Chapter 450 Anand’s Hometown
Anand's hometown is in the countryside of Maharashtra, a place called Sunder Village.
It's very remote, there are no direct flights there, and even the bus to the village requires a two-hour wait.
Ron didn't need to travel so far. He only needed to go to the local county to take a look at the local customs and culture.
The rest can be solved by just pointing and swiping on the map, unless you encounter a difficult problem.
But considering Anand's unparalleled enthusiasm and his restless heart, he simply went to the countryside.
Just treat it as a trip to the countryside. He hasn't been to the countryside for a long time, and this is his first time to the countryside in Mabang.
The off-road vehicle sped along the bumpy dirt road, raising large clouds of dust.
On both sides of the road are countless corn fields and banana plantations, as well as rows of corn that stretch as far as the eye can see.
The corn plants were almost fully grown, much taller than a man, and in just a few minutes they seemed to have walked into a maze with thick walls.
The vast sky shrank into a blue arc, and the front and back melted into green and golden curves, like a drawn curtain, isolating the bustling world stage from outside.
The surroundings were bare, without any electric poles, and not even a single electric wire could be seen in the distance.
"Is there electricity in your village?" Ron asked, looking out the window.
"Oh, no," Anand grinned.
“It’s the millennium and there’s still no electricity?”
"No, absolutely not."
Ron was silent, then slowly turned off all the electrical appliances that he considered indispensable in his mind.
No lights, no TV, no air conditioning, no stereo, no phone...
How could he live like this? He couldn't even imagine it.
"Why, there's no radio, you can't even listen to music."
"There's plenty of music, Ron Baba," he said happily. "I can sing, and everyone can sing."
"Okay, it's also a form of entertainment."
"Everyone in the village can sing," he said seriously.
"Well, how far is it from the village?"
"Oh, just a little while longer. It's not far away. You know, there's water in our village now."
"There's water now, what does that mean?"
"I mean there's a tap in the village now."
“One tap, the whole village?”
"Yes, every day at two o'clock in the afternoon, the water is out for a full hour."
"A full hour every day..."
"Yes, well, most days. Some days the water comes out for only half an hour, and some days it doesn't come out at all. Then we go and scrape the green stuff off the surface of the well, and there's water anyway. Ah, look! My father!"
Ahead, on a winding, overgrown path, was an oxcart.
The cow was huge, with curved horns and a coat the color of milk coffee, and it was pulling a tall, barrel-shaped two-wheeled flatbed cart.
The wheels were wooden wheels with steel hoops, very narrow but very high, about level with an adult's shoulders.
Anand's father sat on the shaft of the cart, smoking a small hand-tied cigarette with thread, with his legs dangling in the air.
His name was Kishan, he was very short, even less noticeable than the short Anand.
He had a very short flat head, his hair and beard were gray, and his thin frame had a big belly.
He was dressed like a peasant, wearing a turban, a kethasana, and a loin cloth.
The bullock cart was carrying Ron and the others in front, and Kishan, who was sitting on it, didn't pay attention to the scene behind him.
Anand was excited, but the SUV couldn't drive onto the path, so they had to get out and walk.
After running a few steps, Anand put down his luggage and shouted.
His father was very surprised and jumped off the cart. The two of them hugged each other shyly.
The old man's smile was almost unmatched, a laughter that used his entire face, as if he had suddenly stopped laughing in the middle of laughter.
Anand stood beside his father, giving Ron a laugh twice as big as usual, a laugh he had inherited from his father, but more passionate.
The atmosphere was very touching, and Ron smiled happily.
"Ron Baba, this is my father, Kishan Hari. Father, this is my"
"Friends!" Ron interrupted.
Anand was stunned for a moment, then grinned, "My friend, I'm very happy to see you meet. Very happy."
Ron didn't want his identity as "Mr. Soul" to disrupt this rare warmth.
He also did not want to highlight the so-called Brahmin caste. Today he was just Anand's friend, nothing else.
Ron shook hands with the old man and stared at each other intently.
Anand and his father had the same almost round face and the same small, flat, upturned nose.
But Anand's face was cheerful and frank, without a single wrinkle, while his father's face was deeply wrinkled.
When his father wasn't smiling, a shadow of weariness fell over his eyes, as if he had shut a door in his heart tightly, guarding it only with his eyes.
His face showed fatigue, worry, and a hint of pride.
Ron was familiar with this expression. All farmers, Indian farmers everywhere, were tired, worried, and sad.
The only things a man who lives on the land truly owns are the soil he turns over and the seeds he sows.
Most of the time, farmers can only rely on God's favor and use the flowers and fruits in the fields to help them face the threats of hunger and disasters.
"My father is very successful." Anand smiled and proudly put his arm around his father's shoulders.
"What?"
"He supports a large family by farming and doesn't need any extra help. Well, no money from me."
His father talked a lot, but Ron didn't quite understand.
It was a variant dialect of Marathi and he could only understand fragments of it, so Anand was there to translate.
