The Farmer’s Prayer

         There was a farmer in a small village who was a deeply devout man. Each dawn, he lit a small diya before his clay pot of dalia. His neighbors scoffed him, “Why offer dalia? Offer sweets to the gods!”

          The farmer only smiled serenely. “Mitti se jo milta hai, wahi sabse pavitra hota hai.”

       One year, there was a dreadful drought. With the drought, grains dwindled, markets failed, and hunger spread. Those who had laughed at the farmer now went to him, because his modest granaries still contained humble stores of wheat.   

       When villagers asked him how he had managed, he replied, Dalia is our modest guardian. It keeps long, cooks in little water, and with small quantities nourishes many. It can extend itself to fill stomachs even in hard times.

       That night, the farmer boiled a large pot of dalia with jaggery and ghee. He called the entire village to him. The aroma drifted through the lanes, carrying not just sustenance, but hope. Children laughed, and the elders blessed him; the gods seemed to smile in the dancing firelight.

       The myth grew — that dalia was the grain of resilience, the gift of the farmer that made scarcity into a sharing. Since then, in lean months or gratitude festivals, families prepared sweet dalia as a silent prayer. Even today, when elders serve dalia during challenging times, they recall that farmer’s wisdom: “Jab sab kuch toot jaye, tab bhi dalia saath nahi chhodta.”