We had gone into fields , so to speak on the bunds between field and field .Looking beyond was the triangular hill with a hole in the top that once had monks ,their voices floating on river.
The river sand went dry for summer and for the village bones to bid goodbye.Boats came halfway middle of sand and held your hands and took you in. A rupee was they charged other side.In deep of summer they did not exist because river vanished into the bay.
Polished brass vessels spun and spun in eddying waters, floating away from bathing women . The women dipped hair of heads, right below them to bring them up suddenly like they were brass vessels.
The landscape is gone from our world.Women heads do not bob up nor brass.The women are just a landscape in us.