The sleepy village of Malpe sprang to life during the Kadalda Arase* race that would decide the leader of the fishing community. Every tile-roofed house in the vicinity was decorated with strings of gonde poo*. The slender green leaves of the coconut trees swayed in the humid breeze, carrying with it the strong smell of sun-dried fish from the shore.
Men staggered along the streets after downing glasses of kali*. Women formed groups and sang pardanas. *
Each contestant had to steer his boat to the middle of the sea and catch the finest and the biggest fish. The first man to bring it ashore was chosen as the ‘Kadalda Arase ‘. It tested the fishermen’s skills, speed, and paddling mastery at sea.
Veerappa, the young fisherman, had been their leader for two consecutive years, and the fishermen knew this time too, he had no competition. He walked around the village in a crisp shirt and a spotless white mundu*, his fingers clasping the tiger claw pendant on his thick gold chain.
“Clean every nook and cranny. Make my boat shine like gold,” Veerappa ordered, throwing a few coins at Thukura, the village carpenter.
As Thukura hobbled, dragging the boat ashore, Veerappa guffawed, “Pettu kammi*!”
Thukura’s wife had run away with a guy from the neighboring village. Veerappa didn’t miss any opportunity to demean him.
“Don’t ignore my boat like you ignored your wife.” He stroked his walrus moustache, doubling over with laughter.
Thukura’s face turned red as he sat on his haunches, wiping sand off the boat. His father was once the Kadalda Arase* and had taught him the tricks of the sea before breathing his last. Because of Thukura’s short stature and limp, the villagers deterred him from going into the sea and kept him busy repairing their boats. But on the sly, Thukura used to paddle in the sea to his heart’s content. He considered the sea as his mother and prayed for her blessings.
The day of the race soon dawned. Veerappa and fifteen other fishermen stood at the starting point. The waves of the sea moved in tandem with the gentle breeze. The villagers performed the pooja, broke a coconut, and blew the conch. Veerappa climbed into his boat and paddled away, not before pumping his fist into the air. The other fishermen followed suit.
Thukura watched from a distance.
Just when the fishermen had almost reached the middle of the sea, the sky darkened, and the wind howled. A villager looked up at the sky, forming an umbrella with his fingers. “It’s a storm brewing. Blow the conch. Call them back,” he hollered.
They blew the conch, but it was no match for the deafening claps of thunder. Streaks of lightning lit the sky. The fishermen turned their boats back. All except Veerappa. His arrogance wouldn’t let him give up the leadership position that had helped him gain name and fame.
Veerappa’s boat swerved wildly as the waves surged. Heavy rains drenched him to the skin.
His boat shuddered when it struck a huge pointed rock. The edge of the boat cracked. Water trickled into the boat. As the water level rose, Veerappa panicked. Raising both his hands high up in the air, he screamed for help.
The crowd had run away from the shore, taking shelter in a nearby shanty.
They noticed someone hobble past them, dragging a wooden canoe with a dented aluminium box fastened to his waist.
“Pettu Kammi*, this is not the time to look for your wife,” they shouted. Like always, Thukura ignored their voices.
He joined his palms in prayer and set his canoe afloat on the surging waves. Thukura’s canoe floated through the troughs and crests like a fallen leaf floating on water. His reedy arms worked relentlessly as his mind recalled his father’s lessons. Veerappa was clinging to the mast for dear life. His strong limbs shivered more out of fright than from the cold. His mouth opened wide as he noticed Thukura paddling towards his boat.
Because of his weak leg, Thukura found it difficult to clamber upward. He waited for the canoe to swell with the crest and heaved himself up the lowest side of the boat. Thukura collapsed onto the boat, panting. Without losing much time, Thukura held his breath, scooped the adhesive from the pot, and worked on the crack. He kept coming up for air. Within minutes, the crack was sealed. It had taken him years to make the adhesive from the sap of wild fruits and liquid rubber that hardened instantly upon contact with seawater. Once done, he used the box to empty water,
Veerappa heaved a long sigh of relief. Salty water sprayed over his face, camouflaging his tears. He could not meet Thukura’s eyes. “Dhani*, cast your net. This is the exact spot where the best Anjal* is found. I will then steer the boat to the shore,” he urged. Veerappa, as if in a trance, cast the net. However hard the waves tossed and turned, Thukura paddled, keeping the boat perpendicular to the waves. Within minutes, Veerappa lifted the net filled with fish. The storm gradually eased. As they neared the shore, Thukura quietly slipped the paddles into Veerappa’s hands. The villagers lifted Veerappa, screaming “Kadalda Arase!” The one who dared to contain the storm with the oar disappeared into the crowd.
Glossary:
(words used in Tulu, the language of the people in Coastal Karnataka)
1. Kadalda Arase: king of the ocean
2. Gonde poo: marigold flower
3. Kali: toddy or palm wine
4. Pardanas: folk songs
5. Mundu: a garment wrapped around the waist
6. Pettu Kammi: a good-for-nothing fellow
7. Dhani: master
8. Anjal: seer fish
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