Sunday 28 August 2016

The Cow and All Humans- Great & Small


My encounter with cows started when very young. The first phase saw repeating mindlessly the nursery rhyme.
Hey Diddle Diddle, The cat and the fiddle
The Cow Jumped Over the Moon
The little dog laughed, To see such a sport.

Grew up a little and the English teacher asked us to write an essay on the cow which inevitably read, The Cow is a domestic animal. It has two horns, four legs and one tail. The cow gives us milk. When the Hindi teacher would ask us to write a nibandh, the joke was, “Gaye hamari Mata hai; Aagey kuchh nahin aata hai.” Of course the teacher’s response would be, “Bhains hamara baap hai; Number dena paap hai!” which literally translated into English reads, “The Cow is our Mother; Beyond this don’t know a line. The Bull is our Father; Giving you any marks will be a Crime.”

Then came the historic General Elections of 1977 and the Congress Party had their famous symbol of the Cow and a Calf. So going to rally after rally, we collected the plastic and tin badges of the Cow in dozens. The cow was thereafter seen grazing on Manjit Bawa’s canvas, the cow’s dung was used as Gobar Gas to light up rural kitchens while the political parties fought over Mandal and the Mandir.

So far it was so good till suddenly the cow came to the front pages of the newspapers and headlines of news channels for all the wrong reasons. Here’s taking a leaf from the pages of history and literature on the Holy Cow in two different places and phases.

It was July 1857 during the First War of Independence. Sepoys of the British East India Company had revolted against the British Goras and had rushed to Delhi from all parts of northern India. An old, weak and reluctant man was propped up as the Emperor of India, Bahadur Shah Zafar, from the House of Taimur and lineage of Babur and Akbar, The Great. His writ ran no further than the Red Fort and someone had once exaggeratingly quipped:
Kingdom of Shah Alam,
Runs from Delhi to Palam.

The revolting sepoys were also joined by the riff raff and fanatics who took upon the situation as jihad and a religious war to take to arms and liberate the Muslim empire of the firangis. The feast of Bakri Eid was approaching, the jihadis went out of their way to offend the Hindu feelings by declaring that they would kill a cow in front of Jama Masjid on the day of the Eid as against the normal practice of sacrificing a goat or a sheep. They went on to say that if Hindus offered any opposition to this, they will kill them first and then settle accounts with the firangis. The situation was aggravated when some Hindu sepoys cut the throats of the five Muslim butchers they accused of cow killing.

A full scale crisis was in the offing as the city was divided equally between the Hindu and Muslim population. This was something Zafar had always dreaded. Zafar who had a Hindu mother and had always followed many Hindu customs understood that he could not rule a city without the consent and blessings of half of his subjects. For once the Last Mughal rose to the occasion. On the day the butchers were killed, Zafar banned the butchery of cows, forbade the eating of beef and issued a diktat that anyone found killing a cow would be punished by being blown from a cannon.

Zafar next issued an order saying that all the cows in the town should be registered with the chaukidars and the sweepers of various mohallas were to report to the police all cow owning Muslim households. The police were to make a list of such households and send the same to the Royal Palace. On the 30th of July, the Kotwal Mubarak Shah was instructed to proclaim loudly throughout the town that anyone even harbouring thoughts of defiance of government orders would be given severe punishment.

The next order followed promptly commanded that all registered cows should be given shelter in the city’s central police station. But for want of space this order was dropped instead bonds were taken from the cow owners that they would not permit the sacrifice of their cattle. Finally, Zafar sent out the most respected Muslim intellectual and a friend of Mirza Ghalib, Mufti Sadruddin Azurda, to mediate with the mujahedin. Azurda was able to successfully persuade the mujahedin to forgo the pleasure of slaughtering cows and eating beef on Eid.

Zafar, the Emperor of Delhi, for once acted and acted decisively. Eid passed peacefully on the 1st of August. The British, who had spies in the city and aware of the growing communal strife, were eagerly awaiting a communal riot but were bitterly disappointed.

