Like all of us, who dream of having something that would cease our endless quest, only to eventually find ourselves looking for more, there once was a fisherman who went about trying to catch fishes every other day of his life.
This was a profession he inherited from his father, who had had a special knack for catching the best fishes from the river that snaked lazily across the village. But unlike his father, he wasn’t too skilled. He could only manage to catch as many fishes as to keep his family- a wife and a kid, alive. There would be days, occasionally, when he’d get a bit luckier, and would sell the excess fish. He also did some farm work to earn money, and that was what his life had always been about. Fishing was an unsaid profession in the village for most of its population. He was a happy man; for where there are no expectations, there can be but any disappointment. There just wasn’t anything more, or less to his life.
Every morning, he’d set out to the banks of the river, with a basket and a fishing rod he’d made himself from the branch of a tree, on a path amid the dense vegetation, singing to himself. He would usually meet someone else from the village to give him company, sometimes only to cross the forest, and sometimes for the whole day. A lot of men and women could be found at the banks of the wide river, their fishing rods bent onto the river. There he spent most part of the day, talking to people, exchanging news and other goods, while the bait popped in and out of the waters. Towards the evening, he’d return home with the basket just sufficiently full, and they’d pray, eat and go to bed.
Some days were different, others weren’t. When farm work was to be done, he’d wind up quickly at the river. It was never wise to go fishing later in the day. He sometimes took his son along with him to the river, so that he could also learn. And he could also use the kid’s company at times when there were no villagers nearby. This was a regular life of an ordinary man, and he could see no reason it should change, or be any different.
One fine day, he returned from the river with a distant look on his face.
“How many did you catch today?” his wife asked the moment he entered.
“Not much, see for yourself” he said, just as his son came running and hugged him around his waist.
“Daddy! I made a picture today, you want to see it?” he asked happily.
“That’s great, but not now son… Dad’s a bit tired now. I’m going to have some sleep now” he replied. Ignoring the deflated look on his son’s face, he went straight to bed. His wife came right after him.
“What’s the matter? You don’t look fine to me… what happened?”
He looked at her. He thought for a moment if he should tell her or not… would she believe it? He finally he decided to try his luck.
“I was fishing as usual today, by the river bank, at that turn away from the forest, you know…” he began.
“And?”
“And I saw a golden fish”, he finished quickly.
As he had expected, his wife looked at him disbelievingly. There was also a look of mild concern on her face, even as his heart was leaping with excitement.
“You… you know… it’s not possible, dear…”, she said.
“I did not imagine it! I swear I saw it!”
“But you know what it means… don’t you…?” his wife asked uncertainly.
True, he knew what that meant, and that was the thing that had been bothering him. It was believed that the river had one golden fish, and having it caught once in his bait was every fisherman’s dream. It had not been spotted for over two decades. Last time, his father was the one who had seen it, but he had not bothered to catch it. He was too young then to understand anything about dreams or to ask his father why he did not go after it. He thought it was simply because it was too hard to catch.
“You are not going after it, are you?” his wife asked tentatively.
“Why not?”, he asked sharply.
“Because it is merely a waste of time! You know it is too hard to catch the Golden Fish. You go about trying to catch it, and we could all starve to death here!”
He knew, as his wife stared at him angrily, that she was right. It would cost him a lot of effort to catch it, and in doing so, he will have to compromise on the daily catch he made. So he pushed the idea to the back of his mind… but not entirely out of it.
In the following few days, the story of the sighting of the Golden Fish spread very quickly. Everywhere he went, he was getting more attention than he was used to. Unknown people waved at him from their doorsteps as he passed the houses on his way to the local tea shop, which had, over the years, become a kind of center of the village. Men from different working sectors would assemble here on the evenings for a glass of tea, and a lot of local gossip. It was, in effect, a regular gathering place for the village folks to exchange news from different parts of the village.
He reached the crowded shop one evening to find everyone talking about him and the Golden Fish. He was greeted happily by the people as he entered. Everyone wanted to know how and where he had spotted the Golden Fish, and after recollecting the sighting innumerous times, over many glasses of tea, he found himself tired and sleepy. And it seemed that the other people also had had enough of the story, and now were turning to its consequences.
“Of course he is going to try to catch it!”, said an old man loudly.
The existing sounds of the people died away, and a new and more energetic chatter started taking shape. Now everyone was voicing their opinion about what they thought he ought to do afterwards.
“No no… it’s a waste of time”, said the lazy voice of a tall man who’d been sitting there all along.
There was a loud murmur of assent.
“I agree. One can only spend as much time going after ludicrous dreams. You’d only end up wasting your time.”
“And what all will you achieve if you even manage to catch it, eh? A few moments of fleeting exult?”
“Yes, correctly said. I’d say it is a fool’s choice. But if you feel you must go after it, then be poised to face its consequences.”
