Milked after bringing home a buffalo
Milk has been hailed as the perfect diet. Haryana and Punjab have been the nurseries of wrestlers who drink litres of milk daily. Drinking a glass of milk before going to bed was once a compulsory ritual for growing children. During our childhood, the amount of milk a family bought and consumed daily, was an indicator of its financial wellness. But it had to be pure milk so one had to go and wait it out at a dairy to get it milked in front of one’s eyes.
In our house, it was a chore left to us children. Fed up with this daily drill of going to the dairy, missing out on our play time in the evening, we formed a ‘buffalo lobby’, coaxing father to bring home a buffalo. Father was not receptive to the idea. But it was easier to enlist mother as a member of the lobby. It gave the much-needed boost to our agenda. An agent was hired. Soon, a young buffalo, with a calf in tow was brought home. It had shining black skin with white patches on the forehead as also above the feet that shone like silver anklets. The breed was called ‘Panj Kalyani’ due to the five white patches considered auspicious.
The occasion was full of mirth. The whole street came to see it. A priest was summoned and a pooja (prayer ceremony) followed. A sacred thread was tied on its horns. The animal was offered milk to drink. However, till then we hadn’t heard of the phrase, casting pearls before a swine, but we were literally doing that!
The animal turned out to be a voracious eater. Whatever was put in the feed-drum, it lapped up in no time. We had to fetch buckets of water from the hand-pump to quench its thirst as also to bathe it. Then bugs had to be pulled away from its udders and body. Mother was always seen collecting dung and making dung-cakes on the roof, where we used to play. Over and above, milking the buffalo and handling six
seers of milk daily was no joke. Selling milk was considered taboo.
Due to the rising cost of animal feed, father took a small patch of farm on lease. Armed with a sickle, my evenings were spent helping father in harvesting the green foliage and then cutting it in a revolving cutter, called toka. I felt miserable.
After all this labour and no monetary benefit, I now realise why farmers commit suicide day in and day out. Thank God, the idea was not in vogue in those times or I would have been a perfect candidate for the catastrophe!
Soon, the buffalo lobby realised that the plan had misfired. The agent was called again. He brought a customer who bought the animal and took it home.
The next day, we realised that we had started loving the animal. Finding the place where it sat empty, we sobbed and requested the ‘agent uncle’ to let us have a look at it for one last time. He obliged and took us to its new home where it was tethered. As we tried to pat it, it swung its horns in a hostile manner towards us. We were taken aback. It had forgotten us!
The next evening, swinging the milk utensil in hand, I was going to the dairy, whistling the tune, ‘Wafa jinse ki, bewafa ho gaye….’
THE AMOUNT OF MILK A FAMILY BOUGHT AND CONSUMED DAILY, WAS AN INDICATOR OF ITS FINANCIAL WELLNESS