Ghost Of Malabar SHORTLISTED FOR THE ATTA GALATTA CHILDREN'S FICTION BOOK PRIZE 2022

By Soumya Ayer

A spooky tale...

set in Fort Kochi, once a seaside town with a long colonial history!

Twelve-year-old Edwin blames his father, a wayward fisherman for everything rotten in his life. But when he encounters Velu his life is catapulted from rotten to outright chaotic. Velu is chatty. Velu is annoying. Velu is a ghost. The ghost of a fisherman who was slaughtered five hundred years ago by Kapitan Vasca da Gama.

Velu soon spirits himself into Edwin's life ... he follows him to school, accosts him at home, always appearing at the most unwelcome moments. Edwin tries everything to get rid of him, including rubbing garlic on himself. But Velu can't be shaken off until the day Edwin banishes him from his life ...

In the events that follow, Edwin discovers that Velu has actually helped heal his family in ways he had never imagined possible. But by this time, Velu is gone!

Will Edwin find Velu again and will Velu finally find rest after five hundred years of haunting the seaside town? Read this delightfully written and charmingly illustrated book to find out ...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harper Children's
• Release date: Jul 25, 2022
• ISBN: 9789354896200

Soumya Ayer

Soumya Ayer is captivated by the stories that objects tell, whether they are sculptures, ceramics, shadow puppets or textiles – objects that carry stories of a time, a place, and a people long gone but who still shape our world. She is a published author of a series of books on Indian mythology for children. The Ghost of Malabar is her foray into fiction for children, weaving together her interests in the history of objects and storytelling.

Book preview

The Fisherman

Everything stinks like rotting fish, Edwin screamed inside his head, wanting to punch a hole through the dusty pink sky.

Tireless waves licked his calves as he stood at the shore’s edge, his feet buried in the sand. He pulled out the ugly keepsake from his pocket. After twelve years together, his grandmother had given it to him the day before she died.

‘Edwin, promise to keep this safe,’ ammoomma had said, placing it in his palm and closing his fingers around it. ‘Your grandfather would have wanted you to have it.’

The memento was the colour of tree bark, hard as bone and thin as a biscuit. It had six sides. The lower half was wrapped with fishing twine while a slender rope looped through a pair of holes drilled at the top. Edwin asked his grandmother if the object was as old as her; its exposed surface had lines like that on her weather-beaten skin.

‘It’s much older than me,’ she replied. ‘It was given to your grandfather by his appan who got it from his appan who got it from his appan who got it from his. Honestly, I don’t know how old it is.’

Then should it not go to my appan he had wanted to ask? Instead his lips remained glued. He knew her reason.

He never keeps a promise, Edwin thought, anger seeping through the cracks in his heart. I wish he would keep his promises.

While he stood there drowning in grumpiness, a strange fisherman in a rickety boat bobbed into view only two canoe-lengths away. Edwin brushed away his tears to get a better look. The skeletal fisherman was squatting halfway, his arms crossed at the waist, his head turned away. Apart from a flimsy loincloth, the man wore a turban the colour of a rusty fishing hook.

Has he lost his mundu? Edwin was thinking of the long wrap that fishermen in Kochi wore around their waist.

Despite the boat’s constant rocking the man did not lurch or wobble.

Is he a statue or is he dead? Edwin leaned forward to get a better look, swaying as the grey waves drew his toes deeper into the sand.

At that very moment, the fisherman spun his head. Edwin flinched at the man’s hideous appearance: the fisherman had no nose and a crimson liquid trickled from the corner of his mouth. A frown flickered on the fisherman’s forehead when he spotted Edwin gawking at him. Fixing his eyes on Edwin he slowly straightened his joints, stretched his arms behind his back and turned to face Edwin.

The man’s bony ribs protruded under papery skin the colour of roasted coffee. His legs were skinnier than Edwin’s, who thought his were the skinniest in the world.

He looks as if he hasn’t eaten in centuries, Edwin thought.

As if he was trying to prove something, the fisherman looked away then slowly back at Edwin. He did this once more, but then jerked his head forward all of a sudden, sticking his tongue out at Edwin, revealing teeth the colour of manjadi seeds, his head wobbling from side to side.

Edwin jumped out of his skin with a startled cry. The fisherman too recoiled with a shudder, his mouth

torn open like a gaping wound, his arms springing forward revealing missing hands – giving Edwin such a jolt that his fingers flew open and ammoomma’s keepsake fell into the water with a tiny splash.

The fisherman tracked the memento as the waves tossed it towards his rickety boat. He plunged his arm into the water bringing up only seaweed that draped his arm like slimy streamers. Annoyed, he threw the seaweed into his boat, his eyes still scanning the water. On the second attempt, he brought up a plastic bag. Frustrated, he tossed it aside. He didn’t seem the type to give up easily, thrusting his arm a third time into the water. This time he was successful. He held his arm aloft as water dripped down his arm; the memento hung from his wrist.

The fisherman’s gaze flitted between the memento and Edwin, a sinister smile creeping across his stubbly cheeks. He leaned over his boat, extending his wrist towards Edwin beckoning him with his other arm. Even though Edwin felt unsure about the stranger he braved a few steps towards him, but his journey came to an abrupt halt when a blaring ferry horn startled the fisherman. He shook his wrist at the packed ferry that was chugging across the channel, his angry words blown away by the breeze. The memento dangled from his elbow.

