The pitter-patter of autumn rain taps on the bluestone slabs, which exude beads of water, reflecting uneven silvery gloss. The misty rain obscures the distant mountains and rolling slopes. The village is quiet, with occasional barks of dogs and chicken clucks floating from the thickets. The air is steeped with the fragrance of soil and grass, permeating the surroundings of the dwellings.

The society we live in seems to revolve around money.