Nurungukal..

       Five pairs of buffaloes moved slowly one behind the other in the muddy field surrounded by small hillocks. Their movements were very slow and rhythmic. They moved forward knee deep in the mud, pulling the ploughs, splashing mud and swaying their heads. Unmindful of the occasional beating  and shouts from behind the animals did their duty while chewing the grass which they had swallowed last night in greed. The half clad  men  not so robust as those in the planes shouted in union, waving their long sticks over their heads to usher the animals. They were also fully drenched in mud. The animals took turns and circles exactly in tune with the  commands, like well oiled machines.

        I was enjoying the scene from the elevated  courtyard of her house. It was early in the morning. My second day after the wedding in my wife’s house. The taste and aroma of the coffee brew made out from farm fresh beans  was unmatched. For a moment I was trying to recollect a similar effect while sipping a cup of coffee from India coffee house in Calicut.

       A few women were uprooting paddy seedlings from the beds. They were also knee deep in the mud. Their dress was traditional. A broad red cloth tied tightly to their waist identified them as tribals. They were scattered in the field, unlike those in down planes, who always maintained a row in such jobs. Each seedling was uprooted briskly with both their hands. Intermittently straightening to bunch the seedling after washing away the mud. There was so much dexterity and speed involved in every movement. Another set of women were engaged in the transplantation.

      Two pairs of buffaloes were engaged in leveling the fields. They were pulling a broad wooden plank over which a man was balancing precariously by holding a string tied to the yoke. Here the animals were more sturdy and pulled the man and the plank at a fairly good speed. As they took speed jets of muddy water rose through the holes in the plank like fountains.

       On the other side a few were engaged in repairing the bunds with heavy scoops of mud, in order to ensure management of correct levels of water, which is an important component of paddy cultivation.

   

       All these activities I have experienced in our fields in Ponnani. What aroused me here was the performance of some extras. There was an aged couple in traditional attire making rhythmic movements in tune with the sounds of the utukku  and kuzhal. In chorus many others also joined them to move their body and arms up and down and occasionally shrieking and whistling. Even the women engaged in plucking the seedlings joined the dancers. Turn by turn they squeezed into a nearby hut and rejoined the group with more energy. On the slope of an hillock, under a tree a few cloth cradles dangled from which tiny brown foots kicked out occasionally. The granny who was sitting nearby pulled the rope to swing the cradle munching betel leaves and humming a native lullaby. Slowly and steadily the crescendo of the chorus attained high pitch, triggering a new energy to all the performers, forgetting  drudgery and fatigue they were all set on a mission to be accomplished. A mission to fill our granaries, so noble yet ……….????

      I just turned back and she was there all set for a ride….