The Corn Plant

Tikaram Regmi

The farmers got their faces blazed because of a sound rainfall in early April, quite contrary to a few previous years. Farmers had been hopeless, for the rainfall had stopped in early December. Now, the sun-baked soil looked black and much fertile with a pleasant aroma after it got fully drenched in the downpour. I, like other farmers, was mesmerized by the smell of my ancestors. In the field already harrowed and well-dug, I too, indulged in sowing corn with my ever-smiling wife.  

It took no time for the corn plants to grow up competing one another. As the plants started rising up, my frequency of visiting them doubled. I could see them getting taller, greener and much healthier than each of the previous moments. Like a parent’s heart, my pleasure rose higher than the plants themselves.       

All of a sudden, I was obliged to go away for a few days’ urgency. On arrival back home after a week, I stood at the door thinking of the young fauna, although it had been quite late at night. However, my footsteps denied moving inward before kissing my children. The young fauna looked like lovely kinder-kids moving around the school garden in the bright full-moon light. The plants taller and healthier than on the day I had departed seemed singing a welcome song in soft melodious music in my honor, like a dog wagging its tail for its master.  My heart melted like an ice-ball and touched some of them with my scratched palm, as if I were caressing my gorgeous daughters’ head, and poured kindness upon them. Even after that, my attention was drawn to keep looking at them, caressing.       

The next morning, as I made to the edge of my yard with my tooth brush in hand, the plants approached nearer. My eyes ran all over them and in the meantime, noticed a plant near the point where we usually scrub our cooking pots and utensils. It was grown bigger, greener and healthier than the rest. Afterwards, my eyes were naively drawn to the very plant. I found it growing at a faster speed leaving the rest far behind him. It seemed its fiercely dark green leaves and head were challenging all of its siblings. At the very moment, I recalled the don residing nearby and harrying his neighbors. I wondered what a coincidence it was!               

I cannot bluntly explain why if it was out of my diehard love or hatred, but my sight frequented the plant. The head of the strong and healthy stalk looked as if rushing high up to touch the sky. Soon after, it let out the maize-flower, the symbol of maturity for reproduction. I observed others, but they had not yet; so concluded that it was the first to get matured. Along with time, it bred two big cobs, so beautiful to be looked at.   

As the corn was ready for harvesting, it was duly done. Like a long formed habit, my sight reached for the cob-less plant even the next day, but I felt an absence of the former splendor. Despite my guess, the corrosion of the natural beauty was taking a speedy race. A week later, as I checked it, the green leaves had already fallen on the field and mixed with soil. Its strong stalk had roughly lost its strength to stand still. In the next four days, it had been lain on the muddy field like a yam leaf. 

I was stricken with grief. I saw my image in the very plant.   

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[Tikaram Regmi is a Nepali storywriter, essayist and novelist. His published works include, Aawaran, a collection of micro-stories and Anunad, a collection of travel essays. He writes in both Nepali and English.]