He was lying on the floor with his nostrils covered with a cotton bud. Underneath a white cloth his weak, worn out and naked body was hidden. A hand which was peeping out of the white cloth had no flesh just hard bones like a skull, which could be used by science students to understand the human anatomy. His forehead was engraved with lines as if a story was written on it by the ink of the fate. A story which I wanted to hear from him, but now his lips were sealed by the tyranny of the fate. The smoke of a scented agarbatti, lit in front of the idols of God arranged neatly on the wooden rack hanged on the mud wall, was all over the room. A distinct smell of sweat was there ,which was his companion all the time, while he toiled in the fields, while he tied himself in place of his ox and ploughed the field as his ox were taken away by the Zamindar in lieu of the loan he took last to last year.

It was a year back only when he lit the diya in front of the God resting on the wooden rack on the mud wall. He smiled with difficulty and with a little hope prayed to the GOD. “It’s been more than a year we have waited for Rain to water our fields, so that we may harvest the crop, please don’t make us wait any more. Please send rain God to our village, please have mercy on me,  I am a poor farmer who has to feed his four children. I am again taking loan from the Zamindar in your name, I am sure you will shower your blessings on us in the form of rains. I will wait for the your blessings in the form of rains which will quench the thirst of the land.

Since that day he was working hard to see the crop sprout from beneath the land. Since that day everyday he used to wait in his fields for rain.

Time was passing, he was still hopeful, he still trusted God, everyday he used to see the empty faces of his children living with empty stomach, then towards the dried sky.The Zamindar started sending reminders for paying his debts while he was waiting for a drop of rain. He was tired of waiting but this wait seemed to be unending. It’s been more than two years. It has not rained in the village. How will he pay his debt. Last year Zamindar took away his ox, what now, his children. The thought shuddered him

Today in the morning he lit diya and prayed to GOD. He kissed his children on their forehead and asked the eldest one to take care of the family, while he is away. He asked his wife to cook his favourite bajra ki roti with dhaniya ki chutney for lunch.

When his wife reached in the fields with lunch, she found him lying on the ground with head rest as his gamcha. He was staring in the sky as if waiting for the drops of rain to pour down and take away all the hunger, all the sadness from his home. She called him several times to have his lunch, but he never replied.

He found a way to end his endless wait.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.


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