When I started writing this, I had titled it ‘Cow is a tasty animal’, since all I was writing about was how beef is the most delicious meat. To confess I was petrified of gau rakshaks (cow protection brigades/vigilantes) and decided to rewrite and a lot has changed meanwhile. Jallikattu took social media by storm and saw the Tamil society asserting its right to have an identity that didn’t need pan-national approval, Amma was no more, and Chinnamma was just a blip. Modiji won the assembly elections in UP for BJP and put Yogiji on the hot seat, a man who moved with his pet cows to the chief minister’s residence. So, I retitled this as Bovine Chronicles given that there is so much to write about this exalted being. So, will try and do this as a series and I sincerely believe the cow is a contender for the Face of the Year award, so guess we can keep it going.
This blog is an attempt to uncover the urban myths around the Cow, a tasty plate to some, a revered figure for many and nuisance on roads to all.
‘Cow is a gentle animal’, I was aghast when our English teacher wrote this as a trigger line for Class 4 students when we had to write an essay on The Cow. Firstly, who writes an essay on The Cow? For a moment let’s accept that it’s a possible topic but ‘Cow a gentle animal’ is just propaganda. Believe you me it is propaganda. Let us consider the reference from many of my ‘rajya bhaasha’ speaking friends when they used a phrase ‘gau aadmi’ to refer to gentle simpletons among men. Is it not a conspiracy hatched by the first cow vigilantes to corrupt young minds? Their effort at making us think how a cow so gentle can be tasty. While I would say most of these ‘gau aadmis’ could just be described using a simple English word ‘moron’, I am not going to counter the ‘Cow is a gentle animal’ axiom with rhetoric. I will present facts and first-hand experiences to prove otherwise.
So back to why I disagree on cow being gentle, my older Cousin and I had to face the wrath of many a cow chasing us through paddy fields with no significant provocation. We did not throw red chilli powder in its eye nor did we bite its tail as the anti-Jallikkattu activists claim, some raucous fooling around is enough for many a cow to charge at you. They are short tempered and mostly mean.
Let me describe an incident. That day we had an early break at school, happy that we got some extra play time, my cousin, I and our two sisters in tow walked the short route from school that cut through paddy fields back home. As we took the turn and reached the edge of ‘Cows Deep’, a treacherous stretch of nearly 400 meters of green grass on one side and paddy fields to the other, we stopped. Once you step into that narrow trail, there was no turning back, because if you turned and ran, all you would achieve was crashing into the rearguard. With a high probability for bovine assaults, this was a terrible stretch to volunteer to be the vanguard to your party, once in the only option was to take whatever comes at you by the horns; a la Bhallaladeva from Bahubali.
On that day, we had to deal with another agent of peril, slick and slippery ground, thanks to three days of rains. The ground was so wet only with a ballerina’s nimbleness one would get through. With bated breath, my cousin told me he would take the lead; I was relieved. With shoes in hand, long trousers rolled up to his shin he walked into ‘Cows Deep’. The rule was clear we will wait for him to take the first ten odd steps and scout the area and give us a sign, only if it is safe would the rest of the party move on. That day my cousin signalled to me alone to proceed. When I got to him, I noticed that he was all relaxed no sign of fear. He smiled and pointed to the green grassy side, and there was not a single bovine devil in sight, I also let out a sigh of relief.
Quickly we waved to our sisters to walk up, but a lurking doubt made us alter plans, I decided to take the vanguard and my cousin who was the eldest of the lot decided to bring up the rear. As we started our trek of that treacherous and slippery path, it was unusually quiet, and our euphoria of not sighting any of those devils gave way to an uneasy feeling. An awakened sensorial state that most soldiers would describe as ‘priori-ambushsden’ – the nagging sense that you are about to be ambushed. But nothing happened, and we had just another 50 meters to cross, and we would be on safe land.
I turned and made the victory sign to my cousin, and he responded with a bellowing victory cry which I echoed, and as if on cue we were attacked. She was black as the devil himself, and unlike in the past, she attacked us from the dirty brown muddy side our unprotected flank. We were always watchful of that green grassy side, a costly error. A quick estimate indicated that we would possibly have just enough time to outrun the beast. Just like Amitabh Bachchan’s narration of out running the tiger in Mr Natwarlal, ‘mein aage, woh peeche’, our chase started.
