THE inevitable catastrophe the man foresees isn’t inevitable or tragic after all, but it’ Nature’s call! And it can’t be averted at all. It was Diwali festival’s Balipratipada Day and at night there was heavy rains. With almost a throbbing heart, I accelerated the motorbike on the patchy-tattered-slippery road to my village. I came across a couple of cow and buffalo carcasses alongside the grassy road. Surely these may be the victims of lumpy! Another danger to be faced by the farmers to keep body and soul together after the devastation of ripening cotton and soya crops! My eyes were unable to behold that barbarous act of weather as the crops fell saluting the soil. Water, water everywhere - awesome theatrical graveyard scene made me wordless!

No sooner did I stop the motorbike at my field than I saw a venomous snake crawling fast across the road. Dumbstruck, I stood still for a few minutes. Marotrao Tatyaji, a slim man of sixty-five, suddenly came from behind and greeted, “Namaste!” Leaving behind his two young daughters and a son, Tatyaji’s only son Vikas had committed suicide under the burden of heavy debt three years ago. And he had lost his daughter-in-law to COVID-19 in succession last year. But Tatyaji was fighting against that barbarous attack of fate with indomitable courage like a soldier in the battlefield. A jinxed fight, indeed! The multitude of problems before farmers are a matter of grave concern. Loaded and locked from all sides, the farmers are battling against changing weather. The golden arms of farmers are being cut by accidental rains every year for no earthly use. Poverty, penury, and bank debts confined them into den of hell. The nation itself knows that for the loss of crops, they end up empty-handed and hopelessly look at the sky with bare eyes for any shower from Almighty! They ride on hope and run for hope! Hope - as the cliché goes - is the last thing to disappear.

Engrossed in gloomy thoughts, I looked at Tatyaji’s sunburnt wrinkled face. “Tatyaji, how difficult it is to fight against the wrath of weather?” And he quickly began to speak, “Why difficult? What’s difficult? Remember my son, we’re solely responsible for this heaven’s fury. How to tame this fury should be our concern. We must reignite that fire of struggle in us. Although I remained illiterate, I learnt a lot from saint Gadge Baba’s philosophy of life. Baba insisted on “to be over the hump” in worst or difficult situation. “Avoid admitting pain and rise on high,” and casting his eyes over the watery fields, he continued in a poetic note ( his own lines), “Farmer thou art a ruler/ Who rules over the land / To exercise authority over / Farmer thou art born / Surrender to death is a curse / Prove yourself a fighter great. Can anyone make an omelette without breaking eggs? Remember, the steadfast conquers all! So, my admittance is not to take this weather as a misanthrope!”

How enlightening it was to see an old farmer who kept the flame of life-force burning in his weakened body when everything was washed out by rain leaving him bare on his neuro-ethics! May I describe him as sui generis?