Island's End

by Padma Venkatraman

Kara points at the remains. “What shall we do?”

  “We will bury them all in the jungle, as we bury our own people,” I reply. “Perhaps these men meant well, perhaps not. But others like them will come again. And we must treat the strangers with respect if the strangers are ever to respect us in return.”

  Silently, we drag them into the jungle. We dig a great hole and cover them all with earth.

  The sun is setting when we climb back uphill toward the cliffs. In the fading light, my spirit feels heavy with guilt about the deaths I did not prevent.

  “I never even tried to warn the strangers about the wave,” I say to Kara. “I thought only of the tribe’s safety.”

  “But you saved us all, Uido,” Kara says softly.

  “Perhaps not even that,” I reply, thinking of the misshapen thigh and the crushed foot.

  44

  We reach the others on the cliff at dusk. Kara’s hunters have brought back fruit and berries and roots and nuts that we all share for our evening meal. Everyone has questions but I sit apart from the rest of the tribe, unwilling to answer them, though I know I must talk to them soon.

  After we have eaten, I rise to explain that we must remain on the cliff until the jungle is safe enough for us to return. But just as I begin, a woman shouts, “Look! Look! They are back!”

  Through the darkness I see three figures stumbling up the slope. With shouts of surprise and welcome, my people run to greet them. Ashu is limping along, his arms around his friends’ shoulders, his left leg swollen to four times its usual size. He winces with every step, but his two friends seem to have outrun the waves without getting badly hurt. They set him down and crouch together at my feet.

  “Where is Natalang?” I ask, clinging to a desperate hope that she might not be gone.

  “Dead.” The word bursts out of Ashu like a sob. I hear some people moan. But all I can think is that I will never again hear the sound of Natalang’s laughter bubbling out of her like foam on the sea.

  “How did it happen?” Natalang’s mother wails.

  “She—” Ashu’s voice breaks. “We were gathering fish together. I heard the noise of the water rushing back. We looked up and saw a blue-green wall of water coming at us. Natalang was too frightened to move. I tried to drag her away and she started running, holding tightly to my hand. But then the ground cracked into pieces in front of us. She slipped and fell and I lost her.” Ashu pulls at his hair.

  “Did you see her drown?” I sense the impossible want in Natalang’s mimi’s voice. “Maybe my daughter is still alive.”

  “No.” Ashu’s voice cracks. “I saw her body twisted out of shape, bleeding where her leg used to be. It was drifting far away in the water, out of reach.”

  Ashu seems to crumple into himself. His friends do not dare look up at me.

  The crowd around us falls quiet. I feel everyone’s eyes on me, waiting to see what I will do. Staring out at the blue ocean where Natalang’s body now lies, I feel a dull anger growl inside me like a faraway storm. For a moment, I wish Ashu were dead.

  Do you truly want that?

  I look down at Ashu. His lips are gray as ash, his bruised skin dark as burned wood. But though his body is hurt, I sense that his spirit’s pain is far greater.

  Ashu loved Natalang. And no matter what I could have done, Natalang would have stayed with him because she loved him.

  Spirits may punish and destroy. An oko-jumu should not. Your arms are strong. Strong enough to throw away your anger.

  My friend is gone, without a proper burial. The only way I can honor Natalang’s spirit is to forgive the man she loved.

  My people have formed a great ring around me. I sense they are waiting for me to act, to teach, to guide.

  A breeze cools my forehead.

  Your hands are those of a healer. Hold your brother in them. It is what Natalang would want.

  “You are welcome back,” I say slowly. Then I tend to my brother and his friends. Kneeling next to Ashu, I untie my medicine bundle. I tell all three boys to lie down. Into their foreheads, I rub drops of the insect-eating plants’ healing juice to lighten their spirits.

  Next, I attend to their bodies. When I am done applying medicines, I ask the men to bring me wood and several lengths of vine. Using pieces of wood, we make crutches and a splint for Ashu. With Kara’s help, I straighten Ashu’s broken bone, then set and bind it using the vine rope.

  After I am done, I make way for everyone else to greet the survivors. Most of the tribe presses close around them, weeping and laughing. It is a strange reunion, joy mixing with sorrow like waves from different directions crashing into one another. Only Natalang’s family sits apart.