Then I made the costly mistake of turning around to see how far the she-devil was and slipped and fell with a loud splash. But I guess it worked, she slowed her ungainly gallop into a gentle canter, looking at the mud covered me with some curiosity. I called out to the others to keep running and I also slowly backed up keeping her in sight all the time. Then I heard my cousins shout ‘turn and run’. I figured that we had beaten her, realising her folly the bovine devil started charging again but I outran her and was on safe land.
I know I may have got carried away with my narration, and it might sound like Famous Five, but an evil cow hiding and ambushing unsuspecting kids is proof enough that no bovine is gentle by any figment of the imagination.
Before I go on and expose the malicious and misanthropist mean side of every bovine let me point out one affront that these animals give us humans, often. Most of us Indians have had at least one instance of the cow giving you that lusty tail swish depositing a bit of pee and poop on your fresh, crisp white shirt. So, no way can this animal claim to be ‘gentle’; they are plain mean.
This ‘expose’ will put some of our new news channels to shame, that much I promise.
Holy Piss (or gau mootra/ gau mootram), yes holy piss is at the centre of the next incident. Operation Holy piss happened around the not so happy event of my grandfather’s passing. My older cousin and I had the unenvious task of collecting cow piss for the rituals on the 14th day after his death. Only the freshest possible sample would do. Now when I try and recollect the incident, the whole freshness thing seems like a trick played on us.
Anyhow trick or otherwise, me and my cousin we set out a bottle in hand to the house of neighbourhood milkman. Yes, we had those kinds near our homes even in the early nineties. While we strategized, no actually we were trying to trick each other into being the one who will walk into the house of the milkman and ask for the holy piss. At ages 17 and 18, the idea of asking for cow piss, holy or otherwise was plain embarrassing.
My brother struck upon a genius of an idea; his plan was simple. Our family had been living in that neighbourhood for a very long time, and my grandfather with his affable nature was liked and respected by all, and of course, his passing would be known to the milkman and his family too. We said that we would just walk in and say who we are and the holy piss would get released, packed and wrapped in a package and handed over.
We reached the designated place, the stench of a cow shed confirmed we have the coordinates right. But holy cow we had a new problem to handle, the house had just two women, asking a lady for help with collecting holy piss took the embarrassment up another notch. Seeing us the older of the two women smiled and asked: “Who are you?”; “What do you want?”. We said in one voice “Piss, Gaumootram”. Thank the holy cow we had the bottle in hand which my cousin held up as we made our request and the lady realised, else we would have got an earful. Show and tell always work
The woman walked up and took the bottle and started to say how sorry she was and then mentioned that the cow had a piss just a few minutes ago. To date, I am not sure whether the sorry was in condolence or about we missing the moment of the Holy release. She (i mean the cow) made us wait for more than half an hour. The half hour of silence broken only by repeated offers for tea. Once again, the celestially ordained moment presented itself, and we were ready. The old lady was the milkman’s mother, and she moved with an agility that belied her age and girth and collected a bottle full of what we came seeking.
On our way, back I had to carry the warm bottle because I didn’t play any decisive role in our quest for this divine piss. But what we saw that day was a cow blatantly waving its position of power in our face. I think she made us wait on purpose so that we know who the boss is. It was nothing but a brazen display of megalomania, and my human rights, blown to smithereens. In the absence of hashtags and high pitched TV news reporters, any chance at a protest was snuffed out.
Either of us didn’t know that the ordeal was not to end here and we along with many other unsuspecting souls went through a purifying act with a casual sprinkle of the divine piss; then I realised what it meant to be pissed off.
But this simple piss of a sacred animal could trigger a whole new paradigm in cleaning and would meet great commercial success in the next millennium was something I would not have dreamt in my wildest dream.
All I ask is, this pretender, this animal claiming to be gentle, is she in reality not a dangerous phoney with mean intentions towards every human?
In the next edition – Jallikkattu – much moo about nothing?
