This one was my first attempt at writing short stories..Fact and fiction intertwined! Sounds big na! I wrote it for children!

The sound of tinkling bell around the cattle’s neck, the mooing of the cows, the hum of the bees and the rustle of the paddy fields…… cranes flew over the gentle river to spot a fish for food, children played in the fields, farmers worked on their lands , the womenfolk sat on the edges of the field with steel jars containing food for the men folk engaged in talking…. This was our village. Grandpa, grandma, uncle, aunt, Unni and Haritha my cousins and I lived in a big house. There were long verandahs for generous playing, lot of trees to hide behind and many friends to pull up some mischief or the other. My parents worked in the town and often visited us. They bought me a lot of things from the town. I never missed them when they left because I loved grandpa and grandma so much as I loved father and mother. Unni, Haritha and I went to the same school which was just a few yards away from our house. We used to pick unripe mangoes, mash them on a stone and relish them with the happiness that a hardworking farmer got when he ate his food after a hard days work.
Grandpa used to tell us a lot of stories and my favourite one was that of Bhola, a farmer who was never liked by anyone. He was rude to children and indifferent to all others. He did not have anyone of his own, not even a cow or a goat. All he would do was work tirelessly on his field but a barren land would give him nothing. Bhola’s story always sadly. “Serves him right for being rude to children!” exclaimed Unni , Haritha and my friends. But I wondered about Bhola. ‘What could be behind the poor farmer’s behaviour?’ I wondered… I was just eight years old then…..
Now it so happened that a farmer his wife and his son came to live in the street next ours. I was happy to get another friend but I noticed that they did not participate in the general entertainments of the village. The wife was a sweet lady with a peaceful look hung all about her. The son seemed to be two to three years older than me. He had a bland, expressionless face and was always busy with his own work. The farmer, needless to say was a responsible head to the family but I could see he was quite strange and unusual. He never talked to anyone in the village. If any of the children played in his fields he would run after them with huge bamboo sticks. Often he looked at the vast blue sky and murmured something to himself. ‘He is just like Bhola’, I thought.
My interest in this farmer’s behaviour keened due a curiosity in my little heart. I wanted a reason to sympathise with Bhola because I always had the feeling of half eaten meal after listening to Bhola’s story from Grandpa. So I planned to approach the farmer and slowly get the cat out of the bag. I knew there would be some reason behind his odd behaviour. The next day, I set out to meet the farmer with two tender coconuts slung over my little shoulders. I found him working in his fields. I sat down to scrutinize his work. He worked tirelessly. Sweat dripped from his ever-frowning brows. At times, when his sickle ran swiftly against the sowings, due to some strange tension in him, he would stop and look at the blue sky and murmur. ’Strange man’, I told myself. In the afternoon he stopped working to have lunch. By then, I had finished drinking my tender coconut. With the one remaining, I went towards him with a feeling of a hundred butterflies in my stomach. ‘If he talked rudely to me I would just go away promising never to approach him again’, I told myself. As I reached close to him, his back turned to me, I said softly, “Uncle, I live in the street next to yours. I was just passing this way when I saw you working. So I thought that this tender coconut would refresh you, here uncle”, said I thrusting it to him as gently as I could. He saw me but never spoke a word. He did not bother my intervention between his lunch and continued eating. I told myself to go away, but could not let my hopes of befriending the farmer down so early. So I told him” I cant carry it home, I’ll keep it here for you, won’t you have it uncle?”. Now, I thought he got annoyed. He looked at me as though he looked at a pesky rodent in his field. I sensed danger, yet I picked up courage and said, “I know you must be very thirsty, come on uncle, have it for me atleast”. At this he kept his lunch box down, stood up with eyes red in anger and with the sound of hundred demons roared.”JUST GET LOST!!” I don’t know what happened exactly, but I could remember a rolling coconut and a splash! His voice had made me fall into a puddle nearby. I took to my heels promising never to even look at him again.
At home, I sat disappointed. Unni and Haritha asked me what was wrong but I could not let myself down by narrating the war at the fields and how I lost by a splash!. They would tell my friends and I would be a subject of ridicule and laughter. So I asked them to mind their business. But the brutes went and told it all the others at home about the unusualness that was about me. Believe me, cousins can be such brats!’ the rascals’ I scolded. But I never disclosed the war and my idea behind it. Of course there were a lot of reasons for me to be upset. Just two days back my grandpa bought us a jackfruit and I had the lions share. And now the fruit was doing its work in my stomach. And that’s exactly what I told everyone. They were convinced and I heaved a sigh of relief! But I was very disappointed at my failure in the very first approach.
However my determination did not dwindle. I decided to talk to the farmers son, the next day. He just said “oh. We have not been bothering about his behaviour since the time we were with him. There is no use in trying to know why he is like this. Do your work child”. I could see that he lost the interest in his father.’Poor boy’, I thought. But again I was disappointed. Can’t this world feed a child’s curiosity, after all everyone say that it’s a big big world and it would give you everything you want.
