Udder Nonsense

“Open up, Gopal, you sloth.” Mrs. Asha pounded her fists against the kiosk installed outside her three-thousand-square-yard, park-facing bungalow. “I pay you to guard the door and not for hour-long afternoon snooze fests!”

The security guard staggered out, rubbing his sleep-glazed eyes.

“Behold your latest screw-up, Gopal,” Mrs. Asha hissed. “Look who paid us a visit.”

Letting out an enormous yawn, Gopal peered at the sunny, spacious gardens, the pride and joy of his employer.

“Whoa, Gau Mata (Mother Cow)!” he jerked, the fuzziness of sleep fleeing instantly. “How did she get in here?”

“Of course, through the iron gates you forgot to lock!” Mrs. Asha snapped. “It couldn’t have climbed the brick wall or tumbled down from a passing aeroplane. The problem is not how it got in but how to get it out.”

“Why, Madam?” Gopal scowled. “My late mother said, everything becomes better when a cow is around.”

“Better. My foot!” Mrs. Asha cursed the moment she had let Gopal, a village bumpkin, replace her regular security guard.

“Madam, Gau Mata is an incarnation of Goddess Lakshmi,” Gopal said, taking a deep bow. “The goddess is here on her own. The divine mother…”

“Oh, my blooming daisies…” Mrs. Asha cut in. “It is munching on my exquisite dahlias and sunflowers. Gopal, stop your mother….”

“Divine Mother…” Gopal corrected. “Not my mother… But now that you mention…” he suddenly froze and fixed his gaze on the cow.

Mrs. Asha’s heart sank. The animal was mercilessly bulldozing through her ticket to fame and well-earned boasting rights. After many years of persistent nagging, she had finally convinced the editor of a local magazine to do a paid feature on her garden.

“There goes the mini-editorial,” she groaned. Her panicked gaze shifted from the worthless guard to the bovine, who was now gorging on her sweet pea vines, with single-minded devotion.

“Wow, through the glass, I couldn’t be sure.” Suddenly, Raju, the house-help, flung open the French doors of the living room. “Gee, it’s really you; now Roshni and I will be together forever!” He babbled, planting himself beside the cow’s muzzle. “Lick me now, Gau Mata…”

The cow pulled a tuft of stems from the dirt and chewed on them slowly as if mulling over the request.

Mrs. Asha was stumped.

“If a cow licks your face…” Raju’s cheeks coloured as he elaborated. “It means… wedding bells. Roshni’s father is acting like a jackass. I need Gau Mata’s blessings.”

“Roshni? You want to marry my cook?” Colour rose on Mrs. Asha’s cheeks too, but for a different reason.

Her anger, however, was lost on Raju. “Perhaps Roshni can be helped, too,” he cried, struck by a brilliant idea. “The poor thing is losing followers because of the evil eye!”

“Rubbing a cow’s tail over your face wards off the evil eye,” Raju explained.

“Why can’t you finish the licking and rubbing … the goddamn business outside, Raju? I’m sure you can find dozens of cows crowding the garbage dumps.”

“Well, er… Madam, those are males… abandoned by greedy dairies. Nowadays, encountering a female cow on the streets is as rare as finding a homely wife with zero murderous instincts in the marriage market. In fact, Madam,” he continued. “Now that she is here, why don’t you tie a thread around her tail?”

“A thread?”

“It guarantees that Gau Mata will guide you across the Vaitarni River to a cushy afterlife!” Raju responded. He lowered his chin a split-second later, realising the implication. “It’s just what the old and sick village folks do… not that you are that old… or sick…”

“But clearly, I’m dying,” Mrs. Asha snarled. “I’ll die right here and now if I’ve to watch this beast scarf down my garden any longer.”

Raju glanced at the skinny creature, mucky brown on the shoulders fading to dirty-white patches on the flanks, with scruffy ears and red-rimmed eyes. The animal was as close to being a beast as he was to being a top-of-the-line ramp model. However, there was a definite need for some intervention.

One minute, the animal was on the periphery of the veggie patch, chomping with an unhurried, wet crunch as if shooting for an advertisement for farm-fresh cucumbers. The next minute, she was nose-deep in the cabbages, tearing off entire leaves with the zeal of a child unwrapping birthday gifts.

“Perhaps Gopal can try,” Raju suggested. “After all, he is named after Lord Krishna, the cowherd who made cows dance to his tunes.”

“I don’t want it to dance,” Mrs. Asha barked. “I want it gone!”

In a flash, Raju appeared with a battered bamboo flute and handed it to the guard.

Still struck in a daze, Gopal played the flute. However, only minutes into playing, he was interrupted.

“That’s not music. That’s a goat in dental pain. Stop it!” Mrs. Asha screamed.

“Pity you stopped,” Raju snorted, nudging Gopal. “Otherwise, we could’ve seen the River Yamuna reversing its flow and jumping back into the Himalayas, never to return!”

Mrs. Asha’s scathing glare, however, wiped his grin.

He reluctantly took charge. Plucking a cabbage, he waved it before the cow like a swashbuckler swinging his sword, while gurgling noises like ‘hurr… hurr,’ ‘hush-hush’ from his throat.

If the cow heard it, she gave no outward sign.

“She’s done with this course.” Mrs. Asha sighed, peeking at the half-eaten cabbages littering the ground like wounded soldiers.

“Right,” Raju nodded. Before Mrs. Asha could express her displeasure, he hastily pulled out a batch of carrots, leaving the patch in much worse condition than any stray animal could, and swished it before the intruder like a magician’s wand.

To his surprise, the wand worked.

The cow yanked her nose out of the cabbage bed, threw back her ears, and followed Raju as if smitten. She tracked Raju around the banana grove, her cloven feet squelching in the mud. The midday sun poured down its heat. Raju wiped his sweaty brow, and together, they threaded the bend lined with yellow pansies.

