Scorpion/Monthly challenge

A Beyond-This-Realm Antidote for a Scorpion Sting

Happenings from a farm in India

“Black” and “Red” were the two kinds of scorpions on our farm in southern India. The Red’s sting could be fatal. But the Black was no lightweight either. Its venom, while unlikely to cause death, could still trigger intense pain.

Eons ago, a farm worker hobbled onto the verandah of our farmhouse on a mid-morning in late October. He was supported by our supervisor, *Yesu.

I was seated on a plastic chair on the verandah, reading a book. I jumped up when I spotted the duo. “What happened?”

“Black scorpion bit him.” Yesu said of the man who was moaning and clutching his thigh. “Please call Raayru (master/boss).”

I went inside the house. My father-in-law, L, was writing down farm accounts at a table in his room. I told him a man had been stung by a scorpion.

L nodded. “Okay.”

He rose and went into the prayer room adjacent to his bedroom. He emerged with a copper kalash (pot-bellied pot)filled with water.

I followed L onto the verandah. This I had to see.

Where is the pain now…

“Where did the scorpion sting you?” L asked the victim who was doubled up now.

The man pointed to a reddened circle of flesh surrounding a puncture wound on his lower thigh.

L cupped the copper pot full of water in his left palm. He murmured a mantra in Sanskrit. Then with his right hand’s index finger he drew a tantric diagram a half-inch above the water.

He moved close to the man. “Where is the pain greatest now?”

The sufferer pointed to an area about three inches over the wound.

“Hold him steady,” L instructed Yesu.

With Yesu supporting the man, L began pouring water from the pot in a steady stream over the afflicted area. His lips moved in a silent chant.

He stopped pouring about ten seconds later. “Where is the pain now?”

“It… moved down.” The man pointed to a spot about an inch below the wound.

More chanting, more pouring. “Where is it?”

More pointing downward. “It’s… there.”

Rinse and repeat. For a little over five minutes. Until finally —

“Where is the pain?”

“It went into the earth. Through my toes.”

Now L put down the copper vessel. Three times he moved his right hand in the air over the man’s leg — from thigh to earth — as if to expel the last of the poison from the wound.

He picked up the copper pot. “You can go now.”

And the man went. He walked off straight-backed and without pain.

Yesu left to supervise the groundnut (peanut) harvest. L returned to his accounts.

I stood on the verandah, mouth hanging open.

Oh me of little faith…

A year after the incident, hubby and I moved to the city. I didn’t give much thought to scorpions after that.

For one thing, there was a total absence of scorpions in the city.

Secondly, despite witnessing the incident on the verandah, I remained skeptical.

My mother-in-law and Yesu claimed that L could alleviate the effects of scorpion venom. L had picked up the skill from his uncle, who had learned it from an elderly farmhand.

To me, it was mumbo-jumbo. On par with hydromancy.

My mother-in-law had a cousin who was much in demand as a water diviner. He used a forked stick to tell people where they should dig wells on their property. I didn’t believe that either.

The way I saw it, the scorpion incident had a perfectly rational explanation. L had harnessed the power of suggestion. That was all.

But logic faltered when I thought of how the sufferer had walked away — so freely and easily. Could suggestion be potent enough to mitigate acute pain? I had no answer.

More things in heaven and earth…

My father-in-law is long gone from this earth. But now, I regret the stubborn skepticism that made me so incurious. I wish I had asked L to teach me his nostrum for scorpion stings. The mantra, the diagram, and how to pour the water.

It wouldn’t have hurt to explore this “water cure” even if it defied easy or at least rational explanation. Plus, if the cure worked, it might have come in handy in Texas, where we do have scorpions.

Since that October day on the verandah, I have had experiences that strayed outside the realm of facts as we know them. All I can think now is: You don’t know what you don’t know.

As the Bard put it:

“There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” In Act 1 Scene 5 of Shakespeare’s play, Hamlet,

Thanks for reading! 🌻🌼

Thank you, Randy Runtsch, for publishing my story and for this amazing prompt: