Raag Malhar – A Farmer’s Plight

Recently I was bounded by formality more than anything else, to pay a visit to my in laws (not that I am henpecked by them) who reside in the quaint little town of Bhusawal in Maharashtra and keeping in mind that the summer season is at it’s peak, I made all possible efforts to keep my visit as distinctly short as possible but it turned out to be an unexpected, hapless but enlightened expedition. I boarded the train around 11PM in the night and soon fell asleep after getting a sense of my surroundings which was the same sleepy self. I was shaken up at 8AM in the morning with all the noise of the hawkers and Gujrati accents bellowing from the bottom. Soon I peeped down eagerly to find what all the fuss is about? All I could see was packets of  Khakras (Gujrati snack) spread all over the seats, with a flock of unknown people munching away at them producing a distinct and unbearable noise over a cup of tea, the sipping noise of which further unharmonized the already disturbing atmosphere. “This is noise pollution” I revolted from within “there should be a law on eating decibel limits as well” I thought. 

Reluctantly I came down and managed to procure a seat in between all the breakfast hoopla. I tried to divert my attention from the entire disturbance by gazing outside the window as the train was cutting across fields and farms of the country side. For the next one hour I kept on gazing the country side, farmers toiling in the fields with their bullocks, cows grazing, kids and grown up men dumping their daily morning waste in the wide open spaces, no man’s land I suppose. Finally my destination arrived and I was more than obliged to get off and part ways from the noisy atmosphere, but little did I sense what unprecedented events were in store for my encounter with an invisible supernatural element. The moment I stepped out from the air conditioning comfort of my train compartment at 9AM in the morning I was engulfed by a heat wave which had the aura of charring me from head to toe. As I was reeling to come to terms with the heat wave shock, instantly a sudden realization of an unavoidable magnitude struck me with a force, effective enough to paralyze and deport me straight to the ICU ward of a hospital. The rays of the SUN, diverging from it’s volcanic source like lasers laden with RDX. As I was stepping out of the railway shed into the well exposed sun rays, I told myself meekly surrendering to nature’s fury “I am done, trapped now for good. Oh God!!! Where am I? Is this what hell actually looks like? I wish I had a boon to skip from one place to another or order the sun, it’s enough for the day please switch off your rays and go back to the place where you set.”

The searing heat and unimaginable barren and desolate look of things in my vicinity made me sweat profusely. I started hallucinating myself dumped on a large pot filled with water, the demon from hell stirring it with all his might and garnishing it with all sorts of spices and vegetables, anxiously looking at me to get the first possible taste of the delicacy beckoning him. I tried to console myself by remembering the known fact “All right, these parts of the state are bound to be hot, but why for God’s sake did I come here knowing this undesirable fact? Fairly enough, I heard my wife’s nagging voice (not sure if I will be allowed an entry in the house if my wife reads this) echoing from within, constantly urging me to come and meet my dear in-laws as I had not seen them for a while. My next thought was a weird one to say the least, I made a valiant effort to humm the raag malhar (absolutely unaware of it’s tune or rhyme though) pledging the heavens to open up, lashing down the unexpected spate of torrential rains drenching me from top to bottom, but it was off no avail (worth a try if nothing else works). I shook off the dreaded feelings and the fantasies conquering me from all around and finally decided to proceed forward, come what may. On my way, pondering over the intense heat building up as the day was unfolding, the image of the farmer ploughing his field which I had noticed from the comfort of my train compartment flashed in my inner self, which gave me the inspiration to inscribe this blog.

Agriculture and farming has been the backbone of our country ever since people started inhabiting this beautiful land.The recent plight of the farmers has been a matter of intense speculation and concern as the ever growing incidents of farmer suicides have been brought to notice of the government and the people at large. The government has vehemently denied the allegations of non-cooperation with the farmers which is believed to be the reason behind such unprecedented deaths, but the forecast of freezing of such incidents in the near future still seems to be in the gloom. In the next few moments I will try and unfold the fact as to why this epidemic is spreading and what are the circumstances which force them to commit such a ghastly act? It’s time for some introspection…

In lonely country side miles away from any urban area, in a straw thatched mud cottage a small, frail, dark complexioned and shabbily dressed farmer lives with his wife and two children. The younger one is his son aged 18 and the elder one is the daughter aged 25, who is due to get married. A bullock which for the farmer is the most precious possession, is chewing away nonchalantly at the hay, stacked in front of him, tied with a rope, much to his disliking, outside the house with the merciless sun beating down. More out of love and care than anything else, the animal who is the sole breadwinner and an integral part of his income, is treated like his third child and the farmer always keeps him well fed, even if his family is starved off one meal a day. His son has been denied education, (the daughter’s education is not a cause of concern as it is never taken seriously) one which he can ill afford. Poverty and hunger is written all over his grief stricken and wrinkled face. His wife and children have to manage with a few ragged clothes; he has no money left, to buy even the simplest of dresses for his family. His wife, who is very dear to him, does all the work at home and also helps him in the field. She gathers all the cow dung, flattens and dries them in the sun and uses the dried cow dung pancakes as fuel which quenches the famine in the family, i.e. if they manage to gather some raw materials for cooking. In the hindsight the thought of his daughter getting older is much of a burden and headache, for him to bear, amidst all the problems he faces every day. Finally out of pressure and haunted thoughts of his daughter not getting a suitable bridegroom, he decides to marry off his daughter by taking an impregnable loan from a village tout, assuring the tout of his only land as a security.

