Waiting for the rain

Waiting. 'I hope it rains at least today,' thought Velu as he woke. The sun was rising, crimson (deep red) like fire. Not a cloud in the sky. 'It doesn't look encouraging.'

'Rain or no rain, a farmer wakes up early.' Velu worked hard, and his land never failed him: jowar one season, dhal the next, all year round, never thinking of rest or a holiday.

He had done this for nearly six years, ever since he got his own land. Remember that: six years without a break. The whole story turns on it.

This year was different. At the end of summer the rains did not come. Days, weeks and months passed. The fields lay untended; the earth hardened, crusted and cracked. 'The barren land looked forlorn (sad and empty) and the farmers lived entirely on hope.'

The astrologers. Someone said they should ask astrologers what would please the heavens. Velu disagreed: 'The rains came all these years without any such consultations; I can't see how talking to astrologers will bring rain.'

He is not mocking anyone. He looks at the evidence: the rain came before without them.

The weather office. So he went to the weather office in the city: the practical, modern thing to do.

But they could not help either: 'We are at a loss ourselves! So many favourable conditions but still no rain. Very odd!' Even the experts were puzzled.

Under the tree. Velu walked back tired and dejected (sad and disappointed), thirsty, coughing in the dust. He stopped to rest under a large tree whose shade was cool and inviting, and found an old woman already sitting there.