The Monsoon Prize: A Memory of Fishing in the Rain

 The Monsoon Prize: A Memory of Fishing in the Rain

By John Aguiar

The monsoons didn’t just bring rain; they brought life to the nullah. For a child armed with nothing but a handmade bamboo fishing line and a pocketful of flour bait provided by a patient mother, those rising waters were a kingdom of possibility. 

We were after pittols and whatever else the freshwater currents offered, but sometimes, the water gave us a surprise we weren't quite prepared to handle.

The Patient Wait

I remember one particular evening near the narrow bridge by the 6TTR camp. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and the steady rush of the stream. I felt it before I saw it—a heavy, deliberate tug on the line. Unlike the quick darting of a fish, this was a slow, dragging weight.

I held my breath. Using the steady patience my father had taught me, I began to lift the bamboo pole. Breaking the surface wasn't a silver flash of scales, but the dark, mud-caked armor of a massive crab. It was clamped firmly onto the flour bait, refusing to let go of its easy meal.

Chaos on the Bank

Slowly, agonizingly, I swung the line toward the shore. The moment its shell hit the solid ground, the crab realized the trap. It dropped the bait and, with a speed that defied its clunky appearance, began a sideways sprint for freedom.

My friend Khatal and I were instantly on our feet. We were two brave fishermen in spirit, but as we chased the creature through the grass, our courage wavered. We circled it, shouting and scrambling, but neither of us had the guts to reach down and face those snapping pincers.

The Final Stand

The hunt ended as quickly as it began. In the adrenaline of the moment, Khatal reached for the only weapon available to a panicked boy. He picked up a heavy stone and, with a dull thud, ended the chase. We left the bridge with more than just a story.

Though the crab was partly smashed by the impact, it was still a magnificent catch. We gathered it up, those large legs alone making it a prized trophy for the kitchen. That night, the "monster from the mud" became a delicious meal. Even now, the sound of rain brings back the image of that bamboo pole bending under the weight of the one that didn't get away.