Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.

<passage>:
Amogh Rai is standing on a small patch of wooded hillside, his Android phone held up above him, taking in the canopies of the trees that rise up around us. There's a problem though. It's a winter's day in the northern Indian foothills of the Himalayas, and the sun isn't breaking through the clouds with its usual clarity. Rai is using an app on his phone to help him understand the canopy's interception of light, but a layer of haze is preventing the 27-year-old Indian from collecting any meaningful data. Around him are some other tools of the trade: a portable device known as a ceptometer, used for measuring leaf area index a spherical densiometer, for understanding canopy foliage and foliage covering the ground Rai started working on the project in March 2014. He grew up in Delhi and was something of a tech prodigy. But as his career was advancing at the kind of rate that would leave most people sick with jealousy, he also felt something akin to the call of the wild. More intellectually curious than professionally ambitious, he enrolled at Dr BR Ambedkar University as a master's student and, in December 2013, travelled to Kumaon to work on his dissertation, which was on a tree called Myrica esculenta , known locally as kafal . "I love the forest because it is a place of silence and beauty," he says. "Also, it is one of the last places of refuge from strident urbanisation. A typical city kid reaction to noise, and tempo of life, I suppose." Rai's boss at CEDAR, Rajesh Thadani, a Yale-educated forest ecologist in his forties, is equally romantic about his attachment to the forest, quoting Thoreau to me: "I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived." It's not hard to imagine both men communing with woodland spirits. Kumaon's unique elements appealed to Rai. The area has two main types of oak tree, a number of pines, rhododendrons, cedars and maples. There are leopards, porcupines, wild boars, a variety of snakes and rodents, and 200 species of butterfly. The forests grow down hillsides into valleys and up along plateaus. There are now 40 forest plots in Kumaon, and the hope is that in the next couple of years that total will rise to 100. One night, I join Amogh Rai for dinner at the house of one of his two field assistants, Narendra. Now in his forties, Narendra is from Kumaon and has three small children. He doesn’t earn much but he is given supplementary income when he needs it and owns a small amount of land in the area. In a room furnished only with a single bed, we sit on the floor and eat food grown in the local fields: daikon, tomatoes sprinkled with marijuana ("Yes, dude, welcome to the Himalayas," laughs Rai), nettles, smoked chilli and bread. Having left school at 17, Narendra tells me he worked in a Nestlé factory and then as a mechanic, before realising that he'd rather be back in the rural village he came from. Haldwani, the nearby town he was working in, was too hot and he just loved the forest too much. This was in the 1990s, when Kumaon was a particularly remote part of the country. It still is, comparatively speaking, but the arrival of mobile phones, satellite technology and the expansion of the road network has changed the area. The population has grown and rich professionals from the city have begun to build second homes in Kumaon, drawn to the area, like the British before them, by the promise of peace and tranquillity in the mountains, by the chance to get away from it all. Narendra remembers that, in these times, when far more people kept cattle, the forest was a place almost everyone used and understood. "We used to go out in a throng and bring trees down to use the leaves for manure, which is also used as a bedding for cattle," he says. "The animals would piss and shit on it and then it was used as manure." Today, keeping cattle has become economically unviable and artificial fertiliser can be bought at the market. As a result, fewer people use and understand the forest. "There is a strong relationship between the people and the forest in the area but it has weakened, for good and for bad," Rajesh Thadani, who also worked closely with Narendra, tells me. Good because the forest is less disturbed, bad because caring for the forest now comes less naturally. "People don't quite have the same religious and cultural attachment to it. Cattle became unprofitable. The quality of schools hasn't got better but most children now go to school, so they don't want to do agricultural work when they leave… If you don't feel a sense of ownership and belonging, you are less likely to do things. The expectation of money has arrived. The forest has become an externality." This expectation of money both jars with and is in keeping with Kumaon's past. When Rajesh Thadani first came to the area in the 90s, he was strongly influenced by Ramachandra Guha's book The Unquiet Woods, a short history of the Chipko movement published in 1990. A wonderful writer, Guha remains one of India's most influential thinkers on environmental and social issues. His and Joan Martinez-Alier's distinction between the 'full-stomach' environmentalism of the north and the 'empty-belly' environmentalism of the global south strikes a chord in Kumaon. There is a big difference between chopping down some trees in a forest to keep yourself warm in the Himalayan winter, and laying waste to the Amazon in the name of the fast food industry. The Chipko movement was a phenomenon in 1970s India, an organised resistance to the destruction of forests across the country. The villagers who formed it were actual tree huggers: the word Chipko means 'embrace'. In one incident, women in the Alaknanda valley, responding to the Indian government's decision to grant a plot of forest land to a sporting goods company, formed a human ring around the trees, preventing the men from cutting them down. In Kumaon, there is a strong history of this kind of resistance to exploitation by powerful forces. As Guha and the political scientist Arun Agrawal have pointed out, the villagers of the region did not take the impositions of the British Raj lying down. The 'empty-belly' environmentalism of India awakened early, a fierce reaction to the iniquitous and destructive development processes foisted on the country by the imperial power. From the late 19th century into the 20th, the Raj introduced legislation that reduced the rights of local people to use their forests. From 1916 to 1921, villagers in Kumaon set hundreds of forest fires in protest against such legislation. They depended on forests for firewood for heating and cooking, manure for fields and fodder for livestock. This demand was seen as running contrary to the needs of the British, who wanted to carve up the forests of Kumaon to create railway sleepers. Once upon a time, the strong social system – the ecologically minded functioning of the rural villages extolled by Gandhi – and dependence on the forest meant the environment was preserved. Now, these things are changing fairly rapidly. The whole idea of working as a social group is getting lost and so, Rai argues, "incentives are going to play a larger role. I've had conversations with people where they've said, 'The forests are great, we want to protect them but we don't have any money.' So it's not just about giving them an incentive to protect the forest, it's that they need money to protect the forest."

<question>:
Why did Narendra work in a Nestle factory?

<options>:
A He wanted to be a manager
B He was tired of the forest
C Opportunities to make money for villagers is limited
D He loves chocolate

<answer>:

C