Serene

Date: 13th October 2016

7:04 AM

To an obvious point, I know and so do the readers that uncertainties are inevitable; suffering, although, is a choice, much to our surprise. Grievance, misery, emptiness, and attachments are the demons that reside in us unsolicitedly, despite our pointless, gruelling struggles. The more we try to flee, the more we are enticed around its thread. And then, comes the treaty of peace between us and the demons. We become fond of the monsters; we begin sheltering them, nurturing them and with the growing infatuation, we cling to them like a foetus to its mother.

Fact: Through a span of 2005 to 2015, Indian farmers had suffered a devastating crisis in the agricultural aspect due to various reasons such as droughts, macroeconomic policies of Indian Government, etc. Statistics claim that the farmer suicide rate in India has ranged between 1.4 and 1.8 per 100,000 total population, over a 10-year period through 2005.

Today, I present to the readers Serene probed with all of the above.

Rice harvest

 

She clenched her teeth and gaped in horror at the wilted corpse lying before her.The creased white tunic she wore crumpled in her grasp.The familiar man lay like a pillar, stiff and delinquent.

“Indira, are you OK?” Asked a neighbour wiping the smeared kohl in her eyes.
Everyone in the crowd had expected Indira to be hysterical. Yet, she stood poised and apathetic; the mourning from behind didn’t bewilder her.She looked serene as she gawked.

The schoolbag she had been wearing past 7 years was the assassin, she thought. The books that she insisted her brother to purchase were the reason for his demise; she was.Her heart broke into fragments. A promise was broken; veins were burnt.

Indira was dauntless that her eyes were lying. Her ideal man lay motionless. The neighbours stared blankly at the man pitying his circumstances.The blood ceased oozing out of his wrist, finally, after flooding the mud floor. The phobia of blood didn’t terrify her nor did her brother, the one man she loved, the one man she relied upon. Indira’s father was an alcoholic; a former farmer belonging from Vidharbha, a rural village in Maharashtra. Drought murdered plenty of crops as well as their peasants. Yet, Indira’s father was an exception. He was metamorphosed into an alcoholic, who would beat his wife up after toxication.He died; he had to. The youngest daughter of the family cried for him sans sympathy. She knew that her father was dead since drought set in.A span of five years was smothering him and many peasants like him. Indira was glad that he was relieved of pain. She did weep like a child; an indifferent child, who had to pretend frail. The mother was a former homemaker and later a part-time escort.

Indrajeet was, however, different. He loved his sister unconditionally. Despite the woman of the family pursuing her daughter to affiliate to her profession, he fought against the odds. That was the last they saw of their mother.

Indira, finally, managed to go to school. Indrajeet adored the way Indira chuckled. Every time she read a poem, he would tickle her and watch her turn into a red chortling tomato. The little food that they earned brought along the glee of togetherness. The two boundless lovers of the trifling mirths were content. They were happy. The farm their father left behind seemed more than enough. Soon, drought set in followed by famine. The crops parched, the land grew arid, taxes hiked and the persevering farmers’ were desiccated. Indrajeet could barely manage to feed the impeccable soul who relied on him. Debts and scorching heat lead him to acknowledge that he was no longer capable of affording education. All he could do was wait for Indira to leave for her last day of school. He knew his death would fetch a few green notes.

The piece of glass her brother held in his lifeless hand glazed as the blistering sunrays traced him gently. Indira stood still, contemplating. Her little mind couldn’t reckon the pain. She knew she had to be tough. Yet, she took an oath to never touch the hideous books. Bhai is sleeping, she convinced herself as she anticipated for him to wake up.

girl-crying-112

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