Snake in Paradise
Raymond Pillai
The Pajero seemed to be relishing its task, skidding and scrabbling up and down slopes, and jolting through the ruts which had been scoured out by rain. By the time they reached Bechu’s farm Kanchan felt as if she’d been put through a tumble-dryer, but there was no question of backing out now. Do that, and she would blow her chance of convincing Davendra she was tough enough to head the Lautoka office.
Bechu emerged from his corrugated iron dwelling with his two sons in tow, and a round of introductions followed. Bechu was a relic from an older era, tall, wrinkled, but still sprightly, with hair surprisingly thick and black, except for the tuft of white at the nape of his neck. His two sons, Moti and Sukhen, were equally rustic. They were short and thick-set, trousers holed at the knee, frayed shirts flapping on broad backs; they looked like a pair of trolls.
After the obligatory bowls of black tea, the men collected their fishing tackle, and they set off across the farm, walking past cane fields till they reached the bank of a creek. As they trudged through the swampy track, foul mud oozed over Kanchan’s sneakers, and her feet made sucking farting noises that caused her no end of embarrassment. Davend no doubt was enjoying her discomfort. Kanchan feigned tiredness, slowing down, letting the others push ahead. Now they wouldn’t be able to hear her.
Some minutes later they came upon a narrow wooden boat hauled up on the bank. The men loaded up all the gear and Davend told her to get in. He offered no assistance, so Kanchan hitched up her skirt and tucked it between her knees, hoping she wasn’t exposing too much of her thighs as she stepped into the boat.
Once the engine had been attached to the stern of the boat, Moti pulled the starter cord, causing the boat to rock violently from side to side. Kanchan felt momentary panic. Oh no, don’t let the boat capsize! The motor spluttered into life, its reedy note turned into a throaty roar. The bow lifted and they surged forward towards the open sea. Occasionally the boat bucked and smashed through the waves with a slapping sound, forcing Kanchan to hold on tight to the sides of the boat. “Relax!” shouted Davend. “Dada, she’s probably worrying we won’t make it to Dabea in this little boat.” “Don’t worry, beti, “said Bechu. “I made this boat with my own hands. It may be slow, but the engine is reliable. It hardly gives trouble.”
The men began an earnest debate about the merits of various outboard engines, short shafts versus long shafts, and problems with starter coils - the sort of talk that men found endlessly fascinating but which held no interest for Kanchan at all. Davend seemed to read her thoughts. “Bored already, Kanchan? Come on, look around you. See how beautiful it is today!”
It was indeed beautiful. Schools of silvery fish kept pace beside them as they slipped past outcrops of coral. Flying fish skittered across the water and soared aloft, then sank back into the waves. Kanchan trailed her hand in the water. She half hoped the fish would rise up and nibble at her fingers, but the fish weren’t tempted; they darted away, content to remain elusive shadows speeding through the depths.
An hour later they arrived off a small island. Bechu shut off the motor and they drifted through the shallows till the boat scrunched up on the sand. “Welcome to Dabea, Madam Bhana!” said Davendra. “You’re going to enjoy it today. My personal guarantee!”
Kanchan was eager to sample the delights that awaited her. To her left was a line of coconut palms, some overhanging the sand, and on her right the beach curved away behind a grove of stunted trees. It wasn’t the pristine white sandy beach that she had imagined. There was debris from the previous tide - driftwood, half-shells and clumps of seaweed. But still, a genuine tropical island! “It belongs to Ratu Jiale, the chief of this area” said Davendra. “No one is allowed here, but I have permission because we handle his legal work.” “Daven babu’s father was the lawyer for Ratu Jiale’s father, Ratu Qio,” Bechu added. “A good man he was, Ratu Qio. We went to school together and I used to share my lunch with him. He said I could fish here for as long as I lived. See that corner over there? You can fish from the sand, and the fish are so big they will pull you into the sea.” “She’s not here for fishing,” said Davendra. “She’s here for a picnic. Sukhen, get some coconuts.” Sukhen shimmied up a coconut palm, helped by a length of vine looped around his feet. Several nuts came crashing to the ground. Bechu lopped off the top of a nut, then sliced off a sliver of husk as a scraper for scooping out the flesh. “Here you are, beti. 100% fresh. Best drink in the world!” And it certainly proved to be the case. “What do you think, dada? Will the fish be biting today?” “That’s up to the fish, Daven babu. I’m going to take the boat out with Sukhen and try the big net. You and Moti take the small net and catch some kanace for bait.” “We’ll do that. Kanchan, you can come if you like, but it will be faster if only Moti and I go.” “It’s all right. You two go.” No point in tagging along when she wasn’t wanted.
