*Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, written as part of a reflection exercise during India Fellow induction training. We asked our fellows to process all that they were learning/experiencing as they were exploring various development theory and practice topics. This is an outcome of that process! Enjoy the read.
In the heart of West Bengal, the village of Manikchak in Malda district stretched like a green belt over the landscape. This village was known for its sprawling fields, mostly filled with the golden hue of rice. The sun rose, casting an orange glow over the landscape as Binay, a 45-year-old farmer, opened the door to his modest home. His 20 acres of land were everything to him, a legacy passed down through generations. But unlike his father, who cultivated the entire stretch of land, Binay had learned that farming was a game of risk, strategy, and survival.
Binay decided to farm on only 2 acres in the first season after taking over the land. It wasn’t because he lacked ambition, far from it. Last monsoon had been erratic, with some parts of the state facing severe droughts, a trend that was becoming more common due to climate change. Binay didn’t want to risk losing his entire crop, so he started small, adapting to the changing climate.
Last monsoon had been erratic, with some parts of the state facing severe droughts, a trend that was becoming more common due to climate change.
“Baba, are you going to the fields already?” asked his daughter, Phalguni, still rubbing her sleepy eyes as she peeked from the door.
“Yes, Phalguni,” Binay replied, smiling. “The workers are already there. I’ll come back soon.”
Last year’s cautious decision had spared Binay from a financial disaster, but the stress of the uncertainties weighed heavily. He often shared his thoughts with his two brothers, Achhelal and Lalbehari, who had worked with him for years and knew the land almost as intimately as he did. As Binay approached the field, he spotted his brothers waiting for him near the well.
Achhelal was in his 30s, a seasoned labourer with hands rough from years of working in the soil. He rarely spoke but was known for his diligence. Conversely, Lalbehari was younger, full of ideas and questions, continually seeking ways to improve their ways.
“Morning, dada,” Lalbehari called out with his usual enthusiasm. “The irrigation system is ready, but we need to discuss the new section we will expand into this year.”
Binay nodded, wiping the sweat from his brow even though the day had barely begun. “Yes, we’re going to be using more land this time. Last year, we played it safe. This year, I’m ready to expand. Let’s get started.”
In the first year, they were cautious and farmed only on 2 acres to reduce drought risk. The small-scale approach allowed Binay to closely monitor the soil conditions, ensure proper irrigation, and observe any early signs of pest infestation. But it also meant the yield was limited, barely enough to cover the household expenses and pay Achhelal and Lalbehari for their hard work.
As the second year came, Binay decided to take a more significant risk. He expanded his cultivation to 10 acres, sowing rice and experimenting with vegetables like tomatoes and brinjals: the extra land required more water, more fertilizers, and more labor. The risks were higher, but so were the potential rewards.
“The rain hasn’t been great this year,” Achhelal observed quietly, his voice tinged with concern as they walked toward the rice fields. “We’ll need to watch the irrigation closely.”
Binay nodded, his mind already calculating the next steps. “Yes, we’ve had less rain than expected. I’ll check with the agricultural department later about the water situation. But for now, let’s focus on ensuring today’s tasks go smoothly.”
They moved through the fields, inspecting the crops for signs of pests. Binay had seen this struggle before when he was younger; pests had wiped out his father’s crops during one devastating season. The memories of that season still haunted him, driving him to be extra cautious. Lalbehari was quick to point out a few leaves that insects had chewed up.
Binay had seen this struggle before, when he was younger; pests had wiped out his father’s crops during one devastating season.
“We should get some neem oil sprayed,” Achhelal suggested, kneeling to look at the damaged crops.
“I agree,” Binay said. “It’s natural and effective. Let’s make sure we cover the entire section by tomorrow.”
Despite the challenges, the expansion to 10 acres had paid off. The yield had been better than expected, and Binay had managed to sell some of his produce at a decent price. Yet, he knew the battle was far from over. As the day wore on, Binay and his workers finished their tasks and rested under the shade of a large banyan tree. It was a spot where they often gathered to share their thoughts, meals, and worries. Today, the conversation turned toward the future.
“Dada, what are your plans for the next season?” Lalbehari leaned against the tree trunk.
“I’m thinking of expanding to 15 acres. It’s risky, but we’ve learned much in the past two years. We can handle it.”
The decision to expand further was challenging. More land meant more seed investment, fertilizers, labor, and water. But Binay was ready. Recently, he received a significant amount of dowry after the marriage of his eldest son, which helped ease some of the financial strain. This enabled him to buy better irrigation equipment.
“The real struggle,” Binay began, his voice reflective, “is managing the costs. Every year, the price of fertilizers increases, and our produce’s market price doesn’t always match. Everything can be lost if we have one bad monsoon or the market crashes.”
“But Dada, we’ve been lucky. The land is good, and we’ve managed to avoid major disasters. And if we get a good yield this year, we can invest in drip irrigation. That would save us a lot of water,” Lalbehari chimed in.
Binay smiled at Lalbehari’s enthusiasm. The young man always had new ideas, even though they often clashed with Achhelal and Binay’s more traditional approach. But Binay needed that balance—experience mixed with innovation. As they sat there, sipping water from their bottles, the afternoon sun began to soften, casting long shadows across the fields. The rice swayed gently in the breeze, and for a moment, everything felt peaceful.
“Do you ever wonder what would happen if we didn’t have the land?” Binay asked.
Achhelal looked at him, surprised by the question. “The land is everything, Dada. Without it, there wouldn’t be anything. But it’s also a burden. It demands everything from us—our time, energy, and peace of mind.”
Binay nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, it’s true. The land is both our gift and our struggle. But I can’t imagine doing anything else.”
The day ended with Binay returning to his home, tired but content. The following season would bring new challenges, but he was ready for them. Farming wasn’t just about growing crops—it was about survival, adapting to change, and facing the unknown. Each year was different; each season brought its lessons. The struggle now for Binay was to maintain consistency and expand further without collapsing under the weight of debt or natural calamities. And with Achhelal and Lalbehari by his side, Binay knew that they would face it together, no matter what came next.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Binay stood at the edge of his field, looking over the land that had been his family’s for generations. The future was uncertain, but everything was as it should be for now.
Also read: Conditions of Farmers in West Bengal
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