The strange peace that has the smell of the soil of Bengal is not found in the city's noise. In the morning, when the first ray of the sun reaches the horizon, the green shyam field of village Bengal should return a new life. If the dew set foot in the union, it seems that the earth has become heaven.
On one end of the field the paddy trees are swept in the air, as if green crafts were painted across the chest. The sound of the cow's car is flying away, the farmers are going to the field with a plow on their shoulders. Their laughter, their suffering, and the green of that field - all draw a unique image.
Children run on the field. Sometimes they fly, sometimes playing hide and seek. On the side of the field, the birds in the bamboo shrubs sing kichirmichi. When the evening goes down, the red sun shines in the dark green of the field, then it seems as if nature has covered the golden lining.
This field not only bless the crop, it is the heart rate of rural life. Farmer's sweat, baby smiles and nature gifts - all together the green shyam field of Bengal is a reflection of our existence.
This story was created with the help of AI.
