Many miles down the
road, a bullock cart used to wait for me. I would elope away from my home
everyday evading the sights of my parents. I don’t know who it was sitting on
the other end of the cart. He would take me through the middle of green
pastures where I would discover a world closer to my heart.
Women with hunched knees
would pluck the crops – they would sit for hours under the sun enduring the
heat embracing the inclement weather. Men would distribute fertilizers on the
field – a religious practice for them which would never cover their mind with
the veil of boredom; perhaps this helped them to feed themselves and their
families. Children would splash water and play with the mud, making idols,
statues, homes and dams – their innocence so fragile that it was meant to be
vulnerable at their own hands.
My eyes would then shift
to the greens that would line the horizons of our village. The sun would play peek-a-boo
with me percolating through the coconut trees as I would watch them unperturbed
from the cart. They have stood there from time immemorial as a witness to the
numerous carts that pass each day carrying a nature lover like me.
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