Short Stories
Cow called Neelu
A Stunning Beauty in Soft Moonlight
"Only the most beautiful woman in the world in deep sleep
in soft moonlight might have looked somewhere near as beautiful, as dignified
and as poignant as she did tonight."
NOT A SHORT STORY
When I was a little boy, we had a cow who was an absolute prude
- big-headed and at times full of social vanity and arrogance, not allowing
buffaloes to get within 50 yards of her when she would be grazing.
But the moment she would see my mother, the cow would
reincarnate into an innocent, secular baby, allowing even the young of the
buffaloes in our livestock to come near her and even feed at her udders. That
was a miracle to me - I mean her dramatic transformation from an elitist,
upper-class snob into a loving secular democrat. In fact, as she would get the
sniff of my mother coming to her ( even when mother wasn't within sight but had
just stepped into the vicinity) this cow would transform into a saint.
Normally, a difficult person - hot-headed and angry - she would transform into
a saint - absolutely peaceful, loving and well behaved. She would stand before
my mother with head coyly bowed, eyes shut and ears still, perhaps expecting or
even silently begging for my mother to caress and massage the silken smooth
hair on her neck and just beneath her jaw. In my mother's presence, this saint
allowed even my father to kiss and hug her, even as he would lay the supper for
her.
The bond between this cow and my mother was one of my first
exposures to sublime, selfless, wordless love.
We called her Neelu because she had a thick, deep dark
reddish-bluish back which created the impression of a mix between crimson and
blue - ......
Neelu had a split personality, except that the split happened at
her will. And she ruled the planet earth as only she could. And she knew she
had a willing slave in me. During the summer break at school and on other
holidays, I was tasked to take her out on to the rich open pastures in my
village, Mahilpur. And did someone not love it? We would leave early morning
and return around dusk, the time she was ready to be milked. All day, she would
dominate me, gesturing to me vigorously with her head and nose which direction
she willed me to take her or follow her. Whenever she found me negligent of her
commands or sitting in the shade of the mango trees, she would come charging
towards me, suddenly pull up and stand just a couple of feet away, her head in
a boxer's readiness mode, pretending to me that she was readying to charge at
me. She would shake her head to remind me of her sharp horns, and then she
would let out a vigorous, violent puff of air through her nostris, snorting at
me furiously - and the message was conveyed. But the fact was that this
superstar of an actress could not hurt a fly, so gentle was she at heart. But
did she want others to know about her soft side? I never dared show her that I
knew the truth. I would always choose to look scared of her, and to get up and
follow her whichever direction she had decided she wanted to go.
But despite her domineering ways, she was a darling, a baby at
heart. And though she would pretend to be rather authoritative, assertive and
even violent, never even once had she touched me - except in moments when she
wished to reward me for my hard-working devotion towards her and her calf. The
surest proof that all her bossy anger and aggression was merely a put-on lay in
the trust with which she allowed me to hug and kiss her calf who, it seemed to
me, was always keen to compensate me for her mother's wild, difficult ways.
Little did the mother and daughter know how much I loved and cared for both -
or so I thought. In retrospect, it seems to me that not only did she tolerate
my presence but was even fond of me - or loved me though she did not want to
confess her love, this Victorian prude. Nothing unusual there. In a way, that
was good, for it prepared me for the difficult one-way and even unrequited love
affairs later on in life. This made it a little less difficult for me to understand
and accept that, as in the case of this village belle, girls do not like their
love to be taken for granted even when they want you to trust it - and that
these charming paradoxes are what makes human affairs so beautifully
unpredictable even when you know what the next step will unfold.
