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    The Magical Black Fish: And Other Stories for Saakshi and Amara
    The Magical Black Fish: And Other Stories for Saakshi and Amara
    The Magical Black Fish: And Other Stories for Saakshi and Amara
    Ebook92 pages

    The Magical Black Fish: And Other Stories for Saakshi and Amara

    By Shakuntala Hawoldar

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    About this ebook

    These thought-provoking stories give an idea of the intricate map-route to understand the complex human being. How does one understand this mysterious human being? What does truth really mean? There is a deep reality, hidden in the body-mind coverings of every human being. These are related to our various phases of evolution on earth. Our evolution takes us to subtler and brighter futures that await all humans.

    There are many stories of human beings highlighting the love for truth and the importance of having strength of mind. There are many aspects of these stories which are wonderful and glorious and it inspires us all to be better and better. All the stories in this book concentrate on the unique aspects of the human. They lift us from our humdrum lives to look for more and more treasures within ourselves and around us.

    The ‘Blue Light’ and ‘The Gift of Truth’ really transport us to a new world which could be ours if we accept the truth of who we are. We should also learn to speak the truth of ourselves as we find ourselves genuinely without festoons and decorations

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherShakuntala Hawoldar
    Release dateOct 18, 2017
    ISBN9789385902789
    The Magical Black Fish: And Other Stories for Saakshi and Amara

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      Book preview

      The Magical Black Fish - Shakuntala Hawoldar

      The Magical Black Fish

      Living in Quatre Soeurs is not romantic at all. Everybody is needy and is looking for something growing in somebody else’s garden. It is the question of the forbidden fruit or just the plain neediness inside the pit of the stomach or heart or somewhere else where you experience emptiness. You try to fill up the vacuity sometimes by dreaming of something requiring both activity and energy. General sloth however is all pervasive. Just imagine getting up from the comfortable bed covers to move out and work. It is not easy at all! There is a kind of lazy matrix in which we all swim in Quatre Soeurs for which we have no real explanation! You just slow down and do nothing. The air of Quatre Soeurs has something to do with this phenomenon.

      Amara, my younger sister, was particularly just restless with excitement that day. I had my chores for the day. My mother had earlier phoned the fishmonger at the market and had kindly instructed the fisherman to hand over three pounds of ‘Vieille Rouge’ (red fish or which is considered as first choice of fish in Mauritius) to me.

      We were free to use half of it for a fish pulao since my mother’s sisters were coming for dinner with their snooty husbands who believed they had reached very far by having got their graduation certificates from some unknown universities. My father had tastes of his own. He preferred ‘fish-bouillon’ (broth or soup of a kind) so my mother washed out the fish and prepared boiling water with parsley, celery and small onions cut and shredded. The lovely red cut and sliced fish with its red head fried lightly was thrown into the boiling bouillon or broth. A happy mix of fried onions plus a small slit chili, with a couple of tomatoes were added for flavor. This completed the ‘bouillon’ in a short time. In fact, it was ready before the pulao which was going to be the piece de resistance with its coriander chutney alongside which was indeed the favourite of the whole family!

      There I was with my big ‘tante Bazaar’ (big basket of raffia leaves) going through the crowded streets with Amara panting behind me running to the extensive and expansive fish market. Big fish, small fish, scaly fish, thon or tuna fish, bony fish, soft fish, brown fish were spread out, wet with splashed water and drying out on the ceramic table. They were all there in their variety and shapes! The fish gills were open red, raw and ugly like wounds in the flesh.

      I did not very much like the fish market especially when Gopu, the fishmonger slipped the ‘vieille rouge’ into my bag or ‘tante’ (basket). It was cut, washed in a bucket full of fish scales and with lots of bits and pieces of fish-flesh floating around. The water was oozy – scaly and dirty but the fish looked clean enough when it was dropped in a plastic bag and plopped into my ‘tante’ or bag. Plastic bags were not allowed in Mauritius but everyone uses them anyway without fear of any punitive reaction.

      As I went back to the pavement to return to my own house, to my surprise I saw an old fisherwoman with three big baskets of beautiful black fish each of them almost a foot long. They were large black fish, with big marble eyes – dead as dodos¹ lying in her big baskets of raffia and bamboo. I was tempted to buy the fresh looking creatures but their gills were not open and I asked the fisherwoman what they were called. She looked at me horrified at my glaring ignorance. "Are you stupid my child? They are real Vieille! – Gris and noir! (grey and black). They are first choice of fish (premier choix). These are given to you at a very cheap price! It’s a lucky catch – for 300 rupees! Take a basketful." I was sorely tempted by the offer.

      I looked around the fish market. Suddenly it seemed empty. Nobody else seemed tempted by the black ‘vieille’ on sale and there was unusually no curious crowd milling around for good fish sold so cheaply. I started asking the fisherwoman a few questions – What about this amazing fish? Where did you go to catch these fishes? What about the fish trade?" The woman’s eyes darted about furtively. She was not on the same wave length of my questions at all!

      She saw a few policemen loitering around. She looked very very nervous and fearful. Her insistence on finding a quick customer made her awkward and she threw the basket before Amara’s feet almost spilling the contents slippery and wet on the pavement.

      My sister, Amara, was livid. Why are you angry with Saakshi’s simple questions and why are you throwing the fish on my feet…? Amara asked the woman. She then looked at me, her eyes still bulging with anger. Amara asked me to move away, but I was frozen on the spot. The basket had moved suddenly. The fish spilled out alive, slippery, wet and icy! Suddenly, I saw the old woman’s feet. To my utter shock, they were shaped strangely. Instead of the feet having the toes in front like all humans she had her toes turned inwards almost like claws. It was clearly like claws instead of feet near the soles of the feet, the mounds of flesh sticking out – ugly, black and obtrusive. I was shocked!

      I saw Amara stunned and almost stoned by the sight. The old hag did not waste time. Before we could do anything, the fish turned into black birds flapping away before my astonished eyes! They flew

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