"My father is the best farmer in the village."
"Yeah, that's great, but why doesn't he use your money?"
"He's not old enough to use his children's savings. He's a proud man, always has been."
As if seeing the doubt in Ron's eyes, Kishan patted his big belly with full energy.
When he spoke, his eyes were bright and his head kept moving from side to side.
“He asked where you were from, you didn’t look like a Marathi.”
"Yes, I'm from the North." Ron laughed.
"I told him."
"Then why are you asking me nonsense?"
"I just don't want you to miss this wonderful conversation."
"Okay, let's not talk about reminiscing about the past. But this road is too difficult to walk on. How are we going to get to your village?"
Only Anil and a few others accompanied Ron, as he didn't want to mobilize a large number of people.
The trails in the wilderness are crooked and difficult to drive on with off-road vehicles.
"Take a bullock cart!" Anand shouted.
“No way!”
"Really, Ron Baba. My father is also a good cattle driver, the best in the village."
"Are you sure?"
"Come on, come up, it'll only take a few minutes."
"Well, that's all I can do, but I've never ridden in a bullock cart before."
The men loaded the luggage onto the bullock cart and then climbed onto the back of the flatbed. Kishan moved forward to make room.
Just then the stalks of corn in the tall green field beside them parted to reveal four brown faces, the faces of young men.
They stared at Ron and the others with their eyes wide open, revealing expressions of fear, horror, and joy.
These young men seemed to be the villagers around. Kishan shouted and they retreated obediently.
He raised a long bamboo pole with a nail on the end and hit the cows hard on their buttocks, and then carried them on their way.
The cow was hit hard and moved forward suddenly, then took slow and heavy steps, moving forward with a thump.
The ox cart maintained a constant speed, but it was very slow, making people miss the off-road vehicle just now.
Ron had never seen such a slow-moving animal. If he got off the vehicle and walked at a moderate pace, he would probably be twice as fast as it.
The people who had just pushed aside the corn stalks and stared at them were now crossing the farmland beside the path, wanting to be the first to announce the news of their arrival.
Every few dozen meters, someone would push aside the corn and straw, revealing a new face.
Those faces all showed expressions of surprise, with their eyes wide open and frankly staring, which was really scary.
Ron doubted that even if a wild bear had passed by and could speak human language, they probably wouldn't have been so surprised.
“These people are so happy,” Anand laughed. “It’s rare for outsiders to come to the village, let alone someone like you who comes from a big city.
Ron Baba, you are a very good person. People here will like you very much. You will be very happy here, very happy, I won’t lie to you.
People popped their heads out from the trees and bushes by the roadside and stared at them, with a mixture of curiosity and uneasiness, and occasionally there would be a scream.
Ron nodded and smiled at them, and they nodded back and laughed.
They ran back, shouting to their neighbors how interesting this city guy was, slowly making his way toward their village.
Kishan would occasionally whip the cow to keep it from slowing down, and every few minutes the bamboo pole would rise and fall with a resounding snap.
As the blows came, he fixed the nail on the end of the bamboo pole and poked the cow's side.
Each strike pierced the thick cowhide, bringing up a small tuft of yellowish-brown hair.
Ron looked around, feeling a little surprised. They didn't seem to think they were mistreating the cattle at all.
Back in Uttar Pradesh, someone was executed for slaughtering sick cows.
But there is no sense of restraint here. Everyone feels at ease and what is presented before our eyes is a completely idyllic picture of life.
Anand was mumbling something to his father, occasionally glancing at Ron.
"What are you talking about?"
"Ron Baba, I'm saying you're a good person. You generously take care of the slum dwellers and provide them with conveniences for free."
"It's just a small matter." Ron waved his hand nonchalantly.
"My father wanted to know if we had brought gifts from Mumbai for him and his family. I told him we had, and he wanted us to give them to him now, right here, before we continue on our journey."
"Now? On the way?"
"Yes, he's worried that when we get to Sander Village, you'll be such a good person and give all the gifts to other people, leaving him with nothing."
"Okay." Ron laughed. This father and son pair was so interesting.
So they stopped the car and, under the deep blue sky, on the road between the undulating corn and millet fields, spread out the various colors of India: yellow, red, and peacock blue shirts, dhotis, saris, etc.
Then they repacked the things they wanted to give to Anand's family, including soap, sewing needles, incense, perfume, shampoo, massage oil, clothes, etc., and packed them into a bulging bag.
These were the gifts that Anand had selected for Ron to give.
He didn't know what the people in Sander Village needed, and at first Ron wanted to give them some electrical appliances.
Fortunately, I listened to Anand's advice and only bought some small items such as food, oil and salt, otherwise those electrical appliances would have just gathered dust.
Kishan stuffed the bulging bag of luggage securely onto the beam behind him, and then continued to whip the hardworking ox.
Finally, cheers were heard, and women and children shouted excitedly. Sander Village was just ahead.
(End of this chapter)
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
