My Grandfather's Story |
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"Tell me a story, Grandpa." |
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"What about, little Darshan?" |
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"Tell me about when you were growing up in India." "Well, we lived in a village called Mantanapuram, which was in the south of India. You would probably call it a poor village, but we didn't know that anyone lived differently than we did. It was very traditional. We didn't go to the public school, because it was too far away. Every morning, the young boys of the village would go to the home of the Trenka, or Village Wise Man. He was very old, but he could catch and beat a boy faster than you could imagine. He taught us all of the village traditions and customs, and how to be honorable men. In the afternoons, we would go fishing with our fathers, and in the evenings we would learn how to build the Gromani, or fishing boats." "How did you meet Grandma?" "That was very unusual. Your grandmother was the daughter of one of the village leaders. It was customary for the children of village leaders to either marry among themselves, or to become Charnaki, who were the priests and priestesses. The common people would arrange the marriages of their children with the blessings of the Trenka. In the summer of my twelfth year, it was decided that I should undergo the traditional ritual of passage into manhood, called Behratana. I was to go into the forest in the middle of the night, when the only light to see by was the light of the stars. I was then to build a Gromani, and finish it by dawn. My father and grandfather and I were then to row the Gromani into the middle of the lake, and begin to fish. When the sun reached the quarter point, my father and grandfather would tie the fish we had caught to my wrists and ankles. The more fish caught, the more luck I was destined to have in my life. When this was finished, they would then each kiss my forehead and toss me out of the boat. When I had swum to shore, the souls of the fish would be my guardians for the rest of my life. "Well, the village stoneworker was a good friend of my fathers, so at the appointed time he lent me his finest axe. By dawn, my Gromani was shaped perfectly; it was the best job I had ever done. I had carved my family's personal symbols into the sides, which wasn't usually done, but I had felt somehow right in doing so. The sides were perfectly thin and even, and the bottom was joined to the sides without a gap. My father and grandfather were not supposed to comment upon it until after the completion of the Behratana, but I could see the pride in my father's eyes. My grandfather never showed emotion, but I believe that he, too, was proud of me. "It was an unusually hot summer, and the fishing was very bad. After fishing for roughly two hours, and catching no fish, I almost was not able to keep from crying. I did not know what would happen if no fish were caught during my Behratana. I had never heard of such a thing happening. If I was not fit to be a man, would I have to eat my meals in the woman's hut for the rest of my life? Would I be sent away forever? My father began to look a little worried. My grandfather stared at his line, expressionless. "As the quarter point approached, we had still caught no fish. Then I felt my line pull sharply, more strongly than I ever had felt before. I often wonder how my life would have been different had I dropped the pole, as I nearly did. I pulled and pulled, realizing deep inside that no other fish would be caught today, that I was pulling my adulthood out of the water. I finally gave a great pull and tumbled on my back, as the fish thudded into the Gromani. I heard my grandfather say softly, "It is a fish. A wonderful fish." A tear came to my eye when I saw it. It was extremely large, and perfectly formed. If it had been caught during a normal day, it would have been saved for the Caromanya, the evening offering. "A fine fish," said my father. My grandfather tied it to my right wrist, and they lifted me high. The water was warm when it engulfed me. Because the fish had been so recently caught, it was fully alive, and tried to swim towards the middle of the lake. Although I was a strong swimmer, the fish was more than strong enough to win the bizarre tug of war we found ourselves in. Rather than swimming to shore, I began just swimming up, getting brief gasps of air into my lungs before being pulled down again. Finally, I hugged the fish to my body tightly. I tried to speak to him with my mind. "Fish, please let me live. Fish, please let me go home." I don't know how to describe what happened next, but somehow the fish gave up. He continued to struggle, but he was somehow weaker, and I stronger, as if he gave some of his energy to me. "The sun had almost set when I was able to stand up in the water. I walked into the Grouhalya, the ceremonial circle of stones, with the fish still flopping and struggling. Many in the village had come to the conclusion that I had died. None who witnessed my return knew how to interpret what had happened. I had only brought one fish, but it was a perfect one. "The next day my father and our Caratheorontya, or family priest, consulted the village mystic. He told us that I had a guardian who was strong, proud, and jealous. It had frightened off all the other fish so that it alone could guide me, and had fought me in the lake to ensure that I was worthy of it. It had also guided me to carve my family symbols on the Gromani, to symbolize that I would be the first of the village to part from the old ways, and to spread my family's spirit elsewhere. "The village leaders reluctantly decided that although I would not be exiled, I had to leave the village anyway. To symbolize the fact that I was to be considered a member of the village, even though I was away, I was to be married to a leader's daughter, so I would always be part of the underlying soul of the village. The Trenka chose your grandmother using a technique that only he and his family know. "Your grandmother and I went south to the city of Visakhapatnam, where I worked as a fisherman. When the great purges occurred, we went to the United States with your father and his sister."
© 1996, 1999 by the Reverend Douglas James.
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