By: Khemendra Kamal Kumar

Round One: The Present

Tears welled in Ballu’s eyes as his daughter’s name was announced. Sandhya Baldeo with a gold medal in her discipline. With the degree certificate in one hand, the gold medal in another, and her academic regalia, she was the epitome of the family’s sacrifice. Literally and metaphorically, turning the tassel from left to right flipped their fortunes. It was a moment to capture! And Ballu stored every bit of the graduation process in his memory.

Years of repressed tears, the size of pomegranate beads, rolled down Ballu’s sunburnt cheeks. In between, he whimpered like an abandoned puppy. Asha firmly clasped her husband’s palm while Sandhya delivered her gold medal speech. The whole ceremony overwhelmed Asha. “Happiness has many names,” she thought.

Once outside the graduation hall, the three shared another bout of emotions. One moment, they laughed, and the other collapsed like sugar sacks on the ground, crying like babies. With her smartphone, Sandhya captured hundreds of those mixed feelings and moments. Like many others, they imitated the graduation theatrics of the West. Sandhya threw the tassel up in the air, jumped high, and yelled, “Yay!” This simple move was not so simple, although Sandhya had practiced it in her mind numerous times. So after the ‘not so perfect’ shot was captured after the nth attempt. Then Ballu and Asha wore the gown and other academic garbs and imitated the ‘give and take’ of the certificate. But all good things end; it was time to leave. After relishing the vegetable pulau offered to them, they left.

“Taxi!” Ballu waved at a taxi driver. Once the three got into the taxi, Ballu directed, “Caubati.”

“Topline squatter,” Asha gingerly specified their residential address. The family had squatted there for the past five years. Their squat did not differ from the rest, a shack of sorts. But it is here that Ballu and Asha helped their only child realize her dream–a university degree.

At noon, Sandhya disrupted Ballu’s nap. She jumped with joy, shaking the thin piles of the shack vigorously. “Papa! Mummy!” she called out as she rushed to her parents. “Australian Awards, Australian Awards! I got the Australian awards for further studies! Yay!”

Ballu could not believe his ears. Asha was shell-shocked. Both looked at each other. The couple stepped towards their puja place in the shack and bowed in obeisance. “Bhagwaan ke ghar der hai, andher nahi,” Asha assured Ballu. God may delay, but never deny justice to those who deserve it. 

“How quick fortunes change, you don’t know, I tell you,” Ballu giggled. With that, he tried his victory dance. A yesteryear boxer from Nadi, Ballu tasted many defeats and many more victories. But the taste of victory was always sweet, and he knew it too well. Many of his fans compared him to Sugar Ray Leonard. They christened him ‘Ballu Ray–swift as a stingray, strong like a bull.’ Facing the small mirror frame stabbed into the wall, he lifted his arms and nodded. Yep, that was a figment of Ballu’s past.

Sandhya was to fly away to Sydney in December. Ballu drove a rental car to the exit point of Fiji, the Nadi International Airport. The walls of the airport boast the joys of the tourists with big boards, but the floors are yet to speak about the painful tears of those who migrated from their homes. Like others, Ballu and Asha also shed some tears for Sandhya, but deep down, the three had come to realize a simple truth–To live is to keep moving, like the spring water from Shiva’s jata. Being consumed by the ocean is the final destination. In between lies Maya. After check-in, Sandhya waved goodbye to her parents before entering the transit lounge.

Driving back to Suva, just after the Temple end of the Nadi town, Ballu turned left into the Togo junction. Togo is the village where Ballu was born, the place ingrained in every cell of his body. The left turn did not surprise Asha. She also desired to visit the village she called home not so long ago. Both missed Togo dearly: the stories of Togo, the primary school, the spot where they dug for nakai, their friends and relatives, and many more landmarks that unconsciously became part of their conversation in Suva. For hours, they would reminisce about their past, staring at the Morning Star, the Dhruv Tara, through little holes and cracks in the roof. A long, long time ago, Dhruv was relegated to second-best child. He sought justice through meditation. As a reward, Lord Vishnu turned Dhruv into a star as a beacon of hope for humans like Ballu, Asha, and Sandhya. When you have no one, you have Him!

As they passed the landmarks of Togo, memories flashed afresh. Both kept quiet, inhaling Togo. The dusty road, the wooden bridge begging for repair, the mango tree that was there before most of them at the top of the hill stood laden with green mangoes, and many more little things that were taken for granted now evoked nostalgia. But what hurt them was the eviction signs like Ozymandias. Homes that resonated with love now host curses of eviction. Roofless, walls falling apart, the trees parched, await their eventual death and decay. The couple drove on, watching history in the rear-view mirror, until they reached a familiar driveway. It was the driveway to the place they called home five years ago, five long years ago!