With great enthusiasm and much fan fare he marries off his daughter, a burden which he is more than happy to get rid of. Relatives and all his well wishers attend the marriage to congratulate him in this joyous moment, but no one manages to feel the pain and sorrows of this poor man, which lies beneath the superficial smiling face. He is numbed by the fact that he has to see off one of his family member’s, more out of compulsion and a nagging society rather than an opposing belief from his inner conscience. After getting over the pain of parting from his daughter, he trudged out of his shanty shed in order to resume preparations for the upcoming sowing season. On stepping out, looking at the vast open spaces with sparse vegetation lying barren in front of him, he is harshly reminded of the previous season which did not yield adequate crops as a result of scanty rainfall. Recollecting the painful debt he owes to the village tout, he has to start this sowing season in the hope of yielding good crops but lack of sufficient funds, again puts him in a fix. Seldom does he possess ornaments or precious jewels which he can trade off and purchase the necessary seeds or agricultural equipments. Above all the burden of feeding his family is wearing down on him (the daughter’s marriage loan to add to his never ending problems) eventually forces him to seek the government’s help. The next day he reaches the government’s agricultural help center and applies for a loan which is repayable in a way, if the season yields excellent crops. In the hope of a good season he takes this big decision and soon his loan gets approved which enables him to buy good seeds at the start of the sowing season. He and his bullock set out every day to plough the field, with his wife and son accompanying him to give him the required support. The scorching heat and intense pain of the work load takes it’s toll on his body day in and day out, with his bullock huffing and puffing, panting continuously in order to come to terms with the work, heat and the whips lashed intermittently by his master. As time goes by, he buys the necessary good quality seeds and sows them in his land which he has been nurturing all summer. All he can do now is wait for the rains to arrive, and be in the trance of it, lashing down with full force which will give his seeds the right environment to emerge and grow into the final product he so desperately needs. As the rainy season dawns in, the farmer looks at his fields and then the clouds above, in anticipation of the much expected rains, but all he observes to his dismay, is the sun playing hide and seek with the grim clouds, which all, but looks threatening to shower.

The rainy season came and went by; all but flattered to deceive, it further deepened the sorrows of the raggedly dressed man. He is now out of money and food stock to feed his family and cattle. The thought of “How his debt is going to repaid?” haunts him in his dreams. One gloomy day the water laden clouds ominously gathered overhead in an effort to salvage some lost pride, and overnight it rained like hell compensating for it’s deficiency in the rainy season. The whole area was submerged by torrential rains and gale, his mud house damaged to a an irreparable extent, water dripping from every nook and corner from the roof of his house, the whole night he could not dare to close his eyes as he kept worriedly thinking what the next day had in store for him? Gazing at the feeble lamp burning with great efforts in one corner of his house, eventually it dozed off unable to sustain the constant gale and dripping water droplets from the roof. The next day he came out hoping for some miracle from the almighty but all that he and his family could see was the devastating affect that Mother Nature had bestowed on them. Their field flooded with water, leading them to believe that all their hard work had gone in vain, out of remorse they resigned to the fact that all their crops have been ruined and there was nothing left to be salvaged. He sobbed from within; tears rolling down his cheeks, like a child left unattended by his mother, soaking in the reality about the untimely calamity and the huge debt from all sides starring at him with disdain. He thumped his head with his hand, unable to bear the sight of the great loss which beckoned him, as he unconsciously sat down with a thud on the ground, with his wife and son trying to console him; unaware of the next grief, knocking round the corner which was about to engulf him, he started sucking in air and gathering all the determination and courage he had left in him trying to come to terms with the horrific situation. Just then, momentarily the thought of his beloved child crossed his mind, he immediately sprang up to his feet, looked around in panic stricken mode trying to search his only meaningful possession that was possibly left. He screamed on top of his voice, with all his might, running frantically from pole to post in a desire to coax his child to return back home, but it proved to be futile; the child was deserted forcefully by Mother Nature. His possession lost, his determination betrayed and shaken, the place where his child used to rest calmly outside, now lying empty, in it’s place hollow straws circling around in a frenzy in the soft breeze symbolic of the hollowness his life had plunged into. In just a few moments his life was in topsy-turvy, jinxed to the extreme as he had lost his priceless shadow of his self which used to accompany him to the field every day. He was inconsolable and grief stricken to the point of no return. Weird thoughts crossed his mind, surrendering himself to the painful situation; in a fit of rage and fury, without any hesitation whatsoever, he made up his mind and heart reluctantly, for the inevitable and gruesome act.

