Samundar ka bhoot

 I have a maalishwaali who I will call Shobha. That's not her real name. I engaged her because she is much cheaper than the lady who I got through Urban Clap. (The Urban Clap lady was delectable though. Her hands had the feel of weighted satin.) Since I like massages - A LOT- I had to switch to an option where I don't have to choose between groceries and massage if I want to get one twice or thrice a week. 

But Shobha is really interesting. She is from Alibag and often tells me about her house there, a jackfruit tree that has grown so large that it houses a family of mongoose, and how her neighbour bartered nutmeg for chowmein noodles, etc. Ideally I like it if people don't talk when they are massaging me (which is where Urban Clap scores). But if they are talking, they must be engaging. Which Shobha is, in spades. 

Shobha sometimes comes during dusk. She wears interesting flowers in her hair, nice gold jewellery, some type of a crepe saree, and carries a bag with fuzzy polka dot tufts sewn on them. Inside that rather large bag, she carries a phone and a hanky. 

She is brisk and sharp and is of the school of thought that bones must crack and back must snap, etc. for the massage to be effective. I disagree completely and the first few times, it took some effort to get her to massage strong but deep and gently. She didn't like that all. Told me quite curtly that she had come to do maalish, not make-up.

I noticed that one way to get her invested in giving me the massage I liked was to ask her to tell me a story.

And one dusk, as the span of a bird covered a portion of a dying sun, I asked Shobha to tell me a ghost story.

This is what she told me. 

This story is set many years ago in a small hamlet near Alibag. This is the place of her childhood.

Shobha loves to eat fish. During Navratri, the rest of her family keotrather stringent fast. But this was when the catch was the most bountiful and fresh. And Shobha would cook a different type of fish every day for each of the nine days. She figured Maata Devi would like to see her happy and fish made her happy. So she would tell her family that she was really doing it for the goddess. She'd cook clams in a spicy coconut and kokum paste one day. Fry pomfret in rice flour and aamchur another day. There would also be a coconut-based curry with plump prawns or whole fish charred with rock salt and served with jackfruit sabzi. 

And then on the penultimate day (Navami, the day before Dassera), there would be crabs. Fresh, big crabs cooked in a spicy base and slowly simmered for hours. The meat would be sweet and tender, yet the shells would be coated to perfection with the gravy. 

One evening she was outside her hut grinding coconut and other spices in preparation for the curry. Her father came with a couple of buckets filled with crabs. He told her to prepare a plate with fried fish, some betelnut, and a glass of liquor for.the 'Samundar ka bhoot' and leave it on the porch before sunset. Unless this entity is appeased, she would not be able to enjoy the meal. 

This was a new request. Shobha didn't know her uncle had drowned that same day a few years ago. (He was apparently drunk and had gone fishing. Some say he saw a golden fish and dived in to catch it.)

Shobha was told that the ghost of the sea always wore a white dhoti and ganji, had a shendi that turned upwards towards the tip, and had calm eyes that glowed when he was angry. He usually visited homes that were enjoying a good catch.

Shobha forgot about the ghost and started building the fire to start cooking the crabs. It was just past sunset. Suddenly, the fire went out and she started smelling something salty around her. Her pet dog started barking and howling. No one else was there in the house at the time. They had all gone to the neighbouring temple for aarti. Shobha tried starting the fire again. The salty scent grew stronger and the dog started foaming at the mouth. She finally sensed that something was really wrong when it started raining only in a small patch in her courtyard and the rest of the area was dry. 

When her dog finally whimpered and lay down, she saw a large man wearing white with an upturned shendi. His eyes were red and he kept staring at Shobha until she broke out into a rash.

She started crying and told the man that she would lay out the fish and liquor immediately. 

He then said that it was too late and he would take everything. And in front of her eyes, the crabs disappeared and the dog died. 

When her family returned, they made fun of Shobha...all except her father who possibly knew what his daughter must be going through for not having her favourite crabs. 

After dinner (where she sulked through her vegetarian meal), her father took her on a boat into the sea. He was carrying a plate with liquor and fried fish. When they had gotten some distance from the shore, he asked her to throw in the fish and pour the liquor. 

She did.

Again there was rain and suddenly, two crabs seem to leap into the boat from the sea. She shrieked. Her father caught the crabs in a bag and got them home. He cooked them for her late that night.

She says that those were the tastiest crabs she has had till date.