Cow and Company

by Parashar Kulkarni

  ‘It’s not for sale.’

  As they walked on, they realized that they were approaching the tenements of the mill workers. Some of the mill workers had supported their cause, but were they to be trusted? They had rescued the table. If it had been left to the mill workers, they would have definitely burnt it to cinders. Why involve the mill workers? Would they know how to use it? They would break it in a drunken brawl. They turned and knocked on the house from which the person had called out to them.

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘How much will you give?’

  ‘Three rupees.’

  ‘It is definitely worth more—it’s English.’

  ‘How much is it worth?’

  They didn’t know. ‘Can you hold it for us for a few days?’

  ‘Yes, if you want.’

  ‘What if you forget?’

  ‘Here, keep one rupee and I’ll leave you a note.’

  ‘A note?’

  ‘There’s no one within a hundred miles who won’t accept this note. Tell them it’s from the mahajan.’

  They left the table at the moneylender’s house.

  ‘We’ll come for it later,’ they said.

  32

  The following week was ripe for theory.

  ‘The employees were prevented from forming a union,’ reported a newspaper. ‘Unions are the harbingers of industrialization. If only the British Chewing Gum Company had had a union, they would have survived.’

  A competing newspaper, sympathetic to the modernist visions of the mill owners, brought out an editorial, ‘Unions are coming. Companies are burning!’

  A local paanwala proposed another theory—arson. ‘A riot and so few die, impossible! Who in their right mind will push that dreaded chewing gum down their throats? I would prefer to eat a rat.’ He let his customers chew on that rat for a while before he began a dissection.

  ‘The Company lost money—introducing chewing gum when all mouths were full. Such a mistake to imagine they could replace paan. In the Ramayana, Ravana wanted to replace paan. He failed. What did Hanuman use to burn Lanka? A betel leaf. So what conclusion can we draw from this? Rama was supported by paanwalas. Even in those times, we had a strong lobby. In the Mahabharatha, what is Vidura eating? Paan. Only then was he able to narrate the Mahabharatha!’

  ‘Arrey! It wasn’t Vidura, it was Sanjaya who narrates the battle—he had divya drishti (divine vision).’

  ‘What does it matter whether it was Sanjaya or Vidura who narrates the war? Dhritarashtra was blind. The point is, what was the narrator eating?’

  ‘That’s going too far.’

  ‘Not literally. Metaphorically. It means the paanwalas masterminded the Great War. No one knows. No one wants to know. We keep this history, pass it down one generation at a time as oral history. I’m the sixteenth generation. There are several generations before us, but we don’t know their names. No Vyas, no Valmiki for us.’

  ‘You’re a paanwala, I have seen you sleep on this pavement.’

  ‘I may be a paanwala, but we are Yadavs. Do you know who else was a Yadav? Krishna, the ultimate cow protector. What does this mean, not literally, but metaphorically? We were the original protectors of the kingdom. Krishna was the ultimate protector of property. No one knows. No one wants to know.’

  ‘How is this related to the Company?’ a customer enquired.

  ‘Now the English are after us. They lost the battle to paan. What else could they do? Hired goons to burn down their own office. This is not my story. The insurance men are here every day discussing their cases. They say it’s arson. I am just a paanwala, what do I know?’

  Another paanwala, unsympathetic to Bholu’s theory, said, ‘Bholu is a paanwala, I am a paanwala. Bholu is from Banaras, I am from Banaras. Bholu’s grandmother and my grandmother are cousins. My grandmother and Bholu’s grandmother are cousins. I have nothing against him. But he lacks foresight. The British don’t. Their scheme was much more elaborate. They knew they could not compete with paan. When they cannot compete, they divide. Divide and rule. They deliberately selected the cow as the mascot for their chewing gum. They knew it would cause a riot. To leave no stone unturned, they hired a Brahmin to give an inflammatory speech. The rest is history.’

  Many of the rioters were behind bars. Yet, they remained dedicated to their cause. Our actions are not new. Cow protection is not new. It has been in existence since the Vedic period. Not just in India, even in the Arctic. When the last ice age hit earth and the inhabitants of the Arctic were famine-struck, they debated extensively about the killing of cows. They tried to reinterpret the Vedas. ‘What if the cow is frozen?’ one hungry fellow argued. Swami Satyanand said, ‘No. Eat me instead.’ They prostrated themselves at his feet. Since then a ban on killing cows has existed in the Arctic. Here, we have Mother Earth that is fertile, Mother Ganga that is perennial, Vrindavan that is evergreen, nothing is frozen, and yet there are villains hungry for her blood.

  The cow protectors joined forces with the nationalists who declared that there was nothing more important to them than protecting the holy cow. Now, the nationalists had washed their hands of this issue. Not one of them turned up to see how the cow protectors were coping in jail, let alone to organize a protest against their unlawful arrest. Meanwhile, the government had appointed an inquiry committee.

