Mahakanta Suresh stood at the edge of his field staring at the withered cotton crop. His farm had been handed down through many generations, providing not only a living, but a good way of life in India’s Cotton Belt. He reminisced of the time, long ago, when his father had danced with his mother after a bountiful harvest. The entire village had prospered that year, celebrating late into the night with food, spirits and music. His father had stepped away from the festivities and sauntered over to him, displaying a fig between his fingers. Mahakanta plucked the sweet luxury from his father’s hand. His father laughed heartily, drunk from the free-flowing wine. Mahakanta savored the childhood memory before it faded, leaving him to face the devastation in front of him. He could have survived the misfortune of one bad season, but alas, last year’s crop had also failed. Now, there was no money left to buy new seeds. He would lose the farm and house to the moneylenders who had extended him credit. He could no longer face his wife and children, who silently ate their dinner each night while hopelessness filled the air. His three healthy children once had a future, but without property, they would be burdened with a father who couldn’t support them, couldn’t provide for them. His family would be the lowest of the low. A sacred cow wandered past him. The bells on its collar clinked as it headed toward his neighbor’s field, which was filled with thriving cotton grown from traditional seeds. Mahakanta remembered the purveyor arriving at his doorstep two years earlier, catching him as he returned home after a hard day’s work. The salesman opened his satchel, showing Mahakanta charts and photos of other customer’s cotton fields that yielded 10 times more than average using his new magic seeds. In addition, he touted that the magic seeds resisted pests, eliminating the need to purchase expensive pesticides. The purveyor promised the magic seeds would make Mahakanta a very wealthy man. But, what the man did not tell him was that these seeds were not drought tolerant like the traditional seeds that had been used for generations in India. And, the man did not tell him that the seeds from his new crop were genetically structured to self-destruct, ensuring that Mahakanta would have to buy new seeds the following year. So, with hope for a better future, Mahakanta naively planted the magic seeds, watching the green shoots emerge in the spring. However, it was not long before the plants withered in the scorching sun and succumbed to the hungry bollworms. How he wished he had switched back to the traditional seeds after the first year, but the purveyor assured him that the dismal harvest was caused by the drought, not the magic seeds, and the next bountiful crop would more than make up for the previous losses. Mahakanta’s misplaced trust had been a deadly mistake. His only comfort was that he wasn’t the only one who had fallen under the spell of the magic seeds. Dozens of farmers in his village had done the same thing. Mahakanta unscrewed the cap on a pesticide bottle, took one last look at the land of his ancestors, then gulped the toxic fluid. It burned going down and the fumes made him cough. He thought it was a fitting punishment for his failure. The wife stroked her husband’s head, saying, “I told you the money wasn’t important. Why didn’t you listen?” Mahakanta could not hear what she said. The pain made him oblivious to his surroundings. He threw up. Red-speckled vomit slowly slid down his shirt. Foam spewed out of his mouth. His wife wailed. She was losing a good husband and would be a widow heavily in debt. Mahakanta was overcome with pain. Everything went dark. He felt his body become weightless. Colors appeared, then shapes that turned into human forms. He recognized a neighbor who had committed suicide a few weeks earlier. Countless numbers of spirits came forward, one after another, each a victim of crop failure caused by the magic seeds. Before Mahakanta could ask why they came, they escorted him away. ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Shaman Elizabeth Herrera is a healer and author who writes life-changing books. Her stories encourage people to stretch outside their comfort zones and reexamine their own beliefs. Her books include Shaman Stone Soup, Dreams of Dying and Earth Sentinels
www.ShamanElizabethHerrera.com
|
Copyright © 1998 - 2024 Mystic Living Today All rights, including copyright, in the content of these Mystic Living Today web pages are owned or controlled for these purposes by Planet Starz, Inc. Terms of Service Disclaimer and Legal Information For questions or comment, contact Starzcast@mysticlivingtoday.com. Reproduction of this page in any form is not allowed without permission of the author and the owner of this site. All material on this web site, including text, photographs, graphics, code and/or software, are protected by international copyright and trademark laws. Unauthorized use is not permitted. You may not modify, copy, reproduce, republish, upload, post, transmit or distribute, in any manner, the material on this web site. Unless permissions is granted. If you have any questions or problems regarding this site, please e-mail Webmaster. Web site design by: Creative Net FX |