👨🏾💻"Ashwin's enquiries into the geological anomalies of the sites have not endeared him to the multi-national higher-ups, who are more interested in milking the land for valuable minerals to line their own pockets."🇮🇳
🌏His world will never be...
''Emeralds on a sapphire snake ...Abreast the hills, to dawn awake'' intoned Vivek, aroused to poetry by the green squares of paddy , the river's sparkle and Mamalipuram's tumescent hills.
Soon his poetic flow turned to a different call of nature, resulting from the toddy drinking session with the locals, the previous night. He bowed to the palm tree, apologetic for watering it. Washing his hands in the clear waters, Vivek hoped the river would stay that way, untainted by carcinogenic muck from the soft-drinks factory that a multi-national company had plans to build, if only the small-land holder, his father would yield to persuasion by the property developer any time soon.
Vivek rolled up his dhoti and got ready to tackle the unwelcome visitor. Lithely he sprinted up the hot and dusty track, ignoring the searing of his bare soles. He'd kicked off his nikes, the moment he returned home from abroad.
He looked back along the narrow track, hoping it would stay just like that - rough and not airbrushed into tarmac.
The scent of burning cow-dung meant the farm workers were up, heating water for his bath, lest the city-boy prodigal catch January's cold!
All that love enriched him - a million times more than the luxury hotel where he'd taken up a part-time job as tourist-guide.
An old army jeep lurked under the tamarind tree.
The dirt path leaked down towards the stream, like a trail of rusting blood.
Tarbucks scratched his stubble, stretched his legs.
His Stetson lounged on the vacant passenger seat. He could have done with company.
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Pity it wasn't Sunita, the Tamil interpreter - a fiery little chilli, but local Union rules denied him that perk. Good job the farmer could speak English.
You could never trust the gooks, his 'Nam days had taught him.
Dispensing with an interpreter was just fine. He was past his glory days, but still a fighter and that's why his company Rocka- Rola chose him as negotiator.
If Tarbucks succeeded, here would be a resort, with spas, yoga , wifi and celebrity stars enjoying redemption with the aid of the latest Indian gurus.
The factory-polluted stream would be forgotten, as the wealthy played and the poor got paid.
Surveying the fields, he visioned rows of greenbacks - all his if he struck the right deal.
His mind wandered back home- to golden fields of g.m. wheat under a true-blue sky...the combine harvesters corralled and the smell of freshly-baked apple pie from the farmhouse.
A darn sight better than this mosquito-ridden heathen country.
The deal was as good as done.
Except for one thing: the fox, or jackal, or whatever it was.
If only he could shoot the critter...but the natives could get ugly about this - they were a superstitious bunch of hill-billies. He was still spooked by scenes from the old movie 'Deliverance', to which he fell asleep in his hotel room last night.
..
Up the hill slope, grass swayed gently and a strip of red moved.
Vivek noticed this movement.
Tarbucks too thought he saw something but dismissed it as a heat mirage.
The grazing buffaloes briefly raised their drooling mouths to grunt acknowledgement of another presence.
There was no breeze. There were no earth tremors - none had been predicted in the area.
The strip of red flashed white, teeth into flea bitten fur, as Nuri sniffed. Down-hill smelled bad, up-hill smelled good.
Vivek lay on the grassy slope, under a sky shrill with preying kites.
A battered copy of The Ugly American poked out of his rucksack.
'It rings true, even today', the street book-seller had said, handing over a tattered copy to Vivek, glad to make a few rupees from its sale.
Vivek climbed to the old temple to get a better view. He could see the jeep. He needed time to sort out his thoughts.
He felt he was being watched and that she could sense his thoughts. 'It's okay, Nuri, we'll out-fox them, you'll be safe.'
On his feet now, Vivek strode with the swagger of a young war-god, heavy-metal clashing in his head, to stand with arms folded across his chest, waiting for the Yank to walk up to him.
Tarbucks slipped on his Stetson, taking no chances with Indian sun which was already red-necking him. He strode slowly up the dirt track, nearly slipping on something wet,black and pungent.
'Damn jackal- fox shit' he cursed.
The farm seemed too far to hear any cry for help.
Nuri just crouched low and waited.
Perhaps it was the heat or the slip ...or the blast of Vedic metal roared by Vivek.
Tarbuck's heart-attack was sudden and fatal.
Nuri knew she and her cubs would be safe now that Vivek had returned, a true son of the soil.
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