But this village beauty had elegance written all over her -
despite her carefully crafted reputation as a tough maiden. She had invested
heavily into this reputation and would not exchange it for being called
"Gaoo samaan" ladki. Neelu was the quintessential modern girl- who
knew she was beautiful and wanted you to know and respect her for this, and to
keep just distant enough for her to see and admire her curves. She loved her
independence and she loved her wild ways - plus, she hated the male of all
species. And yet, she had a secret friend of whose presence in her life only I
was aware. Extremely conscious of her reputation in the village, she loved to
show off that she did n't really like the look of that brute of a male
creature, but often on the pastures, I could notice the two inching slowly
closer to each other till he would rest his nose on the back of her sensuous
neck. More importantly, she would allow it but just enough so that if seen by
society, she could quickly shake him off, protest that her modesty was being
outraged by that lecherous fool. But secure in the knowledge that only I was
watching, she would let him stay in that pose for a few minutes The moment she
sensed that someone else might have noticed them, she would pretend to jerk him
off and go her away, the guy left there standing, bewildered and wondering what
had changed her mood so suddenly. The fact was that like most others of her
gender she never liked to make a public spectacle of her feelings. And the
fools that males are, they get so easily upset over something that is only
Nature's kit to protect the female from disrepute and needless gossip.
It is a story too long for the impatient Facebook generation. So
I will cut it short. As short as I can, or as the story itself would allow.
As is normal with pets and domestic creatures, Neelu was not a
cow. She was a member of the Bains household. But though she was a daughter to
my mother,the immoral lover in me didn't like addressing her as a sister. But
finally, we had settled for a Bollywood type relationship as "We are just
friends." In any case, like most girls, this clever girl had no objection
to being liked and admired as long as she was not forced to confirm or deny
anything.
But as I said, she was an important member of the family who had
not only to be kept in the loop but also to be consulted on every important
social occasion- like the engagement of one of my sisters. And my mother knew
the language Neelu understood. It was the language of silence.
And no one can beat girls at the oratory of silence. Later on, I
was to write a poem on Neelu for a magazine, "Stunning Beauty and her
Silence "
As I just said, in all things social, Neelu was a significant
member of our family.The only person other than my mother who could go near
Neelu, touch her, kiss her or hug her neck was one of my sisters. Neelu had a
fondness for her which was inexplicable considering that Neelu was never
indulgent towards children or the young. But my sister was an exception. No one
knew quite why because sister would neither feed her nor look after her in any
other way. And yet, Neelu had a special bond with her and was in fact very
protective towards her. Occasionally, I would tease Neelu by pretending to
shout at my sister. Would she take it? She would go violent with rage and would
try to break loose and charge at me - until, right before her eyes, i would
apologise to my sister and touch her feet. Everyone was intrigued over one
thing: Neelu's eye would always follow my sister as she would be doing odd
little thing for me. Neelu would never take her eyes off her as long as she was
around. No one knew why, until much later.
My brother thought that this was Neelu's way of repaying my
mother for looking after her calf like it were her own child. So maybe, Neelu
was reciprocating the sentiment by showering the same love and care on my
mother's daughter. But why not on me? The reason for that perhaps was that with
me it was like a typical girl versus a gentle eve teaser stuff. Whatever the
reason, Neelu's obsessive protective concern for one my sisters remained quite
a mystery to us for quite sometime
Many here might be sceptical of these things, but I saw my
mother and Neelu talk things over like mother and the eldest daughter would.
Mother would be busy getting Neelu's feed together or brushing her back and
casually updating her on the goings-on in the family. And Neelu would listen
quietly, occasionally turning her neck around to look closely at my mother's
face - as if to seek some clarification. And then, I would notice Neelu softly,
gently nodding her head, just enough for my mother to listen to her reply and
understand.
But mother alone could scold her too, as it would happen when
Neelu was found neglecting her calf. That I think was from one mother to
another, and both understood what motherhood is all about. So, Neelu would
never mind my mother's difficult voice or words. She knew my mother loved the
calf as much as Neelu herself did. I understood and learnt a lot from Neelu and
my mother about how women relate to each other without the need for words, in
spite of the fact that they love to talk and talk and talk. The paradox about
women is that they love men to be demonstrative about their love and yet no one
values silence and secrecy more than a woman does. I think I once wrote - or
perhaps one of my teachers said it - that when women talk, they talk silly. But
when a woman speaks, they speak the Universe. I can say for sure that when a
woman speaks with love, the Universe finds a language. And a woman speaks only
in love, and only in silence.