  Ashu’s fingers twist through his hair and his body jerks with sobs.

  “Uido,” he says. “I need to go to Natalang’s family.” With my help, he limps over to them. Bending down awkwardly before her parents, he says, “I am sorry.”

  Natalang’s mimi looks up at us. Her eyelids are swollen and her face is wet. But she opens her arms and pulls me onto her lap. “You were her friends,” she says, her voice small and tired. “She loved you both.”

  We stay with her as the gloom of dusk deepens into the black depths of night. Then she lets us go and rocks back and forth in her husband’s arms.

  The tribe mourns Natalang’s death long into the night.

  As the moon begins to travel down the sky again, I go from person to person and embrace each of them. And imagining myself inside my spirit animal’s eight-armed body, I pull some of the grief and shock out of their spirits and into my own. One by one, my people fall asleep on the bare ground.

  Then I let my tired body sink into Danna’s arms, but my spirit swims restlessly in and out of sleep. My mind is heavy with sadness and guilt. The five deaths weigh it down like great rocks—Natalang’s most of all.

  While moonlight still shines over the watery edges of our island, I leave Danna’s side and crawl up the tall rock, slow as a snail. Reaching the top, I call out to my spirit animal.

  Together, we dive into the protection of an underwater cave. There the weight of my grief feels lighter and she helps me push it slowly away.

  Natalang is not truly gone. Death cannot separate the spirits of friends. She will meet you again, in visions of the Otherworld.

  At dawn, my spirit animal forces me out of the cave and gently up through the water. When we reach the surface, I pour out more of my grief and watch it flow like blood into the ocean. Then I land on the rock again. But now my back is as straight as a spear, strong enough to carry what remains of our sadness.

  45

  I reach Danna’s side just as he is waking up.

  “Look,” he says to me, pointing up at the sky.

  In the distance, I see a black dot that, like Ragavan’s boat, is growing so fast that it must be from the strangers’ world. As the dot comes closer to our island, a terrible noise shakes the sky.

  “A flying boat!” one of the elders shouts, but it is not the fish-shaped kind we have seen before. This one is fat and its wings whir in a circle above it.

  It drops lower and lower, hovering closer to us than any flying boat has ever dared, making a loud ka-tek-tektek noise as though it is chopping the sky. I see some hunters grab their bows and aim their arrows at it, while children cower on the ground.

  But the strangers’ magic no longer scares me, because I know it is not more powerful than ours—just different. Looking up at the flying boat, I recognize the familiar shape of a woman sitting inside.

  “They are friends,” I say, once it has passed and I can make myself heard. We watch the flying boat land on a bare patch of ground farther away on the cliff. Maya jumps out and runs across the rocky earth toward us.

  Tawai shouts, “This is the woman who healed me.”

  “Uido.” Maya flings her arms around me. “I am afraid all En-ge die.”

  Hearing her speak our language, my people murmur with amazement.

  “We survived,�
� I tell Maya. “All but one of us.”

  “Uido warned us to flee,” Danna says. “She knew the ocean would try to eat the island.”

  “But—” Maya breaks off.

  “You knew, surely?” Tawai says.

  “How, Uido?” Maya’s face shows her confusion. “How you can know such thing?”

  “You must have known,” Tawai says. “Your world is full of magic.”

  My tribe presses in closer, eager to hear Maya’s reply.

  “No.” She shakes her head. “We do not know wave is coming.” For a few moments, she chokes up. “Many people in my tribe die. More than all En-ge. Many, many hundreds.”

  I hear cries of shock from the crowd. “Uncle Paleva?” I ask.

  Her lip trembles, but she bites it and then says, “He is hurt. Badly. Soon, he dies. I do not want to come here. I want to stay with my uncle. But he says I must go. Find En-ge. Help you.”

  Maya covers her face with her hands, as though tears are something to be ashamed of. I put my arm around her, but she does not sob. Wiping her tears away with the back of her hand, she asks, “How we can help you?” She points to the flying boat. “We bring food and medicines. What we can do?”

  “We do not need your help,” I say gently. “It is enough that you have come to offer it. Go back and tell your uncle we are well, so that his spirit will enter the Otherworld happy.”

