Fountainville

by Tishani Doshi

  I found out only later that Begum knew all along. She had deployed one of Kedar’s men to shadow me. ‘You were a stubborn thing,’ she said. ‘It was the only way to resolve it, to let you follow it through.’

  I walked with such determination, up and down on those spindly wicket legs of mine, all through that jungle scrub, until I’d spent all my energy. When I had gone as far as I could, I sat on the forest floor and ate two pieces of bread and hard cheese, a handful of almonds and two peaches – all the food I’d carried with me. Then, just as stubbornly, I turned around and walked right back.

  When I came home, all Begum said was, ‘There you are then.’

  I was disappointed. I had expected her to be in a state. But it was as if she hadn’t even noticed I’d been missing. Of course, I couldn’t have known that she knew. Begum always knew.

  It’s what she’ll say when we go back to her now. ‘There you are then.’ As if there had never been any real danger of us disappearing.

  EPILOGUE

  How long did it take? It depends who you ask. All I know is that none of it was easy. Those initial years after Kedar was killed were the most difficult I’ve ever known. There was my own guilt of course, not dissimilar to what I felt after losing my family; a sense that I had instigated the entire chain of events by my refusal to do what was asked of me. By asserting myself, in other words.

  Do I regret not climbing on the bus with my family? Or having had Owain’s child even though I knew that nothing about our relationship would ever be normal? There are moments. Even now, surrounded by such happiness, such abundance, I cannot help but think how we failed Kedar by not foreseeing the danger to his life.

  We did avenge his death eventually. Not in the way Begum would have preferred – with Marra’s head on a pole. There was a war crimes tribunal instead, facilitated by Leo in the Mainland. During the weeks of the trial, the Prime Minister – a sheep of a man – squat, idiotic, nasal, who blinked every time he lied, kept appearing on television, talking about the ‘magnificent political will’ of the people of the Borderlands, about how a democratic nation, (they do love bandying that word around these days), can’t afford to forget its less fortunate people.

  The news channels spliced speeches of the Sheep-Man with scenes of Marra’s jungle capture. It was gruesome. The way the army closed in on him. They called it ‘Operation Forest Thunder’ – after a movie of all things – one of those cheap action films they make on the Mainland. It was done in the same spirit of chest-beating chauvinism. God knows, I hold no candle to Marra, but to smoke out the villages like they did; to disrupt innocent people’s lives; to use 500 soldiers including cavalry, artillery and air force – all to catch one man! It took two months to find him. To drag him out of a hole in the ground where he barely had place to lie down! They lifted him out – bearded, soiled, utterly defeated.

  All over the country people watched in a semi-hypnotised state, unable to separate reality from fantasy. On the Mainland, where we had always been viewed as footnotes to their own narrative, there was a reversal of sorts. We went from being invisible to exotic. Movie producers were already thinking of how to make us their next destination, the Tourist Board were designing luxury adventure holidays on one end of the spectrum and reality tours on the other. Ordinary Mainlanders, who had only ever viewed us as people who did their menial jobs for them, saw us for the first time, as dangerous – These guys used to headhunt people, Don’t piss them off! In Fountainville and the rest of the Borderlands, people watched collectively in homes and bars and saloons, drunk on the idea of comeuppance.

  We found it difficult to keep up with the unfolding events. It was hardest for Begum, who was no doubt forced to remember the long-ago time of her own jungle hideout experience; how Kedar saved her from Haroon Sherriff and kicked off the drama­tic start of their thirty-five year love affair.

  ‘Explain to me,’ Begum said to Leo, who was watching the results of the trial with us, ‘Is this considered humane? All this circus pandemonium, for what? To throw a man in a jail for the rest of his life? I don’t understand. Nothing brings back the dead.’

  *

  We never reopened the clinic. There was no need to discuss it. We donated our equipment to the new hospital and converted the greenhouse into a shelter for single mothers, the destitute, and elders. Chanu Rose and Sabina are in charge of running it. We also began supporting the House of Hope, actively contrib­uting to its many rehabilitation and outreach programmes. Earl and Mala travel with the volunteers, telling their own story of drug addiction and rehabilitation, which inspires current drug-users to join the programme.

