ERNST AND I

Books were my friends from the time I could read, and they have stayed with me ever since.

It was somewhere in my teen years that I met 'The Old Man and the Sea'. Maybe forty-odd summers have passed, and I don't remember what impressions it left upon me then. But leave it surely did, because this was one book I recommended to many others, and this was a friend I always wanted to meet again.

It is said that the great books are best read once when the canvas of a young mind is spread out vast and open and the wise ones can spin dreams and show the paths of hope and grace, and once again when mind and body have taken their fair share of buffeting and battering and faith has been shaken and reaffirmed a million times.

This August, I met 'The Old Man and the Sea' again.

I bought it from an old friend in an old bookshop in our little old town of Nainital. I bought it for our children who are growing up the way they should. I was curious to know why I wanted them to read it so, so I read it myself before I packed it in Jashan's bag as she went off to university again.

It is a book of life. Mr Hemingway has left the world of readers a priceless gift. Reading it again after two score years was like meeting a dear companion who had grown with me and understood every hope, disappointment, hazard and victory that I had ever seen. Like he would understand the hollow feeling in my stomach.

In the Old Man we have a being who has experienced life and understood existence. He is one with the sea, with its every eddy and current, with the breezes and the winds and all the moods and forces of the weather, with the sun and the stars, with all the creatures who live in the water or fly over it. He understands their need, he appreciates their efforts, he heeds their warnings. He understands his own needs.

There is not a word of frustration, rancour, or clinging, in the whole story; only a profound understanding. There is empathy with the water, the wind, the boat, the fish. There is respect and love for the very fish that has been hooked. There is wonder and admiration for its strength and gracefulness.

It is a story of living the moment. Living life in the moment. Not chafing against what it throws at one, not complaining or rebelling or finding excuses to be weak.

It is a book of wisdom and strength, of calloused hands and aching back. It is a book of resilience and endurance. It is a book of belief, of faith, of knowing, of being.

It is a tale that carries one beyond victory and defeat, away from guilt and blame, far from the road to worry and despair.

As night falls,  it is a ballad of knowing that the sharks will come again, and again, and there is no way that the Old Man can beat them all, and yet knowing that he will fight them with his last  bit of strength, and then more. For it is the lot of sharks to  bully and grab, and the destiny of the Old Man to fight them when he must and then carry on much farther, to where they cannot yet even think of.

It is the story of life and of actually living it. It is a tale of love and strength and hope for those who toil.

It is a superb fishing tale, and I am reminded of One who told His followers, 'I will make you fishers of men.'

When the Old Man drops into deep slumber in his shack after his travails, he has already left it all behind, and is soon immersed in his favourite dream of lions on a beach.

And the boy who loves him so decides to be with him always, because there is so much yet to be learnt.

I understand that many a shark must die before the old men reach the harbour, many an oar must break. I understand that many a breeze is yet to be smelled, and many a sea to be sailed.

Yes, there is much remaining to be learnt. And I know that when the time comes, the lions shall play on the beaches. Ernst has told me so.

BISHKABRAAAAA!!!

There was an old 'bishkabra' who lived in a hollow at the base of the 'bil' tree. He had been around for ages, and the children, when they were children, knew that they had to be wary of the poisonous lizard whose bite could kill. He was a careful chap who maintained a rather low profile, unobtrusive in his comings and goings, and rarely seen.

The Bil tree is another unassuming fellow. It's hard-shelled fruit is much sought after throughout the summer months for being the best thing to ward off the heat of the westerly 'looh' and any complications of the stomach. The humble old tree keeps dropping its lifesaving fruits night and day, asking nothing in return. It's leaves are tasty, and we would often hand a slender branch to a child who wanted to feed the cows or goats.

I don't really know what we call these reptiles in any other language; they are smooth-skinned shiny fellows with forked tongues flicking in and out of their mouths, maybe three to four feet long, very agile. They are feared throughout our part of the country by the workers who toil in the fields. Small versions of the great monitor lizards? The Indian monitor?

A few months ago I had shown the opening at the base of the Bil to little Ayaana. Its walls were smooth, and the two-year old understood that here lived the Bishkabra, and that she had to be careful of it. Grandchildren do bring life around full circle in the nicest way.

Now, this fellow had been around for years, and had survived only because he had been smart enough to stay out of human sight. But with age comes a sense of belonging, a certain feeling of comfort, and it lulls the senses into complacency, into being not so suspicious of all the nice people around. So this winter he took to sunning himself atop a log lying outside the cow shed. He was often seen roaming around in the courtyard and lawns, not in any great hurry to get anywhere.

And human beings, we invariably overdo our show of concern for each other's safety, and we create fear where there is no cause for any.

Old Bishkabra was beaten to death, and displayed as a trophy by brave men with long sticks.

In a few days, the walls of the hole at the base of the tree lost their sheen, grass started growing at the entrance, the home was empty, just an empty hollow in an old tree.
...

There was some renovation going on at the homestead. One old wall was coming down to make way for a new kitchen. Twelve feet above the ground, as the bricks were removed, they came upon a litter of small Bishkabras. They were duly disposed of.

One day Robby came and announced that she had seen 'a different sort of lizard' among the house lizards that keep hunting insects in our home. It was shiny and more smooth in its movements....

A few days later Judda announced that he had killed a little Bishkabra in the bathroom upstairs. Then I knocked one off the wire mesh in the verandah and chased it out - I didn't kill it, out of deference to Robby and Tiffy; Jashan is usually kind enough to see reason in all that daddy does. Then Judda got another one in the kitchen....

Little Ayaana came home today, three now.

And Bhimsain found a little Bishkabra curled up in a vase in the drawing room. And Bhagwan Das saw a big one in the lawn. And Ayaana went prancing around trying to scare everyone "Hooo, Bishkabraaaa!"


POST SCRIPT 14 October 2019

There's a spritely young fellow who's occupied the hollow under the Bil tree. Bishkabraaas reign!