Hooghly, West Bengal
A winter morning. The sun is scarce. The fog hasn’t lifted yet. Like frosted glass, the fog lies thick. The Sun God hides behind it. A dimly lit morning. The riverbank lies empty.
On the riverbank rests an old, lazy crocodile. He knows that his great-grandfather was once mentioned in a story by Rabindranath Tagore. This one, too, has just come out of the water. His body is still wet. He’s trying to bask in the sunlight, but there isn’t much of it. The river’s water is shallow in winter and terribly cold. So the old crocodile refuses to go back in. That’s how he passes his time, blinking slowly, looking eastward. He senses the Sun is there, hidden behind the fog, struggling to tear through the misty blanket. It might take a while.
The warmth of the sun hasn’t grown yet. Soon, perhaps, it will be warm enough to feel on the skin. The northern wind isn’t too strong, yet winter has settled deeply. Villagers haven’t come to the riverbank yet. It’s a quiet, chilly morning. A few birds flutter about the trees on the river island. The old crocodile watches them lazily, blinking. He had eaten a little yesterday. Now he feels hungry again. But in this cold, he doesn’t feel like hunting.
Buchi, the Bedeni girl, knows she is the great-granddaughter of that scissor-wielding Bedeni from Tagore’s story. She’s brave, like her ancestor. She walks down the gentle slope of the riverbank with her goats. The mother goat and her three little kids follow. There’s some short grass and a thick bush nearby. Buchi sticks the goats’ tether pole into the ground there. She knows they’ll find enough to graze on. She has plenty of work left to do at home, her little son is still asleep but might wake soon. So Buchi hurries back toward her hut.
The three kids jump about happily on their soft little legs. Their mother bleats once “baa…” a warning not to wander too far. They keep leaping on the soft sand, restless and full of energy. Hopping about, they reach close to the old crocodile. They don’t realize that he’s lying there quietly.
The three little goats think it’s an old boat. They climb onto the crocodile’s back, then jump off, then climb again, then leap down once more. Their game of climbing and jumping goes on and on. The crocodile watches, blinking. He enjoys their play even the tickling sensation on his back feels nice. The kids don’t stop. Eventually, they tire a little.
By then, the fog begins to thin, and sunlight drips through the air. The kids lie down on the crocodile’s back, trying to soak in the gentle warmth. Two of them soon fall asleep. The third keeps hopping nearby but doesn’t disturb them. Eventually, that one too lies down and dozes off.
Sweet sunshine spreads across the land. Everything glows. The old crocodile feels the warmth seep through his rough skin. He closes his eyes, silently thanking the Sun God. But now his hunger grows stronger. Across the river, under the opposite bank, lies his burrow where some leftover food is kept. Yet he’s afraid of the cold water. He’s finally comfortable now, and he doesn’t want to lose that comfort. So he decides to bear the hunger.
But hunger keeps nagging. He knows he must eat something. And right on his back lies a bit of food, fast asleep. He thinks, he mustn’t wake them. Quietly, very slowly, he’ll slip into the river. Once in the water, he’ll tip the baby goats in, and while they’re trying to swim, gulp, gulp, he’ll have his breakfast. The thought makes him smile. It may be a small meal, but soft, tender, and delicious.
As he thought, he did. Very slowly, moving as little as possible, he begins to crawl. Even his heavy steps make no sound on the sandy bank. Meanwhile, the mother goat is still grazing. The grass is almost gone, so she raises her front legs to reach the bushy leaves. While she eats, she forgets about her kids. Her belly is nearly full now; she feels thirsty. But she’s tied with a rope to the stake, she can’t reach the water.
She looks towards the river and freezes. There’s the old crocodile, walking slowly toward the water, her kids still on his back! Disaster! He’s going to eat them! How can she save her babies? She must break free from the rope, there’s no other way. With all her strength, she jerks and jumps. The rope strains painfully around her neck, but a mother’s instinct is stronger. She jumps again and again. The rope won’t snap. So she starts bleating loudly “baa-aa, maa-aa!” crying and shouting, trying to scare the crocodile too.
The crocodile hears her.
“Hey, you wicked old crocodile! You rascal! Why are you taking my babies? Put them down right now! Or I’ll call my mistress!”
The crocodile senses danger but doesn’t reply. He crawls faster, closer to the water.
The mother goat cries again, “You know who my mistress is? She’s Buchi Bedeni, great-granddaughter of Kanchi Bedeni! She’s not afraid of you. She’s coming with her sharp knife!”
The moment the crocodile hears “knife,” his heart starts pounding. He still remembers what his great-grandfather told him how Kanchi Bedeni once struck him in the neck with a blade, leaving a deep wound that took a month to heal. The memory makes him shudder.
Just then, the baby goats wake up. They quickly jump off his back and run toward their mother. The old crocodile doesn’t even dare to look back.
Meanwhile, the mother goat gives one last powerful jerk the rope finally snaps! She runs toward her babies. They, too, run to her. When they meet, the three little ones press close against her body. She scolds them soundly. They bleat softly, as if to apologize, promising never to make such a mistake again. Two of them begin to nurse. The third hops about until it finds space to drink too.
Then all four start walking home. The mother walks briskly; the little ones trot beside her. They soon reach home.
Buchi Bedeni is surprised, why have they come back so soon? She doesn’t understand what just happened. The mother goat, thirsty after all the excitement, dips her mouth into a bucket of water and drinks deeply.