Big brown eyes wide with wonder gaze unblinkingly at the giant fruit. Hesitant nodding of a small dark head indicates acquiescence. Clad only in a thin cotton vest and a black string around his rotund little waist, the small boy toddles off after the delectable temptation, his podgy fist held fast around a guiding finger, all his faith vested in one single assurance.
While the boy is occupied with the watermelon, his father and mother hurriedly get onto a waiting bullock-cart and begin to ride away. The tell-tale clip clop of the bullock’s...
Read the full article in the February 2016 issue of Scarlet Leaf Review
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