THE
MERMAID
(A short story
translated from Marathi)
G. A. KULKARNI
The
life of that mermaid was like a tilting, gay
song. Riding on white-laced blue waves,
with her gold thread hair fondled by the wind, she marched through her days as
in a triumph. Sometimes with the
sheer joy of life, she shook
her hair, and pearls and red Corals showered out of them. There never were any
tears in her dark eyes, for she did not
know what sorrow was. There was no scar of
age on her face, for in
her world, old age and death
had no place.
But
half of her body was that of a fish. When sometimes she
sat all alone on an emerald
green island, lost in her reverie, she felt ashamed of the scaly
and slippery body. Once
she asked a cloud that had come
to the sea to quench its thirst, “What
should I do to change this fishbody? Tell me, and I will give you all the
red corals in seas and oceans.”
The
cloud replied, “I do not know.
Besides, why should I want
those corals? What I need is
clear sweet water and its drops.”
Then
the mermaid asked the Evening, which was
walking on the horizon,
spreading its gold cloth in the
sky, “What should I do to
change this fishbody? Tell me, and I will give
you all the pearls in seas and
oceans.”
The
Evening said, “I do not know.
Besides why should I want those
pearls? I have unlimited gold.”
Then
the mermaid asked the Night which had the milky way as the girdle, had countless sequins on its
dark flowing robes, and seven
stars in the hair.
“What
should I do to change this fishbody?
Tell me, and I will give you
all the jewels in seas and
oceans.”
The
Night said, “I do not know. Besides, why should I want those jewels? I have millions of priceless diamonds.”
The
mermaid was losing all hope. At
last she decided to ask the old man of the sea. He was more ancient
than mountains and valleys. He
was present when the first wave on the sea had dashed and was broken on the
shore. He had seen innumerable imperial cities destroyed by the tides. He
remembered all those graceful ships that had gone down in seas and oceans.
Riding a huge green wave, he wandered on all oceans, his white timeless hair
sprayed with white foam. When darkness came, his wave entered a sea den, and in
its echoing thunderous roar, he rested for the night.
The
mermaid said to him, “How can I change this fishbody?”
The
old man of the sea smiled. The wave that he was riding slowed down. He said, “When
you will experience an unforgettable sorrow, the scales will themselves drop
down one by one.”
“What
is sorrow? Where can I get it? How many red corals and pearls will I have to
pay for it?” The mermaid asked very eagerly. “You cannot purchase sorrow. It
comes of its own accord.” The old man shook his white foamy hair and said
sadly, “When ships are shattered, when men cry helplessly, sorrow may come
softly.”
“But
it has not come to me. The foolish gestures of the sinking human beings make me
laugh. I have always waited eagerly for ship wrecks,” the mermaid said.
“When
running away from cold winters, thousands of birds freeze and die on the way,
and fall into the sea”, the old man continued, “When after the tide has
receded, sea animals are trapped in pools and gasp for breath; when a mother
stands on the shore looking stonily at the sea that has devoured all her children;
when a maiden sits broken-hearted in the sand, looking at the horizon, slowly
swallowing the ship that is forever taking away her lover; when a man, crushed
under infinite anguish, stands on a rock above the sea, to cut the intense
attachment to life and to end it–then sorrow may come with light feet and
tear-filled eyes...”
The
mermaid was bewildered. She had seen all these, and yet sorrow had not stepped
in her life. She said in an entreating, humble voice, “Then why do you not give
me some sorrow from your life?”
The
old man was quiet for some time. He then replied, “I do not have any sorrow. I
have wandered much, seen much, but I have not suffered any part of it. My life
is varied, it has many aspects, yet wherever I go, I am an outsider.” He rode
the wave again, and went away. He has to travel on oceans, and he cannot stay
at one place for long.
The
mermaid became dejected. She was often alone, and was lost in reverie. The
clouds came and went away, but she did not talk with them. The Evening looked
at her every day, and showered all its gold on her, yet she never spoke with
the Evening. The Night passed closely by her, sometimes plucking a star, and
throwing it at her playfully, yet she never noticed it. Her friends once
collected the most dazzling red corals, and held them before her.
“Our
princess, once there was no coral in seas and oceans, as red as your lips. Why
have they now become so pale?”
Her
friends brought a handful of brilliant pearls and held them before her. They
said, “Our queen, once the most beautiful pearls were ashamed to be seen by the
side of your face. Now look, why has it become so faded?” But the mermaid
looked down and said nothing.
Then
one day her silent trance was broken. A young man was sitting in the smooth
sands, and was playing softly on his flute. The mermaid had never heard such
sweet notes, and she was charmed by them. The songs had the depth of a dark
night, the cool touch of a breeze, and the soothing compassion of fine wet
sand. The mermaid came near the shore and said to the young man, “Where did you
get these songs? I too can sing. When I sing, the jewels in seas and oceans
start glittering like coloured stars. I have heard
the song of waves. The earth itself quivers when they sing. I have heard the
music of the wind. The silent woods in the sea are enraptured when it sings.
But these do not have your songs’ haunting melody.”
