Poems And Stories

By Gopika Hari

1)Midnight’s Poetess:

Music ,from a table top spinning..

Each spin brings forth a higher note

Ringing out in unison: a Rudolph- the- reindeer’s song.

Waterlilies- blooming, and fading, and blooming again, with each note,

Each draped in differing shades of watery grey..

Stars, in groups of five and six,

circle the table legs, forming Archer, Lyra and Orion

As the day turns to night beside the lake.

And my child sleeps on,

In her little cot by fireside,

Sleeping. Amidst such blissful chaos.

I haven't told her yet

Of the night monster that turns the table round

From the moment her eyes close, till they ope again next morn.

I haven't told her, not yet,

Of the thousand yarns

That the spinning table-top spins,

Or of the Archer’s dance and Lyra’s music emanating from within.

I haven't told him, nor his father and his fam

That the table keeps me awake at night,

Taking me through galaxies of unspoken goals

Traversing unattempted roads..

The roads to words, and lives waiting their form

Roads to voices that glide to my heart’s secret cove.

Roads to songs that angels of drugged dreams sing

As the world sleeps, and my pen awakens the pent-up words inside,

And I walk out-

Out of your tightening clasp, and your father’s sleep talk, the room’s guards-those creaking brass doors and courtyard’s chilling frost,

Out to a silver silhouette waiting in grace- a writing girl with sleep’s form and dream’s force, with rapt eyes, and voice encore

Smiling, she asks me neither of you nor of the blessed housewife’s burden.

Just picks up one end of her sea-green drape and swirls -

The swirling drape goes round

and round

till I know only the songs that sought my pen-tip’s harbour and cove.

And then, the drape takes on form,

of parchments unfilled in, and stories waiting in line to be handed tokens and acknowledgement nods

The table top starts filling it with its notes-

tales of stars and waterlilies,

Ever blooming, ever fading..

A galaxy of it’s own..

2) ) Persistent flakes

Those little somethings

Which have neither voice ,nor name

Yet linger by, insane.

Dear, yet left behind

Too vague to hold on to

But Oh! Too whispery to ignore..

Persistent flakes,

(If I shall call you little somethings by that name)

To what do I owe this allegiance, this pain?

Why do you not let go

of my shadows’ embrace?

Prayers, they say, linger by one’s side,

Even when the lit lamp bids bye,

And shadows of burnt incense

embrace fasting flame.

Prayers, they say,

of zoe near and far

Reach through dusk, and retreat by dawn’s start.

But these little somethings that leave not once my side,

Could it be that you are prayers mine own

Of each one that I was ,

a day life before, a week life before, a year life before?

Hopes which dared not climb the beanstalk

Fears cast down the doubting feet and fumbling pen tips

Smiles unspun, and tales neck-wrung?

3). “Love, it’s ok if your love has flown” :

Love, let’s end this masquerade-

“Lost in day’s woes” is what you tend to say

But I know the day has been lost on your empty gaze.

How far will you keep this up, this long face,

And trust my naivete, to not guess its name?

Tell me, dearest, if love has flown

And you stand struck, unable to commune in a loveless nurturing maze

That you find us in, going on, hapless and in haste.

Love, it’s ok if your love has flown

It’s ok, that the roses come in a leafless palm,

Ok still, that the warmth leaves your hugs e’en before you reach home to my arms;

“We weren’t meant to be”s echoing in your baritone

As you try whispering ‘miss you’ across the staggering phone.

Love, it’s ok if your love has flown

I get it that you are neither callous, nor stone

(Though I sincerely feel stones can feel love too-you should try watching them soak in waterfalls, form caves, and nurture little pools, gurgling on)

No, this is not the accuse of supposed adultery, neighbours’ loose talks,

I think you are honest enough to tell me if that’s how it goes.

It’s just that I feel that this strange suspension we’re in-

This isn’t an ebbing,

soon-to-be followed by the rising waves of full-moon, no.

Love, it’s ok if your love has flown

You held my hand throughout the walk through storm,

And I will always choose to remember how that grip was strong.

Only, while passing thus, something cracked inside your chest,-

Gentle, subtle, yet audible enough for my year-trained ears..

I heard them as we passed by the brook, and heard only stillness in your palm veins, in place of life force,

when we passed the woods, and I could hear your voice rustling no more

in your fingertips,

and when, by the sea, our sea, together we passed, still hand in hand,

and sat down cheek to cheek, and listened the seagull’s call,

and you smiled that dear smile, yet it waved not through the shore,

I knew, I knew Love, that your love has flown.

