I sit on the bank, dangling my legs in the stream –
waters, older than my grandmother’s stories.
Free-spa, little fishes kiss my toes.
I lean on the coconut tree, as memories wade in and out.
Five pairs of feet rushing outside the kitchen-door,
(Pillere sookshichone, being the only adult verbal guidance those days)
trampling the grass and jumping over fallen logs
to reach the stream first, now a semi-Bethesda pool in our innocent world.
The eldest, a myth-monger, had affirmed one night that God would grant
the first one to step into the water, the wish s/he seeks.
During one such morning-race,
you, the youngest of all, stumbled on a large stone, and fell.
Tears streaming down your cheeks, I supported you
as you limped back home, blood oozing down your knee.
Ammachi sent Thresiya Chedathi for the herbs from the backyard.
She came back with a handful of leaves, crushed those under a stone-grinder
and made it into a green paste.
After a thorough cleansing of the wound with water,
Ammachi crossed herself, muttered a prayer with her eyes closed,
and smeared the paste on your knee.
You screamed, and I forgot what I wished for the most in my life.
Ammachi said nothing.
Two days later, we jumped over fallen trunks and rushed to the stream.You reached first.
We caught three guppies in a faded thorthu.
But before transferring it into a glass bottle you said,
‘What if there are baby guppies back home waiting for their parents?’
We walked back home, our thorthu empty.
Memories which refuse to be caught in nets, tickle my feet, now dangling in the water.
Pillere sookshichone– Be careful, children!
Ammachi– grandmother.
thorthu– thin, white, absorbent bath towel commonly used in Kerala.
(Published as part of Summer Project with Paperboat Drinks Co.)
By,
Dr. Nithya Mariam John,
Assistant Professor,
Department of English,
BCM College, Kottayam
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