"Two pairs of eyes on a float" by Sa. Kanthasamy

 

This is an English translation of “Thakkaiyin meethu naanku kangal”, ( தக்கையின் மீது நான்கு கண்கள் ) a short story written by Sa. Kanthasamy. Translated into English by Saravanan Karmegam.

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Manikkam called out to Ramu as he was spreading a big fish net. His pitch was rising each time he called him out.

When he called him aloud for the fourth time, his wife replied that Ramu had gone out a while ago. It was the time Ramu used to crush betel leaves for him. Ramu had been giving him the crushed betel leaves for the last three years. There had been no interruption in this. One day, when Manikkam’s palm was hurt by a sharp fish angle, Manikkam taught Ramu, holding his tender hands, how to crush the betel leaves. Without heeding to his words, he crushed the betel leaves in the pestle faster, grasping the mortar tightly. Crushing the leaves with that speed made him excited and happy. On the third day, he couldn’t grip the mortar as he had developed a couple of blisters in his palm. Manikkam showed his broad palm, laughed aloud, and said, “Do you know I have been crushing the betel leaves since I was forty- two years old. I had never had any blisters. But you have four blisters in two days. This just means you must listen to what I said” and explained to him in a lowered voice the nuances of crushing the betel leaves. He would listen to his piece of advice carefully, but would never follow it every time. He had his own trait – sheer defiance.

If Manikkam went to the southern side of the pond to throw a fishhook, Ramu would go to the eastern side of the pond to catch the fish. He discovered that spot on the day he parted his ways with his grandfather. Ramu was disappointed that he couldn’t catch fish using a small fishhook with his grandfather all through the day. He turned to the grandfather, his eyes were still on the float, and said, “Thatha, let me try the other side,” and went away in search of his luck. Walked through the beaten track, got down the slope and stood under the Alexandrian laurel tree and flung his fishhook. The float didn’t move for some time. It remained where it was thrown. Then, a gentle jerk. A school of baby fish was eating up the bait attached to the fishhook. The float moved back and forth. He had his eyes fixed on the float. Suddenly, there was a ripple on the water. The waves gently formed circles on the water’s surface. But the float was immobile. He pulled out the float from the water and saw the bare fishhook. Those baby fish had eaten up the prey with their tiny mouths. He then went back to the bank along with the fishhook, removed some sand from a big, halved coconut shell, picked an earthworm from it, and threaded it up to the shank and threw it near the lilies.

The grandfather had no habit of changing his places. He had a fixed place for throwing the fishhooks. No matter whether he could catch fish or not, he never changed his location. All what he would do was just adjusting the length of the threads in the fishhook. No word would come out of his mouth. As soon as he reached the pond, he would stop speaking. He would throw the fishhook, composed, with his gait looking impressive.

Ramu stared at the float with a resolve that he wouldn’t leave the place without catching at least one fish. The float jerked once and rose. All his attention was on the fishhook. He then loosened his grip and let the thread run more. The float sank at great speed into the water, and became invisible. It sank further into the water. He understood that a fish was trying to swallow the bait. He remembered how his grandfather would behave in such situations – he would stroke his moustache with one finger; his face would become bright; a streak of smile would be visible as his grey moustache lined up on one side: and then he would pull out the fishhook straight without overtly being anxious and excited. The fish would come out of the water, frantically flapping. Sometimes, the fish that came above the head would escape due to its flapping and thrashing around.

One time when his grandfather pulled out the fishhook above his head, Ramu yelled at him, “Thatha, yank the cord a little”. The old man turned slowly. A streak of a smile was visible on his lips. Ramu stepped backward and then disappeared. Manikkam pulled out the fishhook line with his usual composure. The carp fish that came out of the water jerked, thrashed around and fell into the water. The fish that were caught in Ramu’s fishhook would never be able to escape. He would pull it out deftly and bring it with a good catch ashore. He could pull the cord the way he liked, as he decided. No one was there to control his ways. Ramu yanked the cord in the water and pulled it out on his right. An Indian mackerel fell onto the ground. He dropped the fishhook to the ground and watched the jumping, writhing mackerel thrashing on the dead leaves. Happiness filled his heart. Alone, he could catch an Indian Mackerel now. It was very rare for an Indian mackerel to get caught, even in his grandfather’s fishhook. He gripped the back of the writhing fish and lifted it. The grandfather had taught him about it – it was a very peculiar kind of a fish; having denser bones and barbs. Its spiny fins hurt a lot. Ramu was hurt by a mackerel three days ago for the first time while fishing. Since then, he had been very careful while handling the Indian mackerel. He nimbly grabbed the fish and unhooked it.