They approached with caution. A lot has changed; a lot remained the same! One thing that remained unchanged was the bench under the mango tree. The tree, as usual in December, was laden with Fiji aam. Under the shade of the mango tree, on the bench, lay Jona. Ballu recognized him in a flash. Nostalgia hit him hard.

“Jona, sala tavale,” Ballu shrilled.

Jona almost fell off the bench when he heard that familiar voice. “Ballu, bloody kalavo!” Expletives were fired like Diwali rockets before they hugged each other.

Jona was Ballu’s childhood friend whom Asha lovingly called ‘Jona bhaiya’, and for Sandhya, he was ‘Jona mama.’ Ballu and Jona forged a lasting friendship. They were inseparable since childhood and engaged in various activities, whether playing football, fishing, prawn netting, or harvesting cane. But their favorite activity was boxing. Jona coached and sparred with Ballu.

Like old times, Jona threw a ‘jab, jab, cross’ combination. “One, One, Two,” Jona hissed.

All three punches landed on the target lightly. “You slow like Santu’s Bedford truck,” added a mock to his punch. Then he lovingly placed his palm on Ballu’s shoulders and earnestly asked, “Where were you all these years?” Some questions have no answer; some answers are best kept within. Ballu’s teary eyes spoke to Jona; Jona nodded, knowing his friend would open his heart when ready.

But friends don’t stay teary eyes for long! Especially when they meet after five long years.

“Oye tavale, look at your katena, tautauvata ni Sleeping Gaint,” Ballu jabbed pointing towards Sabeto.

“It’s wisdom, Ballu, wisdom,” Jona tried to block further verbal jabs with his witty reply.

“Wisdom na waste dump ga,” Ballu shot again.

Both friends guffawed.

By now, Jona’s family had gathered around Ballu and Asha, exchanging pleasantries. Jona whispered to Junior, his son. Junior took his younger ones toward the field beside the river, where they herded goats. Jona’s wife led them to the bench. A worn-out polythene carpet covered the bench. The foundation was the same as before. But the feel of the bench was overwhelming. For an outsider, it was a crudely constructed sitting bench. To Ballu, it was a cradle, a crude one though, yet it is here Ballu nurtured his dreams. It is here that his family escaped the western heat, savored garam garam gulgula and sipped laal cha. It is here Jona and Ballu talked about the game of boxing, rested after twelve rounds of sparring, and nursed their sore limbs. In later years, both sat and drank grog there like no tomorrow. The bench triggered the unconscious suppressed in Ballu’s mind for five long years.

Sensing Ballu’s emotions, Jona assured, “You are home Ballu. This is your place.”

“In my mind, this place will always be home,” Ballu confessed. Then, he quickly recomposed. “No worries, Jona. Look! See! What I get for you! Pure Kadavu waka … raica … thick as your crooked thumb … and this brown bag … sinaai … I hand pound, just for you.”

As former boxers, it was typical for Ballu and Jona to express themselves through boxing moves. Out of joy, Jona threw a mock uppercut at Ballu. Ballu mocked a ‘slip.’

“Hand pound?” Jona sniffed.

“Hand pound,” Ballu hissed.

“Pure?” Jona asked.

“Pure,” Ballu replied.

“Lose, taki, gunu,” both spoke in unison.

Lavenia and Asha walked inside the house. Jona followed them, giving Ballu solitude. Ballu quickly consumed what all he could see: the house that was his, the field that belonged to his father, the riverbank where he herded his goats, the guava tree he planted, and then the mango tree under which he was sitting now.

Suddenly, his eyes caught a rope dangling from a branch. “Was it the same rope?” he quizzed himself. That was five years ago.

“Five long years, hmm … the length of one girmit!”

With that thought, he revisited his past.

Round 2: The Past

Ballu sitting on the wooden bench.

This bench was an appendix to the house he inherited from his father. The idea of constructing a bench was sound; the result was a butcher’s job. Ballu stabbed pieces of timber with nails and proudly called it machaan. The machaan offered a seating space for half a dozen adults. It was an all-purpose bench and a fine example of the ‘means and end’ dichotomy. Today, Ballu sat there alone, moping at his fortunes. His head hung low, shoulders pulled together, and his legs swinging slowly like a dying pendulum.

“Hamar sala kismet kharaab,” Ballu uttered between his teeth, nodding and looking at his palms. A few yards away from him hung a nylon rope from a thick branch. In the morning, it held the carcass of a male goat. Dark, dried blood stained the white rope.

