Word Count: 342 | Reading Time: 2 min

Babu Dadu and the Fishy Morning

Many, many years ago in pre-partition (undivided) Bengal, my great-grandfather was a young man who relished choosing his fish and groceries at the morning market. On his way home with a particularly juicy fish one day, he heard a young woman’s voice somewhere above him calling out, “Aei, amaake maach ta de” (“hey, gimme the fish”).  Looking up he saw a pethni (the hungry ghost of a young woman) sitting at the top of a coconut tree. She kept asking for the fish, first cajoling, then more and more insistent, and he, terrified but stubborn, kept refusing. Eventually as she leaned down towards him, he broke into a run, determined not to surrender his fish. He stopped only when he was out of breath, some distance away. Alas! Something gave a mighty tug and snatched the fish (and a lemon) from his hands! He realised that while the pethni had stayed in her tree, her arms had extended to an unnatural length and snaked after him. As he watched her hands retract back with their prize, he decided he would never live this day down, nor forget that fish he lost. And that was why my mother heard him tell this story all her life, and this was why I grew up with this story enfolded in the fabric of my childhood. Knowing to protect one’s fish from pethnis at all costs was as commonplace as learning to tie one’s laces. When Shreya first shared the theme for this issue with me, this story immediately surfaced in my mind-soup. The image had been living inside me for years, and giving it form and shape revealed aspects of the story I never consciously knew existed. Like the misty morning, the rosiness of the light, the pethni’s stylish bone accessories, my Babu dadu’s clothes…making this artwork was full of flow and delight. I went as maximalist as I could, and it was awesome. To be able to share it here with you all really means a lot.