Having led her back, I sat on the entrance to my door less hut, with White God squatting , chewing the tobacco, shifty eyed. As Phoebus, went on his downward slide into the west, the grass sellers landed up, the bull looking at me, his first good look at me and not a good one at that. By this time, Azhagi’s act had spread like the proverbial wild fire into the two hamlets surrounding the boundaries of my farm, one the dalit, the untouchables so to say, on my east and the other the converted Christians on the west, a step higher in the pecking order of the class system that was prevalent in the village. The upper castes were on west by north direction about a mile away.
The grass sellers had heard about my princess’s exploit and were looking at me in wonder and asked White God about what had happened. He just pointed to the limp body of the snake which he had dragged across and kept it nearby the entrance to my hut. The last light was fading away and the three of them went about to perform the last rites of a cobra. You don’t kill a cobra and not perform the last rites. From the crossbred Jersey cow they milked a few drops; a cow can be easily milked, you just got to keep watch out for the hind leg that may come up and break your arm. This cow’s milk was for the exclusive use of my niece, who had just completed one year of her life on this wonderful planet.
Some turmeric was brought, put into the milk, which was then sprinkled on to the body of the snake and it was taken out to the road, kerosene sprinkled on to it and the match was ignited. The stench was overpowering. It kept them mosquitoes away though for a few hours.
It was then that I had the first visitor to my farm. A bigwig, so to say. I had ordered the grass cutters to bring me a few bundles of grass as a special gesture to Azhagi. The bundles and the bigwig arrived at the same time. I bid him Vanakkam with folded hands, a standard form of greeting to welcome a visitor to one’s abode and after the pleasantries were over, I asked him to join me in the special treat to my girl. The bundles were finely chopped and I took the pieces, fresh, onto my palms joined together as an offering to a deity and all that Azhagi did was to sniff and turn her head away. The visitor laughed and said that she wanted privacy, perhaps. Perhaps, I thought too. I leant forward and whispered that I would be back later, but please, love, don’t make me lose face. She flicked the grass off in one swipe of her rather rough tongue, gave me a good look in the eye and turned her head away, gently. She understood.
I led the visitor away.
I was anxious to be back with my princess and was polite to the visitor, a retired Headmaster of a nearby school and he was amazed that a chap like me could come from the city life and live like “this”… During our brief chat I came to know that he had a mango orchard, a banana plantation and paddy fields, all totaling up to a few hundred acres. Plus he had a son called Senguttavan, who was screwing the village belles. I pretended to be shocked but was reassured that it was the upper castes’ god given right to sow the wild oats. He left, perceptively noticing that my mind was elsewhere. The farm hands were hanging around out of respect for him, not for me. Or so I thought.
After, he left, they came rushing to me and heard my first hand account and were truly amazed at what had occurred. Each one of them narrated instances of my princesses high handed treatment of them lesser mortals. The look of awe was in their eyes, but they never spoke it. I was of a different breed. Is what they said. I gestured to them to leave me alone. Picked up the basket containing the chopped grass and made my way to the stall where my princess stood in waiting. I squatted cross-legged in front of her and she sat too, gracefully. I gave her my offering again in all humility. This time she nibbled and made the moment last. Occasionally, she would stretch and lick my face and when I flinched at the roughness of her tongue, she was gentler. This was a girl, who learnt real fast in the ways to please her man.
It was pure bliss. Communing with her just by feeding her and maintaining the eye contact. I don’t know how long I sat there. We never spoke. Not a word, not a snort. Not a grunt. Just the ordinary sounds of a dairy farm within and the hamlets shutting themselves down for the night.
My supper came late that night. The milkman responsible for that had been stopped at the village center and the events of the evening narrated to him with all kinds of spin. When he came, it was my Princess who grunted and the spell was over. I kissed her forehead and got my supper pack. As I went to the hand pump I was asked a zillion questions and me and my Princess replied in grunts. The milkman was amazed. I had my supper, lit up a smoke and replied for the first time to Durai that I was lucky to be alive. And that I had to catch a few winks before the next day began.
He said he was staying back. The stench of the smoldering cobra was lingering. We put up the cart, laid my bed. The Princess let out a fearful snort. We had torches and with sickles in hand we approached from different directions. Turned out that Shorty had discharged and she was ready to be seeded within the next 72 hours.
