Asilin was an expert at preparing delicious sweetmeats, her specialty being the ‘konde kavuns’. Many households in the village sought her assistance during the festive season, alms-givings and get-togethers. Most of the ladies were unable to deliver this particular oil cake properly to the table, as the ‘konde’ was half done and the kavuns not fried to taste.
“Asilin, you know the exact ingredients and the concentration of the batter, how did you learn,” inquired one Loku Nona.
“I used to watch my grandmother prepare them, that is how I learnt the method”, she proudly replied. “You know Loku Nona, my grandmother never allowed me to help her make them, even though I loved to try. I had to sit far behind and watch her, since I was not even allowed to sit by the fire. She often said, little girls should not play with oil, but just watch’, said Asilin smiling.
This time she had twenty-five houses to visit and the income would be sufficient. “That’s good, I could buy my husband a new sarong and a box of marbles for Sirimal, my grandson”. The poor boy was playing with ‘kurumbetti’, she sighed. How could she remember the dates and time, there were so many? So, she maintained a diary keeping track of the visits to the particular house.
Her schedule was six hours, that is three in the morning in one house, and the balance three in the evening in another house. Sitting by the fire for three long hours with the bubbling hot coconut oil to make seventy-five oil cakes was no easy task. She used the traditional method to make them with an ekel and the oil cakes came out crispy and brown.
Maggie Nona’s house
This evening was the final day and it was at Maggie Nona’s house. Her daughter had sent word twice through the village coconut plucker to keep the date. How could she forget, Maggie was her best friend and they were at the village school up to the fifth grade. Whenever her grandmother made oil cakes Asilin would surreptitiously steal a few to share them with Maggie during the interval. How she relished them, and in return would bring her luscious guavas which was her favourite fruit. Their friendship lasted for long years until they both married and then Maggie moved into the next village.
When Asilin walked in, she saw many villagers and relatives busy making preparations. It was now exactly one year since Maggie passed away of a virus fever. She was only forty-five years of age at the time of her demise. I shall not accept any money for this work, after all, she was my good friend, she thought. Dusk was gathering swiftly and she hurried.
‘I thought you had forgotten’ said her daughter. ‘How could I forget the date, it was on my mind from last week, ‘I stopped at the boutique to buy two batteries for my torch’, she said, making a beeline to the kitchen.
As it was late in the evening, making the oil cakes outside was not suitable she thought, and swiftly began her task without delay in the kitchen hearth which had an open window. With no disturbance she was completing it quickly and there were only five more to be done. Darkness had enveloped the whole area. She had to return home soon, the family would be waiting to have dinner.
Outstretched palm
What was that noise? She heard a rustle near the window as if someone was breaking the twigs of the branches of the gigantic mango tree which stood near the kitchen.
She flashed her torch but there was nothing to be seen. Paying no heed she continued her work when a hand appeared through the window pointing at the pot of kavuns, and then an outstretched palm.
The face of the person could not been seen as it was covered with a hood. Batting no eyelid she placed two kavuns on the palm reciting a prayer. She looked through the window after the shadow turned back and noticed that she was shivering, and her palms and face bathed in perspiration.
It was the silhouette of Maggie, yes she could be identified easily because of her raven black long hair usually tied with her favourite yellow ribbon in a plait that reached her knees.
Her hair was the envy of many a lass in the village, and her pride, since none had such long tresses. She was eating the kavuns hurriedly, and in a flash disappeared.
Tough as she was Asilin kept the episode a secret not revealing it to the household lest they get scared. She had heard villagers relating vivid stories of the dead, some were eerie, but Maggie, a lovable person who had done no harm to anyone would not harm another.
Reminiscing
Reminiscing their young days, she recalled one evening when they had both sat on a bench to recite poems, a swarm of black ants carrying wee bits of food were moving in, it was really fun watching them.
“Asilin, please let them be, don’t kill those poor insects, just shoo!!! them, they will run off”, she had said.
Here was someone who didn’t even kill an ant and her visit on the eve of her alms-giving would have been because she had a craving for oil cakes. Asilin recited many prayers in Maggie’s memory.