DUH-DUM, SHING, DUH-DUM
(Strange sounds in the wee hours of the morning)
A short story by Tony (a.k.a. Felicio) Fernandes
It was a cold and dark night. Shortly the blooming and fragrant flowers of the 'Onvoll' tree will start to fall. This lone tree was located about half a mile away from Felicio's house, on the raised short pathway that connected his village to the main road at Guirim, Bardez, Goa. It was not attractive to look at during the day, but the fragrance of its flowers that blossomed in the night was enthralling, albeit contrary to its appearance.
Felicio tried hard to keep awake. It was midnight. In a short while he and his cousins would have to accompany his mother to pick the flowers known as 'onvllam' in Konkani. The sweet and enchanting scent of these flowers could easily be sensed half a mile away. They were prized, tiny, star-shaped and aromatic flowers. They looked beautiful and smelled good when made into garlands, and fetched a premium price at the local flower market in nearby town.
Felicio glanced at the imported 'JAZ' alarm clock on the table. It was 1.00 am. Times were hard. During those days in the late 1950's in Goa, many folks were going through days of an economic embargo imposed on this tiny colonial enclave by a mighty nation. Young Felicio and other children had to endure great hardships through no fault of their own. Felicio's father worked in Bombay, while Felicio and his mother were in Goa - Estado da India under the Portuguese.
An enterprising way to sustain was selling flowers. This involved picking flowers in the very early hours of the morning, making them into garlands and then wholesale them to retailers in the flower market in the nearby town of Mapusa. This was one of the innovative ways to survive through those bad times.
It was Yuletide, late December. The 'pontti' (lamp) in the bamboo 'star' shed a dim glow around the entrance to Felicio's house. The captivating fragrance of the beautiful flowers of the 'onvoll' tree had just started to permeate the air. It was also getting chilly. Felicio donned his old oversized 'vaddtea angar' (for the growing body in the literary sense) sweater, while in the back room his mother trimmed the wick of the hurricane lamp and filled it with kerosene, getting it ready to take along with them, to light up their way to the magnificent 'onvoll' tree.
With small baskets in hand they were now on their way, walking towards the 'onvoll' tree located on the outskirts of their village. Young children were always made to walk in front of elders in the night. So Felicio being the youngest - he was leading - while his young cousins and his mother, holding the hurricane lamp, followed behind. Felicio turned his head and looked towards his house as he walked. The light from the Christmas 'Star' that he had made glowed faintly in the distance. "Never look back while walking in the night", his grandma would have said, but Felicio's grandma had passed away the previous year. He had often thought about her and momentarily remembered her.
They soon approached the 'onvoll' tree and saw the white flowers which had just fallen, lying on the ground as if sprinkled by a divine hand. Without delay they stooped down and started picking them up from the outer-most edge. And as they picked the tiny flowers, more fell, twirling as they spiraled to the ground. Felicio glanced towards his right shoulder. Far towards the south, were the faint lights atop Monte de Guirim. In the east, the rising moon cast an yellowish glow. The lights of Mapusa town glimmered faintly towards the north. The three clearly visible bright stars that formed the Hunter's belt in the constellation of the Orion shone brightly above. His grandmother was an expert of the night skies. She would lecture Felicio about the night skies on warm summer nights. She had often pointed and shown him the Seven Sisters - the cluster of the Pleiades which she called 'Sath Zanni Bhoinni'. She had also told him that the nickname for the Evening Star was 'Bebdeanchem Neketr' which apparently guided tipsy men walking home from the local tavernas.
During these interim thoughts of Felicio, the pace of the falling flowers seemed to have intensified. There was no time to admire and think about stars or the night skies. Felicio, his mother and his cousins continued to keep up with the pace of the endlessly falling flowers while he hummed a 'Yuletide' tune under his breath in the dense and cold night air. The owl hooted in the distance as his cousins huddled closer to his mother, but Felicio had to be a brave boy - a young guardian of support in the night. Nevertheless, thoughts of 'shimeilo' (the phantom of the night and other spine-chilling stories that his grandmother often related crept up. At times like these, he tried hard to keep such scary ideas at bay. Would the fabled phantom of the night be passing by any moment now, Felicio wondered. Would he hear the stomping of this legendary man's feet at any moment now ? And the thumping sound of the staff that he is supposed to carry?