So you see, I would never blame you for leaving me, no..

But maybe, some days I would sob on how you left you somewhere along that walk,

And I would search-

Not like Radha with her untied hair, and streaming eyes, no

But with my hair in a bun, and eyes blinking away any memories’ onslaught-

And I would search

By the brook, the woods, and the seashore

where you fell off our joined palms, grazing the leaf held therein-

where you fell of, like a feather,

gentle, yet stabbing in its gentleness,

down the caves where we dreamed;

down the streams,

down the you whom ‘we’ knew

to the new you.

I would search,

Not to bring him back to you,

And force it on the new you so arduously made,

So that ‘we’ would materialize on our plush sofa sets, half-lit dining room and blooming garden once again.

But, to bring him back to my stitched sleeves,

And diary with the folded page-

To look back there

When one day ,one fine day

When looking back would not mean

Meandering tears, but the graceful smile

And grateful sigh, of a love well loved, and lost not to time,

But stays safe to fondle, in my heart’s long-sleeve.

4) A Sprouting.

Rain and rain

Showering pain.

Lilies swelt and jasmines flame.

Yet,fragrance remains.

Time and again.

Blazed and razed down, Earth shakes her mane

And rises, as befitting a Dame.

Time, the gardener, runs his palms, veined,

Over the pallid earth, and scatters grains

Of thoughts, of souls before,

Who gained wisdom by sitting upright

Under bodhi trees of pain

And thus sprouts poetry,

Time and again.

©gopikaameera

5) Dancing down the Inferno

Seething I was.

Descending the stairs of Inferno.

You,Pied Piper of Souls,

charmed me out of that hole.

What music you forced

Upon these deafened Dhols,

To court my feet,and make them roll?

Ghagra cholis winding up

On anklets,dusted by your notes.

Rise up I,yet swoons too I,

Round,in spirals,leaps my shawl.

What dance this,O piper,I

Know not,yet it gives me hope.

Flying hands find secret doors

And ope mine eyes to

Caves of old.

Folklore nights,

Of Cavemen times,

When lot like us

Made large fire

And danced out roaring

Infernos.

STORIES:

Seaward-a Goan experience

Waves greet me in dreams often. Green-blue waves ,swishing, racing, spiralling. revealing the shells and revelling in rolling them back and forth across my happy feet caressing them.It was this obsessive affinity for sea that made me join two of my friends on their way to Goa for their conference.

Reaching at Don Bosco, we set out in a cab the very next day to the Baina beach for the water sports. The cabdriver, John uncle, who came with us was about the age of my dad,and almost of the same temperament, and we bonded quick. He was telling me the stories of his driving around Goa with tourists for the last decade, and pointing out to me the places where he grew up playing football and catching fish.

There was a certain warmth that spread outward from his tales.Till then,Goa was for me an exotic locale meant for vacations.But sitting in the front seat,listening to his life in the seashore pouring out generous from his contented face,I felt the presence of a lived land around me-a land where people,real flesh-and-blood people,lived their lives in full length-where they took daily baths in the waves,stretched out beneath the coconut trees at noon ,and went out to sea at nights to earn their bread-

A real,lived in land,with the tales of loss-of sons lost to sea in midst of meals,of daughters lured and swallowed by the trecherous deeps while shell collecting among seaweeds;a shore so loved by its populace,that every fisherfolk moving out to town to educate their kids,leave back a lingering heart-breaking anguish in the waves,felt collectively by the remaining children of the sea.

John uncle himself was one such man -who had to leave the waters' shade to shade his child from 'O the uncouth fisherman' stare. "You were a fisherman?"I blurted out ,in excitement. To me,nothing could have been a better profession-staying inside the waves,day in and day out. And he smiled,that piercingly sad smile of his,and asked me why I liked the term so.Hearing me narrate my favourite fishermen stories from films I watched and the conversations I have had,he laughed a pained laugh-and left us at the Baina beach to explore the watersports.

Inside the sea,in the scubadiving apparel,and on its surface,bobbing about in the life jacket,I loved every minute of it.While clambering upto the boat though,I was kind of disappointed to see everyone occupied with their phones in midst of such wonderful sea.All brooding,over the corona virus,maybe.Paying no heed to the sea.Feeling bad for the sea,I looked around.

