Harvesting

When the harvest is good the farmers soar over ninth cloud. Braving the biting winter wind they construct a makeshift hut of dried hay from their own field at the site and passes few days merrily – from dawn to dusk they work hard to reap the harvest of golden paddy in the back drop of green-blue Barail hill range. At the fall of night they lite fire to cook a simple dinner and that fire also becomes a source of warmth to the ill clad farmers. But they are happiest lot at the prospect of the reward of their hard toil. Post dinner gossips, laughter or few vocal strains of joy breaks the otherwise eerie silence of the night in the valley. They are content, so they are HAPPY.