THE WAIT FOR THE RAINS

Raja looked far into the distance. There at a distance was a pool of water, reflecting in the bright sunlight. He narrowed his eyes, trying to see better. He wished it was water but knew very well it to be a mirage. For years now, the mirage had fooled him, giving him false hopes of water in the village. 

It has been over three years since Barnakali, a village near the sea coast of the Arabian Sea received rainfall. A once lush green area known for its paddy fields and coconuts and torrential rains, today it was like a desert-dry area waiting for the rain gods to be pleased.

"Father, come inside", Raja's 34-year-old son Kushan called out. "There are no clouds today also. No hopes."

Ramram slowly clambered back into their thatched hut. They once had a small brick house along with some five acres of land. Farmers by family tradition, they had cultivated paddy and done fish farming. But the dearth of rains and the lopsided unpredictable climate had slowly destroyed farming. Yields had fallen while they were engulfed by debt. Finally, they sold the land to an apartment builder and moved to a smaller rented home. But the intolerable heat in the concrete house and high power tariffs forced them to move to a relatively cooler but shabby-looking thatched house closer to the sea. It was previously used by a fisherman's family and still smelt of fish and tasted sea salt. The fisherman had moved to the city to look for jobs after the catch in the sea dwindled. Raja wriggled his nose as he entered the shelter. He disliked fish and the smell of it. The hot air outside stood still as if in a protest of not carrying with it any odour, fragrant or foul.

                                                                 *

In the faraway town of Midapore, on the eastern side of the country, Sumati fumed as the taps ran dry again. She still had many dishes to do. She looked out through the window. The glare blinded her and she looked away almost instantly. The cotton blouse and saree clung to her thin body drenched in her sweat. The power supply was not there for the last twelve hours. But these were normal in these times.

She looked at the half-eaten poha still on the table. The children had asked for more water to finish the poha but she had refused. The government had announced the amount of water every person needed to survive daily and had started rationing the supply of this commodity too. So she could not afford to give her children an additional glass of drinking water. She closed the plate of half-eaten poha with another plate. She would have it later. It was costly to throw away food at a time when rice cost over two hundred a kilo and milk seventy rupees a packet. 

She thought of her days as a girl, unburdened by any of the responsibilities of ensuring food reaches the dining table for the family. Those days of plenty, when throwing away a glass of water was just a routine, when there used to be heaps of rice and half a dozen curries for lunch and when lights and fans worked 24/7 in every room of the house. Those were lavish days. Only if they had not wasted things then, she lamented.

                                                                 *

Twenty-three-year-old Aman was on his way to the office. He was earlier than usual yet the metro was fully packed. He had to reach the office an hour earlier since they were having a tree-planting session. He wondered why they still had these even though there was not enough water to water them all. The saplings planted in the last session three months back had all dried up for want of the chemical component H2O. It was in shortage across the world. The seas were being emptied like never before to distil and supply potable water. The business of distillation companies like his own prospered. Scientists and other research firms were trying day and night to fuse hydrogen and oxygen molecules to form H2O structures in large quantities but without much success. It seemed as if that patent was still with God alone. 

He looked around at his fellow travelers. The compartment was almost silent. No, it was not because it was a rule but because everyone wanted to conserve their energies. The newspaper headlines screamed '1118th day since the last rainfall'.

The metro stopped. No, thankfully it was not yet another power failure. It was just a customary station stop. The tenth stop since he boarded the train. The next stop, if no outward incident happens, should be his destination. He then had to walk five minutes in the scorching sun to reach his office premises. Earlier he used to have the comfort of his air-conditioned car. But now driving was too costly to afford and he had shifted to public transport. He donned the green cap and pulled on the green t-shirt the company had provided, just for the tree planting ceremony, before alighting at his destination station.

                                                                 *

Raja continued to look at the distant mirage from inside his home. There were no longer trees that cast shadows. All had been cut down for fuel or for making ways for concrete buildings. He ate his meal of gruel in the afternoon and so went off into a siesta.

Sumati had dozed off sitting on the old armchair when suddenly the gurgling sound of water in the tap woke her up. She had left the tap open so that she could know when the municipal water comes. She rushed off to the kitchen to finish the dishes and store water in huge aluminium pots for later use. It was past three in the afternoon by the time she finished and sat down to finish off the leftover poha.

Aman was pounding the keys of his laptop, occasionally glancing across to see if his manager had left for the day. The computer showed the time as 6:59:12 pm, with all the precision it was known for. Outside the sun still shone like it was only five in the evening. As soon as he heard the click of a lock across the aisle, he shut down his system, picked his back and made his way quickly to the metro station.

Just as he was almost there, the skies darkened and a duststorm gathered pace. 

Raja felt a cool wind blow. He quickly came out of his hut to feel the wind on his face. He wished a drop of water too would fall on his face from the heavens.

Sumati heard a rumble of thunder, something she had not heard in over three years. There were dark clouds on the horizon. She quickly went out to gather the clothes from the clothesline. Thank God, they had dried!

Outside the metro station, people jostled to get to the shade. Once inside, they all kept their hopeful eyes fixed outside, skywards, heavenwards, for that showers of blessings to pour.

                                                                 *