Rohan’s stomach grew disproportionately in comparison to his thin frame. It was initially not noticed by Rohan. He was a young boy, and more concerned with his boyish interests than his body. The irregularity caught the attention of the community.
Subtle whispers started to spread, at first quiet, but increasing in volume with time. He would wince every time he heard the derogatory names “fat pig” or “pregnant woman”. He was mocked by children, and adults looked at him with a mixture curiosity and discomfort. He was treated with a mockery he couldn’t understand.
Every sideways glance was like a sting and every whispered comment was a powerful gust that could topple his composure. Rohan retreated into his shell as he feared the taunts of society. He persevered in the face of challenges, convinced that things would eventually improve. But they never did.
Rohan found solace after a time in the rhythms of farming. He found refuge in the smell of earth, the crackle of ripe grains, and the gentle swaying of the fields beneath the vast sky. Each seed was a metaphor for his life. It was a symbol of his resilience, continuity and endurance.
The days of hard work in the sun were also filled with feelings of accomplishment. The truth of his burgeoning stomach was unmistakable, but in the calmness of the fields it was easier to ignore the cruel jibes.
Rohan was able to exhale in the fields and enjoy normalcy without being the center of attention. He felt a sense acceptance in the fields. As if nature were whispering assurances to him that things would align, it was like he was hearing a promise. Nature had a plan, and so did he. He held on to that thought… until the world began to change.
