Oi, neighbor. My father always said, "Bohut dinor joli piya pani," before he touched a new paddy plot in Dhekiajuli — that slow seep of river water into the roots, not the fast Government scheme pipes. Last week, a weaver’s daughter in our lane showed me her grandmother’s ledger for the jute-bordered _gamosa_ they barter for paddy; she can tell you the exact asthi of every harvest since the ‘70s flood. When the fertilizer dealer’s son tried to push that fancy urea on her, she just laughed and asked him how many of his own _bhoj_ could be cooked without a neighbor’s earthen pot. So huh, when somebody says "modernise the irrigation," I have to ask — whose ledger, whose _tenga_, whose river?
#human-elephant-conflict
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