  33

  The British Chewing Gum Company paid for a full-page message in three English newspapers:

  . . . The British Chewing Gum Company India Ltd (henceforth referred to as BCGCIL) is an Indian company registered in Bombay (Registration No 124323). The holding company, British Chewing Gum Company UK Ltd (henceforth referred to as BCGC), is not responsible for the acts, conduct, omissions or any lapses of judgment attributed directly or indirectly to the employees of BCGCIL. BCGC does not endorse the decision regarding the propaganda used by the employees of the BCGCIL. BCGC confirms that the chewing gum supplied by BCGC does not contain any cow products and adheres to the highest British standards suitable for all her Majesty’s subjects . . .’

  The British Chewing Gum Company, UK

  34

  The riots that ensued at Wellington Circle are the fruits of the divide-and-rule policy brought in no small measure by the meddlesomeness of the Anglo-Indian officials in our affairs. Now, British companies have joined hands with the officials to create mischief. If unchecked they will one day bring ruin to the most marvellous episode in human history—the British Empire in India.

  We should blame the disloyal writers of the upper class who use every opportunity to set the hearts of Indians against the Europeans, and the Hindus against the Mohammedans.

  Letters from Indian patriots in a leading Bengali newspaper

  Does the government believe that Colaba is a farm? Macbeth . . . Duncan . . . Chamberlains . . . the unworthy successors of Elphinstone, Munro, Bentinck, Canning, are destroying the halo of the glory of British rule. That Warren Hastings was not spared is . . .’

  Editor at a leading English newspaper in Bombay

  Peshwa Madhavrao had the foresight to mediate a truce between the Hindus and the Mohammedans, thereby preventing the slaughter of cows. Now, the government’s mischievous opinion regarding the cow-killing episode in Azamgarh has led to a full-scale orgy. Cows are minced every hour and their blood splattered all the way to the streets of Bombay. The horror has reached a stage where this blood is painted on the walls of English companies. As if that is not enough, cow bones and fat are put in chewing gum to further exacerbate the sentiments of the Hindus. How she must suffer so some can thrust stolen jewels into bags made from her intestines.

  Editor at a leading Marathi newspaper in Pune

  The English should learn from Akbar, not Aurangzeb.

  Editor at a leading Urdu newspaper in Bombay

  35

  In Bombay the administration has tried to make the Musalmans understand that they are not to offend the Hindus. The Hindus were made to understand that they are not to obstruct
Musalmans in their celebrations. Some miscreants, you know who these people are, have taken it upon themselves to spread false rumours and incite violence among the less educated. They have impinged upon civil liberties and the lawful enjoyment of property. The destruction of private property will naturally be paid for by the inhabitants through additional levies. We appreciate the sound judgment of the Magistrate and have complete faith in his ability to pursue the case so that the miscreants are brought to justice.

  Sir Ronald McDonald, Lieutenant

  Governor of Bombay

  36

  May the Lord of the universe bring light to the minds of men. Shame to those who satisfy their lusts at the expense of the meek cow . . . long poem . . . merciful, meek, we thy lambs, butchers, flesh-eating, inflaming the senses.

  Mathematical Proof: Let there be ten cows. The first will give two seers of milk; the second, three seers; and the tenth, eleven seers. By arithmetic calculations, the sum is sixty-five and the average quantity of milk of one cow is six and a half seers . . . If the first cow breeds eight times at least, and the second, nine times and so on, the average number . . . The milk in a lifetime is . . . By multiplication, 11,235 persons are nourished per cow . . . hence the utility of the bovine species is higher than chewing gum.

  Medical Proof: Nutrition . . .

  Rational Proof: Cows love us like children . . . treacherous humans . . .

  Scriptural Proof: Yajur Veda . . . origin of medical science . . . thou shall not kill . . .

  Economical Proof: Prevents famine . . . reduces consumption of corn . . .

  Sanitary Proof: Corn consumption leads to a decrease in excrement, reduces odour, gas . . . happiness . . .

  Historical Proof: Cows have brought about the ruin of kingdoms . . .

  The Cow Protection Society, Bombay Presidency

  37

  The Additional Commissioner of the Bombay Municipal Corporation accepted the proposal from the British Chewing Gum Company. It was filed as an appendix to the administration report of the previous year and duly lost. Paan products—areca nuts, betel leaves and tobacco—a major export to China and to the Far East, were substantially taxed. Wholesaling of paan now required a license and that added to the revenues. There was no question about introducing any legislation to limit its consumption.

  ‘If the natives want to choke themselves to death with that dreaded paan, they may do so with my blessing, as long as they pay ten per cent in duties and leave their legacy in the able mouths of their children,’ the Additional Commissioner’s friend and an exporter of areca nuts, responded, in private.

  38

  The two men who had given the table to the moneylender for safe keeping, returned to claim it. They were driven away.

  ‘The police are looking for the people from the cow protection society,’ the moneylender responded, as he closed the door on them.

  They left, determined to return with their accomplices to give the moneylender a good thrashing. Who knows if the table is worth the price? Men with sticks don’t come cheap these days.