“That
is because my songs are born out of my sorrow,” he said.
The
young man was surrounded by many dream-figures carved out of mists and
moonlight. There were many young buds and petals scattered around him, and
there was spread before him a golden cloth with strange, beautiful designs on
it.
“Who
are these shadow-like figures?” the mermaid asked with wonder.
“I
sing the song of my life. These are the notes that make my songs.”
“What
are those fragrant buds and petals?”
“I
make a bouquet of my memories, and a few petals always fall down.”
“And
what is that curious cloth?”
“ I wove a cloth out of my dreams, and I spread it before
The
mermaid had never seen anything like these, and she was fascinated. The song of
the flute continued, and the breeze became dreamy with its music.
“What
is the sorrow that fills your life?” the mermaid asked abruptly.
“I
saw one in my dream. Now I wander in search of her,” the young man replied in
the voice of the flute.
“Was
she more beautiful than me?” The mermaid smiled a little, and said, “Did she
have corals on her lips? Was her hair golden like mine?”
“Oh!
no. She was simple like a mountain spring. She had no
coral lips, nor gold hair. But her eyes were filled with tears, and her lips
were quivering, and her voice was broken with sorrow.”
“And
still you are wandering in search of her?” The mermaid asked with astonishment.
She could not understand his madness. Then suddenly she remembered.
“But
then will you give me some of your pain and sorrow? I will give you rubies that
will change a dark night into a red dawn.”
“One
cannot purchase sorrow. It must be earned. It comes when it comes. It does not
obey you or me or anybody else,” he said sadly in the voice of the flute.
But
the mermaid did not lose hope. Some day, she hoped, he would find the flute a
lifeless reed, and break it. Some day, he would find
his sorrow unbearable and discard it into the sea. She came day after day to
the place and listened to his songs.
The
songs fell down like dew-drenched buds. The mermaid slowly started hearing the
wails of the ship-wrecked victims. Her sleep was often disturbed when she heard
thousands of frozen birds plummetting
into the sea. She came nearer the shore to be closer to the flute, and its
song. But the earth had marked the irrevocable limit for her, and she stopped
helplessly at the shoreline between her and the young man.
Then one evening the young man
ended his songs. The last note vanished like a dark green bird going beyond the
horizon. He stood up and put the flute slantingly in his belt.
“Come
tomorrow again this hour, I will be waiting for you,” the mermaid said.
“Now
there is no tomorrow, nor day after,” the young man said with dejection, “I
will be going away. I will first go to the Land of the Champak, beyond the Blue
Hills, then to the
The
mermaid became silent with sudden sharp agony. She felt crushed and choked
under a strange tremendous burden. She said with a surge of desperation, “If
you are going away, take me too with you.”
“Mermaid,
how can I take you with me? My whole life now belongs to the Dream image,” the
young man said, “Besides, how can you be happy in our strange, tragic world? We
mortals live on the edge of momentary waves of hours and days.”
“Take
me with you. I know how to live on waves.”
“But
our waves of days and nights are different,” he continued, “It is true we begin
our journey, in the meeting of two loving souls. But after that every one has
to travel entirely alone, and the end too comes in a lonely, isolated dark
moment. Our day is different. None can forecast in the morning whether its eyes
will have laughter or tears in the evening. Every moment steals one black bead
from its rosary. Every hour adds to youth a little more dust of the invisibly
growing anthill of Age, and later, Death blindly tramples on it. Everything that we do or feel must end, and even our happiness
moves with feet red-marked with tragedy. In this sad world of ours,
where living day by day, we are really dying day by day, how can you be happy? Mermaid, between you and me, there is this
eternal, unending shoreline that cannot be crossed. Farewell, I am leaving.”
The young man turned and walked away, leaving evanscent
footprints on the sands.
The
mermaid became utterly miserable. It was as if the shell around her life was
shattered. Moist darkness filled her mind like a wave entering a sea-cave, and
she became splintered with sorrow. She struggled to cross the shoreline, and
said in a broken voice, “Take me with you,
take me!”
The
young man was surprised, and he turned back. He had heard that broken tragic
voice somewhere, sometime. The mermaid was now standing in the sands, and the
scales in her fishbody had melted away. Her marinoreal, eternally young face had now become soft, sad
and lined. Her eyes had the black shadow of a dark night, and her voice had the
ancient sorrow of a human voice.
“You! You here!” the young man exclaimed with ecstasy, I had
seen you in my dreams. I made my whole life an unending pilgrimage just for
you.”
The
shadow-like figures that had surrounded him, now all melted away in her. The
Dream cloth rose, and wrapped itself around her. The young man picked up the
scattered petals and put them in her hair. He took out his flute and, with a
gentle movement, put it on the receding waves.
“Now
you are my song of Life,” he said to the mermaid.
And
with glistening, moist eyes, she walked away with him, leaving wet delicate
footprints, on the wet, remembering sands.
The
old man of the sea came to bid farewell to
her. He scattered on the waves, the foam garlands that he had
brought from distant seas and oceans, and then silently he went back to the
sea, his white timeless hair sprayed with white foam.