Published at Monday, April 15th, 2019 - 09:12:52 AM. Farm House. By Natalie Mcbride.
When my wife came out from the temple, we were silently facing each other.Who is he? I dont know. He has not eaten food, since long, he says. She took out a rupee note and was about to give it to him, when I intervened. Come boy, I will give you work, I said.I ignored my wifes silent protest. We all came back to our house, not far from the town, in a picturesque village farm. I ordered my wife to give him enough food. Afterward, I took him around the farm house and directed him to cut out all the bush on one side where I intended to plant the big banana trees.
Time passed quickly. She purchased cloths for him so that she need not feel ashamed of his company. The women folk liked his gentle, silent ways. Who would not like a slave? Some were prepared for considering him as a prospective bridegroom even. My wife is an expert farmer, and under her direction and, with the hard work of the boy, our farm, a perfect organic farm, measuring around five acres, became the envy of the neighbours and my friends! We bought several cows, hens and ducks ( there were several ponds in our farm) and we bought a motor bike for carrying our products to the market. I did not know how to ride one, so we never had it. In the privacy of our bed room, we would discuss about him, as we did not want him to hear our conversation.
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