Raki and her two friends sprinted through the bustling gati, their laughter echoing in the air. They had just played a trick on Lak, the chief's notorious dog. They'd dipped a long, chisel-like stone in meat broth and tossed it into the courtyard. From their hidden perch atop the fence, they watched as the dog eagerly sank its teeth into the "treat."
The poor animal's confusion was both hilarious and pitiable—chewing so hard that it whimpered when its efforts bore nothing but the taste of sand. Furious, the dog barked wildly, its face twisted in frustration. Even though they were well outside its reach, the three girls bolted away in a fit of giggles.
As they raced through the marketplace, the blacksmith paused mid-swing, his hammer hovering over molten steel. He shouted after them, but they ignored him, laughing as they dodged women carrying wares. Shouts and scolds followed them, but they were already heading toward Sek, the baker.
Raki grabbed a loaf of warm bread from an open cabinet as Sek was busy turning dough in the fire. With a mischievous grin, she waved it in his direction. "Look what we have, Sek!"
Sek merely chuckled, waving them off as they darted away, leaving the baker smiling behind them.
The shoemaker, Lif, beckoned to them as they passed his stall, calling out offers for new shoes. Agif, the village tailor, held up colorful fabrics and teased them with sweet compliments. The elderly woman chuckled when the girls only giggled in response, their attention drawn by the bode—a lively group of boys drumming and singing nearby.
The girls clapped and danced along, joining in the cheerful chorus:
"It's the gati!"
"Bu dum dum dum, bu da da dum dum dum da!"
"It's the gati, ohhh!"
"Bu dum dum dum, da da da dum dum dum!"
The boys sang of the enduring spirit of the marketplace, where the clang of the blacksmith's hammer and the hum of trade never faded. The three girls laughed and clapped until the song ended, then wandered toward the village.
As they strolled hand in hand, Raki sighed. "Papa's going to be furious. I promised to help with the harvest, and now it's almost nightfall. What do I tell him?"
Meshe draped an arm around her. "Blame the sky, of course! Say it tricked us into thinking there was more daylight left."
Raki shook her head. "If your momma falls for that, my papa definitely won't. He'd probably disown me first."
Keu interrupted, holding out the bread. "How are we cutting this? I don't have a knife."
"Use your hands," Raki suggested.
Keu grimaced. "That's so unsanitary!"
"You're already holding it with your hands, Keu," Meshe teased.
Keu pouted, her eyes brimming with fake tears. "I hate you! Now I can't even eat it!" She flung the bread at Raki and stormed off, heading for home.
As Raki and Meshe reached the village, the hum of evening life filled the air. Smoke wafted from cooking fires as women shouted instructions to their children. Kids formed small groups, excited for the nightly stories from Nana, the village elder. Men sat on benches, arguing playfully over bottles of wine after a long day in the fields.
Raki broke the bread in half and handed a piece to Meshe. "See you tomorrow, Mes," she said, rushing toward home.
"Bye, Raki!" Meshe waved.
Raki arrived to find her father seated on a bench outside their house, gnawing on roasted meat. From the sounds behind the house, her mother was busy preparing dinner. Relief washed over Raki as her stomach growled.
"Want some?" her father asked, holding out a piece of meat.
"Of course, Papa!" she replied eagerly, joining him on the bench. She tore into the roasted meat, savoring its flavor.
"You didn't show up for the harvest," her father remarked.
"I'm sorry, Papa. I lost track of time," she said, avoiding his gaze.
"You're always sorry," he grumbled. "But 'sorry' doesn't put food on the table or clothes on your back. Remember that."
"Yes, Papa," Raki murmured.
"And you're not a little girl anymore. You're turning sixteen soon. Maybe it's time a good man came along and took you off my hands," he teased, though his tone was gruff.
"That's not true!" Raki protested with a grin. "You'd cry the day I leave."
"Cry? Me? The day you marry, I'll be beating the drums so hard the whole village will hear," he joked.
Raki pouted, but before she could retort, her mother emerged with dinner.
"Where have you been, Raki?" her mother asked, setting a steaming pot of herb soup on the table.
"Everywhere, Momma," Raki replied cheekily, earning a disapproving glance.
As they ate, her father reminded her of the next day's Harvest Festival, where the village would gather to worship the harvest god, Oki. "I want none of that 'I'm sorry' nonsense tomorrow," he warned.
Raki nodded solemnly, vowing silently not to disappoint them again.