Our Mindset Episode 49
He stopped me from going to work because my wound worsened when exposed to water. He said his leg was hurting and asked me to accompany him to the farm to water the crops until his wound healed. “Just follow my instructions, and I’ll be with you,” he assured me. I was annoyed, but I knew he wasn’t doing it on purpose, so I reluctantly agreed.
The corn had grown taller than me. My husband started the motor, and it was my first time watering the crops. I couldn’t even hold the irrigation pipe properly, but I followed his instructions as best as I could. Perhaps this was another skill I needed to learn. I had already learned how to plant, harvest, and sell vegetables, and now I was being taught how to irrigate the fields. Little did I know that from that moment onward, I would have to manage everything on my own.
By the time we stepped out of the field, it was already afternoon. I hadn’t realized how much time had passed, and I looked completely disheveled—no scarf on my face, my hair in a mess, my hands and face covered in corn scratches, and dust clinging to my skin. The irritation started creeping in, making my skin itch unbearably. My scalp, back, and stomach itched all over. A woman working in the neighboring field noticed my discomfort and said, “You must be allergic to corn dust. If you don’t wash it off quickly, you’ll develop rashes.”
As she warned, my skin started swelling wherever I scratched. My whole body turned red, and the scorching sun only made it worse. My husband restarted the motor, and I bathed right there in my sari. I can’t tolerate cold water, but the bath brought some relief. However, I had nothing to dry my hair with, so I just stood under the sun for a while before cycling home.
Once home, I changed my clothes and lay down, exhausted. I drifted off to sleep, but when I woke up, I felt feverish. The cold bath had triggered sneezing, the first sign of my usual bout of flu. Our neighbor, Mangu, suggested visiting the government clinic. “They have good ointments for wounds, and it’s free. You’ll heal faster,” he said.
I could still manage most of my chores—cleaning the cattle shed, feeding the buffalo, milking, and gathering fodder—but working in water was out of the question. The next morning, my husband went to the clinic and got injections, medicines, and ointments. I thought, “A few more days, and my wound will heal.” No matter how exhausted or irritated I felt, I still went to water the crops every day. After all, an 8-acre farm couldn’t be irrigated in a single day. Only the pomegranate orchard had a drip system; the rest of the land had to be watered manually.
I, too, had fallen ill, but I kept telling myself—once the wound healed, this daily struggle would be over. Little did I know, this was just the beginning.