The moon looked down through a mesh of trees. It was a continuous gaze, old as time. The fishermen were on the waters, as swift as birds looking for fish, their small canoes sliding with the waves. It was a time of danger and hunger, the monsoon just over, and the sea not yet recovered from the lashings of the wind.
A novella, beautiful in much of its imagery, which introduces the unfamiliar to the stereotypes associated with a fishing community in Kerala and throws in a the suggestion that the resurrection was due to herbs.