Day 30 - Trade and trust

Under the golden haze of the afternoon sun, a familiar figure emerged in Pattiyawala, a Muslim vendor from the neighboring village of Walahiddawewa, his cart laden with goods and his eyes sharp with business acumen. Word had traveled fast that the farmers here were ready to part with their hard-earned harvest, and he, ever the opportunist, had arrived to strike his deals.

My host, a resilient woman weathered by the toils of farming, watched him with a mix of gratitude and resignation. Months ago, when desperation had tightened its grip, this vendor had extended her a lifeline, a loan that kept her afloat. In her eyes, he was more than just a trader; he was a man of fairness, a rare soul in a world where profit often overshadowed compassion.

Yet, today’s transaction carried the bitter sting of reality. The paddy she had painstakingly purchased and cultivated for Rs. 150 per kilogram was now being sold to him for a meager Rs. 100 per kilogram, a loss that weighed heavy on her heart. This, she told me with a sigh, was the unspoken truth of farming: the backbreaking labor, the unpredictable market, and the middlemen who always seemed to profit.

As the vendor tallied the numbers, no cash exchanged hands. Instead, the six bags of paddy she surrendered chipped away at the debt she owed him, settling more than half of the loan. It was a transaction that spoke volumes of trust, of necessity, and of the quiet hardships that define the lives of those who feed the nation.

In this small village, where fields stretched endlessly and debts loomed large, the vendor was both a saviour and a reminder of an unforgiving system. And as he departed, his cart now heavier with grain, my host stood silently, her thoughts lost in the cycle of sowing, selling, and surviving, one harvest at a time.