Kanchan watched the pair disappear around the bend. She was glad to be alone on the beach for she was bursting to have a pee. Drinking a whole coconut hadn’t been a good idea. She pushed through the bushes and as she squatted on the ground she spotted a cairn of stones overrun with creepers. Oh no, was this a grave? The site of ancient cannibal rituals? She was peeing on a taboo burial ground! Staying no longer than necessary she dashed back to the beach. The solitude overwhelmed her and she began running to catch up with the two men. Shells and coral fragments crunched underfoot and finally she caught up with them.
Davend didn’t seem too thrilled to see her. He gave her a warning glance, motioning to her to keep her distance. He had probably spotted some fish. He froze, his muscles tightening, then in a fluid and graceful motion, he flung out his net, and it fanned out, unfurling like a flower, settling in a circle before sinking to the bottom. Davend pulled the drawstrings tight and hauled the net in slowly. Suddenly the water exploded into a churning, seething mass, and Davend whooped gleefully, calling out to Kanchan the names of the fish as he plucked them from the folds of the net. “Kanace! Saqa! Matu! Sonisoni!”
As they continued up the beach it became evident that Davend was no weekend amateur but a knowledgeable and skilled enthusiast. He knew the best places to look and was quick to spot a school of fish. He told Kanchan the names of the fish that darted through the shallows. “That’s a busa. Over there, that’s sardine. A big saqa must be chasing them.” He wasn’t showing off, just commenting on what he saw, and Kanchan was happy to share his pleasure in a good catch, and share in his disappointment when the net yielded nothing.
The island was a long and narrow one. By the time they had gone around it an hour had passed. They found Bechu and Sukhen waiting for them. “We had no luck,” said Bechu. “The water’s too deep. As soon as the net hits the water the fish dive under and get away. How about you, Daven babu?” “We caught enough for bait, and also some big ones.” “Then let’s see what we can catch with the fishing lines. And beti can get a chance too.” “Yes, I’d like to have a go, Davend,” said Kanchan eagerly. “You’ll find it too hard. We’re not using a fancy rod and reel, you know.” “Let beti try her hand,” said Bechu. “It can’t do any harm. We have enough spare lines. Let’s try off that point. I can guarantee the fish will be there.” “All right, dada, if you say so.”
Davend gave Kanchan a light fishing line. Baiting the hook he sent the line snaking out over the water. Almost immediately a fish took the bait and the line unreeled furiously, slicing into Kanchan’s fingers. She feared she would lose the fish, hook, line and all. In a despairing bid she looped the line around her hand and ran up the sand, hauling the line behind her. Whoops of laughter from the men greeted her performance.
“Here, give it to me,” said Davend. He swiftly pulled in the fish. It wasn’t much longer than Kanchan’s forearm. Small but feisty, it curled up into a hook shape, fins erect and bristling with indignation as it threshed about. Davend whacked the fish on the head with the handle of his knife. “One more for the pot!” He laughed and deftly removed the hook. “Want another go?” “No thanks. It’s obvious I’m not much good at it.” “I told you it wouldn’t be easy. Why don’t you just relax and enjoy yourself? Leave the fishing to us.” Kanchan retreated to the shade of a scraggly bush and watched the men throwing out their lines and pulling them in. The fish were plentiful and Davend soon tired of the easy pickings. “There’s no fun catching these kanace and kabatia. We should go out and try to get some walu or saqa.” “Yes, we could do that,” agreed Bechu. “But let’s have something to eat first. Beti must be hungry. Hand me the matches and we’ll light a fire.” “I thought you had the matches, dada. Well, never mind, we’ll just have to eat it raw. Have you ever tried raw fish, Kanchan? It’s lovely with dri - that’s sea cucumber.” Davend walked over to the water’s edge and returned with a repulsive object that squirted out a stream of liquid. “One fresh dri,” he said and dropped it at Kanchan’s feet. Covered in sand, it lay there like a desiccated turd. “Chhii!” Kanchan squealed, leaping back in disgust. “I’ll never eat that yucky thing! Or raw fish!” “Stop tormenting the poor girl,” said Bechu. “Kanchan beti, pay no attention to him. He’s always up to his tricks. Now you sit down and we’ll cook some fish for you like you’ve never tasted in your whole life.” Bechu slit open several fish and tore out the guts. Kanchan turned away rather than watch. She enjoyed seafood, but cleaning fish was the sort of unpleasantness she had never been exposed to.
