The Banshee's Wail
It was around 11 when Amrut first came in with the kitten. Ravi, TS and I were studying in Ravi's room when all of a sudden he burst in with the kitten and put it on my lap. "There's something wrong with it", he said, "It's been mewing continuously for the last hour or two, and refusing to leave my lap". I looked down at it, but couldn't spot anything wrong. The plaster on its leg was a tad dirtier, and the expression in its eyes perhaps more mournful than usual, but apart from that, it seemed alright. Perhaps it was the strain of studying for next day's test. Anyway, that is not where this post starts. For that we have to go back many years, to ancient Ireland, when a long haired maiden dressed in white first made her appearance in the deep forests, and when her cry was first heard, and entered into the mind of man forever.
The kitten had broken its legs a few days back, and thanks to the efforts of our hostel mess secretary, had been treated by a vet, and its leg had been put in plaster. It had also been put on some medication. On his return from the vet, our mess sec scouted around for people to take care of the kitten. He very wisely settled on Amrut for this duty.
The kitten then took up lodging outside Amrut's room, in a box which Amrut had specially made for it, complete with pillow and bedsheet. Over the next few days, Amrut made sure it got its medicines on time. The rest of us tried to ensure it got a regular supply of food and water. Slowly it started to regain some strength in its leg, and began to walk about a little. Many a pleasant hour was spent playing with the kitten in the box. That is how matters stood when Amrut came into Ravi's room with the kitten.
In the last two semesters, our hostel has played host to no fewer than nine different kittens. Of the first four, only one survived, but disappeared during the holidays. Of the next five, two disappeared within a month, the third sometime later. One is still around, prowling around in the mess for leftovers. Then what exactly, you may ask, is so special about the last one, that I write an entire post about it? To find the answer, I'll have to go back to Ireland, and the woman in white.
I don't really know too much about the myth of the Banshee. I don't know when it originated. I don't know if there is any written account of it. I came across it in some Discovery Channel program many years ago, and more recently, I came across it in Harry Potter (Chamber of Secrets, I think...). Thus, whatever I say about them in this post should not be taken as true facts. The banshee of this post is my banshee, my personal ideas about them.
What I do know is that the Irish believe that it is bad luck to hear the wail of the banshee, and to see one. But we aren't talking about any ordinary, do-badly-in-tests bad luck here. No, it is much darker. The banshee is no black cat. Its appearance, and its wail, are linked to something way more specific than just plain old bad luck.
The banshee is a portent of death. He who sees the banshee, will die himself. He who hears its wail will soon be deprived of a dear one. That is the myth of the banshee.
I remember we finished studying around 3 at night. I was walking back to my room, when I suddenly saw the kitten, sitting in a niche in the wall. As I went near, it turned to face me, and gave a single plaintive mew. And immediately knew that it wouldn't live through the night.
Have you ever had thoughts about death? Have you ever seen the death of dear ones in your dreams, and woken up in a cold sweat? Has the thought ever crossed your mind that someone you know is about to pass away? Now, have you ever wondered what would happen if all these feelings were to suddenly come true? Like the old Chinese curse which wishes that all your dreams be fulfilled. Have you ever wondered what it would be like if that happened?
I've been pretty lucky so far in my life to have never come close to death. Even the dead kitten was removed early in the morning, and I only came to know about it from the mess sec around tea time. Perhaps it is this fact, one for which I am very thankful, which caused me to react such to this incident. The only thing that keeps those fears at bay is the fact that they never come true. Now what if one fine day, they do?
You can argue that I knew about the kittens death because its health must have been pretty bad, and it was in a pathetic state. You can argue that it was merely a matter of chance that it happened, that a simple play of probability has assumed gigantic proportions when viewed through the lens of hindsight. You can argue that it is silly to have vague superstitions about wailing maidens and portents of death. You can argue that I am putting way too much emphasis on the death of one single small kitten. Perhaps you are right. In fact, almost certainly you are right. That however is not the point.
Strip me of all my reasoning and logic, and what you have is a human being, with the same emotions, the same feelings, and the same fears as any other human being. And to say the truth, I didn't really have any major reaction on hearing about the kittens death. I guess the news worked more slowly, and more deep in my brain, and so I find myself writing this post.
Those who are afraid of injections know that the greatest fear hits when you see the syringe, and in the moments when it is filled, for you know what is about to happen next. Or a person who is afraid of flying has the most violent reactions just before take-off, when the plane is taxing down the runway. These aren't very good examples, but what I would like to portray through them is the fact that the portent of an impending event is often way more terrifying than the event itself. That is why I have such feelings about the kittens death. Not just because it died, but because I knew it would. It is that which terrifies me.
I have known about the impeding death of a fellow living being, and seen it die. I have heard the wail of the banshee. I have not really changed dramatically due to it. There are no perceptible effects of this on my present mood. But I guess such things never really fade away completely. Somewhere, deep down, a scar has been etched, a fear has been branded into my very psyche. It is a fear greater than any I have known before.
The kitten had broken its legs a few days back, and thanks to the efforts of our hostel mess secretary, had been treated by a vet, and its leg had been put in plaster. It had also been put on some medication. On his return from the vet, our mess sec scouted around for people to take care of the kitten. He very wisely settled on Amrut for this duty.
