Another place, another existence. Here one finds the horizon layered with brilliant ochre tones, as the line of vision slowly settles on the undulated mountain ranges. Rows of low mudwalled houses bounded by beige stones from the nearby river, cattle occupying the primary thoroughfare with nary a care in the world, air heavy with the scent of soil and its produce—all create snapshots in sepia of this ancient landmass.
It is a life primarily of sharing—sharing one’s space,
one’s stories. The village gathers along the dusty path that brings in news and
gossip, and the daily requirements of everyday life. Buses from the nearest
city come in a few times during the day, bearing more noise and even more dust. To the fatigued city-bred ear, early morning tinkle of cattle bells is the only welcome
note of harmony in this seemingly dissonant rural outpost.
When does a place start to feel like home? Will the itinerant
soul ever pause here? Feel settled? Only time will
tell.
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