The Fish with Rainbow Scales

I opened the nylon bag, and, from inside, popped out the Hilsa fish that I had purchased from the nearby market—a massive creature, weighing almost two kg. It sat on my kitchen platform, while I washed my knife to slice through it and make around eight to ten  pieces. I placed the fish—a silvery-grey body with shiny scales and large fat belly, wide nape, and a narrow, pointed tail—on the wooden chopping board. The fresh-water fish seemed to be alive with its mouth agape and big clear red eyes piercing through my soul. I wondered whether the fish had roe in it, which was extremely tasty and something to die for. 

          The first stroke of the knife landed on the chopping board, as I muffed the chance to aim the fish appropriately. Though I found the act challenging, I ventured into it with an indomitable spirit. Smitten by disappointment to accomplish the task at previous instances, I generally shied away from trying, and that was the reason why I always got the fish cut into pieces by the seller. Maddened with myself on a failed resolute, I decided to prepare the marinade first. Pieces of freshly-cut onion, garlic, ginger, green chilies, and green coriander leaves moved round and round inside the mixer till a fine greenish-brown paste emerged from it. Having a predilection for spicy food, I added a few extra teaspoonfuls of red chili powder into the paste kept aside in a bowl, ready to marinate the pieces of fish. 

          Imagining how delighted my guests would be the following afternoon, whom I had invited for having lunch at my place, I was transported to a world where they were praising my culinary skills on tasting the delicacy. A car honked noisily on the road below and the monsoon wind gusted clamorously outside the kitchen window, jolting me back to reality. I looked around aimlessly and found the fish—exhibiting a malicious grin, while its eyes confronted me sternly, probably a fruit of my imagination—still sitting on the chopping board. Determined to cut the fish properly this time, I firmly secured my hold on the board, raised my right hand holding the knife and released it in a manner that would hit the upper body part near the red gills and render the creature headless. The knife dropped on the chopping board, missing the target, and the fish slipped out, literally jumped off the counter and vanished beneath the fridge, about 2 feet away in the corner of the kitchen. Feeling disgusted, I pushed myself wearily forward, crouched down, and stretched my arm underneath the fridge. The fish was nowhere to be seen. Moving into the living room, thinking it might have reached there, I searched under every piece of furniture in the room—sofa sets, coffee tables, bookshelves, cupboards. It had disappeared. A ripple of unease flowed up my spine, as I wondered how a fish could simply evaporate into thin air right in front of my eyes. Realizing that it was already eight o’clock in the evening, having very little time left at my disposal to continue with the present struggle (by then the fish market might have closed down), I decided to prepare a chicken dish for the guests.

          At around nine o’clock my husband arrived home from the office.

          “The fish I purchased from the market today has gone missing,” I told him while he sat on the stool near the front door, unfastening his shoe laces.

          “What? Lost a fish?” He turned his face to mine, held me for a while with the large black eyes on his podgy face and let out a loud guffaw. 

          “Yes,” I said, without divulging further details about the whole incident.

          “You must be daydreaming. How can a fish…?” He couldn’t control his laughter. 

          It galled me, and I chose not to discuss anything further. 

          That night I went to bed a little late, probably at one or two o’clock, still dwelling on the fish incident. I didn’t know when I had fallen asleep. I felt weighed down in my sleep as if there was some heavy burden lying on my chest, shivering at the thought that something portentous and sinister was bound to happen. It wasn’t a nightmare as I thought it to be, but a sense of disquiet that followed me throughout my sleep. At around daybreak, probably a little after five, I woke up and found myself drenched in cold perspiration while a feeling of restlessness prevailed. I suspected that there was something dreadful in the room. Stretching out my right hand nervously to the other side of the bed where my husband slept, I experienced nothing but an indistinct void. I firmly placed my hand on the bed, searching desperately, my fingers awaiting the feel of my husband’s body.  Suddenly I came to my senses, and it was a comfort to recall that he had the habit of working till late into night and at times slept in the study. I closed my eyes to rid myself from the fever of dry-mouthed torment. 