  The irony is that all our charity work was and continues to be funded by the success of La Saˆgon de Fountainville – our ultra-chic health and wellness line, which is all the rage in cosmopolitan corners of the globe. It turns out that before disappearing into the den of Somaville, Owain had sent samples of Begum’s potions to a friend who ran a weekly stall at a farmer’s market. Our products did so well that within a few months of the stall’s operation there were several business proposals to open a flagship store. All these proposals lay gathering dust in the pile of post that was waiting for Owain at the Sanity Boarding House. It was only after the long rehabilitation process that we found out that there were people across the seas who were desperate to know where to get hold of their next tub of Neem Butter Nirvana.

  La Saˆgon de Fountainville also supports and pays for our R&D laboratory where we work to increase sustainable productivity, conserve biodiversity, and develop regeneration options. The entire town’s focus has shifted towards preserving our forests, and under Leo’s supervision, we’re in the process of patenting all our traditional remedies.

  For years, Begum talked about writing a memoir but she was too busy to actually write it. She wanted to tell the story of her life – how an ambitious woman from the Borderlands changed the course of her destiny. She thought it was movie material, full of adventure, intrigue, love, loss and redemption. She wanted to write about the breakdown of events after Kedar was murdered, and the long difficult arc of continuing to live without him. She wanted to re-examine the notion of the idealised nuclear family – to write about her inability to have children, the failures and short-sightedness of the surrogacy business, our tribal practices where child-rearing is a community effort, and how we gave all that up when the Baptists converted us. Most of all she wanted to write about how I entered her life, and how along with me came Rafi, Owain, Leo, Earl, Mala, Sabina, Chanu Rose and our children.

  *

  Having a child was exactly as I feared it would be. Full of love and constant anxiety. Jun is thinner than I would have hoped, and weak at sports, but he can talk up a storm, and is fearless. He has a joke and a story for everyone, and is remarkably unconcerned about the fact that he has four mothers and four fathers. The love of his life is his sister, Pearl, who was born a few hours after him, delivered by Dr Willis in Begum’s front room.

  Chanu Rose chose to keep Pearl and live with us. She was right about her husband. He’d been ready to put a hatchet in her head when he found out. He had spotted her on that infamous viral video, pregnant and clearly not studying to be a secretary. He blustered up to Begum’s house with two of his cronies shouting and raving about the honour of his woman. There had never been any real danger, of course. Rafi could have swatted that pathetic triumvirate in a flash. But it was upsetting for Chanu Rose to have to listen to all their curses, to reflect on the many lost hours she’d wasted with that lummox.

  What we’ve created, this new paradigm of family, seems so normal to us now, so effortless. Rafi and Sabina continue an on-off love affair. He spends most of his time in the forests but he comes to town once a week with his usual menagerie to pick up his supply of whisky. He’s grown very fond of Mala’s boy, Mingus. Now that the old chief is dead, Rafi has become Mingus’s great protector, taking him out into the jungles and teaching him to identify different species of trees and insects. />
  Owain and Leo have built a beautiful wooden house at the foothills of the Northern Forest Ridge. We have our annual spring festival get-together here, which gets increasingly raucous as the years go by and the tiers of our extended family grow. Owain, who fancies himself as something of a landscape painter these days, spends more than half the year here, while Leo’s visits are more sporadic. ‘Someone’s got to have a real job to support the artists,’ he jokes. Leo brings with him all the excitement and energy of the spinning world, so naturally the children adore him best. Despite all the development and new-fangled technology, everything still feels slightly out of reach in Fountainville.

  So much has changed, yet much remains the same. Main Street has swelled into greater chaos, but the old establishments like the Ambition Computer Centre and the Gloria Hallelujah are thriving. Mr Quintus sold the Sanity Boarding House to Mainlanders, who converted it into a chic B&B called The Lady. Pastor Joseph’s successor, a fiery young man, Pastor Nelson, has been a great help to our cause by setting up temporary health camps, and by personally distributing condoms and sterile needles to those in need. ‘God prefers you to abstain,’ he tells them, ‘But if you’re going to do things, at least learn to protect yourself.’

