THIS IS HOW the thing happened.

Opu had finished the handwriting exercise his father had set him. He put away the palmyra leaf scripts for Horihor’s inspection and went inside the house to look for his sister.

Durga was in a corner of the inner courtyard, bullied by her mother into performing the punyipukur ritual. A small square hole had been dug beneath the papaya tree and filled with water to signify the ‘Pond of Virtue’. The chickpeas and green peas that she had scattered around it had begun to sprout. Durga was standing over this ‘pond’ and flying through the rites as quickly as she dared. When she saw Opu come in, she lowered her voice to whisper.

‘Don’t go anywhere. I just have the montro left . . . then I’ll take you to a special place.’

‘Which place, Didi?’

‘You’ll see when we get there. Now, one minute . . .’

She turned back to her pond of virtue, folded her palms and chanted the ‘mantra’, which was really just a verse.

Pond of Virtue, garland of flower,

Who worships at this noon hour?

I, Leelabotee, that is who.

Lucky sister of brothers,

A woman of virtue.

Opu was watching the rites with interest. At the end of his sister’s recitation, he snickered. ‘“A woman of virtue”, oooh!’

Durga grinned in embarrassment. ‘Shush! Go wait outside. This is a girls’ thing, what are you doing here anyway?’

‘Hee hee! “Lucky sister of brothers, a woman of virtue.” Virtuuuuuue! Hehehe!’

‘Oi! You shut up, or I’ll tell Ma. You’ll see the beating you get! Now scoot!’

After a minute, she joined her brother outside.

‘Let’s go. Bhoda’s mother said that the pond at the fort is full of ripe water chestnuts!’

The ‘fort’ was merely a large house that had belonged to the Mojumdars—the oldest residents of this whole area. They had dug a broad moat around the house to protect it from humans and animals. The family had long since died out, and their house had broken down completely. Even the moat had largely been filled in, and the area was now a messy woodland with a bamboo grove. Only one part of the moat still had water, but it was pretty deep water. This was called the Fort Pond, even though it was neither a pond, nor an actual fort.

The Mojumdar property had been at what was now the north of the village. These days it could only be accessed through an ancient orchard of mango and jackfruit trees. Brother and sister ran along the narrow old path through these orchards. When they reached the pond, however, they saw that all the chestnuts along the sides had already been picked clean. The remaining ones were right in the middle of the pond, where the water was the deepest.

‘What shall we do, Didi?’

‘Hmm . . . can you find a piece of bamboo? A longish one. Then we can haul those clusters in.’

While Opu looked around for a suitable bamboo, Durga began plucking and eating berries from a nearby lebbeck tree.

‘Didi, don’t!’ Opu called in alarm. ‘Those aren’t for us—only birds eat those berries.’

Durga was in the process of making a small heap of de-pipped berries. She dismissed her brother’s concern with a snort.

‘As if! I’ve been eating these berries for years. Such lovely sweet berries. Why shouldn’t we eat them? Here, try some and see.’

Opu looked conflicted. ‘Don’t these make you insane? That’s what people say . . . okay fine, give me one. Just one.’

‘Pretty sweet,’ he pronounced after chewing for a few seconds. ‘But there’s a bitter aftertaste, Didi, whatever you say.’

‘Yeah, all right, but that’s the aftertaste. Doesn’t mean the berry isn’t sweet, right? It’s jaggery-sweet! How could this make anyone mad?’

To demonstrate her confidence, she tossed another handful into her mouth and chewed in contentment.

These two young things were still new to this earth. Their senses looked upon their surroundings in wide-eyed wonder, eager to taste the wide array of flavours it had to offer. Sweetness, in particular, entranced them. Their family couldn’t afford to buy them human-made sweets, so they went hunting in the woods for the abundant natural sweetness of fruits—from the humblest berries to the regal mangoes.

A suitable bamboo was found after a while. Durga pulled up the loose end of the sari and tucked it tightly into her waist.

‘You stay here, all right? I’ll go in. Oh look! Water lilies!’

She waded in with the bamboo and pulled two water lilies to herself. Shaking off the water, she threw them at the shore.

‘Opu, catch!’

Opu dutifully caught the plants and put them aside.

But pulling in the chestnuts proved a lot harder than the lilies. First, they were in the middle of the pond. Second—as Durga soon found out—the pond-bed sloped sharply downwards after barely a few feet into the water. She nearly lost her footing the first time, but managed to steady herself after only a little flailing.

‘Tell you what, Opu,’ she said after some thought. ‘I’ll go in. You stand behind me and hold tightly to my aanchol. If you see me slip, just pull me back.’

Opu was only half listening. His eyes were glued to a bright yellow bird, flitting from branch to branch and whistling a surprisingly tuneful note.

‘What bird is that, Didi?’ he asked.

‘Never mind the bird! Hold my aanchol!’ said Durga, unwinding the loose end of her sari from around her waist. When it had unwound fully, she threw the untucked end at him.

Thus began the grand battle for water chestnuts.

At first attempt, Durga had almost managed to stretch the bamboo to the nearby cluster of chestnuts. However, Opu’s strength gave way at a critical juncture, and the free end of the sari ripped out of his hands and flopped in the water. Opu laughed out loud at his own ineptitude.