HOW COME BUFFALOES MARCH ON PUBLIC ROADS?

Are their owners not among the living?

“Meeooww, I wish our governors’ lokkas will do something about this traffic,”sighed Tommo, a pussycat puffing away at a coffin nail–a gift from another smoker. He was sitting behind the wheel of his mistress Joy Perera’s Toyota that was caught up in yet another traffic crawl. “Thuhoot,” agreed his companion a sun-goggled owl, Ooty, occupying the front passenger seat. “Their traffic plans don’t seem to be working so well, no?” As usual the lady of the house had assigned her two servants–rather family retainers–the task of buying that week’s provisions for the Perera house. It was a chore both enjoyed…but today, the thick traffic was a dampener.

Sunday wheel jam

“How come there’s a sticky traffic jam on a Sunday I wonder,” purred pussy as he eased the car behind a double cab that had seen better days. “I think it’s an accident,” added pussy as he saw the traffic bending away from a particular spot on the road ahead. Pussy assumed that a four wheeler had rammed another from behind–a common occurrence when drivers day dream. And unsurprisingly traffic cops were absent; perhaps the fellows on duty were having a free cuppa at a boutique somewhere.

After another five minutes of crawling, the reason for the stop-go wheeling that Sunday became clear. A buffalo was sitting–rather squatting on his hind legs in a large smear of its own dung in the middle of the road. “What the hell is this?” Pussy exclaimed staring at the unusual sight.

An unlucky bull

“Whoom, whoom, I don’t think that bull is well,” commented the owl twisting his neck at an amazing angle for a better look at the bovine attraction. “Hoot! Something’s wrong with its legs.”

Pussy stopped the Toyota–he had to–the double cabby had also stopped to catch a sight of the animal that sat on his hind quarters staring blankly in shock. Some wheeler had smashed into it from behind apparently breaking his legs or back or both. The black trail of brake marks behind him told the story. “Meeoowoh my god.” (Oh, my God!) “Poor fellow, that’s the end of him,” said pussy reflecting the thoughts of the

A buffalo was sitting–rather squatting on his hind legs in a large smear of its own dung in the middle of the road…. Some wheeler had smashed into it from behind breaking his legs or back or both. The black trail of brake marks behind him told the story

other passersby.

“It’s not fair, it’s not fair,” hooted the owl behind his goggles. “Our governors are not careful when driving. That buffalo was a big fellow. How did it get hit?”

Where’s the owner?

“It has happened last night, and when considering its colour, a buffalo can’t be seen so easily on a tarred road,” explained pussy pulling away from the disturbing scene. “Some of our governors don’t see clearly even during daytime. Can you remember the governor who drove a bus on to a jumbo on the Trinco road? He told police that he didn’t see the fellow! Then recently a container mowed down a herd of buffies belonging to an estate. Unaware public roads are out of bounds for their kind, they had been ambling on a road somewhere when they went under the speeding Goliath. The wild jumbo that wandered on to the main road had no owner to be held responsible. But the responsibility for the container hitting the buffies was with the estate bossa and the cow boy in charge. The buffy we just passed didn’t know it was not supposed to loaf in the middle of a public road either. But its owner should have known that.” “Whooom. So what happens now?” “That’s the end of that buffy for sure. And I bet no governor would come forward to claim it.”

“Tootohboy, (oh boy!) I never thought our governors can be so irresponsible and insensitive.”

Feeding buffies the easy way

“You have a lot to learn then chum,” said pussy pulling on his white pacifier. “That fellow must have been from a herd owned by some governor who used buffies to plough rice fields. Or else he was butchering them on the sly to sell as beef. Only God knows because if the dough is right, our governors are capable of doing any dirty thing. And buffies have to be fed–and they eat plenty; grass, greens and even stuff from garbage heaps. So, what’s easier than to let them loose so they can tank up with whatever is available? Whether they enter someone’s garden to polish off roses, break pots, crap on the road or chew the cud blocking traffic is nobody’s business. And the buffies being buffies don’t realize what they are doing.”

Nothing done

“Yah, yah, I have seen somebody’s moomoo whacking plantains for desert at a roadside fruit joint almost daily. If the governor of the boutique had a gun he would have shot it on the spot. There’s another that crashes into a bakery through a back door to chew bread, buns or whatever when no one’s looking. It’s damn common but the lokkas haven’t done anything about it.”

“Purrrr. When did you hear of a governor owning buffaloes running lose all over being copped? It’s not only a bovine issue. Look at the bow-wows; they piss, doo-doo and even do their rumpy-pumpy acts on public roads.”

“It’s the same with your lot, Tommo,” giggled the owl the way owls do.

“Purrsshit. No way, no way. We pussies don’t like doing things in public…we are discreet.”

“That’s what you say. But I have seen pussies dead as door nails after hit and runs.”

Law lays low from 1958

“Ahhh, those odd cases are due to drunken driving. As far as I know, unattended four footers are not permitted to loaf on public roads. As dumbos, you can’t expect animals to understand their governors’ laws, can you? But if and when they cross the line, their owners can be hauled up according to the law. But it rarely happens, does it?” “I wonder why?” “Purrrr, beats me. Our governors have rules in a something called the Animal Protection Act that got going during my greatgreat-great-grand dad’s time. According to that , governors who own animals are supposed to see their charges don’t go messing about–trespassing is the word that’s used–in ‘cultivated land, irrigation works, airports, private gardens railway lines, public roads, parks, land belonging to the government etc–that’s how the law reads my Mom said once. If not, the owners of cows, bulls, goats, doggies, pussies, tortoises will end up in trouble. But that rarely happens and the invasions go on.”

“Thuhoot. But surely aren’t our governors’ government and animal lovers’ societies, animal welfare societies etc. etc., supposed to look into things like this?”

No - one’s bothered

“Purshshit. They are hypocrites. All they do is talk, write to the papers or have an ‘awareness’ programme with a lot of noise once in about ten years with some big-wig as chief guest. Meanwhile four-legged jay walkers tour the towns and cities without tour guides with their owners’ best wishes.” “How irresponsible…thuhoot!” “Meeoowohsure! (Oh sure!) The answer is in the hands of our governors’ lokkas in charge of the country. But when you think of those special buffies messing up the country, how much can be expected? Believe me; the four-legged jay walker issue will stay for another 1000 years.”