The fish were grilled whole over a smoky fire. When they were ready Davend pulled one out, sprinkled salt, added a squeeze of lemon, and offered it to Kanchan on a yam leaf. The fish was flat and oval shaped, not much bigger than her hand, and the scorched and bruised exterior gave it the appearance of home cooking gone wrong. Not wishing to offend her hosts, Kanchan sampled it hesitantly. To her surprise it was absolutely delicious. She picked away at the flesh till there was hardly anything left but a delicate filigree of bones.
“Much better than the tarakihi and snapper you eat in Pukekohe, eh?” teased Davend. Kanchan laughed and felt no shame when she readily accepted another fish. Lunch over, the men went out in the boat to fish offshore, leaving Kanchan to take a leisurely walk. It felt good to escape from the men’s loud banter and be free to take stock of her situation without any distractions. With one failed marriage behind her she couldn’t afford another disaster. But if the cards fell her way… ‘Bhim and Bhana’. It had a ring to it. But no, ‘Bhim and Bhana’ had connotations of the boxing ring! Still, why not? She stood a good chance of becoming a partner in the firm. No harm in exploring the possibilities.
The men were back at the beach by the time she had walked around the island, “Did you catch anything, Davend?” she asked. “Nothing worthwhile.” “Don’t know why the fish aren’t biting today,” said Bechu. “We shouldn’t have brought a woman along. It’s unlucky,” joked Davendra.
Kanchan didn’t find it amusing. What was it with men that whenever they got together, they felt a primal urge to humiliate women? It was as if they were offering proof they were in total control of their women. She fought down the temptation to counter with a smart remark that would dislodge the grin off Davend’s face.
“Anyway, we’ve had enough fun for the day, haven’t we, Kanchan? It’s time we were heading back home.” Once more Kanchan stepped gingerly into the boat, and they pushed out of the shallows, but when Moti attempted to start the engine, it stubbornly refused to cooperate. No amount of insults, curses or appeals to Lord Bajarang Bali could induce the engine to relent. The problem evidently was the starter coil. “Damn!” said Davendra. “What now, dada? I haven’t brought my mobile phone.” “But you always bring it, Daven babu.” “I left it at home because I didn’t want to be bothered by clients today. Do you think we can row to Molimoli koro?” “No. The tide’s on the turn. It’ll take more than an hour rowing against the current. By that time it will be dark, and we’ll still have to find a way to get back to Namata. And another thing, if the current takes us past Tambarua, the big waves there would be too dangerous. It would be better to stay here until tomorrow morning. But then what about Kanchan beti? We’ve got her to think of.” “She’ll be safe here,” said Davendra. “Won’t her family be worried?” “No, she stays by herself in a flat.”
Kanchan felt like shouting, “Excuse me, people! Hello! I’m here! Anyone interested in hearing what I might have to say?” She knew what they were thinking - the impropriety of a woman spending a night in the company of men. She had no qualms about that. She had always fantasized about a night under the stars on an uninhabited tropical island, and this was the closest she was ever going to get to it. It was the stuff of dreams! People could think what they liked!
It was so tedious being hemmed in by the conventions of a male-dominated society. Kanchan, always head-strong, had broken her community’s rules by marrying Bipin, a man of her own choice. It was no consolation to her parents that he came from one of Fiji’s wealthiest families. He was of the wrong caste. Now divorced from Bipin, Kanchan was practically a fallen woman already. “Look, Davend, don’t worry about me. I’m a big girl now, you know.”
