Earth. Nature. People. The Soil Remembers.

From the village lanes to the field boundaries, people called him 'Kisaanu' with respect. He was Badriprasad ji's son, but through sheer hard work he became Kisaanu for the whole area.

We all saw with our own small eyes what very few people could do in that time. The fragrance of his soil and the taste of food at home felt real and pure. When the plough moved with bells tied around the oxen's neck, it felt like the land was singing an old raag. Crops across all three seasons grew so well that the kothar and storerooms stayed full. There was such barqat that we never felt a shortage.

Dadaji lived simply, but his food was rich in taste. He loved Awadh's traditional pakwans: sattu, chooni ki roti, arhar ki dal bhari roti, garlic-chilli chutney crushed in sarson oil, kadhi, fara, and urad dal ke bade. Sitting with him made every taste feel double.

By afternoon, going to the kutti machine with Dadaji was our favourite time. When he fed straw, green barseem, and chari into the hand-run cutter, we would place our small hands over his big, strong hands. The wheel turned and the fragrance of fresh grass floated in the air. After the fodder was cut, we fed the baby buffalo and calves. They looked at us with their big eyes. We stroked their ears, played with them, and gave them names that came straight from the heart.

In the evening, after returning from the fields, under the soft light of a lantern, we sat with our holiday homework. Tough maths questions would scare us. Dadaji adjusted his glasses, sat us close, and explained those difficult questions with simple home examples until the fear disappeared. That understanding, that manner, and that calm way of seeing life still guides our big decisions.

And the truth is, in every home, every village, every kasba, a person like this exists. In your Dadaji and ours, somewhere that same Kisaanu lives, watering a whole generation with simplicity and sanskars. Swargiya Shri Ram Sundar Shukla ji is still alive in our thoughts, in our work, and in Kisaanu's beautiful dream.

Even today, when we close our eyes after the city rush, every summer holiday of childhood returns like a cinema. The harsh afternoon sun, neem shade, and Swargiya Shri Ram Sundar Shukla ji smiling in front of us. Those days are closest to our heart. Dadaji had a natural magic in his hands. He did not just sweat on the land, he listened to every heartbeat of the soil and lived it.

We still remember that big heap of shining pea and mustard seeds in the courtyard, wheat ears glowing like gold in the sun, and that special white, half-broken rice stored for two or three years in big earthen pots. When those pots opened, the whole home filled with an earthy fragrance.

In our courtyard, Ratna, our Brown Murrah buffalo, our cows, and the heavy morning-evening rhythm of milk and curd made our home feel like a complete family. That home had a rare discipline. It had deep warmth, and a strong maryada too.

Not only the animals, even our trees had names that Dadaji gave with love. Every mahua and every mango had its own identity. Like Belahava, which looked like the bael tree, and Kalmiyahva, a beautiful seedling that came from a grafted mango seed. Dadaji would take us near these trees and say, children, trees do not only give fruits, they are the elders of the family who quietly know how to give shade.

The lessons of truth, honesty, and principles we learnt from him still stand like a backbone in difficult times. Swargiya Shri Ram Sundar Shukla ji was not only a farmer or our Dadaji. He was our first guru, the strongest pillar of our home, and a living example. He taught us that no matter how much shine the world brings, you must hold your land, your truth, and your principles with full dignity.