The village well where the memory of a “burdened” time is kept

In the past, people called my village with the name Ho village, later in 1990 it changed to Hong Ky. Although Hong Ky is also very beautiful and is a name with many meanings for a village, the people in our village are still used to using the old name of Ho village. Because that name has been attached to memories, the years cannot fade with the ups and downs of time. The name Hong Ky seems to be used only on documents, sometimes a stranger in the middle of the village asks about Hong Ky but everyone is bewildered, it takes a while to remember the name of the village. rarely used. In the middle of Ho village, there is a very large well, with water all year round and four seasons in the culture, even the round pebbles at the bottom of the well.

At that time, there was no well, bore well or clean water of the water plant like now. The whole village has only one well dug in the middle of the village to provide water for the people. Next to the village well is the communal house yard and an ancient banyan tree hundreds of years old. I do not know when the well existed, when I was born, I saw the well lying there with an old appearance bearing the evidence of time.

The village well is like a religious elder witnessing all the changes in my village. The other side of the village well is adjacent to the lotus pond of Mrs. Liem’s ​​house, her lotus pond is about six meters wide. In the blooming season, the lotus flowers bring fragrance to the whole area. We children often wait until noon to sneak up on adults, take a shortcut through the village well to steal young lotus flowers.

After stealing, we hid under a nearby banana tree, munching on sweet lotus seeds, talking while throwing peels at each other, laughing. When we had a full stomach full of lotus seeds, we returned through the well as dignified as if we had never done that bad thing. It was sunny, everyone’s sweat was flowing. We scooped water from the well and poured it over our heads, the well water was cool, I scooped up a handful of water and brought it to my mouth to drink, wherever the water went, the heat dispels it, the feeling that no other water can be delicious or sweet. than my village well.

In order to have water for daily life, everyone in the village has to carry water to store it in crockery jars. Time to draw water is usually in the morning when the well water is clearest and in the evening after returning from work in the field. I still remember the chilly autumn mornings, when the mist covered my eyes, I followed her to fetch water from the well. People from the beginning of the village came in, people from the end of the village came out with voices and laughter mixed in the mist and headed towards the village well. People lined up at the well as crowded as a festival, but there was absolutely no sound of arguing or jostling. Everyone takes turns from one person to another, those who have not had their turn sit temporarily under the banyan tree to talk while waiting. Village stories, farm stories, children stories, husband and wife stories of all kinds are brought out to be told. People in the countryside never run out of things to say to each other, perhaps that’s why the feelings of my villagers are always strong and close because there is nothing to hide, the sadness and joy of a family is a story. common to the whole village.

My sister carried two heavy burdens of water, her gait wobbled to the swaying rhythm of the two buckets of water. I asked her to let me carry it for her, but she didn’t say she was too young to bear it. At that time, I promised myself that when I grow up, I would replace her with this hard work of carrying water. Actually, at that time, because I was young, I didn’t know, but for her and most of my villagers, carrying the loads of fresh water from the village well to home was a bit tiring but also filled with joy. . In those days of carrying water, my sister knew and loved Mr. Tan, a young man in the village and later the two became husband and wife. The well has been a “brother and mother” that will charm her husband and wife as well as many other beautiful boys and girls in the village.

On moonlit evenings, our children often invite each other to the village well to cool off the heat from the well. By the village well, breathing in the fragrance from the lotus pond of Mr. Liem’s ​​house, watching the moon shining through the areca trees shining into the well, the water from the well swayed silver ripples. A feeling of solitude and peace, some children run out of stories to play and tell ghost stories to scare each other. There are long-haired ghosts that let their hair down to the well on dark nights, which are long- and short-tongued ghosts of all kinds. The stories made up that everyone was scared and terrified, for a few nights did not dare to go to the well. But then like an addict, a few days later despite the fear, the children gathered in the well to play.

As time passed, the village well was gradually replaced, as the name Ho village now gradually appeared less and less. However, the people of my village did not fill up the well, but left and restored the road leading to the well as a way to remind the descendants of future generations and to leave an impression of a time of community activities of the whole village. The village has changed a lot now, many old things have disappeared as an inevitable rule. It’s lucky for the children of Ho village far away from home like us when every time we go back to our hometown, we still see the well still there to relive our old years. Everything on the outside may be different, but a village well is still a village soul, with deep memories of a “burdened” time.