Heaven

30/01/09


Enid Bebbington – “Heaven”

Taking a break from the building site, I visited the primitive, tribal village behind the site with Sheila, our film producer. We decided to wash our feet in the area of the river where the ladies bathe. We were wordlessly welcomed into a group of three of four ladies with hundreds of clothing and started a cross-country trek – us without much Bengali and the ladies with no English, we still managed to communicate. They foundthat we keep our money in a bag and a most outgoing lady showed us her money wrapped in a fold in her sari at her waist. As we continued our trek, we realised we weren’t going to the river, the bundles were their towels and table cloths. Communication made us realise we were going to the paddy fields. To our amazement we were shown tracks of elephant footprints leading back to the forest, they only come near the village at night. As the ladies dispersed to their various workplaces, we were left with the most outgoing lady. As we went along we were introduced to many groups, all shy but delighted to meet us. I realised the canister on her head was her husband’s meal as we came upon him tilling a mud field with two oxen in his bare feet.


Great laughter among us as Sheila insisted on crossing a stream unaided, resulting in her foot and flip-flop squelching and emerging covered in mud. Their amusement over Sheila’s ruined footwear showed us how meticulous they are at keeping their footwear and clothing clean. They find it hard to understand our way of thinking that everything is disposable and we can always get more. It was agreed we could help with the work and at last we came to the paddy field. There, six ladies were already hard at work picking into bundles the sprouted rice. They do this at an amazing speed and the next day plant our the rice in exact rows without any ruling or measurement aids. It was explained we would be up our knees in mud. I walked out and as I did, my legs were sucked in and I caused great laughter trying to balance myself and much more again when they saw I was hopeless at the work. We had to get back but were delighted to eat with them on their insistence. As we sat eating rice and dal with our (right hand) fingers, I was reminded of summer days fifty years ago in Dublin when I sat by the River Tolka with my sisters and our picnic of jam sandwiches and glass milk-bottles of water. As I relaxed in the blazing sun looking at the lush valley of paddy fields, blissful silence all around me, sitting with the kindest, unspoilt women and children, I turned to Sheila and said, “ We are in heaven!”