There was an old granny sitting beside a churn stone near the farmer’s house and noticed me always whenever I tried to get to know about the farmer. She was too skinny and one could not count her wrinkles on her sagged skin. She chewed beetle leaves and her teeth were coloured red, like the red came out when we mix the brick powder and water. Now she saw that I was too keen on the farmer’s affairs and called me to her. I went reluctantly expecting a,” Can’t you just mind your business”! She asked me to sit on her lap and tell her why I was behind them. “Why should you tell this old women?” asked the voice in me. “She seems friendly and I guess she is your only chance,” said another voice. Convinced with the second voice I told her the whole idea behind the approach to the farmer and his family. I thought she would raise her eyebrows and say it to all her friends (obviously a clan of other skinny and ruined forts!) but she just laughed, probably at my curiosity and told, “Well, I’ll tell you why he is like this.” I was overjoyed and felt like leaping into the air, but nevertheless I sat in sustained manner, deciding to do the leaping after the story is over. The leap of triumph over my curiosity. And the story began, “Long time back when the farmer was quite young had a friend named Ramu. Both of them very good friends. They were always together in everything be it work, or just having fun. They teased the young girls in the village and plucked mangoes for little children, helped old people running errands for them and were always the cynosure among the villagers. It was also a dreaded time for the village because for many years together there were no rains. The villagers offered many poojas to the rain god but the rains never came. There was famine and draught all over the village and many people died due to lack of food. They were all worried because of this.
The farmer and his friend Ramu often prayed together at the village temple and went for long walks in the nights around the fields. One night as they were walking through a field they heard a voice. Both of them looked around them to see where the voice came from, but no one was seen. The voice said that it was the rain god and that he was pleased with their friendship. So he would visit their village from the next day onwards. The two friends leapt in joy, hugged each and shed tears of joy because at the village would be saved. “But” said the voice. “ On one condition, one of you must chant my name thrice by standing in the whirlpool in the river nearby which means one of you must sacrifice your life for it” and the voice went out. Sadness overcame them like a heavy downpour after a gentle breeze. Both of them started crying at the very thought of parting each other. But they thought about the village and the number of people who were dying day by day due to lack of rains. They decided that one of them would sacrifice his life. But neither of them would let go off the other. After a lot of yes’ and no’s it was decided that the farmer would go to the river at dawn and stand in the whirlpool and chant the rain god’s thrice thus bringing rains to the village. Both of them wept their heart out together and parted. While parting Ramu looked into the farmer’s eyes and said, “We will meet as friends like now in the next birth”. Those words created an impact on the farmer and he pondered about it all through the night. He was happy to sacrifice his life for Ramu who loved him so much. (Tears streamed from his eyes as he thought of the time which was running fast to separate him from his dearest friend…). He thought of the lovely days they spent together. They shared their joys and sorrows and helped each other when needed.
The next dawn, the farmer woke up to the sounds of heavy down pour. He was amazed and happy at the same time. The whole village was celebrating. All were jubilant and joyous and were dancing in the rain. The farmer’s happiness knew no bounds. He was overjoyed at the thought that the rain god was pleased and did not want a life to be sacrificed. He rushed to meet his friend, but could find him nowhere. He enquired at all possible places but in vain. Just then a saddening thought struck him. He ran with pounding heart towards the whirl in the river. His friend’s turban lay on a stone nearby. Wet, as the mark of their friendship. He prayed to the earth to swallow him up at that moment, he prayed it should be a dream, but there he stood feeling the heavy rain lash upon his senseless skin. He could not take the shock of his lost friend. He knelt down with his face buried in his hands and wept. The tears from his eyes and the rain merged together. He looked at the dark sky and said, “We will meet as friends like now in the next birth”…
“And that’s why he is like this my child. Nature took away his priceless possession and he could not stop it by any means. God always chooses the good to do something useful for the world, and the reality is that it is always the good who remain unhappy. But it is on them that the stories are told and written and histories are made. They sacrifice themselves for a cause. They give a chance for others to live happily sacrificing their own” I did not leap in triumph. I did not cry. I did not thank granny for relieving me off my curiosity. I sat fixed to the ground. The granny went on, “You must always remember to cherish the life given to you by god, because you may not know when life may end. Now, go my child your people must be searching for you. It’s past noon”. I ran away to the fields where the farmer was working. Now tears were flowing down my cheeks. My eyes were red and I could scarcely see anything because the tears blurred my vision. The farmer worked swiftly and I could now feel what he felt. Suddenly it started raining. I felt nature was crying with me. My tears and the rain merged. I was soaked but I did not move. The farmer looked at the dark sky and exclaimed. “We will meet as friends like now in the next birth”. I burst out crying. I could now find a reason to sympathise with Bhola …. I could now say a story to Unni, Haritha and all my friends …. Stories within a story….!