Needle at the Bottom of the Sea: Bengali Tales from the Land of the Eighteen Tides by Tony K. Stewart

Author:Tony K. Stewart
Format: epub

refrain Ah, what bliss, what pleasure filled the king’s palace. Shouts of jubilation erupted from the homes of the city’s denizens.

THE NARRATIVE OF THE MARRIAGE OF CĀMPĀVATĪ TO GĀJI SĀHĀ

Professional dancers performed and accomplished vocalists sang, and the soothing voices of all manner of instruments blended beautifully. Mṛdaṅga and smaller tom-tom drums punctuated the soaring melody of the flutes. Kettledrums and victory bells kept time to the tinkling of anklets. The sonorous double-ended pākhoyāj barrel drum beat different rhythms, to which the singers began to sway in dance. All around musicians played in small troupes composed of tabor, drum, and small kettledrums. Everyone was enchanted, entirely captivated with the bliss of the moment. For seven days the music and entertainment continued. Everyone—from the most illustrious citizens to the poorest of the poor—ate all together in the king’s palace, with men and women freely mixing together. Eventually the mahārāj took his place in the assembly hall. After calculating precisely the auspicious moment of the most propitious day, he gave the order to make ready the groom and his daughter. Next the barber made his mandatory appearance. The youngish barber, a bit of a cheeky scoundrel, clipped a single nail and then ordered two or three maunds ⁴¹ of grain be bound up as his gift. And after another quick clip, the greedy shyster had the audacity to say, “I am still due a gift of lentils, ḍāl.” He kept muttering “ḍāl, ḍāl,” over and over, as if under a spell. When he received the ḍāl, he next demanded oil. The reason for the oil was that he also wanted quince or wood apple. When he got the oil and the quince, he then announced that he was due a measure of salt. This obnoxious man went on blathering “salt, salt,” until he was nearly murdered. The barber then smartly took his honorarium and escaped. Afterwards, the bride and groom made their final preparations.

This poet, though unskilled, speaks in his sweetest voice. Now, everyone, listen to the three-footed tripadi meter.

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