“You caught it?” his grandpa came to him, enquiring. He didn’t reply to his grandpa’s question. He was just doing his work with his head looking down. “You have become a skillful angler. Haven’t you?” Manikkam placed his hands on Ramu’s head.

Ramu moved a little. Suddenly, he became angry at his grandfather. He feared that his grandfather was trying to ruin him. He moved aside, not falling in his “trap”. Manikkam felt that Ramu was drifting away from him since that day. The very thought of it made Manikkam annoyed. He rose from his seat quickly, picked up his betel leaf casket and sat on the veranda. He almost forgot the amount of lime and the required number of betel leaves to be crushed. He kept the betel leaves casket aside, and was walking back and forth between the house and the street. In some while, Ramu came running to him, anxiously. Manikkam looked up at him, dispassionately. Ramu went to the front yard, cleaned his hands, and began crushing the betel leaves.

Manikkam asked him, “Where have you been a while ago? As he was stuffing the crushed betel leaves into his mouth.

“That big fish…”

He let out a creepy laughter, Ramu looked at his grandfather curiously.

Manikkam’s voice rose, “You had gone to catch it. Right? Not only you, but even your father wouldn’t be able to catch it. Ramu glanced at his boasting grandfather. Stuffing the betel leaves given by Ramu, Manikkam walked to the pond with a big fishhook. No fish had ever broken that fishhook. Arguably, it was a fishhook that could never be broken by fish. Ramu also went along with him.

Within minutes, the fishhook was tossed into the water, the float began sinking and it resurfaced within a second it had sunk. It popped up and swayed. Ramu pulled the thread. Something in the water yanked, trying to pull him in. he understood that a big fish had started eating away at the bait. He ran to his grandfather, and brought him.

“Has it been caught this soon?” he clasped a rope dangling from the branch of and Indian laurel tree, and keenly watched the float. It was a big float. It bubbled up like a fake-legged horse dancing in the street show. He felt that no fish had yet eaten away the bait. He loosened the thread. The float that was bubbling up began sinking horizontally. The fish seemed to be swallowing the bait, pulling it inside. The hands reflexively tightened its grip. The fish yanked, furiously, pulled the thread in. His guess was right; Manikkam decided to loosen the thread so that the hook would get stuck in the fish’s throat and pull it out before the fish started its game. His eyes looked for a comfortable spot to stand. Standing at the slope near the Indian Laurel tree, he swiftly pulled the thread. When the two third of the fish popped up easily, the fish began threshing the water surface with its tail. Manikkam loosened the thread and then pulled it out with full force. The fish that came out of the water, thrashed around suddenly and whipped the water’s surface. Manikkam slid all the way as the thread broke and fell into the pond.

Ramu came running to him, lifted him and wiped the blood streaking out below his ankle.

“Has the fish escaped Thatha? We could have caught it had we waited a little more?” he said. Manikkam stared at him as he was stroking his knees. He felt a rush in him to throw Ramu away by breaking his neck. “Why do you stand here?” Manikkam roared. His voice rose suddenly. Ramu moved aside a little and watched his grandfather sideways. Manikkam came to the banks; his heart sank in despair. After taking a stroll around the pond, he reached home in the dusk. Ramu was sleeping in the small veranda. Manikkam heaved a sigh of relief at seeing him. He then took out a hurricane lamp from the large niche, cleaned its glass with fine ash powder to make it shiny, and filled the tank with kerosene. After meals, he sped to the pond with a spear and the hurricane lamp. It was a waning moon. As the time passed, the moonlight gradually grew brighter. A large shrimp was seen swimming with its babies in the pond. It seemed to be worth five rupees. Another big shrimp might come that way. Had it been some other occasion, Manikkam would have hunted at least one of them. Now his target was not shrimp. It was the ribbon fish that had been splashing the water. That fish had come to the pond from the river. It was his target. He was walking around the pond, keenly watching every ripple on the water’s surface.

As he could hear no sound other than the one of Jamun fruits falling onto the ground, he thought the fish might have gone back the way it had come. He screwed the wick bigger, and threw his penetrating eyes as long as the light assisted him. While going past the southern tip of the pond, he could see the ribbon fish. It was whipping a school of carp with its tail.

