Wait! I’m not done with lunch. Don’t drag me already. Oh well, I can finish the kanji later — it also has idlis, leftover from this morning’s breakfast floating in it. See that guy who’s leading me by the leash to the picket? He’s Muthu, my master and is 20 years old. I’m Ramesh. Muthu named me after his best friend. I’m 8-teeth-old; that’s what Muthu would tell you. He calculates a bull’s age by counting its teeth. It’s been five months since he rescued me from a temple; I was an offering, you see. My owners left me at the temple. I ambled about the premises all day, munching grass till Muthu came along. He informed the temple authorities and the owners and brought me to Kasi Kovil Kuppam, my home.
Life has been… what’s this boy doing? He’s dressing me up? I thought today was a holiday. Some brat in the neighbourhood hurled a stone at my leg and I’ve been limping for the past few days. It hurts so badly. But I kind of enjoy being unwell for Muthu will pamper me. Even this morning he massaged my leg with hot water. But he must have a reason for readying me now.
This is my favourite part — getting made-up. First, comes the embroidered shawl; Muthu will then cover my hump with a black scarf and then a candy-pink one. The bells! He has a long string of tiny bells that will fall on my back — they will jingle with my every move. For my horns, he had custom-made caps with puffy edges. There is a pair of anklets for my legs, the elaborate face ornament comes in the end; it has shells sewn on to it. Muthu’s father handmade all of these. He’s out on duty with my senior Sanjay. And, we’re done with the decorations.
I wonder where we’re headed today. We’re very late; we generally set out from home before the sun comes out. We walk in silence to Kasimedu; it’s quite far. Once there, we go from one neighbourhood to another where I do my thing — I shake my head when Muthu asks me to as he gently touches my ear; this is my cue. People find this very amusing. From my experience, I’ve figured out that Muthu foretells happy tidings for them and asks me to second his views. And when I agree with a generous nod, they believe it will all come true. In this happy mood they offer us money, food and sometimes a sari that Muthu gives his mother or sisters.We spend the entire morning this way and walk back home when the sun is high up. Muthu is in high spirits; he feeds me bananas and we rest under a tree for a while. Lulled by the breeze and the rustling leaves overhead, he pats me and talks to me — I cannot divulge our private conversations — but I can tell you that he also thanks me for the money I’ve helped him earn. Once home, both of us lie down and rest. He, on the floor inside his tiny home and I, under a tree in his yard. Just as I open my eyes and stretch my feet a little later, Muthu leaves to go to town to buy me thavudu for supper. He ensures I’ve eaten it all and only then sits down to eat. This is a day in our life. The howl of the neighbourhood dog wakes me up the next day and we set out once again.
Muthu is a good master; his father trained him. He treats the big guy Sanjay like his own son; it’s no surprise that Muthu is taking after him. I’ve heard that their family migrated from a place called Periyapalayam many years ago. The village consisted of people who owned cows and bulls and made a living out of them like Muthu does. They’re scattered across the city now.
Chellamma, Muthu’s mother, was telling a neighbour that kids in their community are going to school and college, unlike Muthu, who dropped out of school. She said that in the future, these children wouldn’t like to roam around with bulls to make a living. But that doesn’t bother me. As long as Muthu is around, I have nothing to fear.
Hey, now I know why he’s dressed me up. It’s to take my picture. Some people in the city do this when they see us. They take photos of us and show Muthu. I’ll stop talking now; I don’t want my mouth open in the photo.
