IT was the early days of the rainy season in the village, in the land of milk, honey and dust or Guruve. At mid-morning, the sky was yawningly cloudless and the atmosphere stuffy. The temperatures were soaring at around 40 degrees Celsius. There was no other sound except the cross melodies of cicadas singing for the rains while clinging uncomfortably on trees. Villagers call it the rain prayer. The other sound was that of children playing in the village.
Being a Friday morning, villagers do not go to the fields to work.
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