“With scarcely a pause for a mouthful of roti, Deeti stepped outside, on to the flat threshold of beaten earth that divided the mud –walled dwelling from the poppy fields beyond. By the light of the newly risen sun, she saw, greatly to her relief, that some of the flowers had at last begun to shed their petals. On the adjacent field, her husband’s younger brother, Chandan Singh, was already out with his eight-bladed nukha. He was using the tool’s tiny teeth to make notches on some of the bare pods—if the sap flowed freely overnight he would bring his family out tomorrow, to tap the field.” (Page 5)
19 February, 2015