Manikkam stood there. His eyes were steadily fixed on the ribbon fish that was swallowing the dead carp fish. The ribbon fish would remain there for some time as it had just started its hunt. It might take some time for it to leave after its sumptuous feast. He found a suitable place for himself. The lamp was spitting out brighter light. The moon light was also fresh. It was the right time: the ribbon fish was casually swallowing its prey. He stepped forward, two steps, and raised the spear.

A sudden swirl in the water. A big carp fish jumped above the water. The spear pierced its scales and landed in the water. Everything was ruined in a matter of seconds. Nothing happened as he had planned. He got into the pond, picked up the spear after a brief search, and reached the banks. The fish grew restive and lost its zealous hunt and fervent liveliness. Manikkam was tired and walked around the pond. There were no signs that showed the presence of the fish in the pond. He grew terribly vexed and was very tired. Manikkam reached home as his legs tottered, holding the spear, when the rooster crowed in the dawn. The next day, for a long time, he was too tired to undertake any daily chores. He grew mentally weak. Uncertainty and despair filled his heart. He felt a bout of anger about the missing fish emerging suddenly. He got up that moment itself, and resolved himself: “It should be either that fish or I., I have to settle my score with it now.”

He climbed on the loft, gathered the fishhook which he had kept rolled up there two years ago, and went to the pond.

Manikkam bobbed his head and gestured towards him to come. He then enquired in a low voice that he couldn’t even hear properly, “What are you doing?”

He remained silent.

“I am asking you,” He pulled Ramu’s ears and said, pushing him away gently, “My wife is searching for you. You are sitting here. Ramu fell on the ground and was slightly startled at seeing his grandfather’s dreadful face. When he disappeared from Manikkam’s sight, the ribbon fish appeared, jumping above the water’s surface. The water splashed in all directions.

“What a magnificent fish it is! Like a king!’ Manikkam adjusted his moustache and walked to the outlet point.

He could see the fish wiggling near the outlet point. It seemed to be searching for a way to escape. Manikkam took out a live carp fish hurriedly from the bowl, and examined it, turning it over. It was a fully grown bait. If hooked at the point, it would remain alive for at least two hours. If the ribbon fish was moving around somewhere here, he could catch it with that carp fish, he thought. He tilted the fish a little, removed some scales with the point of the hook, threaded it to the hook on its back and lobbed the fishhook into the water. The float moved vertically. As time went on, his hope of the bait attracting the fish grew stronger.

He got into the water without making noise, took out the fishhook line and threw it near the lilies. The float moved fast and fixed itself amid the lilies. He pulled it on one side to release it. The restless movement of the float gradually died down and eventually became immobile. The bait is dead. Manikkam stepped into the water again, pulled the hook line out, and thrashed the bait furiously on the ground. The fish was shredded like cotton pieces and was thrown in all directions due to the impact.

He sat down under the tree with the fishhook folded into a roll. He began despising everything around him. He thought of giving some strong slaps to Ramu and pushing him down into the water to make him suffocate. He took out another carp fish with an undiminished anger and annoyance, hooked it in the fishhook, and threw it into the water.

As the fishhook touched the water’s surface, it created a big ripple. The ribbon fish was playing merrily in the pond. Manikkam stroked his moustache on one side, sat down, leaning against the tamarind tree.

Some bizarre habits that were not usual for him appeared, in him. He began speaking to himself.

‘You can’t escape this man’ – he challenged the fish. A joyous whistling came from him.

The float moved. The big fish had arrived. Manikkam stood up. The fish thrashed the water with its tail. Came to the surface, breathed with its mouth open, and then went into the water. Bubbles appeared on the water’s surface. The fish moved towards the east. On the southern side, a kingfisher jumped into the water from a Portia tree and then flew away. A crane came flying and sat on the lily leaves. Manikkam straightened the hook line a little. The float was gently swaying on the water. He could catch the big fish if no shrimp or a carp fish spoiled the game, he thought.

He went to the bank on the north, walked along, and sat down under a mahua tree and lit a cigar. He had already done two cheroots. But there was no ripple on the pond water. The water remained calm. A crane was flying above.

Mentally tired, Manikkam went back to his house. Seeing Ramu examining the traps, Manikkam roared, “It is the work I gave you long ago. You are doing it only now.”

Ramu didn’t reply. As his head was looking down, he was busy detangling the bushy horse hair-traps by oiling it.

“Hey…do you hear me?” Manikkam jumped to the small veranda and clasped Ramu’s hair in his hands. Ramu lifted his head his eyes were teary. A frenzy – to pour kerosine on his grandfather’s face to burn it down- emerged in him.