How do I know? Well, I know.
And the fact is that having watched my mother closely and always
loving her with a heart that has remained a child's, I never needed books to
know or understand anything in life. Mother has been my classroom, my only
university, my only scripture in life.
But coming back to Neelu, no one will believe it but Neelu would
have an inkling - a premonition- whenever something special was about to happen
in or to the family. It had happened when I fell critically ill and nearly
died, and later, when my sister prayed all night one night, circling around my
bed and begging God to take her life away instead of her brother's, I still
have a distinct, concrete, living memory of how Neelu had wailed all through
the next night. Sister started falling ill exactly as I began to recover, and
within a few days, the entire script was reversed. I and my sister left the
sickbed together - she, forever.
And during the days between the prayer night and the day sister
left us, Neelu seldom ate, seldom rested and was always restless, trying to
break loose.
And then, suddenly, it was all quiet. Absolute silence. Sister
left. Neelu never wailed after that. But she stopped eating well. Gone was her
wild, wild joyous assertive ways. She became meek. And quiet. In the days that
followed, I often saw Mother and Neelu sitting quietly, my mother caressing her
neck, her cheeks, her under-throat, her ears. In the evenings, mother started
reciting her Rehras, sitting with Neelu. A silence would hang between them, a
silence as tangible as steel. Three years had passed since Neelu had gone
through what my mother was going through now: the loss of a child. Once again I
saw two mothers conversing with each other through profound silence, a silence
not given to us men to understand. One of these days, i saw my mother wiping a
tear as it rolled down Neelu's cheek. Then she wiped the tear from the other
eye and cheek, saying, " Koi gall nahi, koi gall nahi. Jis di cheez us de
kol chali gayee. " And then, saying this, mother took Neelu's face close
to her chest, right under her own chin. And the two stayed there for what
seemed like an eternity. There is no sight more touching, more profound than
two mothers grieving in deep silence the loss of each other's child. Neelu knew
what mother was going through because she had gone through it just over a
couple of years back.
As days passed, Neelu became weaker and weaker. She would hardly
eat, except to please my mother, and that oo only after mother would scold her
for neglecting herself. But having spoken a few scolding words, mother's voice
would choke. And here would be silence again between the two mothers, broken
only by a half-suppressed, inaudible yet sharp sob.
All this while, Neelu's calf would sit silently between them,
generally licking my mother's feet.He was a lucky boy with two doting mothers.
Weeks went by. Mother said to me one day, " Kaka, eh pagal
kudi ne bhi Bachna nahi hun ( This mad girl too won't survive now) I knew she
was talking about Neelu, and worse, I knew mother was never wrong.
Diwali came that year as Diwali comes every year. And for many
reasons - some personal, others religious and social - this festival had and
has always meant something very very special to me. Other than Kattak di Punnia
( Kartik di Poooranmashi) this is the only festival which has any meaning
social and religious meaning for me. Kartik di Poooranmashi is Guru Nanak Dev
ji's Parkash Diwas) It must be the same with Christmas for my Christian and Id
for my Muslim or Budh Purnima for my Buddhist brethren and sisters.
Diwali came that year too. It was evening. The world was getting
ready for one more annual night of illumination and fireworks. The atmosphere
in the family was sombre. No one spoke much, and when they did speak, it was
almost in a suppressed voice which sounded almost like an echo from distant
mountains. The family had suffered a debilitating blow just weeks ago and the
memory of the loss of a bubbly, innocent and noble girl was just too fresh in
everyone's mind not to be hurt by the sound of crackers all around. But
everyone maintained dignity and managed to smile as neighbours would walk in
and out.