And that is when I saw the glee in the boatmens' eyes.They were all young people,looking about twenty,and one especially caught my eyes.Standing on the edge of the boat,with a long mass of entangled hair and open arms,he looked like a human sail,billowing in the sea breeze. The look of complete abandon in his eyes was quite infectious,and me who was usually afraid about standing too near the front side of the boat approached it quite smoothly,spreading arms myself,and hair coming loose. He glanced sideways,saw in my eyes the silent thanksgiving for the inspiration,and turned back again,much like a satisfied drawing teacher seeing the progress of his student's work. I waved to him while we returned back to cab,but he was obviously blind to everything except the rolling green-blue water between his outspread arms then,and I fellt a tinge of hope in me-maybe,one day.With enough money and least care, I will buy a boat,and stand like this on its edge,with nothing but the sea and its frays beside and about me.One day.And thus I entered the cab.

The next day,I set out again,this time on my own.My friends had to work on the paper for the conference,and I could hear nothing but the sound of waves all day echoing inside,so I set out,mindful of the dangers of travelling alone through the party capital of India.After enquiring to a few localites,I reached Calangutta beach.I changed to beach wear and lied down there in the sand,taking in the salty sweet sea,surpised to feel hot tears wetting my cheeks.I didnt expect to find myself in tears in beach-in Goa,not at all. I was supposed to jump and dance and race the waves,and there I was,crying on as if grieving the humanity's fate.And then,I heard the pained laugh of John uncle,and suddenly,the laugh stretched out itself in two arms,welcoming sea,his bald head morphing to an entangled mess,the warmth of his life passing on to the man i saw on the boat,living his life in sea in abandoned.Father's grief,mended through the son who returned to claim the joy that was theirs.And I sighed,wiping tears-"One day",I heard my heart say."One day,seaward shall travel my days.And I will be home again.

2. GOPIKA HARI

The Feline Child

Ever heard of Pootham? Pootham, or bhootam, are creatures resembling humans, but with claws, long curved teeth and an insatiable craving for human flesh. But in the myth of Poothappaatt(song of Pootham) prevalent in Kerala, we see a Pootham who loves babies and longs to own one, who steals a child but in the end gives it back to its mother, moved by her plea where she said she would take out her eyes and present it if it would return her baby then. Here, I have given the famed story a twist by introducing a cat family , to further the theme of the story beyond the human interests in which it is trapped in the original myth. There are further changes to the events in the mythical story too, in line with the virtues and vices my inverted narrative tries to highlight.

Once upon a time, there lived a Pootham in the valleys of Paathiraakunnu(a hill). In her golden days, she used to find amusement in dressing up as a beautiful Keralite girl, enchanting male by passers , inviting them to a illusionary palace on top of the palm tree, and frightening them to death, whereby it is believed that she consumed it for her sustenance. But at the time when the story is taking place, this Pootham has had a change of heart. She is past the folly of youth, and now yearns for the bliss of motherhood. She roams around the neighbourhood for a child she can bring up as her own, and then her sight falls on Unni, a little boy living with his mom in a village near her abode.

Pootham saw Unni passing her palm tree on the way from school one day. She was overwhelmed by the kid’s innocence, charm and sweet demeanour. ”Awww”-went Pootham, and her long bent teeth and sharp claws shed on the spot. Motherhood embraced her, she vowed to herself-“that child is mine to love and raise. ”

From the next day onwards, Pootham started devising strategies to attract the child to the illusory palace atop her palm tree. After much thinking, she decided to apply her powers of animagus, take the form of a cuckoo, and through its sweet song, allure the boy to the tree top. But it did not work out, for though the boy was attracted to the song of the cuckoo, he dared not climb up to an unknown house.

Determined, Pootham next shape-shifted to a puppy, and started following the boy around. Unni, on seeing the adorable puppy giving him the ‘lost puppy’ gaze, and cute little whines, and wagging his tail nineteen to dozen while accompanying him to and from school, quickly became friends with the puppy. But when, after about a week’s happy galloping around the coconut groves and the orachards, the puppy tried to gently nip his mundu(the cloth Keralite men drape around their waist, covering body till ankle) and take him to the beautiful palace, Unni resisted-“Love you as I do, I can’t come to a stranger’s place my dear puppy”, said Unni. “My mom has made me promise that I will neither accept candies and gifts from strangers, nor go to their places, however friendly they seem”.

But even then , Pootham did not give up. Next she took on the countenance of a hurt kitten, to appeal to the sympathy of the gullible child. Turned to a spotlessly white, furry cat, she lay beneath the palm tree, waiting the child’s arrival from school. Much to her chagrin, the boy passed by without noticing it, engrossed as he was in the loss of friendship with puppy. Next day saw the kitten purring, and bristling across Unni’s legs as he sat leaning on the coconut tree nearby on way home.