Don’t drop it, don’t drop it, Edwin prayed in his head, biting his lips.

When the horn sounded a second time, soon after the first, the fisherman lost his cool. He sprang up with a snarl and his boat took off without the warning thrum of a motor.

Give it back to me, you freak, Edwin wanted to yell, but his tongue remained glued to his teeth. He realized with a sinking feeling that the heirloom was gone. Like his father, he too had broken his promise to his grandmother.

The fisherman wove his way around fishing vessels, his boat leaving a frothy trail in its wake. How could his boat move with no motor, or oars or sails? The boat disappeared behind the ferry only to reappear moments later, whizzing towards the Chinese fishing nets perched on the water’s edge, not far from where Edwin stood. The gigantic nets, suspended from wooden ribs, descended slowly towards the water. Edwin’s chest tightened as if gripped by an octopus’s tentacles. Was the man going to crash into the nets? At the last second, the boat made an impossible swerve avoiding the nets.

Has he glued himself to the boat? Edwin thought.

Edwin’s heartbeat accelerated as the boat began closing in on him. He could see the fisherman spinning the keepsake on his wrist. The boat streaked past, spraying him with surf, wheeling around seconds later then zooming towards the ferry that had barely covered a short distance in all that time.

Was everyone else blind? Could no one see what was happening? Edwin cowered, waiting for an earth-shattering crunch, but the rickety boat pierced the ferry noiselessly and disappeared through it.

What! What just happened?

Before Edwin could even begin to make sense of what he had seen, the boat flew out from behind the ferry and headed straight for him. Edwin began to panic.

What is he doing? He is going to flatten me into an appam.

Although Edwin loved lacy appams that resembled round handkerchiefs, he did not want to become one. He definitely wouldn’t make a delicious one. His mind began to speed through the things his mother would say to Edwin the appam. How will we unflatten you? We don’t have the money for it, once an appam always an appam.

Edwin tried lifting one leg but the other sank deeper. He felt like lobster prey, his feet trapped by sandy pincers. There was not enough time to escape. There was nothing he could do but squeeze his eyes shut. Even then he couldn’t erase the image of the fisherman’s gruesome grin. His body tensed, bracing for impact. He could hear the boat slicing through the waves. His bones shook as he heard a deafening roar. He screamed as waves splashed over him and something pierced his chest.

‘Aye, kid. Everything okay there?’ a voice called from behind.

Edwin’s eyes flew open. His heart was racing like a speeding motorboat. He threw a look over his shoulder. A man carrying a backpack stood on the shore. Beyond, Edwin could see people walking along the promenade. Vendors called to passersby tempting them with peanuts, coconut water, juice, ice cream and freshly prepared seafood. Everything continued as normal.

‘Have you been bitten by a snake? Lots of snakes on this beach.’

Edwin swivelled his head scanning the channel and the beach. The boat and the fisherman had vanished into thin air. He glanced down at himself, startled to find the keepsake around his neck.

‘Where did he go?’ stammered Edwin, staggering out of the water, clutching the pendant. His clothes clung to his skin and his feet were caked with sand.

‘Who?’ the man frowned.

‘The fisherman in the boat.’

‘Which one? There are so many out there.’ The man swept his arm to include the fishing vessels that zipped through the channel.

‘The boat that went through me,’ said Edwin poking his chest.

‘Huh? Crazy kid,’ said the man with a dismissive wave and went on his way.

I’m not crazy. The boat was right here.

He shoved the memento into his pocket, scanning the beach warily. Was he going mad? Had it all been a dream? The darkening sky seemed to close in on him. He didn’t want to be there anymore. Dashing across the sand on his toothpick limbs he came to the square that bordered the beach. Hawkers called out from stalls with shelves stacked with baskets of shrimps, prawns, mullets, crabs, eel and a variety of fish. Customers haggled over prices as tourists snapped pictures.

Edwin’s head was spinning like the merry-go-round in the square. He stiffened as the rotating ride revealed its only rider. It was the fisherman, bobbing on a grinning horse with a blue saddle. He waved to Edwin then jumped off the horse and landed smoothly on the ground. Edwin’s heart thumped against his chest. He stumbled backwards, scrambling to get away.

He pushed past people thronging the row of stalls.

The large cantilever nets were raised, as the tide was moving out swiftly. The sun was swallowed by the horizon. Edwin threw several glances over his shoulder. The fisherman didn’t have to avoid people; he could walk right through them.

This is crazy. This can’t be happening. The alarm bells in Edwin’s head were clanging. Had he suffered brain damage? Was he hallucinating? Was a ghost chasing him?

The fisherman was closing in, when he stopped suddenly to watch a man counting coins in front of a vendor’s cart. This was Edwin’s moment to get away. He took off, speeding past the bus stand, the ferry terminal and the restaurants before entering a quiet road. Gasping for breath, he slowed down to a walk, sure that his lungs were about to explode.

The evening air was sticky and smelled of fish and diesel. He looked over his shoulder. His shadow flowed like a long oil stain behind him. A rat squeaked in the shadows. Waves crashed on the seawall. Somewhere, a cyclist rang his bell.

He’d arrived at the rusty gates of an abandoned warehouse. Edwin was sure the place was haunted. He’d always felt someone was watching from those darkened windowpanes whenever he walked past this building at night. But, this evening, it looked especially menacing.

He quickened his pace, walking alongside the whitewashed boundary wall