Creative Voices

By Vishwa Parmar / Matthew staff | Edited by Indéa Windust

We embark on our voyage at dusk from the busy ports of Calcutta. It is the only riverine port in India, and we are on our way to Egypt via the Silk route. It is my responsibility to oversee the distribution of rich pashmina cushions made of sheep wool for the new King Tut of Egypt. The scent of fresh water and damp earth is soaked deep in my clothes, perhaps due to the humidity and traveling all day. Several merchants, travellers, and foreigners whose languages I don’t speak are on board along with my crew, but one who particularly caught me off guard was a young man from northern Hindustan, Nepal. He joined our journey last minute.  

In one spur of the moment, he throws himself into the ocean. Everyone audibly gasps at his vagility. I run towards the deck of the boat. I can hear the cries of a small kitten, a Chinamen, and the young man’s attempts to catch it, dying in the waves. It is hard to see them in the tides of the ocean. However, we could hear the waves splashing over his head, constantly banging on the boat. I will always remember the moment of relief I experienced when he finally stuck his head out of the water with the kitten on his head. I run inside the dock to get a rope to pull them up. The sailor boys help me, while the nobility watches; as usual.  

“You were rather mad to dive into the ocean to save that silly Chinaman’s cat. Is he a friend of yours?” I say in Hindustani. I can speak Hindustani after all the years I have spent trading and traveling in Southern Asia. The boy listens to me but doesn’t say anything until the cat jumps back to his owner, and they disappear back into the deck.  

“Not at all. I have never met him before.” He replies with utmost simplicity. His clothes are all wet, and his hair is damp on his forehead. I should get him a cloth so that he can dry himself.  

“Then why in the world did you do it? You know you could have drowned.” I reply.  

“I hadn’t really thought about it.” He says, shrugging his shoulders. He moves his hand across his head to remove his hair in front of his eyes. I was so close to doing the same.   

“What, risked your life without even thinking? Don’t you care about living?” I ask.  

“Of course, I do” He chuckles lightly.  “Maybe that’s why I jumped in.” He smiles.  

How can he smile at this moment?   

“You’ll have to explain that to me.” I say, adamant to understand him.   

“It’s a matter of what you mean by ‘living.’ For me, a person who wouldn’t risk his life to save another is already dead. To be alive means being alive in the moment, ready to do whatever needs to be done. You must have it too, since you were the only one with enough presence of mind to throw me a line.” he says.  I stare at him. A sailor boy gets him a long piece of cloth to dry himself up.  

“Who are you?” I ask. He gazes at me, “How are you not afraid of death?” I ask him and his brows tense.  

“Why…Is something wrong?” he replies. “Have you ever thought about death? You said I was not like other people. One thing I admit, I don’t fear death”.  

“Why?” I ask. Doesn’t every living being fear death?  

“There have been so many moments when I thought dying would be better, death seemed so pleasing and alluring.” He replies and I pause, only gazing at his long hair flowing in the wind and the shadow of his lean figure on the deck. “Us humans are so funny; we cannot comprehend death. It is only our instinct to fear it”. He adds, lighting up a cigar.  Where did the cigar come from? This man is no less than a wizard. He talks like an old sage, has beautiful long hair, and mysteriously survives after jumping in the deadly ocean.  

“There is a mountain in Kangchenjunga, they call it ‘God’s own Home’. It is thousands of feet deep in the snow. In those terrains, even animals fear roaming. Near its peak lies a withered and frozen skeleton of a wolf. What was he doing so high up there?” The grin on his face castes away. His brown eyes melt into golden rays, circling an eclipse. I realize I am at the point where I cannot retreat. Still, I rethink, looking at our feet.  

“What happened next? What happened to the wolf?” I prompt.    

“Nobody’s been able to explain. When I think of death, I think of that wolf. Did he go astray from his pack? Secluding himself from the others, did he reach the point of no return, or did he climb higher and higher as if possessed by the urge, unconcerned?” He offers me his cigar then looks at the ocean while I wonder what his carcass was like. Was he trying to go back? Or keep going higher? Either way, he must’ve known he wouldn’t be able to make it back. I open my mouth reflexively, but words didn’t come out. I take a puff from his cigar. 

“Hey, don’t look at me like that. I have never feared death, but I have never wished for it either,” he says in his defence and glares at me. I take another puff and release.  

“I am glad to hear that, but humans are wise,” I say. “And wolves are not; you are not a wolf.” I finally form a complete sentence.  

“But I think—” he tried to reply but I cut him off.  

 “Please just don’t, let’s go back to the deck” I interrupt. He looks at me with the most adorable, confused face. I take his hand, thinking that he still needs to change into dry clothes, otherwise he will catch a cold in this weather. Moreover, we have time to talk about life and death. The journey has only begun.