Very early in the morning1 the next day, practically everyone in the village foregathered on the seafront for the launching of Chemban Kunju’s boat. As was customary when a new boat was being launched, all the boats on that coast had to go out to sea simultaneously. Chakki, Karuthamma and Panchami were at the seashore. Slyly Panchami pointed out to Karuthamma that Pareekutti stood nearby. Karuthamma pinched Panchami to be quiet.
1 The fishing boats go out to sea in the early hours of the morning, some three hours before sunrise.
Ramanmuppan called out to those who were late in coming, and Ayyankunju abused them.
“Why are these fellows late, knowing that there is a new boat to be launched?” He said.
All the fishermen working for Chemban Kunju had come on time and were standing by. One of them sang the song Pareekutti used to sing. It was a poignant song.
Over the tall coconut palms in the east, the moon strained to see the launching of Chemban Kunju’s boat. The goddess of the sea seemed to be in a cheerful mood. All the fishermen stood ready round their boats. Chemban Kunju’s boat was the first to be launched. Ayyankunju raised his voice in a cheer. The others followed. The seashore echoed with the voices and cheering of men.
“Take the steering oar, Chemban Kunju.” Ramanmuppan said.
Chemban Kunju took the oar and placed on his head. Silently he said a prayer to the gods. Together, the men pushed the boat. It grated along the sand and then slid into the sea, riding the breaking waves. Karuthamma and Chakki stood with folded hands, their eyes shut. When they opened their eyes, the boat was dancing over the waves, going off westward into the sea in a lovely canter.
By tradition the passage of the boat presaged its destiny. Ramanmuppan and Ayyankunju stood on the shore studying the prospects.
“How is it to be, Ayyankunju?” Ramanmuppan asked.
“Isn’t she making straight to the west?” Ayyankunju said.
“Yes, but it is southward that she is leaning.”
Chakki approached them full of curiosity. She was anxious to know the verdict.
“What is it, Ayyankunju? Are the signs auspicious?” She asked.
Like one who knew all, Ayyankunju said, “It is good, Chakki! You will never be in need.”
Then Chakki joined her hands in prayer. She prayed to the all-powerful goddess od the sea. The boat was speeding toward mid-sea. It sped as if it were sure of its success.
“Our boat has grace, hasn’t it, Mother?” Karuthamma said.
“It has a style of its own,” said Chakki scanning the sea.
“Need you be surprised at that, Chakki?” Ayyankunju said. “You have just taken over the boat, but you know where it came from. There isn’t a luckier or more suspicious boat on any seafront. Everything belonging to Pallikunnath Kandankoran is like that. His wife is worth her weight in gold. So lively is she. And what a house! That is his way. And now you have his boat. That is your good fortune, Chakki, your good fortune.”
After the other boats went out to sea one by one, Chakki, her children and Pareekutti were the only ones left on the seashore. Pareekutti shivered slightly in the cool breeze. He walked slowly toward Chakki. Karuthamma moved away and stood behind her mother, but Panchami stood staring hard at Pareekutti’s face.
Pareekutti asked his usual question, this time addressed to the mother. Whether in fun or in earnest, it seemed to be the only question he ever asked.
“Will you trade fish with us?”
“Of course, my son. Whom else would we trade with?” Chakki said.
Chakki did not see the significance of that question; nor would she have ever seen it. It wasn’t a casual question. A whole world of feeling was implicit in it.
From behind her mother, Karuthamma said, “I am feeling a little cold, Mother.”
On the day their boat was launched Chakki could not leave Pareekutti without telling him something.
“It was because of you that the boat was launched today. But for you, it couldn’t have happened,” she said.
Pareekutti said nothing in answer. Karuthamma was happy that her mother made some expression of indebtedness.
“When the Chakara1 is over, we shall pay you back your money,” Chakki continued.
1 Chakara is the season of shrimp, usually occurring about mid-July.
“No. Suppose I don’t want it.”
“Don’t want it? What does that mean?”
“I never intended that the money should be returned,” Pareekutti said.
Chakki did not understand. Karuthamma understood, and she blushed. The shadow of a doubt crossed Chakki’s mind at that moment.
“What is it, Son?”
“No. I do not want the money back,” Pareekutti stated firmly. “Karuthamma asked me for the money to buy a boat and net. And I gave it. I do not want it back.”
For a second Karuthamma felt everything going dark. Her head seemed to be going round and round.
Chakki asked a little angrily, “why should you give money to Karuthamma? What is she to you?” She continued, her voice growing louder, “no, that won’t do. We don’t want anything like that. You must take back the money.”
