Murmur of the Lonely Brook Read Online Free PDF Page A

said that it was Samsher who founded their village hundreds of years ago, and he was rich and powerful. Six families (one low caste among them) accompanied him and settled here. His fame reached far and wide and it was said that he and his brother together killed the notorious ruler of Kalpa in a fair fight. While he settled here, his brother moved beyond the hills and was currently the Devta of fifteen villages. Both of them came from the high hills, which were now held sacred. A handful of youth selected by the Devta himself were allowed to visit once every year and bring down brahma kamal and other rare flowers on special occasions. There were very few snakes in the valley but still the Serpent God was held with reverence. No one could cook any fish, chicken, or eggs on the land marked for him.
    The pathway ended in a grass meadow and a new vista opened in front of them. The buckwheat had blossomed and a pink carpet stretched to the base of the hills with its flowers gently swaying with the wind. A few yellow patches of mustard grass lay in between; butterflies danced, birds flew in search of food and sunlight broke through the clouds every now and then. The peaks stood still in the background, their spiritual silence broken only by the springs. Diwakar watched Nisha walk gracefully through the field. She undid the shawl and set it below a tree and sat down. Diwakar sat cross-legged next to her and soon Parvati joined them. Nisha passed on tea to her and smiled.
    “Aama, why do you look so worried?”
    “Aama is always worried,” said Diwakar.
    “Why shouldn’t I be? The rains have damaged half the crops. This year we will have only two or three sacks and that’s not enough to feed six people.”
    “Don’t worry, Aama, everything will be all right,” Nisha said.
    Parvati got up, looked at the fields, and said, “Let’s get started. The rains could come at any moment.”
    Everyone started for the field while the kid and the lamb played around the tree munching grass and anything green. The buckwheat stood erect on its maroon stems. They started out green but after the flowering, they slowly turn into a pleasant pink while the wild variety remained green with just a tinge of yellow.
    Nisha and Parvati started in one direction while Diwakar went farther down. The buckwheat was cut from the base and set down in bunches for drying. Once dried, the bunches were beaten on large sheets to separate the seeds. The stems would be dried further to serve as cattle food during winter. By noon, half the field was done. While Nisha and Parvati managed a quarter of the field, Diwakar was halfway through and met them with a proud smile. Everyone needed a break to stretch as constant bending caused muscle strains. While Nisha passed on the pancakes, placing a pickle on them, Diwakar played songs on his phone. The kid and the lamb came and started tugging at Parvati. She gave both a piece of pancake; the kid gobbled it up but the lamb was not interested.
    Ria was on her way to school when she noticed her father sipping tea at the local shop. There was only one shop in the village that sold daily necessities. It also doubled as a hotel and served tea and maggi noodles. Most of the goods were second quality or contraband. The villagers never complained, as the next shop was fourteen kilometers away in Sangla. Bharat Singh ran the shop; he came from the plains and married a local girl, Dayawanti. But after three years of marriage, when she failed to give him a child, he went back home and got married again. His second wife gave birth to a girl and then two more in the consecutive years. Bharat stayed in the village and ran the shop, sending most of the profits to his second wife. Only in winter did he spend time with his daughters. Dayawanti accepted her fate and did her best to serve her husband. Apart from cooking, she took care of the shop, keeping everyone occupied with her constant chatter. It was as if she served as the radio