The Rabri Crop in Madhya Pradesh

Brian Sullivan
reflectionsofindia.com

Idyllicly beautiful, and yet farmers life is not rustic or romantic. The weight of the economy rests on a
farmers shoulders. Whether wheat or mustard seed, it is the weight of hope for rupes that weigh on his
shoulders.
Labourers are like seeds: discarded, recycled ad exploited. You give more than you take.

For the farmer there is the risk of crop failure.

When on land I have yearned to help plant and harvest. It is the yearning to be part of something
outside of myself. But I am kept distant.

Instead I am told the old hard facts.

The Rabri ()crop is planted in winter to be harvested in spring, named after the Arabic word for
spring. They are irrigated from percolating ground water from the monsoon,

In Madhya Pradesh the deep black soil with a lot of clay called Vertisol and preparing for the November
to April crop is difficult. Baking 49 degree heat hardens the soil pre monsoon, add to this the
unpredictability of the monsoons onset, when the soil swings from very dry to extremely wet.

Vertisol has low organic matter, is low Nitrogen but has good potassium, magnesium and calcium. After
the monsoon it shrinks with deep cracks. Sticky during the monsoon and its hard to drain. Its hard to
weed but it keeps the moisture for a good harvest from the rabi crop.

Its hard to prepare soil because It may wash away the farmers soil. So traditional farmer usually leave
the soil fallow which makes good sense where there is usually low rainfall though the year. Where there
is usually good rain the problem is drainage, a fixable problem if a farmer has money .

Each year the cycle continues, the repetition of deciding what to do.

While some famers want a short growing crop like soy bean to harvest before the rabi. A poor famer
may leave the land fallow because if the soy cant be harvested in time, then he risks his more certain
wheat or chickpea.

In India So a good rain may spoil the Kharif crops but it is good for Rabi such as wheat, barley, mustard,
sesame and peas which flood the market in February. Other Rabi Crops include gram, and linseed.

As I watch I am fragmenting myself, wanting to be a part and still somehow being held back and
reminded I am still a foreigner.

But we are people of the earth.

The ancientShatapatha Brahmana describes a mother as ones first guru and preceptor. This is the
germ of civilisation which nature has put into our mothers writes Pandit Ganga Prasad Upadhyaya
quoting the vedic phrase Ekoham Bahusyam I am one, let me be many. A model of selflessness that
supports the weaker babe for the future. Civilisation should be defined not by antisocial conquest but by
the act of becoming civil or social. The word civil means to become social. Go back to that ever so
misused word culture: From the Latin colere it means to till or to worship. Within is found the word
cult. We may not immediately link culture to the idea of tilling a field. We do however, talk of
agriculture, or horticulture. The tiller of the field seeks to maximise his efforts and efficiently harvest
from the sees he has planted. In Sanskrit krishi means to till. Another related Vedic word
is Krishti meaning a fully cultured man but also it can mean the common man.

It is comfortable to enjoy a city life separated from the struggles of the land. The cost seem that in
dislocating from the earth me are disconnected from our common humanity.

As the crop is harvested the great mother Durga is celebrated in Hindu India. The neighbours will eye
the red hibiscus growing over the telephone cable, sacred to sword wielding kali. In the battle field of
the psyche, until durga takes on the form of Kali and her dance of destruction. The fierce feminine
unaware the battke is won, is stopped from destroying the universe when her consort Shiva takes the
form of a helpless baby. Kali stops, bring the infant to her breast as death becomes life, and sword gives
way to compassion.

The summer is harsh, and the monsoon may also be deadly. A farmers life may mean to risk all, like
Ianna of Sumerian legend, they are to enter the underworld of trust naked and bowed low.

I hope the harshness of summer will be softened by a luxuriant monsoon harvest will rise from
underworld with compassion.