new. There is nothing new that does not eventually get destroyed.
Wiser people know that Shiv is a God of kindness, a God to the future.
There wasn’t much else for the men to do here except to become fishermen like their fathers. There wasn’t much else for the women to do here except to become homemakers like their mothers.
But, Dilip’s daughter, Shakti, had aspired to become a fisherman like her father, or a fisherwoman. Well, whatever she wanted to be called. She had an elder brother and an elder sister, and was happy that the two did what was expected of them and this gave her a chance at breaking her limits.
If there was real freedom in the world, Shakti would have been the natural inheritor of her father’s mantle. She was the best swimmer among those her age, as effortless as a dolphin. She wasn’t scared of the sea even when sometimes it was dark and impossible to tell which way was up and which way was down. Shakti had gone along on fishing outings with her father and the others when she was very young, but that had ended as soon as she hit puberty. Then she could no longer play fluid with gender.
She had bawled and shouted and raised a mighty ruckus to complain about the unfairness of it all, but she couldn’t change what was hundreds and hundreds of years old.
Of course, the sea was thousands and thousands of years old, and didn’t care about such pre-determinations. She welcomed Shakti with joy, and together they twisted, turned, and rolled for hours till one of them lost their energy and became placid.
Shakti found an old boat once that was discarded after many seasons of use. She managed to fashion a serviceable smaller boat out of it, with the help of her friend, the daughter of Robi, the shopkeeper. With this boat she started going out, bit by bit, looking for fish. It was to prove a point to herself, which she did swimmingly. She just had to avoid the places where her father took the other fishermen. Soon enough, she discovered a spot a couple of kilometres away that attracted some small fish. Here she would catch a few in her nets and then release them back into the water. She didn’t need to kill them to prove her point.
When she was a little older, Shakti tried once more to tell her father about her desire to help with the fishing. He wanted to agree, the part that knew they were short of hands in this village, but the part that worried for the honour of his marriageable daughter disagreed vehemently. He had got his elder girl married with great difficulty because they didn’t have much money to offer in dowry. His son was still unmarried, but was a fine fisherman. So, his youngest daughter was his immediate concern. He couldn’t risk her netting the reputation of one who went fishing with the men. No self-respecting man would marry her after that.
One evening, when Dilip was away, a loud and frightening storm kicked up. It looked like it would rage the entire night. Shakti, her sister and mother were at home cooking dinner, as the windows and roof clattered in the harsh wind. Her sister was pregnant and had come to spend her last weeks before childbirth with her mother. Her brother was at a neighbour’s house helping them reinforce their battered windows.
Caught in this wild and thrashing weather, Dilip somehow made it to his home from his two-day trip. He was soaked to the bone and silently went to change, while the others waited for his news. He called his wife aside and started telling her something.
Shakti was quick to curiosity and she interrupted them to ask, “What’s the news, father? Where have you come from all drenched like this?”
Dilip smiled like every doting father and told her, “Your in-laws’ place.”
Shakti laughed at the joke, but her sister seemed to know what was going on. “They agreed? Has a marriage date been fixed? Oh, this is wonderful Shakti, you’re going to soon be a married woman too.”
Shakti’s mother and sister embraced her tightly while her father looked on with a smile. Everybody thought the shock on her face was brought on by joy, and maybe even a little new-bride nervousness. That was expected. Of course, it was neither. Her idyll was destroyed. After fourteen years of being a child and being a girl, it was suddenly all over and time to be a wife.
When she managed to find her voice again she asked, “You were gone two days. Tell me, where is my in-laws’ home?”
“Padmaguri, the city. A magical place.”
“Padmaguri?” squealed her sister, “You’re the luckiest girl! You get from around the whole world there. Oh, dearest sister, please invite me over every year to come visit you there. You will, won’t you?”
But Shakti was not listening to her. She knew Padmaguri, the city. “It’s a day’s journey from here. Impossibly far from the sea.” Her voice sounded distant and shaky when she spoke.
“Yes, but it’s not the days of bullock-carts anymore,” Dilip reassured her. “Now you can go by buses and trains. It’s all a marvel really.”
Her mother was probably the only one who knew that Shakti was not taking this news happily. “The groom works in a factory. The family has a good house. You’ll be happier than ever there.” But, when this didn’t have any impact, she tried one last thing, “I’m sure you can come home once a year to see your old mother and father. They’ll arrange that.”