Two baskets of 'onvllam' were almost overflowing already after about an hour of picking up. Felicio tried to guess the time. It could be about 4 a.m. perhaps, he thought. No sign of the sound of the 'shing-shing' of the fabled 'shimieilo', the phantom guardian of the village, yet. Perhaps it was past his time.
The third basket was already overflowing. Lot of garlands for sale the next day, Felicio thought.
Then, just as they were about to wind up picking up the flowers, they heard faint sounds of rhythmic thuds in the distance, almost a slow staccato beat of 2-2-1-2-2, followed instantly by a distinct but a soft 'shi-shing' sound similar to a clash of mini cymbals. Was the 'shimieilo' late on his nightly rounds along the perimeter of the village? Felicio guessed it would soon be time for the 5 o'clock morning matinee church bells for the Angelus prayers, and also the time when the cock would crow. And no self-respecting 'shimieilo' should be around at this time, Felicio thought. The morning star would soon be rising - 'Stella Matutina' as grandma would say.
"Let's go home," said mother, "these should be ample for now," as she picked up one of the baskets of flowers with one hand and raised the lamp with the other. Felicio noticed one of his quiet cousins making the 'Sign of the Cross'. The distant sound persisted without abating. They were now on their way home. A thin blanket of fog had just start to form around them as the quartet walked hurriedly homewards nudging close to each other.
A short nap and they would have to rise again to make the flowers into garlands.
Felicio still has one lingering thought on his mind, and that is to solve the 'mystery' of the night. What could that constant thud that kept on repeating at an unfailing and unfaltering rhythm be? He would leave that thought to be unraveled in the morning. He had an interesting story to impress and regale the village folks. Perhaps grandma was right about the 'shimeilo' after all. The distant thumping sound still persisted, the steady beat continued while Felicio soon fell asleep to the rhythmic sounds of 'duh-dum-shing-duh-dum'.
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It was dawn. The fowls, the pigs and the crows joined all the other birds in making a huge cacophony around the periphery of the house. There were dew-drops on the grass and on the flowers in the garden. Felicio woke up a little later than usual. He had missed the usual daily early morning round of the 'poder' (travelling bread-man), who had already delivered loaves of bread. He sat in the 'balcao' waiting for his mother to call him for breakfast. He would then discuss with his mother about the strange and rhythmic thuds they had heard in the small hours of the morning.
As he sat sipping tea his mother had some good news for him. Firstly, the garlands were ready; apparently she had not slept. Secondly, she had already guessed and found out what he was more anxious to know. Apparently their neighbours had heard those sounds too. The mystery about the strange sounds they had heard was solved. It so happened that the folks who lived at the far end of the village had risen up very early that morning, to pound and husk par-boiled rice that they had decided to take to the local market for sale that morning. The mysterious percussion 'Duh-Dum' was the sound created by a pair of womenfolk, each one striking with precision into the hollow in the ground known as 'vaahn', using long and thick wooden poles. But what was the faint, eerie and puzzling sound of 'shing, shing' they had heard? well, they happened to be the sounds produced by the clashing of the bangles on the hands of the women who were working hard, pounding with thick wooden poles on the par-boiled rice producing a rhythmic 'Duh-Dum, Shing, Duh-Dum' sequence - the eerie and mystifying sounds in the wee hours of a very cold morning of late December 1957. And I know this story is true. I was that boy Felicio.
Tony (a.k.a. Felicio) Fernandes
Author of: GOA - Memories of My Homeland
http://www.tonferns.blogspot.com/
"Shimeilo" : according to legend, myth and superstition - a phantom guard, held in much awe and wonder - a protector of the night, believed to have been protecting every village in Goa. He is a fabled well-built, broad-shouldered man, walking with a staff in his hand, and is supposed to have been making his nightly rounds along the perimeters of the villages at night.
Shim or (Xim): (Konkani) Village Border, hence 'Shimielo' or 'Ximeilo' (personified) meaning: 'man of the border'.
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