Soon it would be night. It was. There would be the festive sound
of fireworks everywhere, drowning everything else out. it did. But it hurt. And
there would be illumination on every roof. There was. My mother, father,
brothers and sisters were going about chores routinely, silently. No one spoke
much. Mother asked me to accompany her to the Gurdwara. I followed her. On the
way back, she held my little hand in hers as we walked towards Neelu's shed
which was a few yards before the main door to our house. We walked in. We
entered Neelu's room. It was dark, faintly lit by the glow of earthen lamps on
the roofs of nearby houses. We shuffled slowly, moving towards Neelu. There was
no noise, no sound, no voice. That was unusual. Neelu would usually stand up as
mother would come near her. But there was absolute, pin-drop silence. No sound
of Neelu's harness. Nothing stirred. No sound of even her breath. Mother felt
her way in the dark towards Neelu. She was n't where she used to sit and rest.
Neither was her calf. We sort of waded through the room, feeling for Neelu in
the dark. We thought the calf may be strolling in the yard as he used to. They
weren't there. Mother called out for Neelu. There was no response. She called
again. No response. I called out. Silence alone answered.
We came slowly back towards the door. In the half-light, I
looked at my mother's face. It was always a profound face, and I loved to look
at her, and to keep looking at her. I looked at her face now. And I couldn't
bear to look for more than a flash for a second. The face bore a faraway look.
Mother wasn't here. This look was terrifying. She looked very divine and
beautiful but there was a distant, otherworldly look on her face now. She kept
walking slowly. She held her hand out to me as it was dark and she wanted to
ensure her son won't stumble. My hand slipped into her palm. Her palm was warm,
loving, caring- but I could tell she was with me to help me but not with me
still.
We came out walking slowly into our home. There was silence.
Father spoke. He said Neelu had broken away and no one knew where she had gone.
Brother had gone to look for her in the fields. Everyone sat silent. After a
while, mother went to the kitchen, asking me to follow her. Slowly and slowly,
everyone except mother pretended to eat a bite or so. No one spoke. No one
mentioned Neelu. Minutes went by. Everyone knew what everyone was waiting for.
But no one said a word. The only words spoken were about routine chores. Or
about tomorrow. This is how silence tells lies. Hours went by. Everyone went to
bed, or pretended to. No one actually even tried to sleep. Mother started
reading Gurbani again as she always did whenever she could. Midnight. Brother
hadn't returned with Neelu. The sound of Diwali Crackers had begun to fade out.
In a way, it felt good that it had.
Around 1.30 am. I went on the roof. Diwali lights were still
flickering. Mother had followed me without my noticing. As we stood there,
looking vacantly up at the dark sky, we heard the creaking sound of a bullock
cart. The sound came from a distance but it was slowly getting clearer as the
cart seemed to pull closer. And closer. Towards us. Finally, we felt that it
stopped in front of our door. We came downstairs. I saw my brother coming in
from the front door. In one hand, he held a leash, Neelu's leash. Mother
glanced towards the leash. She remained silent, calm, distant. Brother looked
at mother's face, and suddenly broke down, bursting into tears. He threw his
forehead on mother's shoulder. "Koi gall nhi, beta. Jis di cheez uss kol
chali gayee," said mother, her voice calm, compassionate. Brother gathered
himself, hugged my father who patted him gently on the back without a word
spoken.
Outside, in front of the door, in the street, two bullocks
stood, their bells still. They hardly moved. On the cart, one of the most
beautiful and elegant daughters of God lay. Sleeping. In deep silence. A most
beautiful woman in deep sleep in soft moonlight might have looked somewhere
near as beautiful, as dignified and as poignant as Neelu did, resting peacefully
on the large cart deck.
On one corner, just behind the cart, stood the lonely figure of
Neelu's son - silent, in a daze, lost. They say the young offsprings of
'animals' have a sense of tragedy which is denied to the young of us humans.
Diwali was never to be the same again to me. Even when i
celebrate, a half tear keeps stubbornly rolling down the corner of my eye -
kissing my cheek, hidden from the world. Age has taught me how to fill
everyone's Diwali with tears of joy even as, calling out from across an age,
keeps tugging at my heart.