  Maya gazes down at the jungle, where fallen trees lie like scattered twigs, and at the beach, where coral has washed up like broken bones. “Your village is gone?”

  “It does not matter. We will rebuild it together. I will look after my people from now on.”

  “Uido, I am not Ragavan. I want to help your tribe.”

  “Ragavan is dead,” Tawai interrupts.

  “Dead?” Maya stares at me.

  “Yes,” I reply. “They came to visit us and the wave killed him and his two men. We treated their bodies with respect. They are buried in our jungle.”

  “How could Ragavan not know the wave was coming?” Tawai asks.

  “Our magic does not always work,” Maya says. “Our medicines do not always work. Much we do not know. We do not see waves come and many die.”

  I turn to my people. In their eyes, I see the same respect they once gave Lah-ame. I even hear many of the ra-gumul boys murmuring words of support. And my spirit senses the tribe’s deepening faith and love.

  “I know we can trust you,” I say to Maya. “But the En-ge must be alone now. If we need your help again, we will find you. I came to your island once, for my brother’s sake. And I may do so again someday.”

  Maya looks unhappy. “I wish we can help somehow. Please. I do not understand why you say no.”

  “Uncle Paleva would,” I say to her. “But there is one thing you can do, Maya.”

  “Tell me it.” Her face brightens a little. “I do what you want.”

  “Help continue Uncle Paleva’s work. Help keep strangers away from us.”

  She puts her hand on her chest. “Yes, Uido. I do that.”

  “And if his spirit waits until you return, tell Uncle Paleva I wish him a good crossing into the Otherworld. Lah-ame’s spirit journeyed there only a few days ago. He is surely waiting to greet his old friend again.”

  “I am sorry Lah-ame is gone,” Maya says softly. “No other thing I can do?”

  “Perhaps, with your help, your people and mine may share these islands and learn from each other. Thank you for caring about us, Maya. May your heart be in a good place.”

  She repeats my words of farewell. "Ngig kuk-l-ar-beringa, Uido.”

  Tawai leaps up into Maya’s arms. When he lets her go, she walks back to her flying boat. Before she gets in, she turns to me and waves her hand back and forth.

  I raise my own hand to mimic her gesture of farewell.

  She forces her lips into a smile and climbs into the flying boat. The black wings on top whirr faster than a hummingbird’s, then disappear as it rises straight into the air. I wave until the flying boat shrivels into a black spot and is lost from view.

  46

  For the rest of the day, my people keep busy with work. Kara and his hunters fetch coconuts from the beach. Other men set about making tools and vessels. While the women go gathering in the upper reaches of the jungle, Danna helps me carve a new set of fire tools. We speak of the work that lies ahead—the rebuilding of our village, how long we must wait before we fish again, what animals we can soon hunt.

  At dusk, fireflies glow around us. The sea has forgotten its anger. We listen to the gentle waves slosh back and forth as we gather to share the evening meal. The wind changes direction and it no longer carries the smell of death up to us from beach. Instead, it brings a new scent from far across the water. I kindle a warm blaze and Kara feeds the fire with dried coconut leaves. Then we stand together in a circle and I lead the chant to honor the spirits for their gifts of fire and food.

  I watch the flames leap like red-orange snakes, twisting together and then slithering apart. The fire keeps changing shape from one instant to the next, yet somehow it also remains the same. So, too, in the face of whatever awaits us, I shall ensure that my people’s spirits never weaken, that we never lose our true selves.

  The firelight throws brightness and darkness on the faces of my people. In their eyes, I see strands of hope. These I will braid together into a strong rope to pull ourselves into the future. But first I must wash away the last of our sadness and help those around me who have suffered great loss. As Lah-ame would have done.

  Standing against the blaze, I say a prayer of my own making to my people.

  “Biliku-waye, Pulug-ame, and all the spirits of the Otherworld, protect us, the En-ge people, and keep us forever safe.

  “For a long time we filled the islands with love, and we filled one another with love. Our songs drifted across the seas but we did not care what lay elsewhere, for we had it all, everything we needed, here.

  “But that time is gone. The strangers will return when storms do not keep them away from us. And other En-ge will cross over, just as I did.

