The Good earth

by Aditha Dissanayake writing from Minneriya

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For the thousandth time I wish the roles be reversed; my eyes remain open, my jaws remain shut. But at two in the morning it is hard not to fall asleep on my feet, hard not to yawn non-stop much to the amusement of Suresh, the eighteen-year old cowherd, as wide awake and as bright as the floodlights in the sheds around us. After two months on the job, milking fifty four cows at two in the morning is "work" he can dismiss with the flick of his hand.

This is nothing compared to the life he had lived in Nilaveli sometime ago. Working now in Minneriya with his "fifty-four companions" milking them at two in the morning, spending the day with them till its time to milk them again at three in the afternoon, Suresh says "Life is OK".

As Dawn with her multi coloured finger tips brushes the sky, I watch the land stretching on and on as flat as a fresh baked rotti. Except for the sky which rapidly changes from red, yellow, pink and orange into a soothing light blue, everything else around me is green. Green in different shades. At times so dark it looks almost black, at times so light it could almost have been white.

Then suddenly I hear the roar of the sea in my ears. What is happening.? Is that the sound of thunder? Is the sky about to fall.? At eight in the morning.? No. This is the sound of the Harvester. Time to start cutting the paddy. "We are lucky the sky has cleared.

Captivating shades of green

Bringing the harvest home in time for the new year

The road kimgs beckoned

We must cut the paddy before the rains come" says the lady whose job is to tie the bags, seated on the back of the harvester, once the paddy is filled into them as it moves up and down on the paddy field. "Shooo, shoo" she tries to ward off the white cranes who hover around her and simply smiles when I offer to sit in her place when they move onto the next 'liyadde".

"This is not as easy as it looks" she explains and shrugs her shoulders to say she does not know how long it will take to cut the entire stretch in front of us. "Perhaps the whole day and most of the night as well". I take one last look at the half 'shaven' paddy-fileds before I continue my explorations on this golden stretch of land where in ancient days kings had roamed.

Clad in 'three quarter trousers precariously placed inches below their waists, I come across Supun and Nimal as they walk over the scattered grains of rice, turning them over and over to make them perfect for milling.

I fall in step with Supun even though the soles of my feet hurt when they come in contact with the grain and it feels like walking on a bed of thorns. "my people own paddy-fields" he says pointing his hand to the east.

"We have been farming for ages and ages". A far cry from the image of the farmer clad in a loin cloth and covered in mud, Supun, with his Shane-Warn style hair cut, t-shirt with a picture of the lovers of the Titanic painted on it, says he is happy helping his father farm the land and sees no reason why he should find a job in the city.

A few miles away I come across a lady clad in a denim and a t-shirt who might have walked out of a magazine on farming. Her name is Chandra and her task for the day is to wash and separate bunches of bananas to make them ready for shipping.

Chandra and everyone else around her are working non-stop so as to meet the days target, six hundred boxes of well packed bananas ready to be exported. While the music of the song "sudu Araliya Malak ... blares on the radio I watch Ariyawathi pack the bananas into a white box and write "number one" on the top of each box.

"This is my number" she explains. "If they find the bananas are damaged they will know I packed them and fine me". Are they tasty? I ask her and she wrinkles her nose.

"We see them everyday, so we don't like them all that much". She excuses herself and returns with a ripe banana. "Try this, you might like it" she says handing it to me.

At least a dozen eyes turn towards me. Feeling like a chimpanzee in the zoo I peal the banana and take a bite. Even though it tastes like any other banana, I make yummy sounds looking like someone in a TV commercial. Everyone is happy as if I had said "Mmmm..a kurukuru-less banana!"

Stepping on soil which looks healthy and vibrant, spotting plenty of earthworms, butterflies, peacocks, everywhere, signs that show that the use of chemical fertilizer and pesticides has been curtailed I realize that healthy soil leads to healthy food which in turn make healthy people.

There are other benefits too. "As you continue to create a good habitat to foster a healthy soil ecosystem, the benefits grow exponentially. Improved soil gives you a better forest of cover crops, which creates a fresh habitat for worms, beetles, bugs and other organisms." Explains Kapila, the Officer in Charge of a plant nursery probably quoting from memory words read in a text book, but believing in every phrase he utters - and this at the end of the day, is what counts.

The end of the day... yes, it is time to leave. To leave these rich fields where farmers continue to work with nature, where Monday mornings are not loathsome, where the conversation centres solely round the weather...but one last look at the livestock. To check on the stud bull, who, in all his majestic splendour refuses to look at me. But I can read his mind.

Proud of his offspring he is saying "Write about me. I am the Good Father".

I have. Here's to the good earth and the good inhabitants of Minneriya. May they remain the same till as long as the sun rises.