quick.”
I stifled a snigger as Ren and Kishan nodded their heads like chastised schoolboys.
“Okay, so you want to give him a checkup tomorrow,” I continued. “We brought you Durga’s weapons. You asked to see them, right?”
Phet stood up, pushed in his chair, and waved his arms. “No, no. Tomorrow is time for weapon. Tonight is for gifts. Gifts for be-u-ti-full goddess.”
“Oh! You want the gifts. Okay.” I dug through my backpack. “It will be hard to give them up. They do come in handy. Having the Fruit means I have to carry around a lot less as we walk through weeks of jungle, plus we don’t have to eat power bars all the time. But, technically they don’t belong to us. They’re for Durga.”
I pulled the Golden Fruit and the Divine Scarf out of my backpack, set them carefully on the table, and then quickly backed away when Ren shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
Phet cupped his hands around the Golden Fruit which began to shimmer in the flickering light of the hut.
“Splendid gift.
Ama sunahara
.”
He stroked the skin of the Fruit and murmured to it softly as it glowed under his attentions. Then he turned to the Scarf. He stretched out his fingers, gently touched the iridescent fabric, and said, “
Dupatta
pavitra
.”
The threads at the edge stretched out toward Phet’s palm and began weaving between his fingers as if they were the warp on a loom. The Scarf attached itself to his hand while he cooed over and petted it, and then the colors swirled faster and faster. It sparkled and crackled until it burst like a tiny nova and the material became pure white.
He spoke to the Scarf like he had to the Fruit, murmuring words and clicking his tongue as the Scarf slowly unwound itself from his hand and resumed its resting shape. Orange, yellow, and red shapes poked through the white surface like gleaming fish bodies in a clear ocean. The colors darted more rapidly until the white was overrun and it assumed its normal form, settling on a golden orange color. The fabric seemed to vibrate or hum with contentment as he stroked it idly with his hand.
“Ah. Phet missing gifts long time. Very, very good, Kahl-see. Gift as good for you. Bestow two gift, acquire two gift.”
He picked up the Golden Fruit and placed it in Ren’s hands. Then he picked up the Scarf and gave it to Kishan. The Scarf immediately shifted color, turning green and black. Phet looked at the Scarf then pointedly at Kishan, who blushed and folded the Scarf, setting it on the table in front of him.
The shaman cleared his throat loudly. “Phet assign to you for a second time. Relieve, make easier for you.”
“You mean you want us to keep using them?” I asked.
“Yes. Now Phet present fresh offering to you.”
He stood up and gathered several herbs and jars of liquid. Placing spoonfuls of ground herbs into a cup, he trickled in several drops from different jars and then ladled in some steaming water. He stirred it slowly and sprinkled in some white granules. I couldn’t really see what he was doing, but I was curious.
“Phet? Is that sugar?”
He turned to me with a gap-toothed grin.
“Sugar as sweet. Drink bitter, sugar better.”
He laughed as he stirred and began humming and singing “medicine bitter, sugar better” over and over. After he was satisfied, he scooted the cup over to Kishan who, with a puzzled expression, shifted it over to Ren.
Phet clucked his tongue, “No, no, tiger of black. Is yours.”
“Mine? I don’t need any medicine. Ren’s the one with the problem.”
“Phet knows all problem. For you, this drink.”
Kishan lifted the cup, sniffed it, and made a face. “What will it do to me?”
“Nothing and everything.” He laughed, “Give you what most in world your desire and leave you lacking, not including what most want.”
Ren was studying Phet intently. I tried to figure out what Phet meant too.
Kishan picked up the cup and hesitated, “Do I
have
to drink it?”
Phet threw up his
I stifled a snigger as Ren and Kishan nodded their heads like chastised schoolboys.
“Okay, so you want to give him a checkup tomorrow,” I continued. “We brought you Durga’s weapons. You asked to see them, right?”
Phet stood up, pushed in his chair, and waved his arms. “No, no. Tomorrow is time for weapon. Tonight is for gifts. Gifts for be-u-ti-full goddess.”
“Oh! You want the gifts. Okay.” I dug through my backpack. “It will be hard to give them up. They do come in handy. Having the Fruit means I have to carry around a lot less as we walk through weeks of jungle, plus we don’t have to eat power bars all the time. But, technically they don’t belong to us. They’re for Durga.”
I pulled the Golden Fruit and the Divine Scarf out of my backpack, set them carefully on the table, and then quickly backed away when Ren shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
Phet cupped his hands around the Golden Fruit which began to shimmer in the flickering light of the hut.
“Splendid gift.
Ama sunahara
.”
He stroked the skin of the Fruit and murmured to it softly as it glowed under his attentions. Then he turned to the Scarf. He stretched out his fingers, gently touched the iridescent fabric, and said, “
Dupatta
pavitra
.”
The threads at the edge stretched out toward Phet’s palm and began weaving between his fingers as if they were the warp on a loom. The Scarf attached itself to his hand while he cooed over and petted it, and then the colors swirled faster and faster. It sparkled and crackled until it burst like a tiny nova and the material became pure white.
He spoke to the Scarf like he had to the Fruit, murmuring words and clicking his tongue as the Scarf slowly unwound itself from his hand and resumed its resting shape. Orange, yellow, and red shapes poked through the white surface like gleaming fish bodies in a clear ocean. The colors darted more rapidly until the white was overrun and it assumed its normal form, settling on a golden orange color. The fabric seemed to vibrate or hum with contentment as he stroked it idly with his hand.
“Ah. Phet missing gifts long time. Very, very good, Kahl-see. Gift as good for you. Bestow two gift, acquire two gift.”
He picked up the Golden Fruit and placed it in Ren’s hands. Then he picked up the Scarf and gave it to Kishan. The Scarf immediately shifted color, turning green and black. Phet looked at the Scarf then pointedly at Kishan, who blushed and folded the Scarf, setting it on the table in front of him.
The shaman cleared his throat loudly. “Phet assign to you for a second time. Relieve, make easier for you.”
“You mean you want us to keep using them?” I asked.
“Yes. Now Phet present fresh offering to you.”
He stood up and gathered several herbs and jars of liquid. Placing spoonfuls of ground herbs into a cup, he trickled in several drops from different jars and then ladled in some steaming water. He stirred it slowly and sprinkled in some white granules. I couldn’t really see what he was doing, but I was curious.
“Phet? Is that sugar?”
He turned to me with a gap-toothed grin.
“Sugar as sweet. Drink bitter, sugar better.”
He laughed as he stirred and began humming and singing “medicine bitter, sugar better” over and over. After he was satisfied, he scooted the cup over to Kishan who, with a puzzled expression, shifted it over to Ren.
Phet clucked his tongue, “No, no, tiger of black. Is yours.”
“Mine? I don’t need any medicine. Ren’s the one with the problem.”
“Phet knows all problem. For you, this drink.”
Kishan lifted the cup, sniffed it, and made a face. “What will it do to me?”
“Nothing and everything.” He laughed, “Give you what most in world your desire and leave you lacking, not including what most want.”
Ren was studying Phet intently. I tried to figure out what Phet meant too.
Kishan picked up the cup and hesitated, “Do I
have
to drink it?”
Phet threw up his
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