Murmur of the Lonely Brook by Debashis Dey Page A

with her and not to grant her wishes. Her life centered around him, and he was her universe.
    Parvati folded a big plastic sheet and passed it to Diwakar. She took a big strainer and a few sacks. Nisha packed lunch, tea and biscuits, and soon they left the house.
    Ria was awake but still in bed. These days she looked forward to her school trip. It was the only thing that meant anything to her. The night seemed longer; the class periods seemed longer, as if they would never finish. She sat dreaming all day and looking out the window. The grass, the clouds, and the trees all came with a new meaning and everything seemed beautiful. She anxiously waited for those few minutes after school when Jeet, whose name she got from her friend, would come out and they would exchange that short glance sometimes coupled with a smile. Nowadays she did not look the other way but returned his smile.
    This happened after Fulaich. On the last day of the festival the villagers danced on the road and people came out of their houses with gifts—a packet of biscuits or a chocolate or even a bottle of liquor. Ria was standing near the door when the dancers passed. A group of boys followed them and Jeet was in the team. He smiled at her. A few moments later a small child came running to her and gave her a bar of chocolate.
    “Why are you giving me this?” Ria had asked.
    “It’s not from me. Your friend said to give this to you,” he said, pointing to the group.
    Ria looked and Jeet turned back and waved at her. She blushed and ran inside. She would not eat the chocolate; this was the first gift from her love. She kept it in her small box of bangles. At night, she slept with the chocolate bar under her pillow.
    ***
    The clouds came from across one peak and floated behind another. Sometimes the sun was able to break through. It was the harvest season and the fields were full of all kinds of vegetables. Potato fields with bright white flowers, green peas with fat pods ready to burst, radish, gourds, garlic, cabbage, all different shades of green. The buckwheat stood out among them with its bright pink blossoms. The birds flew from one field to another. The pines stood proudly with young green cones while the oaks and poplars nodded with the occasional winds.
    Parvati took out the plastic and all three laid it in a rough square in one corner. Diwakar brought the dried buckwheat plants in bunches and beat them against the plastic. The wheat separated from the plants. Nisha set them in a pile while Parvati set the rest of the plant, now dark brown in color, in another lot. These would be tied later and kept on the rooftop for further drying. During winter, these served as food for the cattle. Once the pile of wheat was large enough, Diwakar moved a bit and started another.
    Parvati came over with the strainer and waved at Nisha. “Please help me here.”
    Nisha squatted down and, filling the strainer, passed it on to Parvati, who was standing. Parvati shook it to remove the dirt and husks, then set the cleaned wheat in another pile.
    She made a grim face and said, “We will have hardly three sacks this time.”
    “But we have Fapra (wild buckwheat) too, don’t we, Aama?”
    “There won’t be much of that either.”
    This went on until the lot was cleaned up. Then both women put the husks in a sack for the cattle. Diwakar had moved farther down, making piles of wheat in a row. The kid and the lamb showed no interest in the buckwheat but jumped around the greens in all their youthfulness.
    Working in the field was new to Nisha, as in her village her father could afford to hire laborers. But she was enjoying every bit of it. She remembered Pravin telling her how he hated farm work and how desperate he was to run away from the village. She wondered if he would ever come back except for a few days in a year and whether he would ever take her along with him. She left it to the gods to decide.
    ***
    Ria decided to make a card for Jeet. She would draw