The Kingfisher and Other Stories

Along the bank of a big lake in the valley, there was a deep, blue forest. It stretched all the way to the mountain peak.


In the forest lived a kingfisher and his mate. They dazzled with colour and built their nest in a tree whose branches hung over the lake. Every now and then, one of the birds would dart out of the tree like a flaming arrow, turn somersaults in the air and dash into the surface of the lake to catch a fish. The kingfishers lived a simple, happy life. The chicks would arrive at regular intervals and they would sleep in the cosy comfort of togetherness every night.


Then one day, a group of bird catchers arrived in the forest and trapped the kingfisher. He struggled in vain to escape, but his strength was too feeble against man's wily ways. They carried him away in front of his mate's eyes. She pleaded to these people for their mercy. But no one understood her language. And her mate screamed to her, "Fly away, fly away. They will catch you too." She listened to him and flew over to a tree some distance away and sat there watching helplessly.


She was lost in despair for many days. She stopped fishing. She stopped eating. She lost the magnificent shine of her multi-colured body. She turned into a ghost of her former self. And she soon realized that she could not survive without food.


Food meant hunting for fish. She emerged from her broken nest and flew out in search of fish. But her somersaults lacked the enthusiasm with which she played around over the lake in the past. Her limbs felt tired though she managed somehow to catch a small fish.


As she started to feed herself, a horde of kingfishers, her neighbours, arrived and sat on the branch of the tree, watching her keenly. She felt uncomfortable.


An elderly kingfisher asked, "Where is your mate? You seem to be living alone."


She could hardly hold her tears as she told them her woeful tale. But, to her surprise, no one appeared to be too sympathetic towards her.


"Look, this is not our way of life in the forest. Either you have a mate or you go and live elsewhere."


"But where can I go," she wept. "This is where I was born and brought up. This is the only world I know. And how can we kingfishers live without fish. I don't even know where to find another lake full of fish."


"Well, that's your business," said the elderly kingfisher. "Our forest laws don't allow this kind of existence."


"You want me to love someone else and start life afresh? How can I do that? I loved him too much. I am always thinking of him. I don't know what suffering he is going through in a world to which he doesn't belong."


The kingfishers were most annoyed to hear this. They simply shook their heads in resentment and flew away. "You have seven days to decide," they warned before they left.


She sat in her empty nest and looked up at the sky and gave out a soul splitting cry. And then she dropped dead.


Shrimati had always been fond of colours. Her husband called her a "kingfisher", so colourfully did she dress herself everyday. And her vitality knew no bounds. Her way of running around the neighbourhood reminded people of kingfishers somersaulting in the air. Besides, everyone teased her as a kingfisher because she simply loved her fish.


And then her loving husband died in an accident.

Her sorrow was boundless. Paying little heed to the state of her mind, the family elders ordered her to wear nothing but white. Her long, lush hair was cropped to give her a crew cut look. And of course, she was told that for the rest of her life, she wouldn't be allowed to eat any fish. She would be required to cook and serve fish for the people in the house, but not permitted to taste a single piece herself.


She was only twenty one years old and didn't know how to hide her physical attraction. Every night, a man would arrive at her window and whisper to her in a voice full of lust. "Come, run away with me. I will make you a queen."


Shrimati sat on the banks of the lake, where she had come to fetch water along with other village girls. She stared vacantly at the sky and prayed to God to take her away.

But God couldn't hear.

 

Dear Sriniketan:

You may well be right. But who knows what God had in store for her? To tell you frankly, quite apart from the content of the story, I was trying to experiment with the form. I have been writing haikus/senryus recently and they often try to make a deep point by presenting comparisons/contrasts. I asked myself, can I achieve the same effect with the prose form? I am not completely satisfied with the product. It would be perfect if it were a tale about the kingfisher, with a single sentence at the end telling you about Shrimati. It is very hard, but I am still working on it. Thank you for reading me. All the best.

 

Thanks AC for reading me. Yes, things are certainly changing in the urban part of India, but villages continue to be where they were. And even in the urban society, ladies are often on their guard. One of my closest friends died two years ago from cancer. Neither he nor his wife ever subscribed to the atrocious dictates of society that widows should live differently. So, his wife has a reasonably normal life style. And Bengali women really love their fish. She hasn't given up any of that, happily enough. But I was surprised by what she did when she came for my son's wedding reception. She was so worried about what people might say, that she touched only the vegerarian dishes. And believe it or not, in the society in which I live, there is not a single person who would be watching what she was eating. They are all academic people associated with the best of institutions spread across the world. My wife asked the caterer to prepare a special package for her and sent it to her home, where she could eat at her ease. How deep these cruel convetions are! Of course, the other side of the story was that my professor's wife attended the reception too. He had passed away only two months ago. And she did not show any inhibitions at all. It was wonderful to see that it meant nothing at all to her. All the best.

 

Dear Saraswathi:

The comparison came to my mind as I recalled watching a kingfisher merrily flying over a pond several years ago. It was so colourful, unbelievably beautiful. Then I also remembered that kingfishers cannot live on anything but fish. Frankly, this is what directly brought the Bengali society to my mind. Bengali women love fish, or at least most of them. I recalled that ever since I was married, I had seen my wife's aunt (paternal uncle's wife) in their home. She was a widow and staunchly followed all the inhuman rules. And then one day, my wife told me this aunt's story. Her uncle was visiting the aunt's home town and without any notice to his family decided to marry her. She was probably a ten year old girl at the time. He brought her home, left her under the care of his mother and brother (i.e., my wife's father) and went off in search of other adventures. Soon they learnt that he had married someone else!! Fortunately for her, my father in law gave her full protection and she continued to live with his family with found respect and love. But the rascal never showed up again. She had probably not spent more than a night or two with him. She was childless and my wife and her siblings were like her children.

And then one fine morning news arrived that her 'husband' was dead. She immediately changed to a widow's garb, gave up non-vegetarian food and started doing all the penances Bengali widows are supposed to do. She stuck to these till her last days. I don't think anyone in the family would have said a thing to her, but she was worried about society.

I imagined her as a newly wedded wife, arriving in colours and somehow connected all this to the kingfisher.

I hope I have been able to answer your question.

oj