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What did Raghu do with his notebook?
Answers
Answer:
Raghu knows better than all of us.
Answer:
Acres and acres of a harvest of Golden wheat stood ready to be cut. The next few days, until the crop was cut, were crucial for Raghu. He intended to be very careful in his vigil. On moonlit nights he spread his cot in the midst of his fields. On his cool bed in the midst of the fields with the cool soft breeze blowing, nothing could be nearer to heaven. Especially, when contrasted with the days that had become blazing hot in central India, though it was only end of March. He kept an alert eye to watch out for animals and other human beings from destroying the fruits of his labour. In the middle of his field there was a wooden structure, it stood on four wooden poles, a wooden plank about 10 feet from the ground inserted among the poles sort of made half storey, the roof was of hay and he had further splashed mud on it. Raghu would slide up on the half storey after climbing a ladder, it was his watchtower during the day and it kept him as cool as possible.
The road that ran near his fields was a state highway. Many vehicles, swanky cars, trucks, SUVs sped past him. The number of vehicles passing has increased as the road had become better. A few years ago the road was potholed and very few vehicles passed by, mostly government jeeps, state transport buses and an occasional truck. Now, as part of the government initiative, Prime Minister’s Rural Road Scheme, all roads were nicely metalled, gleaming black. This road was shown on Google maps as one of the shortest ways from Bhopal to Gwalior. That was probably the reason for the gradual increase in traffic in this hinterland. More and more people were traveling by their own vehicles now.
Many more years ago, when Raghu was a kid, the arrival of any motor vehicle in their village Nazirabad created a sensation, all kids would follow the vehicle, and those that were able to touch the vehicle would consider themselves privileged. Nazirabad itself had some historical importance or so claimed its inhabitants. The wise old men of the village repeated stories heard from their forefathers how the British Army marching under Sir Hugh Rose, on its way to quell the rebellion at Jhansi, had camped here overnight. A Victorian silver cigar case was the proud possession of his family, a gift from the General himself, a token of gratitude for hosting him and his men. Some months later, the tragic Queen, Rani Laxmibai’s fleeing entourage escaping from British capture, had asked for refuge in the village. The fear of reprisals from the British being such, the request could not be acceded to. But for many months the villagers had secretly helped the party with food and essentials while they hid in the nearby forests.