Poem: My mother twisted through and through groaning on a mat My father, sceptic, rationalist, trying every curse and blessing, powder, mixture, herb and hybrid. He even poured a little paraffin upon the bitten toe and put a match to it. I watched the flame feeding on my mother I watched the holy man perform the rites to tame the poison with an incantation. After twenty hours it lost its sting............. My mother only said Thank God the scorpion picked on me and spared my children. Question: Who is the narrator in the poem?

1. The reader
2. A common man
3. The poet
4. A villager