Chapter 36

He stepped off the concrete portico into the wave of morning heat filling the open courtyard. The Royal Enfield Bullet 500 sat beside the marble steps, its black steel glinting under the sun.

He swung a leg over the leather saddle, planted his boots against the pegs, and kicked the heavy starter down with practiced force. The engine roared into a deep thrum. Easing the clutch, he guided the motorcycle past the open iron gates onto the wide dirt track winding through the estate grid.

Dust rose behind the rear tire, settling over the grass along the path. Green fields of young paddy stretched on either side, the flooded soil glistening beneath the clear sky. Warm wind tugged at his black parna, carrying the scent of wet earth and crushed sugarcane stalks.

He slowed the machine as he crossed the wooden footbridge over the secondary canal, the planks rattling under the tires.

Ahead, the primary tubewell shed stood beneath the canopy of an ancient banyan tree. A single-cylinder diesel engine thudded continuously inside the brick enclosure, driving the pump that sent a steady stream of groundwater into the masonry channel.

Sukhdev Singh stood near the sluice gate with a wooden clipboard, directing two farm laborers.

He brought the Bullet to a stop beside the banyan roots and killed the ignition, leaving only the steady chug of the tubewell motor in the shaded clearing.

He stepped onto the damp ground and offered a warm smile as he walked toward the supervisor.

“Greetings, Uncle Sukhdev! How are the fields looking today?” (Sat Sri Akaal, Sukhdev Kaka Ji! Khetan da ki haal-chaal ae aaj?)

Sukhdev turned, pulling his cotton parna from his neck to wipe his brow before offering a respectful nod.

“Greetings, Son! Everything is running great. The canal water opened early this morning, and irrigation for Sector 3 and 4 has started.” (Sat Sri Akaal, Puttar! Sab badiya chal reha ae. Canal da paani subah hi khulya si, te Sector 3 te 4 di sinchai shuru karwa ditta ae.)

Leaning against the trunk of the banyan tree, he looked at the clear water flowing through the masonry ditch.

“Great, Uncle. Is there enough diesel for the pump? Any trouble during the morning round?” (Wdiya ae, Kaka Ji. Diesel da stock poora ae pump laye? Koyi takleef te nahi aayi subah di pheri ch?)

Sukhdev tapped his ledger paper with his thumb.

“No, Son. The diesel barrels arrived yesterday evening from the Bangla side. The engine is running solid. Just the drain in Sector 5 needs a little cleaning, everything else is under control.” (Nahi, Puttar. Kal shaami diesel de barrel aa gaye si Bangla walon. Engine poora kaim chal reha ae. Bas Sector 5 de naley di thodi safai hon wali ae, baaki sab control vich ae.)

“Alright, I will inspect Sector 5 myself. You put the labor to work weeding Sector 4.” (Chalo, main aape chakkar laa ke vekhda aa Sector 5 wal. Tussi labor nu Sector 4 di ghass kaddan ch lao.)

Sukhdev nodded, calling out to the workers while turning back to his board.

He walked down the narrow dirt embankment separating the paddy parcels. The mud felt firm at the edges, saturated with water from the central sluice.

Bending near the ridge, he scooped up a handful of dark clay, squeezing the earth to test its moisture before letting the dirt crumble back onto the bund. Root stems of the young paddy plants sat anchored deep in the standing water.

Further along the ridge, the sugarcane sector rose tall, forming a dense green wall that rustled whenever the morning breeze swept across the plain.

He walked the boundary ditch, inspecting the concrete pipe joints for water leaks. Soil moisture along the roots held dark and cool, free of dry cracks.

Standing in the shade of the tall stalks, he pulled his smartphone from his shorts pocket.

He opened the team group chat with Pamma, Jassi Gill, and Tari Brar, typing a quick text.

“Hey tigers, kabaddi practice at the village circle is confirmed for this evening. We need full footwork preparation. Everyone arrive on time.” (Oye sheru, aaj shaam nu Pind de akhare ch kabaddi di practice paki ae. Footwork di tayyari karni ae poori. Saare wele te pohoch jaana.)

He sent the message, and a reply from Jassi Gill popped up almost instantly.

Jassi: “Done ae, Captain! Saare team nu bol dinda aa. Footwork te aisa dhyan dewaange ke Moga aale agli vaar vekhde reh jaan ge!” (Done, Captain! I will inform the whole team. We will focus so much on footwork that the Moga boys will just be left watching next time!)