Pareekutti realized that Chakki was serious. He said nothing. Chakki said, like a mother giving him a good advice, “my son, we are of the fishermen’s caste. You do not belong to our community. You and Karuthamma played together as children on our seashore. That was long ago. We shall give her in marriage to a good fisherman. And you should marry a good girl of your own community.
“You are both too young,” she continued. “You don’t understand.
You must not earn a bad name. Even if somebody sees this encounter, the gossip will start. See, there are people about.”
Chakki called her daughters and was about to move on. Then she stopped and turned to Pareekutti.
“Listen to me, my son. You must take back that money,” she said with affection.
Chakki walked in front. Karuthamma and Panchami followed. Pareekutti stood there watching them go.
As the sun rose, Chakki and her daughters went back to the seashore. All the boats were out at sea. It looked to be a day for a good haul.
“What kind of fish will it be today?” Karuthamma asked her mother.
“By the look of things it must be herring.”
“That means that from the very start we are doing well,” Karuthamma said excitedly.
“It is all the blessing of the goddess of the sea, my child.”
Then like a child wheedling for a favor of her mother, Karuthamma said, “mother, we must give our catch to the Kochumuthalali.”
Chakki did not flare up. She didn’t ask what the Kochumuthalali meant to her. Chakki was of the same opinion, but she had a doubt in her mind.
“Will that father of yours do that, I wonder,” she said.
Karuthamma thought of a way to get round it.
“When the boat draws near, we shall go and stand by. And you must tell Father to give his haul to Kochumuthalali,” she said.
Chakki agreed. It was important. It had to be done.
But another problem arose. Their neighbors Nallapennu, Kalikunju, Kunjipennu and Lakshmi came to see them with a special plea. Kunjipennu asked if it was their intention to sell the whole of the day’s haul to the traders in one lot or to sell it in small separate lots to the women. It was the practice of that seafront to sell the haul wholesale to the traders, with the result that the women who took the fish eastward to sell it were at the mercy of the traders.
“We don’t have to say it. Chakki knows all this,” Kunjipennu said.
Chakki did understand the problem of the fisherwomen. If they bought fish from the traders and tried to sell it, there was hardly any profit to be had. They had to pay the traders whatever they asked, and on top of that they had to listen to their swearing.
“What can I do about it?” Chakki asked.
“You must give your own hand to the fisherwomen to trade,” Nallapennu said firmly.
Chakki did not know what to say. They were all neighbors, and what they said was true. But she could not give her word. It was doubtful if Chemban Kunju would agree to it. And Pareekutti had already asked for the haul. She couldn’t tell them that either.
“Why don’t you speak, Chakki?” Kalikunju asked. “Is it because Chemban Kunju may not agree? You must speak firmly. You yourself helped buy the boat and net by carrying the fish to sell in the east.”
Chakki agreed that was true.
“Are you still likely to go east with us to sell fish?” Lakshmi asked.
“Why do you ask that? Even if we had ten boats, Chakki will always be Chakki.”
“That isn’t what I meant,” lakshmi said apologetically. “I didn’t mean that you had changed. I wondered whether you could secure one lot from the haul and split it among us.”
“Who knows if that husband of mine will agree!” Chakki said, making her helplessness clear.
“You must speak. If you speak, it will work,” Nallapennu said.
Kalikunju also spoke to Karuthamma.
“You must talk to your father, child”, she said.
Karuthamma said firmly and clearly, “I shan’t.”
But Panchami promised to talk to her father, because she too wanted something. As soon as the boat arrived, she wanted to collect one basket of fish to be dried and stored. She wanted to do that every day. It couldn’t be done if the traders got in on the haul.
“Let me see,” said Chakki in her helpless state. She knew it wouldn’t work. There was every likelihood of a general grievance brewing.
By noon the seashore was lined with children and fisherwomen with their baskets. The traders were there too. Out at sea the sea gulls were hovering over the boats. It was clear that the nets were being gathered and the catch taken in. Everybody began to guess what kind of fish they were. The trader Khadar thought it might be a mixed haul of small fish. Whatever it was it was a good haul, that was certain. Suddenly two sea gulls flew in from the sea. One had a fish in its beak. Everybody looked up.
“It is sardines,” they cried.
Again Chakki said a prayer to the goddess of the sea.
The boats were heading home, dancing on the waves. Since it was known that the haul was sardines, Kunjipennu,Nallapennu, Kalikunju and Lakshmi stayed close to Chakki. Panchami was there with her. Karuthamma and her mother argued as to which was their boat, but they soon identified it as the one in the end, speeding like a bird, skipping from the crest of one wave to another. It looked as if it was full.
