The Fault

He looked around in alarm. Something seemed different. He had a strange, eerie feeling. What was it that was causing him such unease? What could possibly be affecting him this way? The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, warning him that danger was imminent yet he saw no reason to be afraid. He looked back on the field where he had been sowing his crop of corn. The aroma of freshly turned earth was still in the air. He proudly regarded his handiwork displayed in the many neatly sown rows. Despite spending hours toiling in the soil of his plot, he felt as if he were disconnected from the earth itself. An odd sensation gripped him. He couldn't put his finger on the reason why. Perhaps it was the unseasonal weather that was causing this relentless uneasiness. It was cold and the sky was low, weighed down with heavy, gray clouds that made the atmosphere quite gloomy. They threatened rain even though the monsoons weren’t expected for months. These were unusual conditions for spring. Nevertheless he had chosen to work his field today. He was pleased with his decision because his day had been very productive. He looked at his watch. It was coated with soil from his day of grubbing about the earth. Wiping the glass clean, he saw that it read 11:15am. It was nearly time to return home for lunch. He took another handful of corn and spread it evenly around on top of the ground. Satisfaction with his tidy work inspired generosity in his spirit to share some of his grain with the birds. He gathered his tools and tied them together in a bundle to make it easier to carry them home. Hoisting his bundle over his shoulder he turned round to scan the horizon and all that surrounded him one last time. His efforts to determine the cause of his uneasiness were in vain. Still puzzling over the matter, yet resigned to its mystery, he finally turned toward home. Standing about 5ft10in, with short, dark hair framing brown eyes that expressed an attitude of resignation, earlier that morning Narayan had reached for a pair of faded jeans and an old green T-shirt as he prepared to begin his day. He had risen at 4am. While the children still slept, he had collected water, fed the cow and returned to the house for breakfast, all the while patiently listening to the inane chatter of Bina, his wife, as she followed him about his morning rituals. Once, she had been beautiful. Her unusual blue-green eyes had captivated him. Now her beautiful features were etched with lines and her gorgeous eyes only reflected bitterness. She offered a morning greeting more out of custom than actual warmth at seeing him awaken. She relentlessly nagged him about one thing or another from the moment he woke up until he joined her at the breakfast table. It was inevitable that dissatisfied tones would creep in and charge her words with the energy of accusation. Bina continued her banter throughout their first meal of the day together. She was determined that her husband should hear all that was on her mind. Naina, their first born daughter, was turning into a very beautiful nineteen year old girl. She had inherited her mother’s unique multi-colored eyes which were set in an open, friendly face. Her bright, quick smile displayed even teeth and revealed her playful nature. Narayan had secret dreams for his daughter’s future, bright dreams that meant a better life for her. Bina had been pressuring him to let Naina live with her aunt, Bina’s sister, in Kathmandu. She hoped the child could escape the poverty she herself had ended up in. Narayan did not want his little princess to go to the city. He knew what could happen to a beautiful, young girl with few resources trying to survive in the city. But Bina was relentless in her nagging. Bina, he thought bitterly, understood all too well what happened to a girl who married below her social and financial standing and escaping that misfortune was worth all the risk sending their beautiful daughter to the city might pose. Brushing aside his memories of Bina’s verbal assault this morning, Narayan set off toward home and his midday meal. He fully expected her to resume her arguments and steeled himself to be mercilessly nagged throughout lunch. However, even the thoughts of his aggravation with Bina over breakfast and his anticipation of a similar scene over lunch could not distract him from the present disquiet that continued to hound him with every step he took. He stopped and once again looked about him. He examined every tree and outcropping carefully. He scanned the sky overhead. He just couldn't shake the feeling that something worrisome and wicked was about, yet just out of sight. He couldn’t explain it, only that he sensed it just as surely as a baboon’s nose could detect the scent of the wolves. It was as if a voice deep within him persisted in shouting to him, “Beware!” Listening carefully, at last he realized the cause of his uneasiness wasn’t because of something that was disturbing his surroundings. Rather, the reason things seemed all wrong about him was because of what was lacking. He was surrounded by silence. Silence did not belong in the forest surrounding a plot of land that had just been turned and sown with corn. Curious and hungry birds should be cackling their messages back and forth sharing the good news that a feast was to be had on the bits of corn that remain uncovered. Where was the chattering of the birds? Why did he not hear the hum of insects? Why were flies and gnats not tormenting him as they sought to bite and dine upon his salty, sweat-soaked skin? Why was the song of the wind in the hills not comforting him as he journeyed home? He listened to this music every day, the earth herself singing to him and cheering him as he worked his small farm. But now a gentle breeze was all he could detect as it whispered an odd tune that sounded mournful and only added to his apprehensions. It was at this moment of realization of the unnatural quiet of his world that he heard a distant roar. As he quickly spun round to look toward the source of the noise, a violent shudder under his feet sent him reeling. “What the hell was that?” he asked himself as he began to rise to his feet. Before he could regain his stance, another shudder threw him to the ground once more. As he lay there confused about what had just happened, he realized that the ground wasn't just trembling, it was moving violently to and fro, buckling and heaving. The bizarre ripples of movement inspired an image in his mind of Bina shaking the dust out of a rug. Out of his peripheral vision he could see trees toppling over. Roots that were no longer buried deeply beneath the earth clawed upward toward the sky. Unable to understand how such a thing could happen, he once again attempted to scramble upright only to be violently thrown to the ground. He struck his head roughly upon the hardened dirt path. His vision blurred briefly as tears stung his eyes and they smarted from the pain. He lay still until the tremors subsided. It seemed like hours had passed since the first quake had tossed him to the ground. He consulted his watch again and was surprised to see that only a minute or two had actually passed. Sitting up groggily and massaging the bump that was quickly punctuating the spot on his head where it had struck the ground, he looked around at what now looked more like a wasteland than a farm. His freshly sown crop was completely destroyed. Uprooted trees and rocks were scattered everywhere. His field was unrecognisable. Gone were the neatly mounded rows that would produce his family’s security during the monsoons.