The birds trilled. Mrs. Asha’s temples twitched in anticipation. A few minutes on the narrow stone path bordering the living room, and the cow would be safely out of the gates. Her ordeal would finally be over.

But it was not to be.

A gust of chilled air through the opened French doors was enough for the cow to flip the script. She let out a decidedly pleasurable moo at the touch of the cold air. In an instant, she ditched Raju and his carrots for greener pastures, which in this case meant the air-conditioned living room.

Mrs. Asha’s face grew ashen; her knees buckled, and she sagged into a rattan chair.

The cow’s hindquarters twitched as she whipped her tail to ward off flies.

The sight jolted the spellbound Gopal to life. “You’re right, Madam; she is my mother!” He squealed.

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When Mrs. Asha opened her groggy eyes, she found a tall glass of juice on the low sheesham table. She, along with the rattan chair, had been carried inside.

But given a choice, she would’ve vastly preferred fainting to the scene before her.

Convinced that his mother had reincarnated as a cow, Gopal was live-streaming the miracle. “My mother always said that everything becomes better when a cow is around. And see, now she is here as a cow… See the white patch?” Gopal gushed, tilting his phone towards the cow’s forehead. “Exactly like mother’s birthmark. And the mole near the left eye? The way she blinks before chewing? Ditto like mother.”

The cow that now sported a vermilion tilak and garland stood on the hand-knotted Kashmiri rug, regarding the camera with mild interest. Packets of bread, ghee-laden chapatis and bundles of grass laid in neat rows winked at her. But it favoured the potted ferns, sprigs of marigold and lilies resting in ajrakh-print vases. It chewed them with gusto while gazing at the stack of poetry books. Whether she wanted to read them or eat them was anybody’s guess.

Raju hopped around, for the cow had granted his wish when he strategically placed his face between the marigolds and lilies. Even Roshni paid a brief visit and received the sought-after tail-treatment.

The view count mounted as countless comments poured in: “Bro, your mother’s cute,” “I wish my mother visits me… she’d make a perfect cow,” “Gau ahead, you have moo-ch to be grateful for!”

Pumped up, Gopal squatted near the cow’s rump. “See that swish of the tail—that’s the clincher. Mother wagged her braid like that whenever she was happy. Mother has returned from the dead… just to shower me with her affection.”

The cow chose that precise moment to relieve its bladder, spraying Gopal in the process.

“A warm shower of affection, I’d say.” Raju butted in. “Now move over!” He pushed Gopal and quickly collected the pee in a steel container. “O Gau Mata, bless us further… drop the sacred gift of cow dung.”

“If she does, it’s mine.” Gopal interposed, “I’ll smear it on my walls in mother’s memory!”

“Ha!” Raju twisted his face. “Forget it. She is everybody’s mother.”

While they fought, Mrs. Asha phoned the authorities. The municipality promised to resolve her issue within three working days. The police were otherwise engaged—a peaceful animal welfare rally had turned violent.

The same could be said about Mrs. Asha’s state of mind. Her peaceful countenance was long gone; she wanted to throttle the duo, consequences be damned. Fuming, she glared at them.

With the steel container clutched close, Raju circled the teak-floored living room. An angry Gopal chased him, waving his phone and continuing the live-stream.

“The container is mine,” Gopal grumbled.

“Her gifts are for everyone…” Raju retorted, “Even Madam deserves a share.” And with that, Raju sprinkled the liquid from the container on the cotton drapes edged with zari and plush English-scale sofas.

Mrs. Asha’s jaw slackened. Her eyes popped out. For the second time that day, she let out a small yelp and collapsed in her chair.

“She isn’t in the best of health,” Raju drew Gopal’s attention towards her. “We need to rid her home of all the toxins.”

Mrs. Asha’s sheet-white face was enough to convince Gopal.

Together, they sprinkled the holy liquid on wingback chairs and bright-coloured cushions in jamawar and pashmina. Even brass sculptures, lacquered papier mâché bowls, burnished copper drawers, and sandalwood cases were not spared.

Moved by Mrs. Asha’s plight, they trekked to the study, garage, all ten bedrooms and balconies, spraying twice the quantity of sacred fluid than they originally intended.

While they were busy with their altruistic task, the cow stood, stretched, and without ceremony walked out through the front gate. No dung, no farewell glance, just a slow clip-clop down Mrs. Asha’s estate.

A heartbroken Gopal scoured the streets without success. The cow had disappeared as magically as it had appeared. The live audience, which by now had multiplied to millions, along with Raju, helped Gopal bid a tearful farewell.

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As expected, Gopal was dispatched unceremoniously, like his mother. But he wasn’t sad. The viral video garnered enough publicity to land him a reality show. He, of course, attributed his success to his mother.

Raju got married after a miraculous nod of approval from Roshni’s father. Safeguarded against the evil eye, the couple became top influencers.

As for Mrs. Asha, netizens raved about the elegant aesthetic of her home. Due to popular demand, she was featured in top-tier interior decorating magazines.

She even came out with her signature line that included carved bovine-silhouette sofas, mother-cow sculptures, brass tabletops with cow-lace pattern and cushions, throws and runners with tiny cow icons in zardozi and kantha stitches. It sold off as soon as it hit the market.

“The viral video turned out to be your cash cow,” someone remarked. “The cow-inspired theme of your line is just to milk it more. Right?”

“Nah,” Mrs. Asha smiled. “It’s because I believe everything becomes better when a cow is around!”

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Glossary:

Vaitarani River: In Hindu mythology, this river is the threshold that souls must cross after death to enter the afterlife

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Picture Credit: Unsplash/ Wolfgang Hesselmann

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