The Mermaid

THE MERMAID
(A short story translated from Marathi)

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 me.” the young man replied.

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 Land of Temple towers, still later, to the distant Land of the White swans. My journey must go on endlessly.”

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 . 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 toher. He scattered on the waves, the foam garlands that he had brought from distant seas and oceans, and then silently he went to the sea, his white timeless hair sprayed with white foam.