  When I walk around Fountainville I’m sometimes reminded of my ancient, persistent desire to leave it. I have had several opportunities over the years to travel, and it was always as marvellous as I dreamt: cities floating on water, kingdoms in the jungle, bridges and skyscrapers. The world is full of wonders. But I have always been happy to return home, to its particular combination of eucalyptus and pine, wood smoke and dirt. To sit under the giant alder tree and drink at the fountain.

  The Lady of the Fountain

  a synopsis

  Arthur was in Caerllion ar Wysg with Gwenhyfar and his knights, Owain, Cynon and Cai. He asked them to tell stories while he slept. Cynon told of a journey he had taken in the remote and uninhabited regions of the world in search of a worthy opponent.

  He told how he came to a beautiful valley and a plain with a castle. He was welcomed and inside he saw twenty-four beautiful maidens. While eating he explained his quest and was advised to travel on until he met a huge black-haired man with one foot and one eye, surrounded by animals, who would answer him rudely but tell him what to look for. Cynon did so and the black-haired man directed him to a valley with a great tree in the middle. Under the tree was a well and near the well a marble slab with a silver bowl fastened to it by a silver chain. He told Cynon to throw a bowlful of water across the slab, after which there would be a tremendous noise and a shower of hailstones which would nearly kill him and not leave one leaf on the tree. A flock of birds would land in the tree and sing, after which he would see a knight, all in black, approaching. Cynon did as he was told and was soundly beaten by the knight, returning home in disgrace.

  Listening to him, Owain was keen to find the place, but Cynon laughed at him. At dawn the next day Owain slipped away on his horse and set out for the remote and desolate regions. He journeyed until he found the castle and valley, and he too was attacked by the black knight. Owain struck the knight a mortal blow and the knight fled towards a shining castle behind them. He was let in but the portcullis lowered, cutting Owain’s horse in half as he followed, leaving him trapped between two gates.

  Owain was in a quandary. A maiden with yellow hair approached and, liking him, gave him a ring which would make him invisible. She told him that when the men of the castle came to look for him, he should follow her. Owain did so and she took him to a beautiful upstairs room from where, the next day, he saw the mourning procession for the knight he had killed. Following the bier was a beauti­ful woman and he fell instantly in love. The maiden, Luned, told him this woman was the Lady of the Well, wife of the dead black knight, and that she would not love him. But still she went to her mistress and argued on his behalf, telling her she needed a knight from Arthur’s court to help her defend the well. Eventually the Lady told her to go to Arthur’s court and find such a knight, but Luned stayed in the room with Owain until it was time for her to return and then brought him to the Lady. The Lady recognised him as the knight who had killed her husband, but she took advice and called for bishops to marry them. Owain defended the well for three years, ransoming the knights who attacked and sharing the money with his barons so that everyone was happy.

  Then Arthur, guided by Cynon and Cai, came to find Owain. When they came to the well Owain, dressed as a black knight, attacked them. But when they recognised him there was rejoicing and, after a feast of three months, the Lady of the Well allowed Owain to return to Britain for three months. Instead he stayed three years.

  One day a maiden approached his table at Caer­llion ar Wysg and grabbed his ring. ‘This is what we do to a deceitful cheat and a traitor,’ she said, and turned away.

  Owain remembered his journey and grew sad. The next day he set out again for the remote regions of the world, wandering until he grew weak. Descend­ing to a park he met a widowed countess whose maiden treated him with precious ointments until he was healed and defended the countess in return. Travelling on he heard shrieks from a forest. He saw a cleft rock with a snake in it and a pure white lion trying to escape. Owain killed the snake and the lion followed him. As he ate that evening Owain heard human groaning from nearby. He called out and was told it was Luned, imprisoned in stone because of a knight who had betrayed the Lady of the Well. She said he had to come to rescue her within two days or she would die. She directed Owain to a castle nearby where everyone was sad. The earl there told him his two sons had been captured by a monster who would kill them unless he exchanged them for his daughter. With the lion’s help Owain killed the monster then returned to the field where Luned was about to be burned alive by two men. Again with the lion’s help he rescued her and returned Luned to the Lady of the Well. He took the Lady to Arthur’s court and she was his wife as long as she lived.

