Arotatot

In a village far away, there lived a man named Arotatot.

He had a son who was four years of age; Komila was he called.

He loved his son so much; any food he would eat, he would always save a piece for his son.

One day, Arotatot fell sick and passed away.

The townsfolk immediately sent for his family, who lived far and wide.

Hauling rice grains and alcohol, herding cows, the relatives and townsfolk reached Arotatot’s house; the sharp sound of rang (gong/bell) announcing their arrival.

Cows that were to be killed for the funeral filled the courtyard as far as the eye could see.

The mourners were waiting for others who were supposed to arrive, eating beef and keeping watch over the dead body.

As the sun set and night settled, everyone had fallen asleep.

While everyone was asleep, Aratatot started coming back to life.

More monster than man, his head was mishappened like a kilkok (cotton basket), a foul stench was coming from his mouth, and his nose had grown as big as a gura (earthen pot). His ears looked like small bamboo mats (am’paltak), and his limbs had started to grow like rolls of mats.

These events unfolded without the knowledge of the people present at the funeral; nothing could be done to prevent it.

Not long after, Aratatot rose from the dead. Sitting up, he looked as big as an elephant, the top of his head reaching the roof of the house. His arms were so long; one reached the courtyard while the other touched the verandah.

Aratatot’s beloved son Komila was somehow woken up from his sleep. He got up from beside his sleeping mother and went to look for his father. He found him outside and sat beside him. The child still had not realised that his father had passed away.

Aratatot had seen the meat the townsfolk had prepared for the funeral. Sitting comfortably on his funeral bed, he was using his long arms to grill the beef in a small bonfire that had been set up outside.

“I want some meat, father. I want some meat, too,” the son begged his father.

“I want some meat, father. I want some meat, too,” the monster mocked him.

A woman from the neighbouring house heard the monster mocking the child.

The woman was spinning some yarn on the wheel, which was making a sound, “engengut, engengut.”

“engengut, engengut,” Aratatot mockingly copied the sound of the wheel.

The neighbour soon realised that he had come back to life, into a monster. She also concluded that not a single person was aware of what was happening at the moment.

“Aratatot has risen from the dead!” she cried out in an attempt to wake them up.

“Aratatot has risen from the dead!”, she heard the monster cry out as well.

She tried and tried many times to wake the people up; her voice had become scratchy and hoarse, yet all of them were so drunk on sleep, not a single person woke up.

She decided, before anything bad happened to anyone, she had to wake them up somehow. She took an am’pak (blanket made of tree bark), burned it and ran around the house.

The people finally started waking up.

As soon as they came to their senses, they saw the monster sitting and eating the beef meant for the funeral. They scrambled to their feet and ran out of the house.

But, poor wife of what was once a man! After frantically looking for her son Komila, she found him sitting next to his father. She did not know what to do.

Somehow mustering up enough courage, she snatched the child up in her arms and jumped from the nokdechol (side door). Aratatot immediately tried catching them but was too late.

“Alas! I lost my precious son! I should have just swallowed him while he was with me,” he cried out.

When the townsfolk confirmed that everyone had safely escaped, they burnt the whole house down along with Aratatot.