“I told them we’d be back by five. If we don’t return by the time it’s dark, they’ll probably send another boat out to look for us. So I suppose we’ll be okay.” That settled the matter. Bechu and his sons quickly busied themselves making a smoky fire with palm fronds and sodden coconut husks. If any mosquitoes were around, the smoke would keep them away. “I’m going out to that point over there,” said Bechu. “Maybe I can catch an oqo or two. Will you be coming, Daven babu?” “No. I’m going to take a rest. But call me if there are any big fish biting.”
Kanchan waited till Bechu and his sons were out of sight. Now would be a good chance for that business chat. But Davendra had curled up under a bit of scrub and was already asleep. Kanchan sat down at the water’s edge and looked out over the sea. It never ceased to amaze her how quickly darkness fell in the tropics. With the setting sun the sky changed from gold to a fiery crimson glow. One by one, points of light popped out of the gloom until the whole sky was twinkling with myriads of stars like chandeliers hanging from a giant cave. It was like the glow worms at Waitomo, but on a far grander scale. This was Paradise!
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” said Davendra. He sat down beside her and she felt his hand on her knee. Surely he wasn’t going to make a crude pass at her! There had been the occasional flirtatious moments back in the office but he was always careful not to cross the line. This was totally weird. “I’m sorry, Kanchan, the whole trip has ended up badly. I kept telling dada to dump that old engine but he won’t listen. He’s a stubborn old bugger. Let’s go and see what he’s up to.” “I’m tired. I’ll stay here, if you don’t mind, Davend.” She could still feel the imprint of that hand on her knee. She didn’t want to allow him any further liberties. Make up your mind, girl! she scolded herself as she watched Davendra melt into the darkness. Do you want to keep things strictly professional, or do you want something more? And what’s the guarantee there’s space for you in his personal life? Kanchan was aware of the speculation in the office concerning her status, and none of it appeared very encouraging. There were constant remarks about how efficient and friendly the first Mrs Bhim had been, and what a pity it was that Davend babu had let her go. (Davendra had married a pakeha and expected her to behave like a domesticated Indian wife, but the cultural gap proved too great and she had divorced him and returned to Whangarei.) “Top class woman, that Mrs Bhim!” the chief clerk often said. Translation: ‘You’ll never take her place, Ms Bhana. Don’t set your hopes too high!’ They were probably taking bets on whether she and Davend would get together. It was too complicated to think about. Tired and hungry and bothered by bugs, Kanchan lay down beside the fire and drifted off to sleep.
She was awakened when she felt something clammy moving up her thigh, sliding towards her crotch. Oh god, no! Surely Davend wasn’t that stupid! She screamed. “Relax!” said Davend, crouching beside her. The offensive clamminess was abruptly withdrawn. “It’s all right, Kanchan.” He seemed to be mocking her as he stood over her, silhouetted against the sky. By the light of the embers she could make out a snake dangling from his hand. She screamed again. Davendra flung the snake away. “What the hell are you playing at Davend? You think it’s bloody funny putting a snake on my leg?” “What! You think I did it? I should have left it there on you!” “It scared the hell out of me!” “It was attracted by the heat of the fire. It’s a dadakulaci. They don’t bite. No need to scream, Kanchan.” “It’s a snake, damn it! We don’t have snakes in New Zealand, you know.” “That’s because God knew there’d be enough trouble with all those feminists around. So he took pity and decided - no snakes in New Zealand.” Chuck him back, girl! Plenty of fish in the sea! Kanchan rushed down to the water and began frantically splashing water over her legs. “I’ve had enough, Davend!” Behind her Davend was laughing, unrepentant, unmoved. “Did you hear what I said, Davend? I’ve had enough!” “You women!” Davendra continued laughing. Chauvinist sod! The surf charged in, lashing at the sand. Her protests were swallowed up in the spray.
Raymond Pillai was one of the pioneering writers from Fiji to come out of USP in the early seventies. He is well known for his short stories that be began writing in high school from 1960. He gained fame for at that early phase and was regarded as the premier writer of prose from Fiji. He finished his second collection of short stories as writer-in-residence at the Pacific Writing Forum earlier in 2007. Raymond passed away after a short illness in Auckland New Zealand in October 2007.