My (Short) Career as a Farmer
My (Short) Career as a Farmer
The entire scene watching the bulls at work exuded a deep sense of symbiotic sanity between the bulls, mankind and Mother Earth.
Once upon a time, when I was visiting Vrindavana, I took a walk over to Kurma Rupa Prabhu’s goshalla. In an adjacent field, a local Vrajavasi had tethered two bullocks and was ploughing the ground.
For some reason, I found it highly satisfying to just stand there and stare at the peaceful, yet simultaneously strenuous, work being done. The entire scene exuded a deep sense of symbiotic sanity between the bulls, mankind, and Mother Earth.
As they completed one row, they would turn around by the man expertly calling out to the bulls and gently tapping their hind region with a stick. Then they would glide slowly down another row whilst the moist soil would churn to the surface in neat rows for future planting.
I must have looked eager, because the gentleman riding on the plough waved for me to come over. I didn’t hesitate. Then he invited me onto the plough and handed me the reins. He was very happy to share his joy with me, and I was grateful for the opportunity.
He stepped off the plough and I just stood there, reins in hand, feeling kind of useless. Laughingly, he tapped one of the bulls and shouted out something to him. The bulls began to slowly move forward, and my heart jumped with a reverent joy that seemed to be gifted to me at that moment. The smile on my face could hardly express the feeling in my heart. Here I was, in the land of Krishna, ploughing the sacred soil with his bulls.
As I relished this experience, the bulls picked up speed. I tried calling out to them as I’d seen the Vrajavasi man do, but they didn’t seem too concerned about it. I turned around to see that the gentleman was still standing where he stepped off some distance away, but now had a concerned look on his face. Then the bulls began to turn almost perpendicular into the neat rows that were already ploughed. By this point, it was clear that I had no control over them, and they were undoing a fair bit of work for that day.
The man ran up to us and took the reins from my hands. Within seconds, he coaxed them to a full stop, then gestured for me to step off the plough.
I was flushed in the face and happily complied. Without much nicety, the Vrajavasi straightened out the plough and resumed his work. I now felt this weird embarrassment and just wanted to go back to satisfyingly watching the bulls at work. So I stood there fingering my japa beads while gazing at the bulls re-ploughing the rows.
After a minute or so, they circled around and came back my direction. Upon seeing me standing there, the man waved for me to move. I considerately shifted aside, leaving plenty of clearance. When he came alongside me, he had an annoyed look on his face and waved for me to remove myself from his field.
So I did. And that was my career farming with bulls.
This is another awkward spiritual moment from my life. I’m not sure if there’s a deep meaning to share alongside this story. Somehow I remember this fondly, though.
Suburban Mysticism is free, but if you feel inspired and want to share some love, consider buying Ekendra a broccoli.
No part of this presentation was generated with artificial intelligence; just “flawsome” human thoughts here … with, of course, due homage to The Algorithm that abides over us all.