Missing the moos, moods of a childhood companion
Bidding adieu to my best friend, Varsha, was even more painful than parting from family members after my wedding. A glimpse of her and my heart sank. The mind went back in time when the news of her arrival had left me ecstatic and excited.
She was skinny and scrawny with pint-sized eyes, floppy ears, a flaccid tail, and wobbly legs as I embraced her with unbridled love and warmth. My little hands were conscious not to hurt her though my heart was euphoric.
We grew up together and became close companions like two peas in a pod. Over the years, an unflinching bond of camaraderie and trust was forged to such an extent that no one in the family except me could milk her.
Once, I was called back from a friend’s wedding after dad had shown the temerity to touch her udder. The clumsy fondle of alien hands alarmed her to attention, triggering her to kick the stranger in the chest; and the case of other members to get close to her was, by default, put to rest for all time.
The kids in the family would surround me and squat gazing with jaw-dropping expressions at the sweeping swing of my hands going up and down in a regular rhythm. Their eyes would follow the cascading trajectory of the milk spurting out copiously from her teats right into the middle of the bucket. The final moments would immensely please the little spectators as I would aim the last dripping into their mouths to give them a taste of unadulterated organic milk that stung their teeth like the sharp jet of a fountain.
SHE WAS SKINNY AND SCRAWNY WITH PINT-SIZED EYES, FLOPPY EARS, A FLACCID TAIL, AND WOBBLY LEGS AS I EMBRACED HER WITH UNBRIDLED LOVE AND WARMTH
Her sweet-sounding moo at an unearthly hour was mostly about meeting her requirement of refilling the manger with fodder or bucket with water. If that were not the case, all she wanted was undivided attention, including a few gentle taps of my loving hands under her neck, or the smooth caress of my palms down her face and back. The massage would spell complete contentment for the day.
Her hindquarters never tasted the fury of my cane owing to her cooperation and obedience. I would often start milking her right in the middle of the fields without any reservation.
Once, her untimely illness had had me experiencing sleepless nights with prayers on my lips for her speedy recovery. Harbouring a motherly feeling, I would go the extra mile to facilitate her living, bathing her with my own hands, warming her up with a blanket in winter, protecting her from the rain, and ensuring her thatched shed had enough ventilation in the scorching heat besides putting up a table fan. Engaging in a private, mostly one-sided, conversation with her, I would speak my heart out, especially during my ordeals. She would hear me out patiently as I vent pent-up emotions, eventually making me feel lighter, better, and happier.
Now, each time upon my arrival, having recognised her old master, she starts flicking her tail from side to side as if in annoyance to protest against my ditching her when she needed me the most, during her pregnancy, until the familiar touch of my hands calm her down. My heart beats with a silent wish: May our love and friendship transcend the limitations of language; may the misunderstandings, if any, between the two of us, be ironed out.