Harvest

The village overflowed with excitement and expectancy. The whole village seemed dressed up for the harvest. The air was filled up with palpable fervor and jubilation. Colorful flags and posters lined the streets in preparation for the harvest mela(carnival). There would be merry go rounds for the children, the giant wheel for lovers and of course the general market brimming over with bewitching offers to captivate  and entice the masses to spend their harvest money on. Everyone and everything seemed happy.

Gayatri sat silently in her little mud house with a thatched roof, thanking the Gods for the good harvest. Her two children, one a naughty five-year-old boy and the other an active thirteen year old boy, were both lying asleep on the worn woven mat. 

"Bas theen din aur bhagwan, Only three more days , O Gods, after that I can collect the harvest and sell it."
 Ever since her husband had passed away two years ago she had taken over their small land and harvested them, with her own sweat and hard work. She had insisted on sending her older son to school, even though she could have used all the help around. Peoples had clicked their tongues and talked. But she had insisted nevertheless and she intended to do the same for her younger one too.

Golden heads shone brilliantly in the sunlight. She was proud to have been the cause of that. She looked around with contentment. She was happy, she realized.

Two days passed. The village danced and drank to it's good fortune. Almost everyone had harvested their crops by now, Only a few like Gayatri awaited the opportune moment.

Night came, Gayatri put her kids to sleep and followed soon. A contented smile hung over her lips.

The day broke cloudy with sure signs of rain. Panic struck Gayatri's heart as she readied her older son's lunch. But there was still time, she consoled herself. She bundled up her older son, left her younger one in the aanganwaadi(nurseries by the government) and quickly proceeded to harvest her crops. She had completed hardly half of it when rain struck. She ran to get the half she had collected out of the rains.

She looked around with growing dismay. Thoughts slowly started forming through the numbness. She couldn't buy those new books or uniform for her son. Breakfasts would have to be skipped. Many things would have to be forsaken.

Gayatri closed her eyes, tears slowly running down her cheeks and thought," Maybe some other time, there's always the next harvest."

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