  Then Owain and the lion came to the court of the Black Oppressor, who had imprisoned twenty-four maidens. They fought and the Black Oppressor begged for mercy, promising to run the house as a hostel for the weak and the strong if spared. Owain agreed and left the next day. Arthur greeted him joyfully and he was successful wherever he went.

  Synopsis by Penny Thomas

  for the full story see The Mabinogion, A New Translation

  by Sioned Davies (Oxford World’s Classics, 2007).

  Afterword

  I did not grow up reading the stories of the Mabinogion. My childhood was monopolised by the Mahabharata and the Ramayana, heroic epics involving gods, goddesses and many-headed demons, whose attributes were invoked daily, as if they weren’t mythical characters at all, but people who lived and walked among us. In India, where I grew up, myths are everywhere; they are pervasive and alive in the most wonderful and frightening ways, and they survive in multiple retel­lings. We stake ownership in them because they inform our most basic ideas of vice and virtue. Myths are, ultimately, personal. And that’s why I believe it’s somewhat dangerous to meddle with other people’s myths.

  When I was asked to retell ‘The Lady of the Fountain,’ I suffered all the usual outsider’s mis­­­givings. My Welsh connections are tenuous, after all. Whatever I know of Wales, I know from my mother. She was born in Nercwys, Flintshire, in 1947, and grew up speaking Welsh as her first language, although I can’t remember her ever speaking it to us. The one Welsh word I know is hiraeth. My mother moved to India in 1968, and she must have felt a whole lot of hiraeth because the stories she told of Wales came to us in the form of memories. I had my own memories of course – summers in Nercwys, the beach in Rhyl, and later, as an adult, making my own discoveries in Abergavenny, the Brecon Beacons, and Carmarthenshire. But for the longest time, my picture of Wales had been pieced together from my mother’s stories: a place of bluebells and primroses, coal-sheds and goose­berries, mountains, sheep, bara brith and netball.

  Myths, like memories, are not constant. They ar
e vague, changeable, geographically indeterminate, subsisting upon layers and layers of ever-shifting narrative. Myths, like memories, are often collective. It means that no matter how close we hold to them, they themselves don’t accept boundaries. They are forever open, ready to be transformed and reinterpreted. For this reason, and perhaps, to tap into my latent Welshness, I agreed to enter the world of the Mabinogion, ready to take on all those, for me, unpronounceable Welsh names and fantas­tical Celtic happenings.

  ‘The Lady of the Fountain’ is a particularly strange tale, full of mirrors and multiplicities. Every time I read it, it offered me a new way in, and a new way out. One character enchanted me from the start – Luned, the Lady’s handmaid. She had chutzpah and guile, and unlike the Lady herself, who is never named, and who has little to say, Luned dominates the tale. She is obstinate, pragmatic, steadfast in her devotion to Owain, and it is her relationship with the knight, not the Lady’s, that seems the more authentic.

  Owain, the ostensible hero of the story, is a perplex­ing character – not entirely chivalrous, but certainly a man who has something to prove. He travels to the ‘remote and uninhabited regions of the world’, looking for the Black Knight in order to kill him, an endeavour in which he is successful. And then, somewhat bizarrely, he takes on the role of the murdered man by becoming the Black Knight. He marries the man’s widow, the Lady of the Fountain, and agrees to protect her and her lands. All goes well until King Arthur and his retinue set out to find him, and when they do, they persuade Owain to come back to court for three months. The Lady gives her permission, and Owain stays away three years instead, too busy with his drinking companions to remember his duties as the Black Knight. And that’s when the weird stuff really kicks in.

  Wilderness, amnesia, a widowed countess, a white lion, a serpent, a mountain ogre, an incredibly sad Earl, and Luned, imprisoned in a stone vessel, all make an appearance in the latter half of the story. Owain’s second journey to the remote regions of the world is in many ways, a mirror of the first, with several repeat characters and situations. Except that where the first journey is paradisiacal with its canter through picturesque valleys and the beguiling castle of twenty-four golden-haired maidens, the second journey, by contrast, is hellish – an underworld of madness, which the hero must brave through in order to redeem himself.