  “Yet our life on these islands is far from over.

  “If, on some days, it seems that the strangers’ ways are more powerful than our own, let us climb up here, watch the sea tickle the feet of the cliff, and remember this:

  “With our ancient wisdom, we escaped the great wave that killed hundreds of strangers. The spirits told us of the coming of the killing wave; the wave the strangers did not see despite all their magic. Those who believed in the En-ge ways, we who kept our faith, were spared the largeness of grief that struck their world.

  “And so I tell you, my people, as we prepare for whatever the future holds: the new journey awaiting us is not death. It is another life.”

  My people’s eyes grow as bright as the crackling fire that fills the air with warmth.

  Ashu stands up, wobbling slightly, but his voice is steady as he says, “Thank you for my life, Uido-waye.”

  Has my brother really said waye after my name?

  As though in answer to my silent question, Kara rises, his chest swelling with a joyous breath. “Another life, Uido-waye!” he shouts.

  Mimi throws her long arms up toward the sky. My tribe takes up the chant. “Another life, Uido-waye!”

  The chant grows faster, stronger. It spills over the cliff and rolls across the ocean. It echoes through the jungle and leaps from the uneven land below to the unbroken world above. I run the tips of my fingers over the chauga-ta around my neck, wondering if the voices are loud enough to reach Lah-ame’s spirit. In the warm breeze that strokes my cheeks, I feel the caress of his breath. I see a faint glow stretching across the ocean, as though the spirits of our ancestors and all the oko-jumu who came before me are smiling at us.

  But then Danna’s arm slides around my waist. He pulls me back into the bright circle of the living. “Uido-waye, shall we dance?” he asks. “Or are you still worrying about something?”

  “
I am not worried at all,” I reply.

  “Then come, oko-jumu. Quickly, before our problems weigh you down again. Let us not waste precious moments when your spirit dances like moonlight on water.” Danna’s shoulders shake with laughter.

  I begin to laugh, too, with all of my body. My laughter reaches into the pit of my stomach and the ends of my toes. In triumph, I raise my hands to the sky, then I slap my thighs with my palms. My bones feel as strong as the great reefs of coral, and my mind as clear as the water of a rushing stream.

  Suddenly, all of us are swaying together, laughing at the top of the cliff. And Danna’s feet match mine as we beat out a rhythm of celebration, in perfect unison, on the warm earth of our island.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  It seems unbelievable that in today’s world there are human beings who live the way they did thousands of years ago, who refuse to make contact with modern civilization. A few native tribes living in the Andaman Islands of India still struggle to preserve their culture by keeping to themselves in the face of increasing encroachment by modern settlers from the Indian mainland. Though these tribes may go back seventy thousand years, their populations are shockingly low. Recent estimates of the combined count for living members of the Jarawa, Great Andamanese, Onge, Sentinelese and Shom Pen tribes ranged from four hundred to a thousand at the time I started writing this book, some years ago. But the Great Andamanese are thought to have become extinct since then. The future of these ancient people is in jeopardy and they face several grave threats to their survival—including the destruction of their habitat and cultural traditions.

  In 1994, on a research trip to the Andaman Islands, I stayed for a brief while in the jungle where the last remaining Onge live. Thus, I am fortunate to count myself among the very few people in this world who have had at least passing contact with an ancient mode of life that pulses with its own special beauty.

  When the tsunami of December 26, 2004, wreaked destruction across the globe, several “primitive” groups living on the Andaman Islands escaped to safety. Amazingly, they somehow avoided the killer wave that caused a shockingly high death toll in our modern times. In January 2005, an Associated Press reporter met four tribesmen named Ashu, Tawai, Danna and Lah, who said that their entire tribe (over two hundred strong) had survived. An ancient knowledge of the movement of wind and oceans and a sensitivity to the behavior of sea birds and island creatures may have warned these native people to flee inland in the nick of time. We do not know precisely how they realized that disaster was about to strike or why they were able to take appropriate action. Here, I have used my imagination, in conjunction with research, observation of the tribes and my experience with them, to tell a plausible story of what might have helped one such tribe remain relatively unscathed by this terrible natural disaster.