After all he we went through the day, his hopes shattered and the debts haunting him in his mind, like a cheetah in pursue of it’s prey, preparing himself astutely to take the last big leap of drawing an end to the sadness and grievances his life was surrounded with. Consciously resigning to the sorrows and unrelenting pains he made up his mind without heeding his heart’s voice that it was time to bid the last goodbye to his wife and only son he had. The following night he made it a point to forget about his pains and sorrows momentarily, one last time, chatting with his wife and son, joking with them animatedly as he had never done before, as they were enjoying a quiet meal together, his family unaware of the unrecoverable loss that would follow day after. After the meal he made sure that his wife and son fell well asleep, on getting an assurance that his family had slipped into sub-consciousness, an hour after midnight, he decided to execute the suicide plan by drinking poison, the moment, for which he had patiently planned all day. Closing his eyes one last time with tears pouring out of them continuously, his entire life started flashing back, flooding his mind with the innumerable thoughts, remembering his mother and cursing the sorrows inflicted on him by GOD, in the final moments of his life, in between all this he picked up the bottle of poison and brought it closer to his lips. Just when he was about to gulp the bitter liquid down his throat, he was jolted out of his thoughts and horrendous action by a large thud on the door, as if someone was trying to break in forcefully. The noise was loud enough to wake up his family. Not knowing what awaited him on the other side of the door; he curiously walked towards it, cleaning his eyes in the process so that no one notices his tears and quietly disguising the coward act he was about to perform. On opening the door with bated breath, he was awestruck to see what a miracle GOD had in store for him. His child and shadow, the bullock, had returned!!! He could not believe his eyes at the unbelievable sight, the thought of which never crossed his mind, his happiness had no bounds as he cajoled and kissed his child all over by laying his arms round his neck. He fed him gleefully, sitting beside him trying to sink into whatever little happiness he had witnessed after a long period of time. He had found a new vigour and enthusiasm to lead his life, GOD at last had done a favour by returning his child to him. He was ecstatic; his life now had a new endeavour.

With this happiness and rebirth, in a unique way, he decided to abort his suicide plans. Therefore the next day with all excitement and vigour he went to his field with his bullock, thinking to clear all the mess and work much harder so that he can feed his family and repay all the outstanding debts. Approaching his field from a distance he was not able to mark the area where his field actually was. On looking closely, narrowing his eyes in an effort to mark his land, a sense of intense excitement energized him which made him run with all his stamina, there-by releasing the rope of his bullock from his hand, who looking at his master also started charging with the same enthusiasm and hope. He had finally identified his field, he was transfixed by it, stopping near it’s boundary unable to make sense or draw any conclusion on viewing the unrealistic yet fascinating sight it posed. He had no words to express his feelings; he froze, rendering himself motionless, as if it were an enchanting dream. His child, the bullock was shaking it’s head frantically, trying to convey the same emotions to his master in acknowledgement. What lay in front of him was his crops bearing the fruits of his labour that he had so long expected, he ran across his field taking stock of the situation, his child following him the same way. The farmer danced around in his field feeling the softness of his labour like a small child gifted with a toy car. The soft breeze gently caressing the leaves of the plants, infusing much needed life in it’s branches, making them sway from one direction to the other. Finally he was exhausted as he fell down on the ground, his eyes looking up to the light blue sky thanking GOD endlessly for the miracle he never expected to witness. Life suddenly and unexpectedly turned for the better, his heart felt light, like a free spirit in a joyous trance of it’s own, devoid of all sorrows and negative thoughts. The burdens released miraculously, the inhibitions dumped to the bottoms of the ocean. At last he the joy and pleasure echoed in his heart, “I am bereft of all my sorrows and pains. I am now free... free... free...! Oh GOD thank-you for giving me this miraculous day, I will be ever indebted to you for the blessings you have showered on me!!!” closing his eyes to savour the moment of glory. He felt like a butterfly wanting to dance and skip from one place to another with all the colours he could possibly imagine. This was the beginning of the end of his sorrows he was long deprived of.

I love happy endings to most of the stories I read or write but not all farmers and their lives have such a rosy story to tell, some end their lives mercilessly leaving their families in a state of despair, who then are unable to recover from the trauma and pain of losing their only breadwinner. It is these homeless families who then face the brunt of exploitation from the wolves and hyenas waiting to pounce on them at every given opportunity by taking undue advantage of their weak links.

I gleefully compiled this story, only in an effort to remind and demonstrate everyone from all walks of life that a miracle is not far away if we have patience and inner virtues. Faith and dedication towards our work will definitely bear the fruits. No matter what the outcome is, never take a coward step which puts the lives of all the people, dependent on you, in jeopardy. Death is inevitable, but fast forwarding it to our liking, is not a solution we should aim for. Educating the society and especially the minors is a pivotal goal, one which will help us to move forward with courage and determination. Thank-you all for showing the required endurance and reading out the entire melodrama which I hope unfolded dramatically. Praying soulfully to GOD for the incessant rains this season on which our farmers thrive on, thereby expecting an enlightened future for the nation’s poor but most deservedly honorable man…. Thank-you again, for taking out your precious time and reading this story. Bye for now.

"The farmer is the only man in our economy who buys everything at retail, sells everything at wholesale, and pays the freight both ways." - John F. Kennedy