A universe separates these scenes from those that in the swollen cities of the country where big-time trader, in compact with small-time grocer, hoard and haggle over produce from regions like this, where prices rise inexplicably and where people wait in anxious queues for their one kilo of this and that.

But here it's that time of year when the land that has just yielded its kharif crop of hybrid rice is being prepared for the rabi crop of hybrid wheat. Rice hasfollowed wheat and wheat has followed rice like day follows night and night follows day, these 20 years and more.

The years have seen this state increase its foodgrain production tenfold -- from two million tonnes in '50-'51 to 21.6 million tonnes in '96-'97. ``Punjab, the granary of India,'' the brochures invariably said, bearing pictures of smiling Jats dancing the bhangra.

But this is not the whole story. On the GT road from Amritsar, there is evidence of another reality. In the tungru-afflicted basmati fields being stripped of their diseased plants; in holdings too small to produce any wealth; or even in the numerous liquor stalls that straddle the highway.

So how is Punjab's famed Green Revolution -- which many say helped this country prevent certain famine in the drought year of '87-'88 -- doing, three decades after Norman Borlaug's miracle seeds first took root here?

This is not an idle question but one fraught with serious implications for the country. It's not just that Punjabaccounts for 22 per cent and 9 per cent of the total wheat and rice produced nationally. What happens in Punjab today could happen to the rest of the country tomorrow.

In Chandigarh, Punjab's minister for agriculture, Captain Kanwaljit Singh, doesn't bother to mince words: ``It is my considered opinion that the effect of the Green Revolution is petering out.'' He bases his conclusion on two developments.

First, growth in agricultural production has not just plateaued, it has registered a small decline. Second, the average income of the farmer is below the per capita income of Punjab and real farm incomes have declined from Rs 6,600 per hectare (ha) to Rs 6,100 over the last 10 years.

``Green revolution?'' laughs Pramod Kumar, director, Institute for Development Communications. ``That is a misnomer. It was a grain revolution -- no more no less.''

When agricultural economists tell Kumar that the sector is doing well, he comes up with a caveat: if agriculture is doing well, and farmers are not, there issomething wrong. ``We have put the total debt of Punjab farmers at Rs 5,700 crore -- or 70 per cent of the state's annual NDP,'' says Kumar.

In Bohru village, 15 km from Amritsar off the Khemkaran border road, Satinder Kaur, a young housewife with two children, has a dream. ``I want my children to do better than us,'' she whispers shyly.

But will they? Theirs is a family of four brothers living together on the 4 ha. This works out to 1 ha per family. The next generation would inherit even less holdings.

In fact apart from a handful, most of the 300-odd farming families in Bohru village have holdings of one or two hectares. This conforms to the state-wide picture -- at least 45 per cent of farms in Punjab are smaller than 2 ha today.

Unprofitable holdings. According to Kripal Singh Sandhu, agricultural officer, Amritsar district, this is the primary cause for debt in Punjab. Cultivation needs expensive inputs, given intensive farming methods of the region. ``Even a small tubewell, sufficient toirrigate 2 hectares, costs Rs 30,000. So what can a farmer expect to get from a 1 hectare holding, even if his crops don't fail?'' asks Sandhu.

Official estimates put annual surplus of small-sized farm at Rs 9,500. The authorities seem powerless to change this reality. Says B K Srivastava, commissioner of Jalandhar district, ``You cannot prevent further fragmentation of the land by law. But as holdings get smaller and less viable, the farmer will hopefully give up on them.''

Meanwhile, life is only going to get tougher for Ravinder Singh Mann, former sarpanch of a village near Rayya town, with nine acres to call his own. Mann says that he has cash in hand only after the harvest. ``This time I got only Rs 390 per quintal for paddy, instead of government's support price of Rs 470. Agents quote any price and we have no option but to sell. With the money from this harvest that we prepare for the next,'' he says.

Like most farmers in the state, Mann too faithfully follows the rice-wheat cycle, but it is apattern that agriculturalists and scientists are increasingly beginning to worry about.