Bonzer Words!: Spicy Wild Ducks
...Dinesh, our driver, pulled over to the side of the road and nimbly hopped out. No sooner had I heard the boot pop open, I saw him jump down the embankment into the paddy field at a trot. He broke open the double barrelled shot gun and loaded the cartridges before his feet hit the raised levee separating the rice paddies...
Gehan Wijesinha tells of an "unofficial'' duck shoot in Sri Lanka.
The mid afternoon heat was made worse by the humidity. Crowds waited patiently, gathering in knots along the road, as the slow traffic clogged the congested, narrow, potholed roads. Whole families without suitable transport were dressed in white, sheltering quietly under large black umbrellas, waiting for infrequent rusted buses, spewing diesel fumes, to take them safely back to their villages. The full moon would rise tonight. Religious observances would take place for the next few days, on the holiest days of the Buddhist calendar. These pilgrims were heading back to on this auspicious day, to be with their families.
The heat and the flies were irritating me. On both sides of the road, endless stretches of green paddy fields shimmered as the mild breeze caressed the tender rice stalks. In the distance, coconut palms stood tall and rigid against the pale blue sky, like alert sentries keeping watch over the passing parade.
I finished drinking the orange King coconut I bought five minutes earlier from a street vendor. I thought of splitting the fruit and eating the tender white flesh within it, but dismissed the thought by discarding the hollow husk out of the window. I glanced over at the reeling orange husk and noticed neither of my two my travelling companions was in a mood to speak. The heat and ennui was taking its toll. The back of my shirt was saturated in sweat and was clinging to the seat.
As I watched the elegant crane stand motionless on one leg, the other poised in midair as its bill caught morsels of food on which to dine, I felt distinctly uncomfortable and longed for the cool waters of the green sea in which I had been frolicking before breakfast just a few short hours earlier. Cranes and ducks continued to peck away at the insects on the rice stalks in the paddy fields.
'Hey! Look at all those ducks,' Dinesh called out noticing my glassy stare, 'They would taste pretty good in a curry tonight.'
'C’mon, that would be bad Karma,' said Sunil. 'Remember this is an auspicious and holy time.'
'We are not Buddhists, so these holy days have got nothing to do with us, we are Catholics, remember?' responded Dinesh. 'And I have a gun in the boot.'
'I don’t think it is a good idea,' said Sunil. 'All these people out here wouldn’t like it either, you realize.'
As a guest in Sri Lanka, I didn’t know enough of the local customs to interfere. The though of transporting dead ducks was not the most tranquil thought I could conjure and was uneasy with the conversation now taking place. I kept my thoughts and opinions to myself.
Dinesh, our driver, pulled over to the side of the road and nimbly hopped out. No sooner had I heard the boot pop open, I saw him jump down the embankment into the paddy field at a trot. He broke open the double barrelled shot gun and loaded the cartridges before his feet hit the raised levee separating the rice paddies. Sunil was now sweating more from fear and anxiety than the heat and humidity, as was I. I knew I should have said or done something to stop this madness. White-robed people, their dusky faces glistening in the sun were all around us. In disbelief their staring eyes were focused on Dinesh who had taken a firing position close to a flock of ducks.
The silence was deafening! It was broken by the crack of a gunshot. Raised and accusing angry voices cursed Dinesh of doing the unthinkable: of spilling the blood of an innocent creature on the holiest of holy Buddhist days. Dinesh was oblivious to the gathering wrath of his audience as he sprinted over to the two fallen ducks. He expertly grabbed them by the legs and sped back to where we were, evading several angry people who confronted him. Sunil was now in the driver’s seat gunning the engine. In the blink of an eye, Dinesh threw the ducks and gun into the boot, slamming it shut and jumped into the back seat. Sunil opened the throttle. The vehicle fishtailed its way dangerously close to pilgrims who saw the strange spectacle. As the dust settled and we disappeared from view they were sure to question whether the sequence of events they witnessed actually happened.
Tonight I would be dining on curried wild duck, or would it be poached?
© Gehan Wijesinha
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Gehan writes for Bonzer! magazine. Please visit www.bonzer.org.au
