We are on our way to Sanjan.
The highway is creased and uneven,
the countryside predictable.
Two bullocks pull a plough.
Newly baked bricks dry in the sun.
A border of babul trees encloses a farm.
Gaily beribboned bullock carts block
our path, as
skinny ribbed cattle munch dry grass.
As we come closer we pass
a row of women’s colored bent backs,
......