          On sensing a substantial load on my bosom, I opened my eyes in the faint light of the pale greyish-red morning coming through the window. I found the Hilsa about an inch away from my face, looking at me intently with diabolical obsidian eyes and making bizarre movements with its fins. The sight pulled me up sharp, and a strange repulsion seized me as my stomach fluttered. I pushed it off my chest and sped as fast as I could towards the study that was at the farthest corner of the well-lit corridor. Half-way into the passage, my right foot got caught in my nightgown. I tripped and fell on the mosaic floor. Agitated, I gasped for breath and let out a frightened whimper. I propped myself up on one elbow and gradually pulled myself up from the floor and walked heavily towards the study. The door was bolted from inside. I knocked on the door several times but my husband didn’t respond. A sound of intense breathing gathered my attention, as if something hefty was dragging itself, scurrying around the house, scraping the floor, and following me. It had already reached where I was standing. A cold shudder ran through me, installing a nameless fear, as my teeth rattled and beads of sweat broke out on my forehead, falling down my quivering cheeks. 

          Turning around, I found the fish right behind me. It had transformed into gigantic size like the mythological rainbow fish, positioned vertically on its fins, with red scales made of flames, blue of ice, green of grass, and yellow of lightning. It stood about nine to ten feet tall, almost touching the ceiling. It was around four to six feet in width and between 10 and 15 feet in length, resembling an elephant and blocking the entire corridor. 

          My blood froze in my veins, and I remained numb, motionless. The insidious demon had hypnotized me with its glaring eyes and glittering multi-colored scales that appeared as innumerous luminous spots. I felt the trance binding every muscle in my body with an unknown terror, threatening my existence, as I visualized the deadly consequences of my encounter. In Hindu mythology, there was a legend which said that the rainbow fish was as large as a whale and had gobbled up Lord Buddha, an incarnation of the deity Vishnu (the god of preservation). I wondered whether it would gulp me down its big mouth that was left wide open with sharp, elongated teeth in multiple rows. Who would rescue me once it consumed me like the rainbow fish that had devoured Buddha? Subsequently, the rainbow fish was trapped and killed by fishermen who freed Buddha from its stomach. 

          Defenseless, I stood there staring at the rainbow fish like I was carved in stone, occasionally shifting my glances at the closed door which was destined never to reopen. A strange fatigue gradually overpowered me, as I perceived my body to be twice its weight and the flame of courage within me slowly receding. I hunched that my slightest movement would invite its attack on me. My reflex action initiated a scratch on my left cheek with my right hand, unable to endure the skin irritation, probably due to a mosquito bite. Infuriated, the rainbow fish moved its dorsal fin and hurled a strong, hollow, bony spine-like ray (resembling that of a catfish)—capable of inflicting severe wounds with a single venomous sting—towards me. I dodged the blow by ducking, and the fin ray hit the wall, splitting a dark green oily substance that splattered partly on the white wall and the rest ending up on the yellow floor. Observing the distorted face of the fish out of anger, disappointment, and a malign intention wavering in its eyes, my mind went blank, unable to accept the grotesquerie before my eyes. Being suddenly awakened by my consciousness, I staggered to the living room without looking back. 

          My eyes were drawn to my reflection in the wall mirror placed at the entrance of the living room—a wild brown cat with hazel eyes. I didn’t know for how long I had been overwhelmed by the shock of my unnatural transformation, watching myself in that state, when all of a sudden, I heard the heavy steps of the enormous being moving outside the living room. My head started reeling from the accumulated experience, and I fell into a swoon.

          When I woke up, I found myself lying on my bed with my husband stooping over me.

          On seeing me regain my senses, he said with an air of intense relief, “Thank God!” After planting a kiss on my forehead, he resumed, “What happened, dear?”

          “It was the fish.” I could barely speak, still shocked to the core.

          “Fish?” He paused for a while, as if reflecting on something. “Let’s forget about it. Today is Sunday and our friends would be coming for lunch. If you want, we can postpone it for some other time.” His voice was thick with concern. 

          “No. I am feeling ok.”

          “Are you sure?”

          Suddenly, we heard our maid screaming loudly from the kitchen. Descending from the bed, I trudged up to the bedroom door. 

          “Look what I found,” She said, meeting me at the door, holding a greyish fish smeared in dust, with loosely hanging cobwebs. It was the Hilsa from the previous evening.

          “Take it away from me,” I shouted, hysterically, motioning her to leave the room with the fish.

          “Why? What happened? It’s just a harmless fish,” Our maid said, biting her lower lip in an attempt to suppress the laughter.

          Exhausted, as I turned to get back to bed, I noticed my reflection in the mirror—a fish-eating mammal, about five feet and six inches in height. I tried to laugh but felt a stinging pain. Something scratching inside made me feel uneasy, as if a fishbone had got stuck in my throat.