I’m a cow living in India, mostly in Bharat. I am a gentle beast. I have horns, but I do not hurt people. My dung has been used for centuries in villages to pave floors and walls. It keeps away bugs and sundry infections—don’t ask me why; I’m not a scientist defaming India by talking about Covid-19 deaths. In 2002, the Supreme Court ordered the government to clear Delhi’s streets of cattle so that my abandoned kin do not roam the busy streets. But you know about courts these days—I reserve my judgment because netas hardly listen to them—no contempt meant. The other day, an indignant goat in the neighbourhood told me that cows would get oximeters. I do not think even oxen need oximeters—for Lord Shiva’s sake where do we put it, on our hooves? Give oximeters to the humans who need them, I say. They require all the help they can get right now. All I do is give milk and give birth to my calves, which in turn produce more milk on becoming adults or till the field or draw carts. I ask the kids what they wish to be when they grow up.
A business guru who bottles my piss and makes millions?
They are horrified. One of my sons tells me that he would rather be whipped and pull a plough because he helps humans grow grain and fill empty bellies while the VIPs con people.
That is all I do, ladies and gentlemen; give milk and have calves. Humans get butter, cheese, yoghurt and buttermilk from me. I give food, and I am food in some places, which I do not approve of because I am shocked by killing—and that includes me or in my name. I have never voted in my life. I have never campaigned for any political party. I have no toolkits to defend myself. I do not need one because my masters—Hindus, Muslims and Christians across India—love me for what I am. I am proud to occupy my own special place in the pantheon as Kamadhenu, the eternal nourisher and beloved of the blue god Krishna, who is the most merciful and loyal of divinities. People worship me for giving them life. Not for taking lives.
I hope I will not be arrested for sedition for saying that my piss is just piss. I protect belief because my mutra sanctifies religious ceremonies and premises, though I would rather it not be sprinkled where a Dalit has been. My urine does not cure the coronavirus or cancer as the two concerned gentlemen in Manipur pointed out and were picked up under the National Security Act. Should I be proud that I am being defended by the might of the State? Alas, no. I am happy when people tell the truth about me. Since humans consider me a holy being, I must uphold the truth. Hopefully nobody will send the cops after me for saying that.
Lots of moos.
The Indian bovine.
PS: Can someone find my master a hospital bed? The local MLA told him to drink my piss and smear my dung all over him. He stinks. But he will die if he cannot get medical treatment and where does that leave me? In a crowded cow shelter?