A Fistful of Moonlight

by Various Authors

Genres: Anthologies; Literary Fiction; Small Town & Rural

Synopsis

"Tender, terrifying, and heart-rending . . . A must read" GEETANJALI SHREE, author of International Booker Prize-winning Tomb of Sand

A Fistful of Moonlight is a collection of fourteen stories that explore love, identity, politics, fantasy and a fresh take on an age-old fairy tale, transporting readers into the heart of contemporary writing from Assam.

A man is so fascinated by shoes that he sees the world through the lens of footwear. A daughter's forced death sparks generations of trauma until the family confront their curse. A young girl is liberated when she chops away her long tresses and along with them the pain of several identities. The oilfield disaster at Baghjan claims a life and a community struggles to make sense of their loss. Social taboos prevent a love match leaving emotional wounds that will last forever. A family's future is at risk when they are forced to leave their home yet again.

UNTOLD is a writer development programme for marginalised writers in areas of conflict and post-conflict. These stories are the culmination of a literary project led by Untold and BEE Books in Kolkata, and include four stories by more established Assamese writers. A companion volume to My Pen is the Wing of a Bird: New Fiction by Afghan Women, it introduces new and diverse voices to audiences worldwide.

Release date: November 2, 2023

Publisher: Quercus Publishing

Print pages: 256

Sample

He had been bicycling since afternoon. It was now almost dusk. He felt extremely tired. If only he could rest for a little while . . .

It appeared that the youth who was bicycling beside him understood what he was feeling. Suddenly raising his hand, he gestured him to a stop. The youth also got down from his own bicycle.

As he got down, he noticed the picturesque surroundings. The place was near the highlands. A stream came tumbling down from the hill and flowed past a huge rock. The sound of the brook, as it murmured and gurgled on its way, floated across to him.

Pushing his bicycle towards the rock, the youth gestured towards him, indicating that he should follow. As he neared the rock, he observed it closely. The water was bright and clear. As though a young girl from the hills had come rushing headlong down the slope, chuckling happily to herself. The simile rose, unbidden, to his mind. These days, his mind would search for metaphors and similes whenever it was confronted with something that was unfettered and unimpeded.

The youth stood on the rock, and surveyed the surroundings. He then took the bag down from his shoulders, and, looking towards him, said, ‘There is no danger here. You can rest for a while.’

The word ‘danger’ created a strange effect in his mind. How many shades of meaning lurked behind the sense of a word! His eyes strayed to the shoulder bag that the youth had put down beside him. Even though the youth had kept its contents hidden from him, he could guess what was inside. This object inside the bag ought to have evoked fear in him. It should have been the very symbol of all that was to be feared. However, strangely enough, he ceased to worry when he heard the youth’s words. Without his realising it, the youth’s feeling had spread to his mind. There was no danger here, and so there was no need to be alert. Neither soldiers nor security men would come here. But, for him, what danger could there be from soldiers and security men? Was he not endangered by the contents of that bag instead? Yet, surprisingly, as soon as the youth said that there was no danger here, his mind had been emptied of all fear. And the other strange fact was that when they had been bicycling to this place, and indeed, even now, the contents of that bag imparted a sense of security, a sense of reliance, not just to the youth alone, but also to him.

As if to prove that there was no danger, the youth said, ‘I am feeling quite warm. I’ll have a dip in the water. Will you come?’

He was also feeling the heat. It was not yet summer. But the weather was hot, and he felt the oppressive humidity. But he did not wish to bathe at that odd hour. It would be inconvenient if he were to catch a cold or a cough. For him, as well as for the youth, it would be inconvenient. And also for the organisation to which the youth belonged. They had to change their halting places frequently.

Shaking his head, he conveyed his refusal.

The youth took out a homespun towel, a gamosa, from the bag, and plunged into the stream. The bag remained on the rock. The stream had only a moderate amount of water. Unconcernedly, the youth began to bathe.

Once more, his eyes strayed to the bag. How carelessly the youth had left it lying there! Sometimes, he was amazed. It was as though the youth and he had secretly developed some kind of understanding between themselves. The weapon inside the bag was the sign of a relationship between the youth and himself. But, for quite some time now, it was as though a change for the better had overtaken that relationship. This changed relationship was illustrated by the carelessly thrown bag. It was a portent not of danger, but of something else. He was a prisoner of faith; the youth trusted him not to attempt an escape. If he so wished, he could pick up the weapon inside the bag and escape. But he knew that he would not do so. This incident of the carelessly thrown bag seemed to change the very nature of his captivity.

There was a grassy patch beside the rock. Near it was a tree which shaded the grass. He went to this patch of grass and lay there on his back. He thought that he would rest till the youth finished his bath. He looked at the branches of the tree above him. A beautiful bird of many colours was sitting silently on one of the branches. He remained gazing at the bird. An often-heard phrase came to his mind: ‘Free as a bird’. He was not very familiar with the world of nature. He could not identify the bird. Perhaps it was a kingfisher? It had a long beak and a blue body. Perhaps there were fish in the stream. That was why the bird could not leave the place. It was bound by an invisible bond. As free as a bird!

The youth came splashing out from the water. The kingfisher suddenly took wing. Perhaps it had been frightened by the sound of the youth’s footsteps.

The youth put on his clothes again. Having wrung out the wet gamosa, he put it back into the bag. He slung the bag on his shoulder, and, looking at him, said, ‘Come, let us leave. We must reach the village before it gets dark.’

Both of them climbed onto their bicycles again. He rode in front, the youth followed. The hostage and his keeper. Both were now pedalling with the same idea in mind. A safe shelter from the soldiers and the security forces. It was as though he himself had arranged his own captivity. When the news of the soldiers’ approach reached them, he felt the same anxiety as the youth and the others of the youth’s organisation. And when they came to know that the soldiers had moved away, or when they reached a safe shelter, along with them, he, too, felt the same relief.

The narrow path became somewhat broader. This meant that their destination was not too far away now. He noticed the tracks made by bullock carts on the path. The youth’s bicycle was now moving alongside his own. He looked at the youth. His face was calm and unconcerned. It was as though he was confident that there was now no possibility of either the security forces or the soldiers coming here. The unemotional state reflected in the youth’s face spread to his own mind. Once more, his eyes strayed to the carelessly slung bag on the youth’s shoulder. It was as though the lethal weapon inside that bag was only fulfilling a formal purpose. The weapon was no longer a harbinger of death. It was not just the sign of the relationship between the youth and himself: it was also its symbol, a symbol that expressed authority. But was it only that?

He was a prisoner at one end of the metallic gun-barrel. But, at its other end, the youth, too, was a prisoner. He suddenly remembered the kingfisher, and the phrase came to his mind again. As free as a bird! But the bird itself was bound to the water in the stream by a strange relationship. He himself was a hostage; the youth was free. But the youth could not abandon him and go away. Side by side with his own captivity, the youth, too, was a prisoner. Until he himself was free, this youth would remain a captive. The power of this lifeless gun mutely controlled their relationship.

Abruptly, the youth halted. From beside a nearby tree, two other youths came towards them. He was a little taken aback. He had not even realised that two people were standing nearby. The youth with him gestured that there was no need for alarm, which meant that the two others were also from the youth’s organisation. They had a bicycle with them. The youth who had accompanied him asked them something in the ethnic tongue. He appeared to be satisfied with their reply. Once more, he climbed onto his bicycle. The youth asked him to get up on his own bicycle again; the other two also climbed on theirs. All three bicycles now began to pick up speed.

It was almost dark when they reached the village that was their destination. He saw a bamboo platform beside the path leading into the village. Some youths were sitting on this bamboo platform. They had no lethal weapons in their hands. However, they had with them a couple of stout wooden sticks. A kerosene lamp was placed in a corner of the platform. Possibly these boys were there to guard the village. The youth who had accompanied him dismounted from his bicycle and talked to them in their own language. They conveyed their agreements with nods of their heads. Sitting on their bicycles again, the youth and he pedalled towards the village. The two other youths, too, moved along beside them.

It was a tribal village in a remote area. Looking at the huts there, one could surmise that the economic condition of the villagers was far from sound. The huts had roofs of thatch and bare walls of dry reed with slits between them. It was almost dark. The villagers were busy herding their cattle together. The few people that they encountered showed no curiosity when they saw the strangers. Possibly the youth’s organisation often brought people to their village in this way.

Signs of extreme poverty were visible in the huts, as well as along the paths of the village. But it looked as though the same poverty had not yet managed to affect the healthy appearance of the few people whom he saw. And the signs of acute poverty that were apparent in the other huts were not quite as visible in the hut before which they eventually halted. Actually, it was not one but two huts. A one-room hut was beside the main one. Even though its sloping roof was of thatch, its walls were attractively mud-plastered. The compound was clean, and a large storehouse was visible in a corner. There was also an indication of a large plot of cultivated land behind the house. This plot was full of jackfruit and banana plants as well as areca-nut trees and betel creepers. A stout bamboo fence encircled the house, while a bamboo gate barred the entrance.

Looking at him, the youth who had accompanied him said, ‘We shall stay here tonight. This is the home of the village headman. Quite safe, in fact.’

The other two youths pushed aside the gate and, entering the compound, called out for the headman. However, the village elder had gone out and had not yet returned. His son came out of the house instead and conducted them formally into the one-roomed house in the corner.

