Songs of the sea - Part 2.

Paru suddenly burst out crying. The doctor knelt beside her on the beach and hugged her. After a while she asked, “Paru, what’s the matter?”

“Amma died,” the girl replied between sobs, “because of me.”

The doctor hugged her again, gave her a gentle kiss, and said, “I’m sure that you’re wrong.”

“No, it’s true.”

“Would you care to talk about it?”

The girl nodded.

On the day of the waves, Paru said, she was walking back from the local shop with Amma around noon, carrying Dolly, her plastic baby. She wanted to chase crabs. That was something they did together often. Amma told her that it was too hot for the crabs to be out. But the daughter ran to the shore anyway and was surprised to find several of the little creatures moving around frantically. She called her mother who was waiting by the shade of a coconut palm at the edge of the sands.

Amma came out to the beach. She looked concerned when she saw the frenzied crabs.

It was then that they heard the roar like a thousand motorboats racing together. Amma looked towards the sea once, lifted Paru and ran. She did not scream or shout for help but sprinted with all the speed she could muster, her blue and white checked dhoti flapping about.

But not fast enough.

When they reached the coconut grove the gushing waves overtook. The last thing Paru remembered before becoming unconscious was Amma trying desperately to reach her in the swirling waters and Dolly drifting away.

The girl told the doctor between sobs that if she hadn’t stopped for chasing crabs they would have been safely home.

“My dear child,” the doctor said gently, “you’re wrong. Your house too was washed away.”

That was true, Paru thought.

After months at the camp Paru and her father shifted to one of the few identical little houses that were newly built near the beach for the tsunami victims by some good people. Father said that it was theirs. Others who weren’t so lucky complained that Government wasn’t doing anything. There were protest marches and slogan shouting. The girl didn’t care. Now they had a home again.

Jasmine doctor had come to see them off to the new place. As they were leaving she had told the girl, “Paru, you’re a good girl. You are all right now. Look after yourself and your father.”

Shortly after they moved to their new abode, grandma joined them. The old lady told the little girl that she shouldn’t worry. Kadalamma wanted Amma at her palace and had called her. She was happy there and would come to see Paru one-day.

And the girl waited.

She would look towards the sea often during the day though the glare hurt the eyes, and went to the beach every evening. It was good that she hadn’t started school yet, she thought. Otherwise, when Amma came she might be away in class.

Her one great worry was whether Amma would get sick, being wet in the sea because Kadalamma’s palace was underwater. Grandma said no. Would Amma stay when she came? No, she would have to go back. That was the rule. In the end everybody returned to Kadalamma’s castle, which was the real home. It had different tiers. The sinners and the bad people would be at the lowest, in the muddy filth of the ocean floor. Forever. Slimy snakes and fearsome fishes and craggy crabs would keep on nibbling at them. They would freeze and thaw, freeze and thaw, as the water temperature changed. That was bad enough, but knowing that it was coming, the wait for it, made them even more miserable.

It was frightening. Clutching grandma, Paru resolved silently that she would always be good. She wanted to be on the upper levels of Kadalamma’s palace where Amma surely would be. That was the place for good people. Grandma wouldn’t describe those parts of the castle except saying that they were beautiful beyond words. That didn’t make a picture in the mind. May be that was one thing the old lady didn’t know.

That evening, after sitting up on the sands for some time, Paru lay down. The breeze had softened and caressed her hair gently. It felt nice and she drifted off to sleep.

Then her mother came.

Amma rose from the water suddenly and rushed to the shore where the daughter was. She looked more beautiful than she was when the waves took her. Paru ran forward. Amma lifted her, held her against the bosom and whirled around like a top. Amma’s clothes were dry even though she had just come out of the sea.

They sat on the sand and talked. There was so much to tell each other. The girl gave details of the camp and the problems they had to face. She described the new house. Even now they had no money because the fish catches were poor. Father was always sad and silent. The mother explained that one had to be patient and bear the difficulties. She said that the situation would improve. Kadalamma was rearing large schools of fishes to be sent out to the sea for her sons to catch. The beach would soon see days of plenty.

Paru wanted to hear the song, which Amma had sung to put her to sleep on the night before the tsunami. It was about men venturing out to the endless sea on catamarans and women waiting anxiously beside wick lamps in windswept huts praying for the safe return of their husbands. Amma’s beautiful voice rose once again over the murmur of the waves. It lingered in the air briefly and faded away.

The mother described Kadalamma’s palace. It was made of innumerable types of seashells and pearls of sizes that ranged from little beads to huge boulders. The garden around the building had corals of different colours and lovely plants that swayed with the currents. Pretty fishes of varying hues swam around like little angels all the time. There was continuous music that often changed in pitch and tune and tempo like wind on the palms, and the waves danced in rhythm. Certain types of sea life emitted light and kept darkness away. Everybody inside the castle was happy and cheerful and loved each other.

Now the palace made a picture in the mind – clear, like a photo. There couldn’t be a lovelier place, the girl thought.

“Amma, I want to come there,” Paru said.

“Of course you must.”

“Now. With you.”

“No Paru, only when Kadalamma calls.”

“When will she call?”

“When it’s time,” Amma explained. “After you grow up and have babies of your own.”

“You mean real babies? Not like Dolly?”

“Real babies.”

“But Amma, you’ll be very old by then, like grandma.”

“At Kadalamma’s place each one would be herself. Always.”

The girl thought for a while. “Okay,” she said. “But will you come again?”

“If Kadalamma permits. Now I have to go.”

By the time Paru awoke and scrambled up Amma was gone. After a moment of hesitation she raced to the water, thinking that she could follow her mother’s footprints, reach the palace and be with her. But there were no marks on the wet sand to guide her. May be, Paru thought, Kadalamma had the waves erase Amma’s trail because it wasn’t time yet. She had to stay back. She had to look after herself and her father. And, she had to grow up and have babies of her own. Real babies. Not like Dolly.

Paru looked at the last remnant of the sun for a moment and turned around to the long way home.

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