Good news, indeed
I put on the CSNY on my tape machine and set it at a low volume. This time the foursome let out appreciative grunts and I applied the anti-mosquito cream liberally and sat cross-legged waiting for the music to get over. The mosquitoes kept a respectful distance and before long I was dozing and was woken up for the midnight shift. One full day had come to a close.
After the whole exercise, we sat around debating to which stud farm, Shorty was to be taken to at the crack of dawn. Normally, one or two stud farms catered to the needs of around 20 villages, but where we were located, we could access around five, all within 5 miles range and one had to take the buffalo quite early in the morning so that we could be back by noon or so. All of this to be done by walking to the stud farm. Finally, we chose one that was easily accessible. I wanted to take Princess along with me too, but was over-ruled. And I kept my peace, strolled across to where she was dozing and whispered the news to her that I wouldn’t be around to bathe her when the sun rose later in the day. She pretended not to hear me, and that had me worried. And I went to bed, a troubled man.
I was woken up, silently and White God’s elder brother, who was co-opted for the trip, was waiting expectantly for me. I asked him to wait for a while and finished my poo-poo, keeping a wary watch, in the pre-dawn darkness for snakes and had a quick wash and before long we were on our way. We reached just after dawn and I watched the mating process in fascination. The bull could smell Shorty and was already raring to go. After we paid the fees, Shorty was led to the paddock where the bull was waiting in anticipation.
The mating foreplay was very short and then the man who was in charge of the farm went in and caught hold of Shorty, who was a bit shy and was wary of the whole thing. Finally, as the bull mounted, the man moved swiftly and put the business end of the bull into Shorty and after a few quick thrusts, it was all over. They were made to face each other and would you believe it, they actually kissed.!! It was a wonderful sight, albeit from the ring side.
Shorty was led out and the rope was handed over to White God’s elder brother and we were on our way back. Shorty didn’t seem tired at all; in fact her walk was more brisk and there was a spring in her step. We had to cross King’s River and I decided to let her have a swim, while we rested on the banks under a tree. Boy, she liked the idea and was soon grunting and snorting in belated ecstasy is what I thought. White God’s elder brother entered the river and gave her a good scrub.
We reached the farm and have you ever felt frozen under the mid-day sun? You should have been there. I got the full treatment from my Princess. Her eyes were mad, she was pulling at the rope to take a charge at me and she was snorting as if she was raving mad. I tried to cajole her by scratching her ears, I got tossed back with just a toss of her head. I tried to pat her back, rubbing my palm down her smooth, satin soft back; I got a kick from her hind legs, which I barely managed to avoid.
The milking was over and I learnt that she had not released her normal full quantity. And that she had refused to be fed. In my life, until then, I had met head strong clefts and had subdued them with the innate charm that was resident in my soul.
I ignored the Princess.
In my hut I prepared her meal, with a wee bit extra, on the measurement scale. And then I walked out with the dry meal and placed it near where, the others were fed. The back of the hairs on my neck were not tingling but were straight up. I walked towards Shorty, by now having learnt the sounds to make from the back of my throat, and pretended that the Princess did never exist.
The dam broke.
All I heard was a scramble, a shout of warning and then the jab of hooves on my back, softly and I pretended to fall down with an exaggerated movement of flailing limbs, with one eye half open; the trick taught to me by Her itself. Before long, I felt the hot breath and the soft caring and inquiring snort and opened my eye fully to check out my status. I was staring into my Princess’s worried eyes, which changed the moment I met her look, eye to eye.
There was pure contempt at my faking.
The tail was swishing wildly and I knew it was going to be a long day. The Princess was gracious enough to have left me room to get myself up and I did just that and walked away. I heard the soft hooves behind me and I veered towards the feeding place and started to hand pump the water out. I did make no attempt to mix the feed. It was then that she took the few steps and licked my shoulder, where she had planted her hooves, now bleeding lightly, and yet I did not flinch. I pumped out the water into six, eight liter containers and began to mix the feed. She understood my anger and took the cue, by slurping off the feed without any fuss. She finished and ambled to her place and let me feed the others.
White God was amused at the byplay and began the practice of narrating the day’s incidents to the other workers when they came and in his hamlet by night. So much so that, the villagers began to accept me as a chap, who had come back and not as one who came from the City. I got those imperceptible nods by a few as they passed the farm
And life soon fell into a pattern, until the World Cup started on June 8th, night.
End of Chapter 3 Insemination and Jealousy
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