They loaded the golden grain onto bullock carts and took it to the local mandi (market). The buyers fought to buy Haji’s wheat because it was dry and hard—perfect for making roti (flatbread). Rice from Kharif gets sticky; wheat from Rabi makes fluffy bread.

Unlike the frantic Kharif season of rice and sugarcane that demanded heavy rain, Rabi was calm. They prepared the land for —Pakistan’s staple food. They also set aside small plots for chickpeas (chana) and mustard (sarson) .

The family worked together, clearing the frost and cleaning the water channels. They also harvested their and gram (chana) . These "pulse crops" are useful because they put nitrogen back into the soil, fertilizing it for free.

In the heart of Punjab, Pakistan, lived an old farmer named Haji Muhammad. His village, Kot Rehman, lay between the mighty rivers Chenab and Jhelum. For Haji, the year was not divided into January or February; it was divided into two seasons: Kharif (summer) and Rabi (winter).

By April, the landscape transformed. The green wheat had turned into a golden ocean, waving under the sun. The mustard flowers had bloomed bright yellow, and the air smelled of earth and honey.

They sowed the seeds, relying not on monsoon rains, but on careful from the river. The Rabi season is a dry season, so water management is everything.

The Rabi season is the quiet, hardworking backbone of rural Pakistan. It doesn't have the drama of the monsoon, but it has the reliability of the setting sun. As Haji Muhammad told his sons, "Take care of the Rabi, and the Rabi will take care of the nation."

"Because the yellow flowers will remind us that spring is coming," Haji smiled, "and the oil will cook our dinner."