But then another challenging voice rang clearly in the shop.
“Excuse me, what kind of consequences are you talking about?”
“He’ll have to compromise on his regular lifestyle, for one. We all know what kind of effort it is going to cost him.”
“But do you not know what we are talking about? It is the Golden Fish! How many of us have seen it?”
It seemed that it could possibly have no end, as more and more loud people joined in, voicing their opinion.
“How could he ever think of missing a chance as this?”
“This is an opportunity one would die for!”
“The Golden Fish is every fisherman’s dream!”
He returned home late that night with his mind heavily laden with all these thoughts. He wondered if he could ever make up a decision regarding this. Half the people in the tea-shop seemed to think it was a foolish choice for him to go after the Golden Fish, while the other half considered the first half foolish and envious. He went to sleep thinking this all over again. As he slowly drifted into sleep, he wondered whether it was his imagination, or really the first half of people seemed to be actually less than half…
The following few days seemed to pass away in a blur. People talked about him, wondering aloud what he was going to do next. He went to the river banks, trying to catch fishes as usual, but his mind seemed to have stuck on the Golden Fish. He tried to look for it in the river, in the same places again, but in vain. He told himself, half-heartedly, that he’d definitely go after it, only if he sighted it again. But deep down, he knew he was only fooling himself.
As he now spent more time on keeping an eye open for a chance to sight the Golden Fish again, he brought less fish home each day. His wife told him angrily that this was the consequence people were talking about. Even though he knew it was true, he refused to admit that he was obsessed with this idea, or even overly so.
His son was very curious to know about this whole affair. But he thought it better to just let him know about a special fish that he wanted to catch, and leave it at that.
“Then catch it dad!” his son said excitedly. “I want to see how it looks like.”
“I wish it were that simple, son,” he thought silently.
A week had passed and now he had made his mind up. He was going to catch the fish. He told his wife and son confidently, as he sat and unnecessarily repaired his fishing kit, that they were soon going to see the Golden Fish in his hands. He hadn’t told this to anyone else, but somehow, it seemed inessential since the whole village was talking about it.
He walked the long way towards the river alone this time. He’d had enough of people trailing him, so he had taken an obscure path that would take a longer time, but was bound to give him peace… and some more time to think. He didn’t have a proper plan regarding what he was going to do, but as he walked on, he realized that it will probably work out eventually.
Was it his imagination or actually a lot more than usual number of people seemed to be present there? And what were they expecting? That he’d somehow cast the bait in a different fashion and then pull it out a few moments later with the Golden Fish clinging spectacularly at its end? Of course not, he thought… that wasn’t how one caught the Golden Fish. But then again, no one really knew how it was caught.
He sat on a rock by the edge of the river and took the fresh bait out from the small bag he carried. Praying inwardly, he threw it into the river and sat there. He caught many fishes that day, although none of them was golden. He steadily kept an eye on the river water for the slightest hint of a golden shimmer. Hours and hours passed uneventfully, and people kept throwing glances in his direction.
Disappointment and unwariness were starting to crawl upon him. He half thought he’d just come back next day to try again. But how could he just leave, with everyone around so expectant!
It isn’t for me, he said to his reflection in the river water.
How can you be so sure? said his reflection, and winked.
In that small instant of a wink, he saw, for the second time in his life, the faint shape of the Golden Fish, swimming many feet deep, almost effortlessly against the flow of the river. His heart leapt as he looked around- but nobody else had noticed anything at all. He threw a fresh bait in the water, trying to pretend he was acting just normal. But the Golden Fish was drifting away slowly; apparently the bait didn’t interest it. But no, he couldn’t let it go like that! He pulled the bait out and threw it again, but to no avail. It just wouldn’t take the bait.
He looked around frantically. People were starting to notice his weird actions as he pointed mutely to the river depths.
They understand now!
It was perhaps recklessness and stupidity beyond measure, for no one has ever managed to catch fish by jumping himself into the water; but he didn’t bother to think. He took a breath, and with all the people looking expectantly, he dived into the water, his hands outstretched in the direction of the Golden Fish.
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He was known as the Fisherman’s son. Even though all that the vast majority of the population in the village did was fishing; he was known so, because it was easier than saying “son of the fisherman who could never catch the golden fish”. He walked silently towards the river, along the path he had walked with his father once, thinking how life had changed in the last week. It had been over a week, but his father had not returned.
He found a nice spot to sit, and threw the bait into the river.
He didn’t know how long he sat there. He thought he could fall asleep there; it seemed to be quite an unlucky day- he hadn’t managed to catch a single fish. And just when he thought about leaving, something caught his bait, something heavy. Hardly daring to believe his luck, he pulled at the string. When he saw what was struck at the bait, he almost slipped his footing. Aghast, and with a terrible sense of nausea, he heaved up a decaying body of a man.
It had a golden fish in one of its hands.
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