Now, his eyes were fixated on that rope. The bloody rope seemed to reach out to Ballu. A vision flashed in front of him. He saw himself hanging on the rope, head tilted to one side, eyes popping out with fear, piss stains on his trousers, and toes curled inwards. Ballu felt his neck tightening; he gasped for air like a fish out of water. Just like in bad dreams, he felt a choking sensation. Ballu gathered all his strength and punched the bench as hard as possible. The spell broke.

Relieved and recomposed, Ballu saw the goat’s head at the foot of the mango tree. Flies frenzied on the severed neck. The dead head glared at him with watery eyes as if seeking answers for his untimely death. For a year and a half, the goat was a member of Ballu’s herd. With trust, the goat would feed on any part of the field to which it was led, regardless of rain, hail, or shine. Even today, when Ballu pulled him aside from his mother, he followed like a little lamb to an ultimate betrayal.

For years, slaughtering goats and supplying meat during Christmas was a norm for Ballu’s family. It was pretty profitable. But not this year. This goat was lightweight to the extent that Ballu had to forgo his pound of meat. All they had left with was a head, hocks, and hooves.

“Who eats hocks and hooves on a day of celebration?” annoyed Asha asked. “It seems all the troubles in the world have fallen on us this year. First went pineapples, then the watermelons, and if those rascals didn’t have enough, they stole not one but three male goats!” lamented Asha. “Boils the size of watermelons will erupt in their backend, I tell you,” she cursed.

Ballu and Asha were disturbed because their plan to send Sandhya to a university was spoiled. Their farm produce would have fetched enough for enrolment. Upon renewal of the land lease, they would take a loan to fund her studies. “Only education would set us free from the shackles of girmit!” Ballu recalled Satendra Nandan’s words. “If a barefoot boy can do it, my daughter can also do it,” he echoed.

Sandhya interrupted Ballu’s thoughts. In a tray, she brought two glasses of lime juice and pieces of Big Sister Golden Fruitcake. “Papa, Jona mama is on his way. Make sure you don’t start eating without him,” she warned her father, knowing very well that Ballu had a sweet tooth.

Once Jona arrived, they merry christmased each other. Immediately, Ballu savored the cake. “Julum re, why do we have to buy this during Christmas only?” he quizzed Jona. 

“Never thought like that. We do what we see. Maybe that’s why,” Jona reasoned. He placed a paper bag full of pounded waka on the bench. “Lose, taki, uno,” he demanded with a thud on the bench.  

Ballu picked up the bag, brought it close to him, and sniffed. “Savusavu!” he lifted his eyebrows.

“Pure,” Jona confirmed. “Hand pounded.”

“Mate bakadua,” Ballu jested and Jona released a snorted laugh.

After a few bowls of grog, Jona guardedly informed Ballu that the mataqali had decided against renewing the expiring land leases. The decision stunned Ballu as if an uppercut landed on his chin. He clasped his fist and then opened it.

“Kismet hai ki karam?” he questioned his fate dejectedly.

“Kua ni leqa Ballu, we will find a way out soon,” Jona assured. After their midday meal, Jona left for his home. 

In the evening, Ballu called for a family gathering. He broke the news of the land lease expiry. Expiry implied that no bank would loan them funds. Ballu’s savings would last a year or two. Their future now looked as bleak as the 20-watt bulb that lit the room. That night, none of them slept, fearing reality would appear in their dreams if they closed their eyes. Little did they realize that reality had shattered their dreams in broad daylight.

The next morning. Ballu walked around his compound like a pumped-up boxer, ready for his bout. When Asha served him laal cha, Ballu informed her of his plans. “For now, I am off to Suva to make provisions. Then we move. It is time to shift our location. Trust me, Asha, I am down, not out!” Ballu assured.

Asha trusted Ballu, especially when she could see him resolute. The last Asha saw him with that willful intent was when Ballu prepared for his title fight. Though he lost the bout, he never lost the will to face a challenge. Asha nodded her assurance.

“What are you waiting for? Chalo!” Asha provoked him. Ballu packed his knapsack and took off. In Suva, Gyani, a schoolmate, helped him. After two months, Ballu returned to take away Asha, Sandhya, and what little belongings they could.

On the day of their departure, Jona sat on the bench. He didn’t utter a word but his watery darting eyes hid hundreds of questions and suppressed even more emotions. Deep down, he knew Ballu had a plan. Ballu’s resolute eyes spoke volumes that day. Before crossing the threshold of his compound, Ballu sat beside Jona. It was a moment of eternity. Both stole their glances away. Few words punctured with punctuations escaped them. 