  39

  Dear Dibakar,

  I am surprised you did not respond to your father’s message. How could you not come for your grandfather’s funeral? As expected, Choti Masi promptly removed your grandfather’s ring and put it on her son’s finger. She said, crafty as she is, that our father always wanted the ring to be given to her son because he was his favourite grandson. I was quiet. If you were present, she would not have dared to say what she said. But you weren’t there. I told you this would happen. Do not forget that we live in a joint family. It is easy for anyone to substitute favourites of the dead after they have passed away. Today it is the ring, tomorrow it will be everything else.

  Blessings always,

  Ma

  40

  That year, the paanwala lay bedridden. No letters were read out to him. As he closed his eyes, he wondered whether there was even a Darako. Was he present when Darako arrived all those decades ago? Or was he out for lunch? Was the story entirely imagined by Enumerator A during one of his post-lunch siestas? He wrestled with his doubts for most of the night, sleepless, harrowed, anxious. The door opened.

  ‘Is that you, Darako? Is that you?’

  Darako, garbed in white, stood at the door. His face, radiant, warm; his hair, silver and blowing in the breeze; his halo, luminous. The moon was fuller, brighter. The clouds, in their many layers, were illuminated. It seemed like a bright passage had opened—a gateway to another world. Darako stood beside the paanwala’s bed, gently caressing his forehead.

  41

  Pestonjee’s uncle lived in Surat. He was old. He did not have any children. He had a chikoo farm, retained by the family for generations. For the past two years his health had been deteriorating. He needed looking after. Persis was relieved. Bombay was agitating her. In the carriage, on the way to the station, Pestonjee saw that cow again, white with red horns. She was seated, content. He remembered the way she had run amok in the office, into the photographer and his equipment and created a ruckus in the filing room. How he and Natwarlal had salvaged the files. How he had fallen and yet managed to get rid of her. The temple wall remained as infirm as ever. The cow, on the other hand, was healthier, busy with the unusually large bounty of grass she had received. Since the plague, she had run out of favour and had to fend for herself. Now it seemed that this entire affair was her way of restoring equilibrium.

  42

  The mill worker sat on the pavement, his back against the grey stone wall of the British Chewing Gum Company. He did not know what was going on or why he could not move his body. Through the fractured light that pierced his blood veiled eyes, he tried to make sense of a blurry image. His daughter was sitting idly on a swing. Above her, a banyan tree, sprawling, protective, motherly. She called out to him with outstretched hands. Next to her, a brown mum suckled her pups. She had food, fresh from the oven, and milk too. A mother, white with brown spots, sat nearby. Her polka-dotted coat shone in the sun. Kittens frolicked around the grandmother, chasing cotton balls as she looked on fondly. An infant hugged the grandmother, his tiny arms around her neck. He lifted his legs and swung to and fro to the breeze of the Ganga, the mother of all mothers. Monkeys swung on the branches. The infant joined the monkeys. The bells of the temple rang, bringing order. The mill worker’s daughter jumped off the swing and ran towards the grandmother who kissed the girl’s cheek with her soft mouth and her long tongue. The old found care among the young. The young found their mothers eventually, all of them; the first, who gave birth to them, expecting more than just grass and grain; the second, whose unbroken record of service did not end even with her death; and the third, who carries with her the flesh, bones, intestines, horns and skin, of all mothers, as they flow in and out of the cycles of birth and rebirth in search of salvation in their motherland.

  Acknowledgements

  To my grandfather who told stories every day. To my grandmother who embossed on metal and painted and dragged me to the workshops she taught and took. They looked after me.

  To my father who wanted to be a playwright.

  To Indira, to her playfulness and complexity, and to Saveria for being persistent.

  To Armelle and Francois for their warm support.

  To Sachin Deshpande for reading, and for guidance and encouragement.

  To Christine Martin for her affection. To Kriston Chen for creative camaraderie.

  To Tarini Uppal for her belief, enthusiasm and patience. She is also the brilliant editor.

  To Trisha Bora for her rigorous copy edits and ruffling the manuscript much much. Thank you again.

  To Sandhya Prabhat for the magic on the cover.

  To my colleagues and friends for reading, critiquing and talking—Dini Parayitam, Gitanjali Kolanad, Andrew Hui, Gavin Flood and Elena Glasberg.

  To Anju Paul, Kalpana Karunakaran and Risa Toha for always checking in and for support.

  To colleagues at the Writers Group at Yale-NU
S: Robin Hemley, Waqar Ahmed, Heidi Stalla, Justin Clark, Larry Ypil, and Michael Clark.

  To Firdaus Azim and Gillian Slovo for encouraging the project with the Commonwealth Writers Short Story Prize 2016, to Lucy Hannah and Emma D’Costa at the Commonwealth Foundation for their support, and to Jacob Ross, for guidance. To Divya A (IIT Madras, Humanities and Social Sciences), Caroline Wood (Centre for Stories), Kwame Dawes and Justine Henzell (Calabash Festival) for their warm invitations. To Granta Magazine for publishing related short fiction.

  To mentors, teachers, colleagues, and students at New York University, Mumbai University, and Yale-NUS College for a very long leash and for their support.

  THE BEGINNING

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  This collection published 2019

  Copyright © Parashar Kulkarni 2019