“Is there only one pair of oars to our boat?” Panchami said, hardly believing it. The oarsmen rowed so smoothly and so much in union.
The approach of the boats was like a grand procession. Above, the sea gulls hovered. Enthusiastic cheers could be heard from the sea.
At the helm of the leading boat was Chemban Kunju! He wasn’t standing. It was as if he were dancing, the circular motion of the steering oar weaving circles half in the water, half in the air. He seemed as if he were poised in the sky above the line of the boat. And the boat seemed to be riding the crests of the waves, skipping some as it rushed headlong.
It was a magnificent sight. Everybody felt that there was something grand about that boat.
“Don’t say anything, friends. Don’t cast the evil eye,” Chakki pleaded.
So the boat came on shore. The boatmen put their oars away, jumped ashore and hauled the boat onto the sand. Panchami was among the children who surrounded the boat.
Chemban Kunju sprang to the shore with a cry. The other children screamed and scattered. Panchami stood where she was. Why should she be afraid?
“No one should pick the uppa1 from under my boat,” Chemban Kunju shouted.
1 Uppa are cast-off small fish which children usually gather for themselves.
He got hold of Panchami and gave her a push. She skidded and fell down crying “mother,” Chakki and Karuthamma wept.
“My goodness, who is this? The devil?” Someone said.
Panchami had gone near her father’s boat to collect the fish with the rights of a daughter. Couldn’t Chemban Kunju have seen it? One shouldn’t forget oneself like that.
The haul he had in his boat had grown in the sea. No one had sown any seeds for it or nurtured it. A portion of it was due of the poor people who had come to take the cast-off fish. That was the law of the sea.
“You heartless D----,” cried Chakki and gathered Panchami to her. She and Karuthamma massaged her. She was badly hurt by the fall.
The traders gathered around the boat. Pareekutti was right in front. Chemban Kunju looked as if he knew none of them.
“Chemban Kunju, what are you expecting for today’s catch?” Khadar Muthalali asked.
Kunjipennu and Lakshmi and others were running round in circles. Panchami, who had promised to get them the fish, was lying down gasping for breath. By her side was Chakki. The traders were driving a bargain.
“Let us ask and see,” Kunjipennu said to her friends.
Nallapennu did not agree. “what is there to ask that devil?” She said.
The other boats were coming ashore one by one. Chemban Kunju was anxious to do his trading before they reached the scene.
“Will you trade the fish with me?” Pareekutti asked.
Chemban Kunju behaved as if he had not even seen Pareekutti.
“Have you the money? I must have cash down,” he said.
In an instant Khalar Muthalali pressed a few hundred-rupee notes into Chemban Kunju’s hands. The bargain was struck.
Pareekutti ran toward the other boats. Everywhere the sales were over. When Panchami had quieted somewhat, Karuthamma noticed the disappointed Pareekutti going home.
“Kochumuthalali hasn’t bought any fish today,” Karuthamma said to her mother.
Chakki walked toward Pareekutti.
“Didn’t you bargain for any fish, Kochumuthalali?” She said.
“Yes.”
“What happened, then?”
Pareekutti said nothing and Chakki understood. She had seen the transformation that had come over Chemban Kunju.
“When he saw the fish, he was transformed into the devil himself.” Chakki said.
“I had some money in cash. I would have paid him the rest later,” Pareekutti said as he left.
Chemban Kunju gave his men their share. He washed and cleaned his net and spread it out in the sun to dry. Then he went home. He had plenty of cash in his hands. He had stepped into a new way of life. He had been working hard since the early hours of the morning, but he wasn’t tired.
The house was not cheerful. He showed Chakki the money he had brought home. Chakki seemed indifferent to it.
“Who is all this money meant for?” She asked.
“What is this?”
“Look at Panchami’s chest!”
Panchami was sobbing her heart out. Chemban Kunju raised her. Her chest was bruised and swollen.
“Why did you stand there, my child?” Se asked.
Chakki explained her intentions. When Chemban Kunju heard the story, his love for his little daughter knew no bounds. She was trying to make some money, Chemban Kunju promised her a basketful of fish each day from then onward.
Chemban Kunju asked him about Pareekutti.
“Wasn’t that discourteous? Who got us the boat and net?” She said.
Chemban Kunju could not understand that he had done wrong.
“Why didn’t you sell him the fish?”
“How will I manage then? The boat men have to be given their share,” Chemban Kunju said. “If I had sold him the fish, he would have deducted the money from what we owe him.”
“Does this mean that he has lost his money and your trade?”
Karuthamma also lost her temper. “Anyway, there is nothing now in that curing yard,” she said.