Abhineet Agarwal’s touching narrative tells a captivating tale of love, loss, and longing.
Mamma and I lived on the field. The green and yellow — I remember it starkly. The rays of the sun would always dance amongst the crops, bringing a new form of hope every day.
The field was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen. Bright yellow was always my favourite colour — Mamma said that it was because I was born on a wheat field.
Perpendicularly beside the shelterbelt, the mountain tops hung dangerously on the west side. The base was a mess of boulders and lifeless plants, along which ran the rail track. And then our field would start, spangled with the wheat shining from the sunshine. The wind would rustle the crops like a mother affectionately tousling her son’s hair.
In the Land of Five Rivers, the farm was everything. We prayed for the crop to be good, and sang when it turned out that way. I always loved how everyone would dance on Vaisakhi, overcome with joy at the good crop and dancing with their fingers pointed towards God.