My next stop on the cow after the Medieval Indian History is from the brilliantly captured life of a veterinarian in Yorkshire County, James Herriot, before World War II when modern medicines and instruments were not yet known and the countryside was a huge challenge for a city bred and trained doctor. In one such instance, he had to do some inspections of cows in the farms for TB. He drove down to the first farmer in his rickety car, got delayed and was greeted by a farmer with a scowl.

“This isn’t one o’clock, Maister!” he snapped. “My cows have been in all afternoon and look at the bloody mess they’ve made. Ah’ll never get the place clean again!”

I had to agree with him when I saw the muck piled-up behind the cows; it was one of the snags about housing the animals in grass time. And the farmer’s expression grew blacker as most of them cocked their tails as though in welcome and added further layers to the heaps.

As the vet goes onto another farm, he encounters a thin rangy cow with a narrow red and white face. “I had barely touched her udder when she lashed out with the speed of light and caught me above the knee cap. I hopped round the byre on one leg, groaning and swearing in my agony. It was sometime before I was able to limp back to have another try and this time I scratched her back and cush-cushed her in a wheeling tone before sliding my hand gingerly between her legs. The same thing happened again only this time the sharp edged cloven foot smacked slightly higher up my leg....Switching her back end round quickly to cut off my way of escape, she began to kick me systematically from head to foot. Since then I have been kicked by an endless variety of cows in all sorts of situations but never such an expert as this one. This cow measured me up before each blow and her judgement of distance was beautiful....I am convinced she hated the human race.” 

All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small,
All things wise and wonderful,
The Lord God made them all.

Last Word: Caught between the three worlds of Decisive Zafar, a Riotous Herriot and a Confused Me, I feel that it would be better to let the cow live its life grazing, dirtying and making itself comfortable in the middle of the roads as we honk and sweat behind the wheels. The Emperors of Modern India should go out and stand at the ramparts of the Red Fort as Zafar did 160 years ago and issue a fatwa to blow up with cannon all those people found playing with sentiments and raising religious rant in the name of the cow. This Bovine Spongiform Encephalopathy or commonly known as the Mad Cow Disease that is affecting the brains of many of my countrymen must be arrested with the strongest of actions.

Source:
The Last Mughal by William Dalrymple
All Creatures Great and Small by James Herriot


SS

Sunday 21 August 2016

Running Away to Glory

One evening, as I switched on the television set, I saw an old man running. He looked more than 75 years old but was running with ease. Funnily, he was running with a formal suit. Wondered why…was he running after someone who had stolen his wallet or running after his errant randchild.

Rewind

The year was 1945. In the African continent a young lad of five was on his way to school. There was no school bus and no cycle and the boy would run everyday after kissing his aunt, who took care of him, for he had lost both his parents when very young. Later he told someone, “When I started at primary school, I ran barefoot miles to school in the morning, came back for lunch and again in the afternoon ran back to school and then was back home again in the evening. I did this everyday until I left school.” Only sixteen miles a day for over 10 years in Kenyan heat.

The boy grew up and joined the police as an instructor with interest in rugby. It was much later that he realized that he could run well and run fast. Thus began the story of Kipchage Hezekiah Keino or Kip Keino as the world knows him. At this point in history Kenya was not known to be a middle and long distance powerhouse winning almost all medals in all competitions. Kip Keino is the man who began this trend that has continued till date. Keino is also best known for his training at 1800 metres above sea level which helped introduce high-altitude training as a technique to improve running.

Although Kip Keino participated in 1964 Tokyo Olympics, his first moment of real glory came in 1965 when in the All-African Games, he broke two World Records in 1500 metres and 5000 metres. In 1966 Commonwealth Games he won two gold medals. Kip is however best known for his feat in the 1968 Mexico City Olympics. During the Games Kip was suffering from crippling gallstones. While running the 10,000 metres race, Kip collapsed while he was in the lead with three laps to go. He was so overwhelmed with pain that he stepped off the track, but determined to finish the race he stumbled on to the track and despite the pain managed to do the final laps. Naftali Temu of Kenya won the race and became the first Kenyan to win a gold medal, an honour that almost went to Kip.

Two days later, despite the doctor advising him against competing, Kip ran the 5000M and won a  silver medal, just a fifth of a second behind the winner. Next, he went on to qualify for the finals of the 1500M race. Jim Ryun of the USA was the undefeated champion in the event and he was not participating in any other event unlike Kip who was doing almost all the middle distance races one after another. Five gruelling races in all for Kip with heats and finals.

On the day of the 1500M finals, he decided to sleep and thought of skipping the race due to gallstones. However, an hour before the actual event, Kip hopped out of bed and headed for the games. The bus ferrying him got stuck in bad traffic and realising that he was going to be late, Kip got off the bus and ran the remaining two miles to the Olympic stadium carrying his equipment on his back. He finally registered for the event with just 20 minutes to spare. No sooner had the race started than Kip went ahead and won the Gold Medal outpacing the second placed runner by 20 metres which possibly remains the longest distance anyone has won by in this event even to date.


In the Munich Games of 1972, Kip Keino went on to win gold medal in 3000M steeple chase and a silver in 1500M. Kip retired from athletics in 1973 and in a glorious career won over a dozen medals more than half of which were gold.

There was much more to come from this remarkable Kenyan legend. Kip and his wife purchased a farm in Eldoret which they converted it into an orphanage. “We started with two children, then it went on to six, then ten. Now it’s up to 90. We give them shelter and love. Many of these children, who lived with us, have gone to the university, some are doctors, and when you see them with their own families living well in society, I feel very happy,” he had said some time ago. Now the school has more than 300 children.

Fast Forward

It was 5th of August 2016, the suited man went up the podium at the Macarana Stadium at Rio to receive the first Olympic Laurel, a distinction created by International Olympic Committee to honour an outstanding sportsman for his contribution to education, culture, development and peace through sports.. While receiving the award, Kip said, “We come into this world with nothing…and depart with nothing…it’s what we can contribute that is our legacy. Join me and support all the youth of this world to get the basics of humanity: food, shelter and education. Education not only empowers our youth to be better citizens and leaders of the future, but it will also help them make a positive change and a mighty difference.”

The Unputdownable!

Have you heard about a man called Karoly Takacs? Not many have but here’s a short story about another champion who defied all odds and disability to win and become a legend.

Karoly Takacs was born in Budapest and joined the Hungarian Army. By 1936, he was a world class pistol shooter but he was denied a place in the Hungarian team for the Berlin Games of 1936 as only commissioned officers were allowed to compete and he was just a sergeant. This discriminatory ban was lifted in Hungary after 1936 and Karoly got ready for the 1940 Tokyo Games. But as luck would have it, during an army training in 1938, he badly injured his shooting right arm when a faulty grenade exploded.  Any other man would have been devastated as his sporting career looked over. Not Karoly.

Karoly spent the next one month in the hospital, depressed at his Olympic dreams having been shattered. Takcas, rather than fall into depression and self pity, did the unthinkable. He decided to learn shooting with his left hand. He simply asked himself, “ Why not?” Karoly practised in secret and when the Hungarian National Pistol Shooting Championship was held in 1939 he registered. All the participants had no clue and were generally sympathising for him. Karoly surprised everyone and won the championship and qualified to be a part of the 1940 Olympics squad.

Wait, said fate, as both 1940 and 1944 Olympics were cancelled due to World War II. Karoly went on practising with the same determination and his time came in the London Games of 1948. By now he was 38 years old but neither age nor change of hand could stop him from winning the Gold Medal. He not only beat the favourite Argentine, Carlos Enrique Diaz Saenz Valiente, who was the reigning world champion but also set a new world record. Karoly then went on to represent his country in 1952 Helsinki Games and won a Silver Medal but missed winning at the age of 50 at the 1956 Melbourne Games.


Karoly Takacs later went on to coach his countrymen in pistol shooting.


Last Word in the words of Jesse Owens, “We all have dreams. But in order for dreams come into reality, it takes an awful lot of determination, dedication, self-discipline and effort.” 

SS

Saturday 13 August 2016

HOLY GAMES

It was midnight at Rio. The  Games Village where the participants were staying had gone dark as there were no more events for the day and all needed to catch up on their sleep for the gruelling days ahead. In one part of the Village, however, the lights were on. A set of athletes, in their complete match attire with their racquets, bows, guns, hammer and all, quietly stepped out of their rooms and assembled on the ground outside. One of them, with a gun on his shoulder, even took a tricolour flag in his hands. All went into a silent march as they had done at the opening ceremony. The contingent walked to a small temple in the heart of Rio and started singing aloud…

O palan hare, nirgun aur nyare,
Tumhre bin humra kaunno nahee,
Hamre uljhan, suljhao bhagwan,
Tumhre bin humra kaunno nahin.

Far away where no spacecraft has ever reached before, the Gods and Goddesses were taking their siesta when their sharp ears caught the song sung in the only planet from where they often got SOS calls. They listened carefully and realized that this was no ordinary call for help. An emergency meeting was called by Supremo Brahma.

“Respected Ladies and Gentlemen of Brahamalok, we have a problem. Over a billion people pray every day but they ask for selfish favours. We grant some boons, we defer some but their faith in us is beyond question. Today we have a small set of people who are feeling dejected and depressed as their great nation, which falls under our jurisdiction, is unable to win any medals. They seek our intervention, they seek our help and I strongly recommend that with all the powers in our hands, we need to do something and do it quickly.”

The God Sports Team (GST) motion was passed with unanimity, something rarely seen in the Upper House. While all the Super Powers were ready to go for gold, Brahma cautioned them.

“All hundred thousands of us cannot descend and play because all sport persons have to be registered well in advance. Some of us will have to get into the spirits of the already registered Indian contingent. We also have to ensure that we don’t win all the events from tomorrow, which I am sure you will do it with ease, or else they will run dope tests and for certain, some of us will get disqualified and the country will get a bad name.”

Shiva standing there jumped, “Hey, I am clean. I am off grass in case your remarks were pointed at me!”

Anyway after a lot of discussions, argument and sparks flying, the Gods decided to send a small contingent down to the Amazon forest in a Uran Khatola, the Chariot of Gods created much before men knew how to even walk on two legs. Each one of these Champions selected was a master of universe in his or her discipline. Coach Krishna was additionally sent to manage the Dream Team to make sure that someone would keep things under control. As they entered the Village, Krishna blew his conch shell and said, “Vijayi bhava!”

The athletics events had commenced and Suresh Kumar was entered as a participant in javelin throw. His best throw was 81 metres as compared to the 90 metre plus mark by a majority of East Europeans and Scandinavians. No one gave Suresh any chance. As he slowly started his run, something came over him and he picked up mad pace and threw the javelin which started flying and appeared going beyond the stadium. It needed Coach Krishna’s mystic powers to curb its flight and ensured it dived down after crossing 99 metres. Wow…everyone was stumped…it was a new Olympic and World Record. Suresh started jumping with joy and his jump turned into a rhythmic dance of Tandava. With the spectators giving him the cheer, Suresh danced beautifully and wouldn’t stop till Coach whispered in his ears, “Hey Bholenath Jatadhari, control yourself.”

In the archery competition, Atanu Das was pitted against the much fancied Korean World Champion. The young lad folded his hands and said a quiet prayer as he entered the box. As he took aim, a glow came over his face which showed his confidence. Atanu stopped, removed the string from the bow and then put it back again, then lifted it up over his head and broke the bow. Coach Krishna intervened and said, “Hey Purushottam stop doing that. This is not Sita’s Swayamwar. Just take aim and shoot.” ”Oops…I forgot. Just can’t forget that fateful day.” After that, arrow after arrow flew in quick succession from Atanu’s bow and each one of them was hitting the bull’s eye…it was perfect ten points on every shot. The Korean was completely stumped and knocked out with ease.

The action shifted to another part of Rio where fencing competition was going on. A lone Indian woman, Kabita Das, had entered into the fray. One after another Kabita easily beat the opponents and reached the finals where she was meeting the five times Olympic Champion from France. Before the finals, the judges told Kabita’s coach that they might have to disqualify her. Coach Krishna went down to her, “Hello Ma Kali, please stop this habit of yours of showing your tongue after you beat any of the opponents. Plus curb yourself from trying to reach for the opponent’s neck as if you want to chop it off….this is a game and we don’t want any bloodshed. Play clean.” “Ok Chief…I will remember your advice but you know it is so difficult.” Needless to tell you what happened that day in the finals. History was made as Kabita stood up with pride on the podium while the Jana Gana Mana played.

It was 3000 metres steeplechase, an event dominated by the Kenyans and Ethiopians since the time memory serves us right. A lone Indian, Gulab Singh, was standing on the starting line. His best time was a far cry from that of most other people standing in the line. Coach Krishna whispered softly, “Hey Pawan Putra control yourself. You are supposed to jump over each hurdle and over the water patch one after another and not all in one go. Forget what you did while going to Ravana’s Lanka by flying over mountains and sea. Don’t give anyone a chance to suspect who you are.””Ok Boss but do me a favour. Just let me run with my gada , the mace. It makes me feel real good.” “Ok, but it will be invisible to all others. All the Best.” As the race started, Gulab Singh started slowly from behind but by the first hurdle he was up there in front and after that what happened left everyone gaping.  Gulab jumped over the hurdles and water patch with ease and his run was smooth. Running barefoot, he looked quite a sight with his right hand bent holding the invisible mace and the other swinging wildly, he won easily with the second placed Kenyan runner behind by a couple of laps. Of course it was a new Olympic and World Record.

It was the last event planned. Diminutive Dipa Karmakar was the last ranked to qualify for the finals of the Gymnastics Vault competition.  Three Chinese, two Russians, one American and one Romanian were ranked ahead of her in the qualification round. Her reaching the final itself was a success story for the Indians as no one had even qualified in Gymnastics before. She had told her parents that morning that she will give her best and leave the results to God. The stadium was packed with the Chinese making the most noise. They were confident of their victory in this event. All the competitors had done their vaults twice and scores were almost close to 15 points whereas Dipa’s first score was a mere 11.22. She started her final run, picked up pace and did a perfect Prodonova Vault and with an extra flip to the original to add to the risk factor. She even made a super landing on her feet rather than the usual butt grazing style of hers. The stadium erupted. All stood up in admiration of this little Indian who had defied death. None of the other seven even attempted the Prodonova Vault for it was called the Death Vault, one small error and you could die or be a cripple for the rest of your life. Here was a girl in her first Olympics not only attempting it but doing it even better. Not only did she get the Gold but the vault was named thereafter, Dipa Vault. Coach Krishna smiled and patted Yama, the Lord of the Death, for having done his part today.

The detractors were silenced. India was shining. Five Golds, Five Records and a style named after one of their athlete. The tricolour fluttered in a breezy Rio.

In God We Trust and He Shall Deliver.

Happy Independence Day.

SS


Saturday 6 August 2016

CLOSE ENCOUNTERS

Of Birds, Beasts and Relatives

The Infiltrators

The rains have been continuing relentlessly in Mumbai and on days when it just pours and pours you have little to do other than be alive to all the sounds and sights around you. Some of you, who have read my earlier blogs, may be familiar with the little visitors-the pigeons, parrots, crows, ravens and mynahs –to my window garden. Well, they are still around in spite of all the rain. The pigeons can’t be seen so much since they remain huddled together in some nook and corner, feathers all puffed up, looking like round grey balls. However, their destructive habits continue unabated. They still nibble at my plants, tearing away at the tender branches and freshly sprouted leaves, unashamedly.

This morning, however, I saw them a little miffed with something. All sitting quietly looking askance with big, round eyes; their eyes betrayed anger and jealousy. Had some other specie encroached on their territory? Then I heard their screeches and next saw them- the parrots. These days I see quite a lot of them. Whenever the cloud gods hold back the rain for a while, they come out and can be seen on the sunshades, the railings, or the window sills before they take flight in a group. And what a fabulous sight that is! Today, three or four of them were gnawing at the air conditioner cable- wonder what fascinated them! May be, they got the taste of the latest flavour of kurkure. Who knows? Obviously this crossing of the LOC and encroachment into their marked territory was not seen in good light by my pigeon friends. After all, the sun shades, the nooks and crevices, the air conditioners and all the potted plants belonged to them by right.

 My little tailor-bird, Tuntuni, too came for a short while in the morning and mesmerized us with her song but she is too swift and you just cannot capture her in your lens!

The Predator’s Predicament

This was our first evening at Kabini. The forest lodges on the riverside are worth staying in and we fell in love with the place at the very first sight. We were to spend two days and two nights in this forest. After a sumptuous lunch and a brief orientation about the Nagarhole National Park, we went on our first evening safari to the sanctuary. This was to be followed by two more the next day, early morning by boat and again in the evening by jeep.The board near the assembly point showed the sightings in the past one week and what we read was enough to set our adrenaline pumping. Six vehicles set off around the same time but after entering the forest each followed a different track. In our open jeep there was a British family of five along with their Indian friend, the two of us-mother and daughter- along with the guide and the driver. We were fortunate enough to see herds of elephants, chitals, sambars, barking deer, jackal, wild boars, gaurs or the Indian Bisons and several other smaller rare species like the Crested Hawk Eagle, Stripe-necked Mongoose ,the White- bellied Woodpecker and the Malabar Giant Squirrel. We saw a number of pug marks but the tiger eluded us even though the tourists who had gone there the evening before had been lucky enough to see one. The driver took us to all the possible sighting spots following every track in this dense forest of teak, rosewood, sandalwood and silver oaks but it was just not our day.  Our time was running out and we knew that before dusk fell we would have to move out of the forest.

We had left the main forest behind and moved into the periphery. Dusk was falling. We saw a few huts nearby and two tribal women returning home with some pots of water balanced on their heads. We saw a stray village dog and a small boy make their way back towards the huts. Just then we saw a small animal leap from the bushes on the left and cross the path in front of our jeep with lightning speed. Our guide shouted in a muffled voice, ‘Leopard, Leopard’. Yes, all of us had seen him. No one could have missed him. He had leapt and dashed off right in front of our jeep. Was it the boy or the dog that he was after? Next we heard a yelp and a cry and were sure that the village dog we had seen a few minutes back had been attacked. Within seconds, however, the soundtrack changed. We could hear the barking of a dog and soon saw one chasing the leopard. In a flash of a second this barking animal was joined by six or seven of his companions. The guide asked us to be still and under bated told us, they were the dholes or wild dogs, one of the four deadliest predators of this forest. The scene changed before we could even blink once. The hunter became the hunted and there we saw him climbing up a tree. He was no small cat, a full grown leopard. The dholes were howling in unison at the bottom of the tree.

By now the cameras and binoculars in the jeep were all out. Another jeep had now stopped behind us but they had missed the moment. Also,daylight had faded considerably. The sun had set some time back. The driver said we could not wait any more. As the engine roared we took one last look at the predator hanging for his life from the branch of a very tall tree. The dholes kept up their barks and were in no mood to give up on their prey. The little village dog had escaped for the day. He still lived to tell his tale for at least that day. We had to leave the forest at that moment. We shall never know what happened to the leopard as we left him hanging for his life from the topmost branch of a tree. Did he fall to his death? Or did his Maker hear his prayers for life?

This image has remained etched in my mind for two reasons- one, a very rare sight where destinies changed  in seconds and the hunter became the hunted; two, do we also not turn to our God only when we are in such a predicament, in a life and death situation, when luck fails us or  life hangs by a thread?

The Monster Man

This tale takes me back to my childhood when I was seven or eight years old. Another summer vacation was being spent at my maternal grandmother’s place in a suburb near Kolkata. An independent, brave lady who used to stay alone in a huge house with a compound that had in it gardens, several orchards, ponds, out-houses, cattle shelters. Also there was a strange smaller house, if it could be called a house, between the residence and the main gate.  This was occupied by a gentleman who happened to be my grandmother’s younger brother and we called him Gattu Dadu. Why he lived there I have no clue but he was very much a part of the landscape as well as memory of my grandmother’s home even though he maintained his own independent existence. He had never lived in the main house. He had instead converted what was actually an old and abandoned pillbox, a military construction used during the Second World War as a shelter from air raids. This piece of war remnant was about to be demolished and its existence obliterated from the land, when he took it upon himself to convert it into a house.

From what I gathered from the family elders it was reconstructed single handedly by him. He fitted it with a proper door and some small windows, even made himself a made-to-measure bed and a desk. He constructed a flight of steps from outside that led to the open roof and below the staircase he made himself a mini kitchenette which even had shelves, a stove, a huge drum that had a tap fitted to it (to remind my readers that when he had built this house the concept of overhead tank was not there) for his supply of water. Later, he even got himself an electrical source of light. To us it looked like a miniature house with very small doors and windows, a bed that was just enough for him, a small desk and a tiny stool to sit on. It was like Bilbo Hobbit’s house in the Shire though in those days we had not heard of the hobbit’s tales. Actually, we never dared to go into that house, we just peeped into it through the windows whenever he was away. He once caught us prying near his house and he did everything short of shooting us down. He was a terror and nobody in the neighbourhood ever dreamt of trespassing. Everyone was scared of him though he was scared of only one person- his sister. He even had a licensed gun which he kept hanging from a hook in the wall.

He was like the ‘giant’ from the fairy tale in all ways except for his size. When we saw him he was a shrunken, stooping old man who was in size closer to a dwarf. May be living in the house had shrunk him. He had a good job once, though, when we saw him, he lived off his pension. He had forgotten to speak, he simply growled. Rather barked. As children we were told by our mothers and aunts not to go near his house or disturb him. Strange tales were heard by us about him from the servants and neighbours- how he had performed caesarian section on a goat, how he had helped to deliver puppies and calves and how he had once killed a cobra in his tiny room with his gun. He was an animal lover and we often saw him, accompanied by his dog, wandering about in the orchards with a battery operated transistor in his hand and a gun on his shoulder. He cooked his own meals though we saw that on most days goodies from his sister’s kitchen reached him in tiny bowls. As children we were so terrified of him that walking from the main gate to the main house meant passing his lair and that itself was quite an ordeal for us. His own strange behaviour coupled with even stranger stories about how he hated little children, especially girls, made him nothing short of a monster to our young minds.

That particular day all the families, who had gathered together for the summer vacation in that house, went on a day trip. I was the only child left behind in my grandmother’s care as I was convalescing from some illness of which I have scant memory. I spent the whole morning indoors in the old lady’s company, played all known games but by the time afternoon came, I was quite bored. When my grandma was taking her afternoon nap, I thought of venturing out into the verandah and playing some self- invented game on my own. While I was engrossed in my activity, I saw Gattu Dadu calling me. My heart stopped. I thought my end had come. That morning I had seen him carrying some thick ropes. I was sure he would now hang me from one of the many trees in the garden and nobody would come to know of it. May be, he had come to know that a few days back while he was away I, along with some of my cousins, had gone up the side staircase to the roof of his house to pick some ripe mangoes from the branches that were pressing against the roof . Now I would have to pay with my life. He was beckoning to me. There was no escape. If I did not go, he would come after me with his gun. I slowly walked across the garden towards his house. He took my hand and walked me to the back of his house. There he had put up a tiny one-seater swing from one of the branches of the big tree. With a sack he had even made a little cushion for the wooden plank. He made me sit on it and told me I could swing on it whenever I felt like.

That day I realized that he was no monster who hated little girls but just a lonely, old man.



DS