“What’ve you been doing since yesterday?” Manikkam nudged Ramu’s head, and lifted it.

“Why are you after his life for two days?” his wife admonished him.

“Then what? Do I have to carry this wretched soul on my head?”

“Are we that abandoned without a soul to care about us?”

“You have a lot of people to care about from everywhere. Haven’t you?”

“Don’t I know you have them since the day your daughter died?” she retorted.

“What the fuck you say, daughter of a thief?” he threw a slap on her cheek.

“Kill us. After eating us away, you stand as an orphan on the street” she cried, retorting to his every slap. Her voice rose high.

“Shut up. Get in,” Manikkam took off the large belt he was wearing on his waist.

“Kill me. I came to you fighting with my people to marry you. Now kill me along with this young boy.”

“Do you think you were Ramba. If it wasn’t me, thousands of men would have wooed you.”

His belt was swung across her cheeks and chest. She fell on the ground and yelled haplessly. The neighbours came running one after the other. Manikkam threw his belt on Ramu’s face and sat on the veranda. His wife was crying, describing the entire old episode. What she was crying about affected him and made him softer. He regretted starting the fight again which he had left years ago.

e he He was completely heart-broken after his only daughter died, leaving Ramu alone in the second year of her marriage. His fights with his wife stopped when his daughter’s marriage came to an abrupt end. His anger lost its vigour and became insignificant as the gloom gradually overwhelmed him. But he thought that he had gone too far today. He felt he shouldn’t have started the fight. His wife was sobbing, reciting verses about his daughter amidst her dirge. He was unable to bear the agony while listening to the virtues of his daughter whom he loved more than his life, listed in his wife’s sobs. He rose, and walked slowly. His legs led him to the pond.

The pond remained calm. He went near the fishhook, and examined it. The float was hopping in the water. He picked the fishhook and lobbed it on the eastern side, against his usual practice. It was Ramu’s place. He used to sit there to catch fish with his fishhook. He hurled the hook as if he had wanted to test Ramu’s luck, and came back to the bank.

The pond was irritatingly silent. He whistled, and sat under the cassia tree. Tiredness and fatigue overwhelmed him. He felt like eating. He leaned against the tree with a heavy ‘hmmm’. Within seconds, a strong snore came from him. When he woke up, it was already past ten. The moonlight was spreading across the pond slowly. Manikkam quickly examined the fishhook. The hopping float was nowhere to be found. Holding the gorai grass for support, he stepped into the water, and pulled the thread of the hook. The thread came out with no resistance. It was a small portion of the thread. The fish had broken the half of the thread. He wasn’t sure whether it was a shrimp or a ribbon fish that broke the line. Couldn’t rule out the possibility of a tortoise, if not these two. But there was no sign of it to confirm. Whatever it was, another fishhook was gone. It was so bizarre that the events that had never occurred before were now happening.

After meals, he made a single line by twisting two lines from two thread balls. The more the twisting grew tighter, the more the thread became thicker. Yet he wasn’t satisfied with it. This thread wasn’t enough to catch that fish. It appeared that it might break if pulled with a little more force.

“I need to visit Kumbakonam once” he pointed the hook as he was speaking to himself. The sooner he tied the thread with the hook, the more he grew suspicious about its strength. He yanked the thread forcefully, once, with its end rolled in both hands. The thread snapped at once.

“Chaiiii” he put out the lamp annoyingly and went to bed.

It is early midnight. As soon as he lobs the fishhook, the ribbon fish is caught. He pulls the thread swiftly. The fish comes out of the water without any resistance. He is ecstatic. Sooner the fish comes ashore, it jumps into the water. Manikkam pounces on it, sits on its back. The fish carries him to the depth of the pond, to the nadir. He suffocates. Unable to hold his breath. He yells aloud “haaaa”. He regained his composure after knowing that it was all dreams. After that, he couldn’t sleep. He leaned the pillow against the wall, lay on it, and smoked a cheroot. The roosters crowed.

“Come here, see what this little boy has brought.” His wife caught both his hands, led him to the backyard.

Ramu was standing there near the well, with his body fully drenched, smeared in mud and water. A big ribbon fish was wiggling its jaw under his feet.

“See, how smart our little boy is!”

Manikkam’s hands fell on Ramu’s shoulders. Then stroked his neck slowly, and stopped on his ears.

“Aththaaaa” Ramu screamed and hid behind his grandmother.

***Ended***