Once bitten, twice stung

The whole idea of a water villa is to be able to jump directly into the ocean, said the better half. Never too partial to treading in water, I was hesitant. Also, the previous evening, I had seen a large crab, well-camouflaged, on the steps leading down into the water.

The mister was all set to jump in when there was a commotion in the waters fronting the next villa. A middle-aged man was shouting in pain, holding his arm. On closer scrutiny, we saw a baby stingray, its tail slashing, gripping the wrist. A friend tried to prise it away by the tail. Foolishly, because the stingray’s tail spines whip up a venomous punch. Not surprisingly, we heard a loud yelp and the enthusiastic helper jumped away holding his own wrist in pain.

There was a lady, umbrella in hand, standing in the water, watching the proceedings agitatedly. Finally, she seemed to give the sanest advice. She shouted something in Chinese and immediately the three of them — the man with the stingray biting on for dear life, the helper who bore the brunt of the tail’s whiplash and the lady, umbrella and all — sloshed out of the water, ran up the beach and all the way to the main hotel lobby.

That misadventure definitely cooled my enthusiasm for the ocean. Better half too was quite shaken. But then, remember what are water villas for? And so, he decided to descend into the ocean for a bit. Nervously watching from our villa’s sea deck, I kept a running commentary going, shouting out to him not to accidentally stamp on maybe a lurking stingray and invite its wrath.

My worries were not unfounded. A companion ray, well-camouflaged was spotted by my husband soon. And had him hurrying back to our water deck.

Later that evening, the hotel staff filled us in on the gory details. The gentleman apparently tried to catch the ray with his hands. Desperate, the creature sank its teeth into his wrist. In this struggle, man and fish were transported by speed boat to the nearest Maldivian island with a hospital. Of course, the helper with collateral damage from the tail was also treated.

That night at dinner I saw the said gentleman, bandage on wrist, gingerly flexing his sore arm. In the spirit of neighbourliness, after all we occupied adjacent water villas, I politely enquired about his arm. He looked puzzled and then let out a loud stream of Chinese. His friends at a nearby table rushed to our side. I gathered he was asking for translation help. Dumb charades was never my forte. English didn’t seem to be theirs. And amid much gesticulation and Chinese speak, we parted ways.

My husband had the last laugh. Discretion, he said, is the better part of valour. Why, Hema, why did you disturb the wounded tiger?