“Hmm, the boy isn’t responding, poor old fool, he is still moaning the loss of his friend” thought the kitten, and resorted to the lure of game-she lifted her little paws and started chasing butterflies, going in circles around him. The playfulness and vigour of the furry kitten caught the boy’s eyes, as he thought to himself-“here is the proof of mom’s saying-“that which is lost and was very dear comes back to you, though in other forms. ” And the amused boy called to kitten-“hey kitty, do you want to play with me? ”

Pootham, in kitten’s form, was elated. As the boy took her in arms, and held her close, the mother in her purred-inside the body of a kid cat, the heart of a mother throbbed.

And in a moment of weakness, she changed the boy into a kitten: white, furry, chubby and sweet, with darling blue eyes, and pinkish feet!!! “If he won’t come to my palace with me as a human kid, then I will at least pamper him as my kitten, and find some peace”, thought she.

Such was her longing, such her craving, to take care of a baby, to croon and coo and play with it, that she did not think of the damage she was doing to the poor kid’s sense of self.

For a few seconds, in which Unni was engrossed with the kitten with such concentration and focus as only children four years old can possess, he did not notice the change. His eyes were taking in the rainbow coloured fur of the kitten, and the patterns the coloured fur made on its coat. And how he rejoiced, in the whirlpool of green and blue and white that formed near the kitten’s neck.

And then came a gnawing in tummy, and hunger reminded him of home, and hiss loving mom waiting for him with a plateful of rice porridge. The smell of the ghee she puts in the dish, and the crunching sound of paapad, the side dish, as he breaks it in his little fists, made his tiny mouth water. Instantly, he sought the tip of his mundu to wipe off cat’s fur that lingers on it, for he knew too well his mother’s insistence on clean hands before serving food. And it was then, that the boy realised with a jolt, that he does not have his mundu on. Filled with shame, he looked around him frantically, thinking the mundu would have come loose while he was busy taking the cat for rounds around the coconut tree. And as he turned round, he came across his brand new tail, and his furry back, and he yelled aloud in shock, but the sound came out as a loud “meow”.

Unni, now a kitten, started sprinting back home, afraid beyond measure and wanting to be back in the safety of his mother’s lap. And only then did Pootham realise her mistake. With a heart breaking cry, she shifted her form to that of Unni’s mother, and called out his name with much love-“Unniii”.

And the kitten Unni, stopped his sprint, and turned to look at the face of his ‘mother’, and in two leaps, came near. Pootham lifted him and held him close to her heaving bosom, and cried in large, gulping, sighs. She had thought she had lost him for also! She also didn’t know how and transform him back to his original form without him knowing the truth of her being. Since now she was in the attire and form of his mom, the kitten Unni trusted and loved her. But the mother he knows does not have the magical ability to change shapes, thus she cannot attempt to restore him his human form without risking him discovering her lies.

As the kitten Unni, meowed and mewed in fright of his new shape, and looked up at her face constantly with that heart breaking mixture of self-doubt and unwavering trust in her, she could not help hating herself for her selfishness. Her red palms reddened even further at the shame she felt for changing the life of the kid she so loved for the worse. She comforted him, held him across her bosom and rocked him to sleep. Then she started thinking of ways to make his life as a kitten most comfortable. .

And that is when the cat family playing across the palmtree drew her eys-she gently lifted up Unni, and placed him near the mother cat, and came back to the palm, looking back from time to time with overflowing eyes. And then the thought occurred to her-‘What if, on waking up, he sprints back to his house, away from her eyes? Ashamed as she was of her possessiveness, she couldnot bear the thought of the child staying away from her vicinity. So she raised her hands, and snapped her fingers as she cast a spell, and drew an imaginary circle around the coconut and palm groves neaby, making it impossible for Uni to find his way out from that circle , let alone go home. Having ensured his presence near her thereby, she retreated to the top of the palms and kept whimpering to herself, cursing her fate.

When Unni woke up from sleep, he was amazed to see three pair of green eyes looking down at him. The mother cat and her little darlings were prowling across this new neighbour with much curiosity. The smaller of the kitten , Neowmyaaw, was eager to make Unni feel comfortable, and blurted out in a single breath, (in meows of course)-“What’s your name, brother? Are you new here? That woods you see over there, that’s where we live now, do you wanna come and play with us for some time? ” The green eyed mom cat shushed her little one, with amused scorn-“Come on now, Neowmyaaw, give the poor thing some time to come to his senses. Seems like he was deserted by some stupid humans down the road. Must have found him getting too often into their kitchens for fish and milk, like your uncle did”.

With a gentle shove of the paw, she moved her kid away from the vicinity of Unni, to make the latter more comfy. But all the while, the elder sibling of Neowmyaw was noticing the moistening around his mom’s eyes-he felt that something was amiss. . this stranger seems to be of some consequence to mom, he thought. Deciding to keep a polite distance from him Ngyawoo settled to a cozy curling beside his mom, and started combing his red fur with feigned disinterest in the new turn of events.

Unni, on the other hand, was getting more and more confused and scared. He tried calling for his mom, but to no avail. He looked at the new neighbours, and a wave of emotions unexplainable came over him. It was as if some vague memory was trying to make itself felt, but like the melted cone icecream, was sliding down through all sides of the cone to ground, kept sliding away from the grip of his new kitten-consciousness.

After meowing in a tone of “excuse me”, he passed the trio on to the palm groves, in search of his home. But thanks to Pootham’s spell, he coulnot walk past. It seemed as if some kabadi player was pushing him back, everytime he went near the enchanted circle’s periphery. After some piteous growling and whining and purring, his sorry self dragged itself to a corner of the grove, and lay down with his woe begone head resting on ground. The spell casted by Pootham glowed , in pride, like an invisible cobweb above his head, the words of the spell suspended in the thin, fogged air, a shimmering womb of magic and despair. .

Pootham was watching him from afar, helplessly, self-loathingly. As she was about to fly down and comfort him, she heard the following conversation between the cat family. Mother cat was holding onto a red ribbon, looking dejected. The ribbon had a kind of eerie glow to it, as if lines of smothered fireflies were trying to force their way out of the red threads that was woven to make it. .

Ngyawoo could be heard asking her-“what’s the matter , mother? “Nothing”, she replied, “its already late, you go and get some sleep”. But Ngyawoo persisted-“You seem to know something about the new, depressed visitor. And I get a feeling he had something to do with my elder brother, as you have taken out his red ribbon, after such long time, today after the visitor came. You planning to adopt him in place of my brother? ”-there was a mild indignation and jealousy tremoring in his meows. He half expected his mom to snap back, and yell at him to mind his own business, and hence was surprised when he saw her breaking down to hysterical sobs, suddenly, and without any reason. Alarmed, Ngyawoo stuttered, ashamed at having made his mother cry-“I-I-i-am sorry, so sorry, mother. F-f-forgive my impudence, Iwill go b-b-back to m-my room now”.

As he was turning to go, his head bowed and his beautiful tail tucked in between his little hindlegs in shame, he heard the mother cat say, through a steely voice resonating with such magnitude of pain-‘they took him away’. Even through the sobs, the words were unmistakable, and upon Ngyawoo, it suddenly dawned, th truth’s ray-so it was this boy’s family whom he and his twin bro kept cursing for days, for kidnapping their elder brother, through some charm’s sway!

“Was it-was it the boy’s dad, mom? the tall horrible creature with no tail and lots of black fur on arms, that came and took him away? ”-he asked in whispers, afraid to ask further-the topic of elder brother was almost a taboo in the family.

“Yes”-crooned the mother cat, and grew silent again. The sight of her staring with half-dead eyes across the grove, as in self-hypnosis to comfort her aching pain, terrified Ngyawoo. After a gnawing silence, the mother cat, described her loss to this second son of hers:

They were a happy family, she, her first son, her sister and two daughters of her sister. They were born and raised in Unni’s neighbourhood, and moved to the backyard of Unni’s neighbours at the time of her delivery. Those humans, Unni’s neighbours, were very good creatures, they used to feed them as and when they can, sometimes even on delicacies like prawns and sweetened milk. Her first son was very playful, and used to paw every leaf and vine on his way, and the butterflies in the yard were more amused than terrified at his efforts, to touch them as they flit between marigolds, in vain. He was a pet of her sister too, and enjoyed the privilege of being the first-born in family, breastfeeding on both mothers even after her sister delivered her own babies.

