Monu’s anguish

I am a monkey owned by Lingapa. Do you know what an average day looks like? Read on...

Published - August 15, 2024 10:30 am IST

I am Monu, a monkey. My day starts at 7.00 a.m. when I am given a breakfast of rotten fruits bought cheap at the nearby market and some leftover rotis. After this, I have to rehearse my daily act; if it is one of those unlucky days, I am taught new tricks. I curse the day I fell off my mother’s back from the high branches of a banyan tree, straight on to Lingapa’s shoulders. He thought I was a god-sent gift.

At 9.00 a.m., we set out for the streets of Mysuru. Children clap their hands on seeing me and some follow us. My master chooses an open place in a populated area and settles down on a small mat. He starts playing his dumroo — a small drum — with one hand, and parades me around with the other. At least I am on a leash now. Till a few months ago, I was pulled along by a rope around my neck, which hurt a lot.  

The act begins

By 10.00 a.m.., a big crowd has gathered; it is time for the show to start. Torture time for me. Lingapa plays a particular beat on the dumroo and I dance to some film songs. At the tap of his big wooden stick, I am conditioned to tumble on the ground repeatedly. The same stick was used to beat me during my training. My heart beats very fast when the stick is tapped near me and I am gripped with great fear. I am not even allowed to express my fear. If I do, I am silenced brutally. Everybody is impressed by my antics. I go around with a cap in my hand for people to throw coins in, but very few do. 

Then, my master announces the fire act. This is my worst fear. I wish it would start raining so that this act can be called off. But no such luck. I am expected to jump through a ring of fire. A few burn marks on my abdomen remind me that this can be dangerous. People clap louder and children shout with glee. More coins are thrown at us.

For more money

Finally, it is time for the last act. My master puts a kumkum mark on my forehead, a garland around my neck, a brass crown on my head, ties a dhoti around my waist, and a light golden maze for me to carry on my shoulder. He yells out, “Hanumanta banta. Hanumanta banta.” That does the trick; even the misers in the crowd dig into their pockets for money. We are showered with coins from all directions. My master collects each one. I have been trained to help him do this too.

On our way to another locality, some people give us bananas and nuts. But most of it is eaten by my master. It is the same display all over again, to be repeated elsewhere. We wind up before sunset and return to Lingapa’s house. He ties me to a pole nearby and goes away to eat to his heart’s content and meet his friends. He leaves me some food by the pole. I long to be back among my clan. I wish I could jump about on trees and swing from branches, as I was meant to do. 

So, this is a plea to all of you. Please don’t watch such shows or encourage people like my master. If he does not earn enough, he might be forced to give me up. Then, I shall be free from bondage. So, if you see me being paraded on the streets of your city, remember not to acknowledge my art with money and try to put some sense into the head of the creature at the other end of the leash. Or better still, report it to authorities that stop this illegal exploitation of animals like me.

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