Pharing could not contain his excitement. He hitched up his half pants, a hand-me-down tightly tied around his waist by a string, of an indeterminate color, impossible to make out because it was either faded with use over the years, or simply unwashed and dirty, carefully picked his way through the grassy embankment, and ran along the weedy track by the pond with a familiar ease to go and tell his mother.
His father had caught a fish.
Not that it was a big deal to catch a fish in a pond in rural Bengal. But this was a big one. Pharing had never seen such a large fish caught in this pond before. He had seen small ones, not larger than the palms of his little hands, shrinking further in size when cooked, disappearing in one mouthful even before he could sink his teeth into them and get a proper taste of the fish. This one was a carp; of silver and a slightly pinkish hue, a big fish, which could be cut into pieces as large as one liked, and would last for at least a couple of days.
How was he to explain to his mother how big the fish was? Bigger than his arm, he thought, but was not too sure. He did not know much about units of weights. He had heard mention of chhatak, powa and seer when he went to the market with his father. Their own purchases were usually in powas, sometimes even in chhatak, very rarely in seers. That was too large a measure for them to afford. Then this one must be at least a seer, he thought, if not more. He settled for a seer.
It was Janamashtami today, the day when Krishna, the god with the flute was born. Krishna was one of the most revered gods of the village, and the women-folk generally kept a fast on this day to gain his special blessings. His mother would be so pleased to have fish tomorrow after her fast today, thought Pharing.
His mother was the village Dai or midwife. She would be in the house just across the pond, with the tall coconut trees in the courtyard, and the wooden gate which had come partly unhinged from the supporting frame on the side, and when unlatched and pushed open, leaned towards the ground in a gesture of subservient welcome to all visitors. Here lived the pregnant lady who was expecting a baby any day now.
He walked through the open gate, across the courtyard, went past the flower beds with the abundantly blooming seasonal yellow flowers used liberally in religious rituals, past the vegetable garden sprouting spinach and green chillies, and around the house to enter from the kitchen door in the rear. He did not want to disturb the Master of the House who was likely to be in his study in the front of the house; he also wanted to avoid the attention of the teenage boy, who was always bullying his little sisters, all four of them. Having been here before, he was familiar with the layout. From the kitchen he could walk along the verandah, and go directly to the room where his mother would be with the mistress of the house.
The Dai met her son in the kitchen where she had come to fetch drinking water for her Mistress. Her heart skipped a beat when she heard her son’s story; she shared his excitement, but for a different reason altogether. Sure, the carp was a welcome catch; more importantly, she felt it was an omen. A pond that had never yielded any but the smallest of fish had produced a carp today! This was Krishna Leela indeed! Yes of course she participated in the weekly ritual of fasting, bowing in obeisance and pouring holy water over the Shiva Lingam in the village temple, but everyone knew she always felt closer to Krishna. And this was Krishna’s amazing grace; the carp was his message, especially for her. If the baby was delivered today, it would certainly be a boy and then it would all fall in place for her.
There were four girls and one boy in the house. The parents had not discussed their preference for a boy or a girl in front of her, but did not everyone want more sons? No, she did not expect a gold sovereign, but surely, her reward would not be limited to just new clothes for her family. She resolved to shore up her courage and ask for a permanent job for her husband. He was largely unemployed except in the sowing and harvesting seasons and a regular job for him would solve most of their problems. She gave Pharing a piece of jaggery and water from the kitchen, sent him away, uttered a vigorous Hare Krishna and walked with a brisk purposefulness to share her joyful predictions with the lady of the house.
The Master of the House was not in his study as Pharing had imagined. He was sitting on the large ornate four poster bed, his wife propped up with pillows against the headrest of the bed to be as comfortable as possible. The baby was due any time now, and he wanted to be with his wife as close to the event as possible, in a gesture of his love and support. They had had seven children so far, two of which had not survived; this would be their eighth. Over time they would have two more, and whether the babies topped coming because of waning passions, or the embarrassment of producing a child after their eldest daughter was married, one will never know. But right now, he wanted to inquire after her well being and make sure everything was in place for the impending arrival.
That is how the Dai found them when she walked in, all aglow with her new found revelation. The contractions were becoming more frequent and the Mistress was in obvious discomfort and pain. The Dai had hardly, if ever, spoken to the Master of the house. But today her faith in Krishna helped her overcome all her reserve and she confidently forecast the arrival of a son, linking her prediction with the irrefutable logic of Janamashtami and the carp. And lest she not have the courage to bring it up later, she also asked for the rewards she desired.
The Master smiled inscrutably in response as he walked out of the room. The Dai could not make out if the smile signified happiness at the imminent arrival of a male child, or it implied an acceptance of her requests or both. It did not cross her mind that he was smiling in amusement at her convoluted thought process.
His first born was a strapping young lad of thirteen now; and then there were four daughters. A daughter meant a financial strain when she got married, but he was content with what he had and was confident he would be able to provide for his family. His only concern was that his wife should be able to cope with this pregnancy as effortlessly as she had the last eight times and that the child would be healthy. He busied himself in the Pooja room, arranging all the little details for the Janamashtami Pooja later that night.
He was pretty well versed in religious rituals and could conduct several of them without having to refer to the books of scriptures. As he settled the baby Krishna in his little silver swing, placed the silver bell next to plate of offerings of sweets and fruits, re-arranged the photographs of an adult Krishna and his consort Radha, he heard the cries of his just born child. The cry was loud and healthy, he felt so relieved. As he waited for the Dai to clean up and settle the baby before going in to see his wife and baby, he started a prayer to Krishna for all the favors he had granted over the years. Although his mind was focused on the prayer, the cries kept encroaching upon his concentration. After waiting for a suitable period of time, when the crying did not stop, he got up to investigate.
He saw his child, a sparse thatch of hair on its head, its little fists and eyes tightly closed, legs raised up, just like any other new born baby he had seen before. The cloth to wrap the child was lying on the side, his wife was exhausted with her efforts and the Dai was sitting by her side, preening over the mother, not paying any attention to the baby crying its heart out.
He understood the situation at once. “Take care of the baby”, he said to the Dai, “I will look into your requests. It does not matter it is a girl.”
The year was 1914; the village Dapunia in what is now Bangladesh; my mother had just been born.
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