In Samaria, men who don’t drink in the summer are branded lazy. The only way to survive the maddening heat and sultry dust is to swill pitchers of chilled, stomach-churning yayin. Eyes watering from the dried peppers of Abyssinia, the pungent yayin assaults the tongue with a sourness to match. The body eventually starts cooling down. Thoughts fleeing the heat finally settle down, drenched. Only then can you find the energy to work. Or think.

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A short story by Jeyamohan translated from Tamil by Amruth Varshan