“It’s time to move,” Ballu struggled with words. “This house, yours now,” handing the keys to Jona.

“Chal ud jaa re panchhi

Ke ab ye desh huaa begaanaa,”

Ballu recalled this song and walked away while Jona hummed,

“Isa, isa, vulagi lasa dina

Nomu lako au na rarawa kina

Na cava beka ko a mai cakava

Nomu lako au na sega ni lasa”

Jona knew Ballu too well. Friends, coach, and sparring partner. They spent too much time together. Enough to make Jona think, “Down, not out.” That was Ballu.

In Suva, Ballu started house-to-house grass cutting. Suva falls on the windward side and enjoys more rainfall than other parts of Fiji. That also means Suva is a host for weeds! For Ballu, it was a blessing from Indra, the god of rain. “Why worry when Indar raja is on your side,” he assured himself. Soon, he established himself as a reliable ‘grass-cutter.’ Compound after compound, yard after yard, he trimmed the hedges, mowed the lawn, cut and collected the weeds. Every time he finished a yard, he threw his punch in the air to celebrate. Most of his customers found it amusing. They were unaware that Ballu hooked, uppercut, and jabbed the yard with his brush cutter.

Once a boxer, always a boxer. But Ballu kept his boxer self in a box. Here he was a ‘garden boy,’ ‘grass-cutting man,’ ‘baiya,’ ‘bai,’ ‘mama,’ ‘tamana,’ and many other names that veiled his previous identities.

“What’s there in a name?” one may ask. Cassius Clay or Mohammed Ali, identities change, but DNA remains the same. In modern times, identities change with each shower. Ballu wore an image of a subservient laborer like his great grandfather: a celebrated wrestler in Belgao but a coolie during girmit.

Ballu worked as hard as his muscles could bear. Asha and Sandhya also engaged in menial jobs available to them. They ate like birds, slept like dogs, and worked like horses! Like bad days, good days also arrive. Two years later, Ballu enrolled Sandhya in a university.

Round 3: The Twilight

The dangling sound of bilos and the tanoa interrupted Ballu’s flashback.

“Welcome back, noqu tau,” uttered Jona. And then began their talanoa and laughter. When moments offered serious talk, Jona took advantage. “Your rope is still hanging there. I saw you glancing at it many times. Is it time to remove it?”

For boxers, the ropes in the ring act as a defence. During his boxing days, Ballu would lean on the ropes to gather energy for his knockout punch. Jona knew this too well. The only time Ballu lost his fight was when he stood “toe-to-toe.” Good boxers know when to punch and duck; champion boxers know when to back paddle and use the ropes, float like Ali, sting like Ray, and finish like Mike Tyson.

“You know best. You the coach,” Ballu hung that conversation smartly.

“Any chance you return to farming? I can ask the mataqali to lease you some land,” Jona offered to help.

“You know Jona, I have moved on. To depart is to arrive. My ancestors left their homes. Home is nothing but a stopover. Same as you anchor your canoe while fishing. After fishing, we lift the anchor and paddle away. I realized that five years ago. Squatter is also my stopover. One day I will …,” he concluded, pointing towards the sky.

What about your house?” Jona asked.

“It was mine, now it is yours. My home is wherever I stay,” Ballu answered.

“Don’t you miss this place?” Jona implored.

“How can I miss this place when this place is part me. I ate from the land, drank from the well, all in me. It is part of me and I am part of it. Some say the land has eyes, I say the land has a heart too. He feels for all those who are part of him,” Ballu responded.

“Who taught you this big talk?” Jona asked as a matter of fact.

“One wise man. He tell me his father a gardener too. One day he give me a little book … ha… All the World is a Body. When Sandhya study at night, I read word by word, bit by bit. I read many times, now it makes sense little bit.” Ballu replied.

“I don’t know what kava you drink in Suva, but it has some effect on the way you talk. Ni tautau vata ni punga pundit,” Jona laughed out loud. “Aree yaar, what about Sandhya bitia? Where is she?” he inquired.

Before Ballu could answer, they heard the roaring and rumbling of the Boeing 747. Asha came out of the house and together they waved at the aircraft.

“There she goes! In that flight, our dream has taken off,” Ballu punched the air.

Serendipity. In the twilight, Sandhya flew away in pursuit of her happiness.

###

Khemendra Kamal Kumar is from the Fiji Islands. He lives in Lautoka and works at the Fiji National University as a lecturer. Earlier, he taught at the Lautoka Teachers’ College and primary schools. His interest lies in literacy, children’s literature, and English literature. He has published journal articles and written poems, short stories, and children’s books. Currently, he is working on his second collection of poetry and short stories.