Thoughts at Sunset

The paddy field stretches a few kilometers to south-east. Several palm trees stand still in the same direction but not as far as where the field ends; a coconut field lies next to it. I look to my right and I see a baby-faced boy, sitting on the same stone wall as I am–I smile at his already smiling face. The boy is a brother of mine. The son of a younger brother of my father. I only have an elder sister at home, now gone abroad for higher studies. To my left sits several other boys, all from our village, all related to each other, some from a far family root. I am the eldest here. The stream of air passing over the paddy field changes in speed as if to remember us that too is a part of this moment. The vegetation on both sides of the paddy field is a rich one. Covering the bottom part of the skyline to the south-east is a rock called ‘Aadagala’, given the name since its shape similar to the back of an Eel. As we sit facing south-east, a small swivel formation of clouds is visible in the sky to the south. From time to time we hear a peacock’s voice amid the non-distinct chatter of other birds. While someone with enough know-how on birds would tell the difference, I feel indifferent to most bird-chirps. The weather is fair, a sunny August day toward the middle of the month. There is still a little water in a few tracks created by the harvester machine, and if I look close enough into the moist, clayey soil with paddy roots, I see the soil littered with good paddy seeds about 30 per square meter. The machines used here sure beat hands in terms of speed, but fails miserably in terms of efficiency due to wastage. Farmers prefer the machines nonetheless. More time would mean more labor costs and more hassle and more risk of rain before taking harvest to storage, and the machines solve a problem they care about.

The stone wall we sit on makes the side of a foot-path connecting a coconut field with another land on the other side of the paddy field. While my gaze is eagerly scanning the horizon, my mind wants to wander even farther. The dog, his name ‘patty’, loosely meaning ‘the cub’ in English, drops from the stone wall to the paddy field at our feet to drink from a water hole. The fair sky, the landscape, the mild gush of the wind, and now even a faithful dog with us. I try to savor the scene, and immediately regret it when I remember I would badly miss it if I cling very hard. So, I try to observe the flow of time, knowing it would be best, and my mind rests in the moment–ever changing, and yet steady.