Then, on a fateful day, Unni’s father paid a visit to the neighbour’s place, saw the firstborn, and was charmed by his playfulness and infectious joy. Unni, then a crawling infant about six months old, was with his dad too. He started flailing his tiny arms and babbling in great fervour, his little eyes widening in excitement and wonder

. ”Well, cant blame them, my baby was a great charmer you know!”-sighed the mother cat, and continued-they were obviously interested in him, but knew the neighbours would not allow them to take him away. Also, the mother cat, by then suspicious of the strangers’ interest and curiousity to her little one, was on the defensive mode-she mightnot posess Pootham’s spells to cast off people from her circle, but she did have claws and that cold, cold stare, that make nerves turn water. She drew herself to a formidable elevation, standing on her toes, and all her fur stood up, spike-like, in defence. She growled that low, menacing tone of hers, and even struck out her front paws viciously at the man’s hand that stretched forth in a peace entreaty.

Ngyawoo, listening, swelled with pride at his mom’s courage and spuirit, and felt grateful to the cat gods for being born as the son of such a protective mother. But a whimper, at once piteous and dignified, drew him back to reality. His mom was sniffing away at the red ribbon. . He gently went to her, pawed it aside, and licked her coat, as if to say, ”look here mom, you have still got us , atleast”.

But all he could bring himself to ask was-“Did he draw back his dirty hand? ” To which he replied, with biting steeliness-“Ofcourse he did. Only, to extend it again and again, in coming days, full of treats of all sorts. And your brother was a naïve little fool, to be charmed by such false display of affection-and then she faltered, and picked herself up again-no, not false perhaps, but he was trying to take my kid frm me, nevertheless. ”She stiffened for a moment, and then, licked her limbs clean, as if the stain in milkbowls offered to her son were sticking on to her fur.

And then, in a voice growing unsteadier by seconds, continued-“They are not ordinary humans, Unni’s people. I have seen Unni’s dad changing into bull, jackal and buffaloe at night time, My sister told me that she overheard the owners of our kitchenyard telling that Unni’s people are odiyans, skilled at odividya-the magical knowledge of shape-shifting;that they do it to scare off other humans on road, in revenge of the people his victims wronged. I dunno why he chose to try out that knowledge on our poor family though, said the mom cat, and sighed.

“One night, while I went out to catch mices for my son, this man changed himself into a cat, and called my son to play. My sister’s daughters went with him too. Like a pied piper charming kids enroute, he took them along to the woods. He must have cast some spell on my sister too, for though she could see it all, she could neither meow nor move. She told me later that she was as if in a trance. After all, odiyan is famous for the ability to charm the entire nature. Also, on that cruel night, the trees were swaying wildly across the groves and yard, as if possessed by the devil, there was a furious wind howling across, and hence his neighbours, the people who used to feed us and keep us, the people he did not want to offend, they kept themselves shut safe indoors.

I dunno how long he went, it must be miles, for otherwise my nieces would have found their way back to us the next morning. All we could hear of your brother next day onwards was his shrill cry. I could hear him calling out for me throughout the day, but they kept doors locked at all times and threw water at me everytime I crossed their yard through the gate. Me and my sister kept going there though, day after day, meal after meal, to atleast catch a glimpse of my son, of his darling eyes, and his beautiful fanning tail. . I knew they would feed him well, but it wouldnot be the same. I knew he would miss me and him being a mere infant, that he needs my constant care. When our efforts to reclaim him grew more frequent, they threw hot water over your aunt, which proved fatal to her, killing her within a week. And as if it were not enough, they locked their house and went away, for a longtime, taking my son with them.

“You thought they are not coming back, and thus took to the groves? ” asked Ngyawoo. ”Yes”, said sh-‘Time went by and I had you both, god sent to reclaim my sanity. I have kept the red ribbon he used to play with, I needed something to hold on. My son would have by now grown out of the ribbon stage, still. . her voice withered away. .

Ngyawoo stayed silent for some time, and asked-“but this new kitten-how do you know it is Unni? ’ “Oh I had seen Pootham living on the palm targeting the boy for long, but I was hoping against hope he would escape her glance. And now she has turned it into kitten too! I thought it was just humans who are that heartless. .

“Is there no way you can help him, mother? ”Ngyawoo asked, pained.

As the mother cat was beginning to answer “No”, she felt the red ribbon shiver-shocked, as they turned to their side, they saw blue fireflies rising up from the ribbon, and flitting out, to the kitten-Unni’s side. . As they stood there, their tails upward and their whole fur selves shivering, the boy regained his form again!!!

“But, but. . ” And then they saw it. . the boy’s mom was standing beneath the palm, the kitten they raised for three years on one palm, and on another a knife. . Her husband, begging Pootham not to be so cruel as t accept his wife’s offering of her own eyes for their child. . and Pootham dissolving into spirals, sunk in its shame. . and the mother cat smiled, seeing her young sprinting back to her again..

By Gopika Hari