Mango and Sticky Rice

From up on a hill overlooking a rice paddy and water hole was a sleek and modern-looking villa. And in that villa lived the wealthy Singaporean Miss Lim, who watched Mrs. Manareeta with her buffalo, ploughing the soil in the paddy from her balcony with contempt.

“She must keep that buffalo tied up. I tell you, it’s not right!” With yellow rubber gloves on her hands, Miss Lim snatched a towel from one of her cleaners, vigorously wiping a spot on the dining table near her swimming pool before throwing it back at her. “She lets that beast go everywhere….” Taking a handheld vacuum out of the utility closet, she switched it on and – much to the annoyance of her boyfriend – vigorously vacuumed the back of the deckchair he lay against.

“She’ll listen to either one of you, won’t she? One of you must speak to her. NOW!” But both her boyfriend and the cleaner ignored her with a glare. Before Miss Lim could raise her voice again, she caught a whiff of something putrid; there was buffalo dung on the soles of her boyfriend’s slippers.

“These filthy shoes belong outside!” She slid the slippers off his feet, throwing them outside the villa’s entrance before flicking her gloves off. “I’ve had it with that buffalo – I’ll go myself!”

Miss Lim marched out of her villa as fast as her high heels would allow her, not even stopping to look at and greet her neighbours living in the other villas and the other passersby in the neighbourhood. As soon as she reached the paddy, she held her nose and couldn’t help but gag – not only because of the dung, but also the sight of Mrs. Manareeta, who was filling her tall bamboo baskets with rice.

Miss Lim cleared her throat, and the rural woman turned. “Ah, Sawatdee-kha.” Mrs. Manareeta put her hands together and bowed. “Nice day, no?” Her English was good, but not proficient.

“I want to speak about the buffalo. You must keep him tied up, okay? You pass by my neighbourhood every day and it’s impossible for everyone to walk through!” She barked as the buffalo excreted again. “Look – buffalo shit! Buffalo shit! My neighbourhood is not a farm!”

“So you think it is big city, yes? Why you not stay on the sidewalk?” Mrs. Manareeta approached her, somewhat offended. “You big shot rich lady!”

“Why you–!” But before Miss Lim could finish, she lost her footing and fell face-first into the paddy with a splash, to which the rural woman laughed heartily.

“Who is dirty now?”

“You PIG!” Miss Lim shrieked, grabbing a handful of mud and dung and threw it at Mrs. Manareeta, only for the latter to throw some at her makeup-covered face. With a wail, the once-proud Singaporean hurried back up to her villa in tears. The neighbours, the passersby, the villa staff and her boyfriend now held their noses, and all the while she tried to block Mrs. Manareeta’s proud laughter.

***

A week had passed, but within that time Miss Lim spent most of the days staring over the balcony, watching for Mrs. Manareeta. When she did appear to plow the soil with her buffalo and harvest the rice, the wealthy woman’s resentment grew tenfold. Until one hot day, instead of just her and her buffalo down at the paddy, there were also three children. They appeared to be very young, but they were helping their mother harvest the rice, filling their buckets and occasionally running playfully in the paddy. Miss Lim couldn’t help but grow intrigued and watch, and something got a hold on her but she didn’t know what.

Her train of thought was interrupted by her boyfriend tapping her shoulder. Showing his phone to her, the screen showed a sign-up form for a volunteering trip at a remote village.

“What makes you think I’d say yes to that?”

“You might need it,” he suggested. “Big time.”

***

“Sawatdee-kha, Khun Manareeta.” Miss Lim put her hands together and bowed, welcoming her host. Out of all the houses in the village, she didn’t think she would have ended up in the house of the person she despised. It looked no different from the others, however – a stone house with holes for windows and doors, a mattress with a cotton blanket and a stone outhouse with a hole full of water out the back. Mrs. Manareeta sat on the stone floor, and Miss Lim, suddenly remembering, rushed out to bring the dish she cooked as part of the day’s volunteering activity.

“Som Tum, just for you,” Miss Lim offered the vegetarian dish, speaking slowly. With her chopsticks, Mrs. Manareeta savoured the Som Tum, and Miss Lim watched anxiously, until the other woman’s eyes lit up with delight.

“You cooked before?”

“No, it’s my first time,” Miss Lim admitted sheepishly. “My staff always cooked for me.”

“Ah. It is good!” Mrs. Manareeta declared, much to her guest’s surprise. Suddenly, she bowed her head profusely. “I am sorry. Sorry that my Klahan has been bother to you. But what can do? Buffalo must eat, must drink, must work, and so must…poo.”

“No,” Miss Lim shook her head. “I’m the one who should be sorry, for treating you so badly. I didn’t know you had a family to feed. I didn’t know how hard you worked to keep yourself steady. I wish I knew what that was like.” However, Mrs. Manareeta only placed a woven plate in between herself and the other woman.

“Khao niao mamuang,” the former offered.

“...Mango sticky rice?”

“Mango from the tree. Rice from the paddy. Peace offering.”

With her pair of chopsticks, Miss Lim took and tasted some rice, followed by a piece of mango. But when both hit her tongue, she covered her mouth in delight. So fresh, so earthy, and yet so sweet! She let them rest on her tongue before swallowing.

“So tasty!” She almost sighed in ecstasy. “Khopkhunka. Thank you.”

“And now,” Mrs. Manareeta said, “We don’t fight anymore.”