Inside was an armless, rough-hewn chair. He was asked to sit on it. On one side of the room was a low wooden cot. Though the sheet that covered the bed was coarse, it was clean. The mild aroma of the plaster of dung and fresh earth was still in the room, which meant that the house had been cleaned not very long ago. The household had received news of their approach on this day itself. Of course, the decision to come here had been taken in haste. They usually shifted during the night. But only that morning they had come to know that a group of soldiers would reach their original hiding place that very afternoon. That was why they had fled on their bicycles in broad daylight. The news of their approach here had been conveyed this morning through a messenger.

The headman’s son brought a small bucket of water along with a brass jug and a clean gamosa, and requested him to wash his hands and feet. He was taken to a corner next to the house, which was enclosed by bamboo screens. A large slab of stone was laid out in this enclosed space, so that bits of earth would not spatter around. Because it was dark already, a kerosene lamp had been hung from the bamboo screen. Looking at the still undried bamboo of the screen, he realised that these arrangements had been made for his benefit. For them, he was a visitor. Did they know, he wondered, that he was a prisoner? How could they possibly imagine that this man, who seemed to move about so freely, was actually a captive?

After washing his hands and face, he felt quite refreshed. Wiping himself thoroughly with the gamosa, he entered the room once more. This, too, was illuminated by a lamp. The youth was waiting for him there. As soon as he entered, the youth got up from his chair. Even though nothing was said, he understood that there was respect in the gesture.

Instead of sitting on the chair, he went and sat on the bed. He said to the youth, ‘Sit down.’

The youth said, ‘You must be very tired today. Rest. We may have to stay here for a couple of days this time. Afterwards, we shall go to a safe camp in the hills. We shall have to cross dense jungles. It will be a difficult business. So rest here for a couple of days and regain your strength.’

The youth took out two tablets from his pocket, and, offering them to him, said, ‘Have these.’

He recognised them to be vitamin pills. He did not need vitamin pills for his health now, but, along with the tablets, something else seemed to come to him. Was it the warmth in the youth’s gesture? Or some kind of fellow feeling? Another symbol of their relationship? He wanted to say something, but the youth went out to the verandah without waiting for his reply. He seemed to think that it was necessary only to have that silent communication between them.

As the youth left, he noticed that the bag was slung on his shoulder. It was his constant companion. The weapon gave notice of its identity from inside the bag. It was now an inert tube, the sign of the tense relationship between them.

From the verandah, the youth shouted, ‘I shall remain outside.’

But he knew that the youth would not remain outside. The words said to him, in a subtle language, ‘I have a duty. I shall perform that duty. But I also trust you. Don’t escape from here and break that trust. My duty is inextricably linked to your cooperation.’

The youth’s words, ‘I shall remain outside’, reminded him once more of the relationship between them. Strange, the power of these words! Even amidst the numerous opportunities for escape, these words had shackled him. But, had these words conveyed the same meaning during the first few days of his captivity? Of course, during those first few days, they had had a powerful strength of a different kind. These words had then evoked mixed feelings of fear, agitation, helplessness and insecurity.

He heard the sound of footsteps outside. A middle-aged man came into the room. He understood that this was the head of the household. A small girl followed him in. In her hands was a platter of food. He caught the whiff of cooked chicken. The headman himself had brought a jug of water. With a great deal of care, the headman placed on the floor a mat that lay in a corner of the room. He put the jug beside it, while the little girl arranged the platter on it. Formally and with humble gestures, the headman then asked him to come for his meal. The headman had brought a gamosa in his hands. This he placed on the mat.

The headman said, ‘There is little in our house to offer you. Please don’t mind this simple food. The news that you would be coming reached us very late. It is my good fortune that a great leader such as you is to stay in my house.’

From the headman’s respectful words, it was apparent that the youth had explained his captive’s identity in this manner. The headman told him to leave the platter outside the room after he had finished his meal. Turning up the lamp a little, the headman then left the room.

He was extremely hungry. Even though the rice was parboiled, it tasted quite good when he mixed it with the chicken curry. Washing his hands and face over the plate with the rest of the water in his cup, he took both and, opening the door, went out of the room. Sure enough, there were no guards outside. There was no way in which the door could be locked from the outside either. Leaving the platter in a corner of the verandah, he reentered the room and closed the door after him.

Sitting on the bed, he took out the notebook from the satchel that he carried with him. For the last three months or so, he had been keeping this journal of his captivity. The youth had brought him this notebook when he had expressed the desire to keep a journal. Out of his total captivity of seven months, he had kept a record of his daily experiences for the last three months. He had also written down, as far as he had been able to, a record of the time before. Those entries, of course, were from memory.

As soon as he closed the door from inside, a sense of captivity engulfed him. When he closed the door, it was as though he had willingly made himself captive. He also felt as though this self-imposed captivity was normal for him. So long as the door had been open, he had not felt like this. The murmur of voices from the other house had created the impression of some link with it. That link was now severed. The room was lonely and silent. There was no openi. . .