Farmer

That fifty-para paddy field is owned by someone in Vaikom. Kesavan Nair has been cultivating it for the last forty years. Before that, Kesavan Nair’s uncle was its cultivator.

 Some ten years ago, when paddy prices were as high as five to seven rupees a bushel, rich people from Changanassery and Thiruvalla, had come there for paddy cultivation. They got on lease, groups of paddy fields. They used tractor for deep-ploughing and new fertilisers, to produce bumper crops. And they made huge profits. Kesavan Nair’s fifty para was in the centre of such groups of fields. Big – time farmer, Outhakkutty, met Kesavan Nair one day, on the mud-bund of the field. The crop in the “fifty” was poor when compared to those around it. Outhakkutty broke in, by way of exchanging civilities:

“Why is the paddy not lush and robust enough? Didn’t you use fertilisers?”

That question struck Kesavan Nair’s heart. The neighbouring farmer insinuates that the paddy he cultivates is inferior in growth!

“After you big guys came, can we drain out the water at the right times?

No time is convenient enough for you. We can do farm work only at your convenience”.

Outhakkutty, an arch diplomat, said, “Why do you say that, Uncle Kesavan? I had specifically arranged with my people to pay heed to your convenience.”

Kesavan Nair was cross. “Oh! Nice arrangement indeed! I could water the land only after my paddy seedlings had wilted in the sun. I went after your servant, begging. He said he can’t because you had instructed him not to give water to me.”

Outhakkutty had to counter that accusation. “Will there be any such difficulty, if you do the sowing at the same time as in the neighbouring fields?”

Kesavan Nair was piqued. “Don’t teach me all that. It’s not yesterday that             I started cultivating paddy.” Kesavan Nair continued, increasingly irritated, “No one becomes a farmer by pouring in money, dumping fertilisers and raising a crop of paddy.”

 After a few days, Kesavan Nair and Outhakkutty’s servant quarreled with each other, upon the mud-bund of the field. On all sides there was water. But the “fifty” was parched dry and cracked up and the shoots were wilted. Kesavan Nair, heart-broken at the sight, cut a breach in the mud-bund. The servant sealed it up. They pushed and jostled each other. It would have culminated in murder. Luckily, that did not happen. Three or four days later, the crop in Kesavan Nair’s “fifty” was submerged up to the tips of the plants in water. The top of the shoots were not at all to be seen above the water’s surface. That

servant’s doing! When the time came for the sunning of Outhakkutty’s paddy plants, the water was diverted to Kesavan Nair’s “fifty”. How was he to drain that water away? Where will he take it to? Can he drink it all up? Kesavan Nair’s shoots began to rot.

Kuttichovan, a friend of Kesavan Nair, asked in consternation, “Why don’t we cut open breaches on the bunds at night and divert the water back to the other fields?” Kesavan Nair did not like that idea. He said, “That should not be done in puncha-kandam. Cut open bunds in the dead of night! Can a farmer do that, Kutty? Let me perish. I will not do what should not be done.”