Under the full moon

Winter was setting in, and it was time for us to move to the other side of the forest. We were a group of twelve people—seven adults and five children. My mother and her sisters always stuck together, while the men sometimes stayed for many moons and, at other times, disappeared for long periods. It was only my mother’s father who always stayed with us. He was very fond of us children and told us many stories about the jungle. The stories of hunting, plants talking to each other, and knowing what to eat and when. He knew all the hidden paths of the jungle and many songs. His songs were full of knowledge, and he sang them on different occasions. I remember, when my younger sister was born, he was sitting and singing that the sisters should bring cumin to give to the mother, brothers should get milk to give to her, moron-go should be given to the mother, and so on. All that he sang in the song became our guide to help my mother and sister get through this time. He told me he had heard these songs from his grandfather as a child.
This year, the winters were especially severe. My mother was very skilled at starting a fire with flint stones, but it wasn’t possible to sit around the fire all day long—we had to go out to look for food. The men in the family decided to hunt at least every other day so that the women and young children wouldn’t have to go too far to forage for food. In those days, we often roasted the vitals of one animal or another on a spit, sat around the fire, and sang songs or told stories. My grandfather used to say, “Keep speaking, and you’ll name everything, and you will become wise.” I always loved making new words, which he found fascinating.
But soon, the game in the forest started to dwindle , and the sun began to set earlier than before. My grandfather decided to lead us to a new campsite, where he knew we would find a few more families, and it would be nice to share stories around the fire.
The previous winter, we had killed two deer, and their skins were very valuable. My mother gave one skin to my grandfather so that he wouldn’t fall ill from the cold on the way. She gave the other to her youngest sister because she had just had a baby and needed to cover her newborn. The rest of us wore tree barks and leaves. It was tough, but we didn’t complain.
It took us two moons to reach our destination. Grandfather kept singing all along the way. The song was a complete guide to where to drink water, which plants to eat, where to be aware of animals, and where to rest at night. Through the song, I felt as though our ancestors were speaking to me. They were watching over us from the sky, and their souls had become one with the sky god.
Our destination site was filled with children, men, women, and the elderly. Upon seeing us, many of them rushed toward us, hugging our mothers, fathers, and grandfather. They cradled all the newborn children in our family and told me to go foraging with their children. It was fun. I had never seen so many people together in my life, but it was obvious that our connection went back many generations.
That night, my mother built the fire. We ate some leaves and slept next to another family. Suddenly, in the middle of the night, I felt thirsty and opened my eyes. The fire was still burning, and my grandfather was protecting it. I got up and went close to him. He gave me a warm smile.
“No sleep?” he asked.
“Water,” I said, touching my throat.
“River,” he said, and he signaled the direction.
I took a smoldering piece of wood with me and walked toward the river.
It was a full moon night, and the moon’s reflection danced in the water. At that moment, I forgot about my thirst. It was a moment of stillness, and I had become one with everything around me. I had suddenly merged with the sky, the river, the earth, the jungle, the moon, my ancestors, and my body had dissolved into thin air. That night, I couldn’t go back to our campsite, and nobody came to look for me. I wondered how many people must have come and gone before me, looking at the moon the way I looked at it that night. One day, I would have children of my own, and they would look at it the same way. That day, I understood that I was part of one big chain. For the first time, a sense of loneliness struck me. I wanted a woman in my life. I wanted to raise children and let them have this beautiful experience that I was living at that moment.
The next morning, when I reached the site, everything had changed. Mothers and children were foraging around, and fathers were sharpening their newly made arrows on stones. Grandfather was sitting in the sun, soaking in its warmth.
He saw me coming and flashed his warmest smile. I went over to him, and he signaled me to sit next to him.
“The moon was beautiful?” he asked.
I looked at him with wide eyes.
Then he burst into song, a song about the beauty of this place and the full moon.
My eyes began to moisten as the song progressed, and soon I was sobbing uncontrollably. My grandfather stopped singing and took me into his arms.
“Today, our ancestors have blessed you. Not only are you sharing the food they ate, but you’ve also joined them in their soul, enjoying the beauty they once had, before you.”
Then he called out to my mother and said, “Your son has become a man. Soon he will bring a wife.”
My mother smiled, and for the first time, I felt warm blood running through my chest.
——Shashi Mahajan