The Sun-Kissed Gift of Malwa

Malwa ki mitti ka apna rang hai… apni khushboo. Ask anyone there about their gehun, and you’ll notice the smile before the words. “Hamare yahan ka gehun alag hai,” they’ll tell you with pride. And behind that pride, there’s an old kahani people still whisper.

They say once a wandering bard came to a king’s court. He carried only a small handful of wheat with him—not riches, not jewels, just that humble grain.The cooks laughed but ground it into flour anyway. Soon, rotis were served to the king. The first bite stopped everyone in their tracks. The taste was so gentle, it lingered on the tongue like sunshine slowly warming the earth.

The king, charmed, named it Sharbati—“the grain kissed by the rising sun.” From then on, farmers of Malwa sowed it like a blessing, treating each seed with respect, almost like family.

There’s no stone carving or script that proves this tale. But look at the harvest in Sehore, and you’ll know the story breathes in every field. Even today, when you hold into a soft roti, you’re holding not just food—but the warmth of that bard’s gift, the king’s amazement, and the and the sunshine of Malwa’s fields.