A farmers love for Land

He looked out over the land as it was lit up in the lightning flashes. The five acres were divided up into eight fields of unequal size by dikes.

All of the fields were flooded with the water that rushed over the dykes. At the southern edge stood the peepal tree, its branches flailing about and twisting in the brutal wind. Plough handle in his left hand and the cattle- prod in his right, Bakkireddy stepped into the fields with his bulls, much the way a baby crawls on all fours into his mother’s lap.

He pushed down on the plough handle and prodded the bulls. They lurched forward and the shear of the plough ripped open the earth with a splattering of mud. The rain continued to fall incessantly. The wind I blew harder and harder, constantly shifting direction, whipping the leaves and smaller branches off the trees, blowing them who knows where. Rainwater ran down every part of his body. His turban was soaked and heavy and slipped down on his shoulders; he pulled it off and threw it on the dyke. He was naked save for his loincloth.

The cold wind assailed him mercilessly until his body and teeth rattled under the pelting rain that left his skin numb. He ploughed two of the fields and entered a third. When he hit a new furrow he swayed and fell, but lifted himself again and hobbled along behind his plough.

The pain in his hip and spine felt like a spear tip. Soon it was almost beyond him to lift his foot and take a step forward. He panted heavily the sound rising above the rough hissing of the bulls. Fatigue had all but conquered him. Gradually the pace of the plough slowed. But his grip on the plough handle and driving stick loosened not a bit. Ploughing By the first hours of dawn the rain had stopped. The sky was blue and clear with not a wisp of a cloud to be seen anywhere. It looked so innocent and guileless one wondered how it could be the same sky that had wrecked such havoc the previous night.

The wind was still and so were the leaves of the trees. Trees that had had their heads bent to the ground much of the night now stood erect, wet, and still. The leaves and branches that had been whipped off lay scattered everywhere halfburied in the sand and mud. And with the first light of dawn, Bakkireddy’s wife woke up on her sleeping mattress. She rose and went directly to the cattleshed. She could see the mattress and pillow on the cot. But her husband was nowhere to be seen. She turned and saw that the bulls were not there either. Then she saw that the plough, which had been placed against the wall, was not there nor was the yoke or its ropes or thongs. In a glance, she saw that the cattleprod was missing from its place in the eaves.

Now, she had lived with Bakkireddy for forty years. And it’s true, she knew precious little about the world, filled as it was with intrigues and paradoxes. But him, her husband, she knew like the back of her hand. And so, after taking a good look around the cattleshed, she just stood for a long while immobile, as if turned to stone.

Then, she let out a terrifying scream. The sleeping neighbours woke up with a start at the sound. And those who were awake and already at work dropped their chores and rushed to the cattleshed. But, she had already left the shed and was on her way moving swiftly down the path to the road.

The mud squelched under the soles of her feet and spurted in every direction. Her face was taut, her look grave; she was certain of her destination. Her neighbours caught up with her and trotted along until she stopped at Roadside Land.

By the time the sun had risen, the eight fields were largely under water that lay calm and flat as the wind had dropped. The morning sun was reflected in the mirrorlike water. The image of the peepal tree, too, was perfectly reflected in the still waters. In the middle of the third field, the bulls stood ruminating. The plough had fallen to one side.

Bakkireddy still held the plough handle in his left hand, the cattle—prod in his right. The body lay in the furrow halfsubmerged in water. Without so much as gathering up the hem of her sari his wife stepped into the field. The first touch of her foot sent a ripple out over the calm surface of the water that multiplied and fanned out, wrinkling the whole surface.