“Now why would she want to do that. Let her enjoy her new life there. In fact, the boy says he’s doing well at work, and there’s every chance he might be promoted from factory work to office work. And that means Kolkata.”
Shakti couldn’t hold her tears back any longer. Salty waters breached their barrier, streaming down her face and she collapsed on the floor. Everyone leapt to help her up, and Dilip picked her up in his arms, like she was still the little child of the family, and took her to her bed. “Shakti, my daughter. All this was too much to swallow for you. I’m sorry. Of course, wherever you are, you can keep coming here to your parents.”
Shakti wasn’t worried about her parents. They could come to her too. But, not the sea. Not anymore.
She was better by dinnertime, ate a little, and even managed to make a smile. Her brother was back and did a little dance to celebrate the news, which made Shakti laugh. Before going to sleep she was even cheerful enough to give her parents a hug.
At night, the thunder and rattling provided a good cover for her to sneak out unheard. Three or four steps out she was drenched. As everyone slept she took her little boat out into the sea. The water was so fierce that she was almost thrown out a few times. Shakti held on till she couldn’t see any of the huts, till she couldn’t see where she hid her boat, till she couldn’t see the place she first built a palace in the sand, till she couldn’t see home where her family was. That’s when she let go, and allowed herself to return to the quiet, cool water of the sea, the one true magical place where she could be whatever she wanted to be.
They never found her after that, but her boat eventually made its way back to shore. The shopkeeper’s daughter identified it. “But, she was such a good swimmer,” Dilip kept saying, as if that could bring his daughter back. “But, she was such a good swimmer…so natural in the water…such a good swimmer…natural in the water…”
Many years had passed since that time, and Dilip didn’t know if it was a blessing or a curse to his life that he was going to move away from the place where Shakti lived and died. It was an answer he would only receive, when the time came, on his own death bed.
As the grown-ups started settling in the new site, more and more space started getting freed in the old village. For the children it meant more place to play football and hopscotch in the sand. This was close to the water, and the sea would playfully wash away the lines the kids had drawn in the sand. A lot of drama was added to their games.
“Hey I was ahead, I win. I Win!”
“No, you don’t. My marker went further.”
“Yeah, but then the court got washed away. Last position is what matters. Those are the rules.”
“Marker position.”
“No, last player positions. Give it up.”
The argument would last just until one of the other kids got tired of waiting, drew a new court in the sand and then everybody lined up for their turn.
One of the children, out of breath, decided to take a break. She was younger, and had recently suffered a fever, so she couldn’t play for very long at a stretch. She sat on the sand, letting the water come just up to her toes. Her parents had warned her to not get wet soon after her fever, but she couldn’t resist dipping in just a little bit. The cool water felt nice right now, helped her slow her panting.
‘M-I-L-I’
She wrote her name in the sand and waited for the water to wipe it off. Again, she wrote it. And again, it was wiped off. Mili started practising some of her lessons.
‘T-E-A-C-H-A-R’
‘F-O-T-B-A-L-L’
‘M-O-T-H-E-R-F-A-T-H-E-R’
Each time the waters slowly covered her words and wiped them away and turned to a fresh page so Mili could practice one more. As long as she wanted to practice, the waters would oblige – eternally patient.
Then overcome by a feeling of mischief, she wrote a bad word.
I-D-I-O-T
But, lo and behold, the sea could be mischievous too, the creeping water parted just around this word, leaving it untouched and open for everyone to see. Quietly she looked around to be sure no one was reading her transgressive post. The other boys and girls were deeply engrossed in their game and paid her no heed. All the adults were at the new site. Only a little crab scuttling past seemed to pause and look at the etching in the sand, before running off scandalised.
Actually, it seemed Mili was mistaken, there was someone else. The old granny. Her hut was one of the oldest, and hence also the closest to the water. None of the children had noticed her from where they were playing. Like Mili, the old granny was sitting on the sand, feet front, watching the foam go back and forth.
“Granny,” she called out, but lady didn’t hear. “Granny!”
The old woman still didn’t hear, but the other kids were getting disturbed. “Oy, why are you shouting?”
“Granny’s sitting there, alone. I was calling her.”
“She probably can’t hear you. Go to her and stop shouting.”
So Mili got up and started in that direction. Although they must have been a hundred years apart in age, or so she imagined, they were almost the same height and weight. Of course, this was when Mili stood spry and erect, and the old woman was doubled over with age.
“Granny, I was calling you. Couldn’t you hear me?”
The woman turned her head slowly, as far as she could. “Who’s that? The wind must have carried your voice off. Why are you standing where I can’t see you, girl?”
Mili went next to her and sat down. “Have you packed up your things, granny? I put all my clothes and toys in one box for my parents to carry to the new house. I tried keeping my school bag hidden, but they found it anyway.”
“My goats have gone missing.” This was the same thing the woman had said for the last ten years to anyone she met. No one knew what goats she was talking about, whether she ever had any, but everyone knew that none were coming back. “If I leave then they’ll never find me.”
The younger children always believed her, they could understand the pain of being separated from any beloved animal. At some or the other time every child in the village had tried tracking down the granny’s goats and failed. Mili included.
Moving on, the old woman smiled, showing her two remaining teeth. “Will you be getting a bigger house now?”
“Well, I already asked my parents that, but they said “We’ll see”, which means they won’t. So, I don’t really know.”
“You can take my hut when I’m gone. There too much space for me alone. But, it might suit you.”
Like any eager child, Mili took this matter seriously. It presented a real possibility to her, although with some improvements. “Why do you say that? You tell the others to build your house next to ours and then we can share our rooms. I would like a granny.”
The old woman felt a rush of joy at these words. “Child, you’ve cheered this old woman’s heart. But, the thing is, I’m not moving with you all.”
This is not what Mili had heard. The whole village was to move. “You aren’t? But why? Everyone’s moving together.”
“Everyone has a reason to move,” the granny explained, “a life, a family, the future. I don’t have any.”
This just wasn’t correct, Mili tried to explain. “But, you’ll have a family. You’ll have me. Just like I said.”
Although there were fewer people in the village now than in her younger days, the old woman had trouble remembering anybody’s name anymore. “What’s your name?”
“Mili.”
“Well, Mili, my days on this earth are very few now. I can feel it. The day the decision was made, I knew my time is finally up, and that came as a big relief. Such a big relief. That’s why even your tempting offer is not enough to hold me back anymore.”
This was horrible to hear for the young one. She had lost her grandparents too early, and was jealous of her older brother who had spent some good years getting their love and attention. Why couldn’t she get this granny when clearly it would be good for both of them. Her dejection was clearly visible on her face. The old woman knew she had to set this right.
“Don’t be sad. This is a good thing. I have been alone for too long now. My husband died, and even my children died, before me. A long life doesn’t feel like a blessing when you’re old and alone like me. Every day I ask God why I have been trapped here, but He doesn’t answer. But, I think the sea heard me. She is coming to take me back to my children.”
“If she’s coming for you, does that mean the sea’s coming for all of us.”
“Oh no, dear. You have a long life ahead of you. Why should she come for you?”
This was something of relief, at least her parents would be safe. But, if only the granny was going to be taken away, that felt even sadder and more lonely.
“But, you’ll be scared,” said Mili, “all alone, in the darkness of the water.”
“Think of it this way. After I’m gone, and many years later you’ll be a happy bride, maybe I’ll come back as your daughter. Then we’ll start another family together, like you wanted. Won’t that be nice?”
This was too far-fetched. “That sounds like hocus-pocus. How will you come to me as my daughter?”
“Isn’t that what we believe. I will die and then again be reborn, over and over.”
“But, even if that’s true, how will I know it’s you?”
The old woman thought for a bit, and suddenly the answer was obvious to her. “When your baby is born, bring her back here. The sea will give you the answer. I loved the water as a child, and do even now. This is why I want my last memory in this life to be of the water and this home where I lived with my family. When you bring your baby here, and if she loves the sea, and if she feels at home on this very spot, then you’ll know it’s me.”
This was really a very strange thought for little Mili, at once too magical to believe, while also very comforting. If a cycle of rebirth meant people you love can come back to you, and you could go back to the ones you love, then there was nothing to be afraid of when life was interrupted. The murmur of the sea, like the drumming of Shiv’s damru, would play on eternally.
The old one and the young one sat in silence for some more time, both transfixed by the sea’s motion, contemplating how much longer they would have the sea in their lives. The waters pushed back and forth over the sand, giving and taking, eternally witnessing all life on the land.