The Voice Behind the Orchard

A Bengali folktale of monsoon nights, fish, and fear.

It was thundering. Black clouds covered the entire sky.

Bhola Mia was walking quickly, carrying two large hilsa fish tied together by the mouth with a string made of jute straw.

It was hilsa season, when rain poured from the sky to rejuvenate the dry earth, and lightning frequently struck the tall betelnut trees.

The village market, called a “Haat,” was held only two days a week. Today was the last market day, and if he missed it, he would have to wait another week. Hilsa fish were in season, and he couldn’t miss the chance to bring home the biggest fish and show them to his family and neighbours.

His two daughters had arrived home after a long time, along with their husbands and children, for a visit. He had a reputation to maintain. After marriage, they had moved to their in-laws’ homes, far from the village. Also, his youngest son’s wife had given birth to a healthy baby six months ago. Now Bhola Mia’s house was filled with ten grandchildren who ran around all the time.

The house was filled with celebration. Neighbouring women came around in the evenings after finishing their household chores to chat almost every day. The house was full of laughter. His wife had a new glow on her face and was always smiling. He had never felt happier in his life.

One evening, two days before the Haat day, his grandchildren expressed a wish to eat fried hilsa fish.

So, when the Haat day came, Bhola Mia wore his best outfit, a white panjabi, put on some attar (a traditional perfume), and left for the village market in the next village without delay.

To reach the next village, he had to pass through an orchard and then ride a boat. Bhola Mia arrived safely, bought a few essentials, and then went to the fish vendor and purchased two large fish. As he proudly walked around with the fish in his hands, everyone started asking about the price. Some inquired whether the fish were fresh enough, while others said he had made an excellent purchase.

After spending some time at the haat, Bhola Mia rode the boat back home.

It was not late, and the sun had not yet set, but the sky was growing darker, and the boat swayed heavily.

Looking at the black clouds filling the sky, Bhola Mia exclaimed, “Aha, I think I chose the wrong day to go to the market.”

He thought about the orchard he would have to pass through to reach home safely.

The boatman said, “Dadu, you still have a long way to go, and I heard the orchard isn’t very safe when dark. Mischievous spirits dwell in the betelnut trees.”

Bhola Mia’s face turned pale, but he decided not to pay attention to such stories.

As the weather grew rougher, the boatman focused on rowing. Both of them remained silent for the rest of the journey.

Bhola Mia gave him two coins and bid him farewell.

He started walking through the orchard. He walked quickly, and the fish in his hand swung back and forth. Suddenly, a bolt of lightning struck a betelnut tree. His heart almost stopped. Then it started raining heavily.

He stood beneath a nearby tree and opened his black pointed umbrella. As he took his first step onto the narrow path between the dense trees, he heard something.

A voice.

He listened carefully.

Again, the voice said,

“Oi, Bhola Mia, will you eat that alone? Won’t you give me some?”

Bhola Mia froze. The voice came from behind him. He thought about looking back, but he remembered the old saying: “While walking alone at night, if someone calls from behind, don’t look back.”

Bhola Mia started running without looking back, but soon he became breathless.

Again, the voice called him by name.

“Oi, Bhola Mia, will you eat that alone? Give me some too.”

He began walking as fast as he could while chanting holy verses. Soon he reached the end of the orchard and finally arrived home.

He told his wife about his journey through the orchard, which had felt like a lifetime, and how he thought he might never reach home alive.

After resting for a while, he went to see his wife frying the hilsa fish in the kitchen. The kitchen was a separate building with a large window near the stove.

She cut the fish into pieces and marinated them with turmeric, chili powder, and other spices. The oil was hot and bubbling. As soon as she placed a piece into the oil, a delicious aroma spread throughout the house.

Suddenly, a voice came from near the window.

“Oi, will you eat alone? Won’t you give me some?”

Bhola Mia and his wife immediately realized it was the same thing from before and that it had followed him all the way home. They feared that the house was full of children and worried that the creature might harm someone.

His wife replied, “I will give you some. Wait until it is cooked properly.”

In the meantime, Bhola Mia heated an iron rod in an open fire.

“I will give you fried fish. Put forth your hand.”

When it stretched its long black hand through the window, Bhola Mia placed the hot iron rod into it.

It immediately screamed, and they heard no other voice.

Nothing disturbed them that night as they enjoyed the delicious fried fish and later went to sleep.

The next morning, they found a dead crow lying near the kitchen window.