The kitten then took up lodging outside Amrut's room, in a box which Amrut had specially made for it, complete with pillow and bedsheet. Over the next few days, Amrut made sure it got its medicines on time. The rest of us tried to ensure it got a regular supply of food and water. Slowly it started to regain some strength in its leg, and began to walk about a little. Many a pleasant hour was spent playing with the kitten in the box. That is how matters stood when Amrut came into Ravi's room with the kitten.
In the last two semesters, our hostel has played host to no fewer than nine different kittens. Of the first four, only one survived, but disappeared during the holidays. Of the next five, two disappeared within a month, the third sometime later. One is still around, prowling around in the mess for leftovers. Then what exactly, you may ask, is so special about the last one, that I write an entire post about it? To find the answer, I'll have to go back to Ireland, and the woman in white.
I don't really know too much about the myth of the Banshee. I don't know when it originated. I don't know if there is any written account of it. I came across it in some Discovery Channel program many years ago, and more recently, I came across it in Harry Potter (Chamber of Secrets, I think...). Thus, whatever I say about them in this post should not be taken as true facts. The banshee of this post is my banshee, my personal ideas about them.
What I do know is that the Irish believe that it is bad luck to hear the wail of the banshee, and to see one. But we aren't talking about any ordinary, do-badly-in-tests bad luck here. No, it is much darker. The banshee is no black cat. Its appearance, and its wail, are linked to something way more specific than just plain old bad luck.
The banshee is a portent of death. He who sees the banshee, will die himself. He who hears its wail will soon be deprived of a dear one. That is the myth of the banshee.
I remember we finished studying around 3 at night. I was walking back to my room, when I suddenly saw the kitten, sitting in a niche in the wall. As I went near, it turned to face me, and gave a single plaintive mew. And immediately knew that it wouldn't live through the night.
Have you ever had thoughts about death? Have you ever seen the death of dear ones in your dreams, and woken up in a cold sweat? Has the thought ever crossed your mind that someone you know is about to pass away? Now, have you ever wondered what would happen if all these feelings were to suddenly come true? Like the old Chinese curse which wishes that all your dreams be fulfilled. Have you ever wondered what it would be like if that happened?
I've been pretty lucky so far in my life to have never come close to death. Even the dead kitten was removed early in the morning, and I only came to know about it from the mess sec around tea time. Perhaps it is this fact, one for which I am very thankful, which caused me to react such to this incident. The only thing that keeps those fears at bay is the fact that they never come true. Now what if one fine day, they do?
You can argue that I knew about the kittens death because its health must have been pretty bad, and it was in a pathetic state. You can argue that it was merely a matter of chance that it happened, that a simple play of probability has assumed gigantic proportions when viewed through the lens of hindsight. You can argue that it is silly to have vague superstitions about wailing maidens and portents of death. You can argue that I am putting way too much emphasis on the death of one single small kitten. Perhaps you are right. In fact, almost certainly you are right. That however is not the point.
Strip me of all my reasoning and logic, and what you have is a human being, with the same emotions, the same feelings, and the same fears as any other human being. And to say the truth, I didn't really have any major reaction on hearing about the kittens death. I guess the news worked more slowly, and more deep in my brain, and so I find myself writing this post.
Those who are afraid of injections know that the greatest fear hits when you see the syringe, and in the moments when it is filled, for you know what is about to happen next. Or a person who is afraid of flying has the most violent reactions just before take-off, when the plane is taxing down the runway. These aren't very good examples, but what I would like to portray through them is the fact that the portent of an impending event is often way more terrifying than the event itself. That is why I have such feelings about the kittens death. Not just because it died, but because I knew it would. It is that which terrifies me.
I have known about the impeding death of a fellow living being, and seen it die. I have heard the wail of the banshee. I have not really changed dramatically due to it. There are no perceptible effects of this on my present mood. But I guess such things never really fade away completely. Somewhere, deep down, a scar has been etched, a fear has been branded into my very psyche. It is a fear greater than any I have known before.
posted by Siddhartha Banerjee at 1:33 am
6 Comments:
Nice,as always.On a less morbid note,the Irish themselves have abandoned the old wives' tale of the banshee.After all,they let Britney Spears perform there last year:)
I was Anonymous.
Siddarth
My first banshee was in the 5 findouters book - the mystery of banshee towers, where the banshee turns out to be some sort of complicated apparatus with a balloon giving off gas or something... But now that a deep seated fear has been etched in to your psyche, I guess there is very little to say except...boo
The Escher pic on the back cover of TPV, remember?
The acknowledgement of one's mortality, the realization that one does not have enough time, is the most cathartic stage of finally arriving at maturity, finally looking at the looking-glass and not through it.
Your first brush with death? Remember what happened to the original Siddhartha in the self-same scenario? He was 20 just as well, and just as protected.
I anticipate a lot more philosophy on these lines in the near future from you then. Recommended reading, "Gilgamesh and Enkidu" and anything on the hermit stage in life of the Buddha.
"Human hope will survive, human friendship too will survive. Together they will triumph over death, over your obnoxious wisdom, Uta-Napishtm."
- Alexander Nemirovsky
'the legend of gilgamesh and enkidu'
It is I.
Ah, Bongo, am organising local RKP quizzes, would like to know of you could donate me some nice questions.
Mail them to me if you do, da.
Will be much appreciated.
Hey...thnx for putting a link to my blog...as they say, publicity is never a bad thing. I personally feel that the kitten was in a very bad shape on the previous night. It's death was inevitable, and not due to the banshee. Still, you almost convinced me, in spite of myself, to think otherwise...great post.
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