The townspeople get angry at the rain because their expensive suits get wet, their hair looks like wet rats, or they wait at the bus stop because they forgot to bring umbrellas. But this story is not about being angry at the rain because it is a nuisance to their daily lives; it is about the difference with a nation that the rain doesn't exist, where the soil is dry, the plants rot, and the energy they left behind.
It has not rained for two months, as the earth has just stopped, and what these dehydrated souls have felt is the intense heat from the sun. A small child passes the night, their grieving family asking if they can live without water one day, knowing their hopes are gone. The next day a tall man in a white robe and white beard creeps through a small village as if he had been here before. Who is this mysterious stranger walking in this village of sorrow and losing hope? Will we find out who the white man is? Not today, but maybe some other day, but what will happen next will be a story that no one will believe in the next few centuries.
Standing in the middle of the village, he grabbed his long wooden staff, hit it on the cracked, dry ground, and then began to roll it between his soft fingers. The echo of a flute sounded around the villagers; it seemed that there was life in them. The sound of this gentle whistle attracts the villagers and their herders; will they understand?
A slight vibration traveled through the wooden objects, and suddenly a thin ray came up in the sunny sky. And then suddenly, the cloudless sky began to turn dark, dark clouds started to hover over the villagers, and everyone was staring at this strange phenomenon. And the rain started to fall. The thirsty family is getting back to life; the dry, cracked field is back to comfort.
All the children in the village are wandering in the rainwater, holding the hands of their loved ones jumping on top of each other, and splashing in the pool of water, forgetting how death almost engulfed them. That is what pure happiness means. In cities where we express resentment towards rain because we consider it a nuisance, but in such a village where the presence of rain is rare, it is welcomed with open arms and bowed with absolute compassion.
