The Sacred Cow

Bablu, 15 years of age and his father lived in Tejpur, a small city in northern Uttar Pradesh. Bablu’s father was a hard-working man who had lost both his parents when he was 10 years of age. He had to drop out of school and for the next 12 years, he worked in the local steel factory as a furnace hand. He got married to Bablu’s mother when he was 22, Bablu was born 2 years later. Sadly, Bablu’s mother passed away due to excessive bleeding during childbirth.

Bablu’s father was grief-stricken, but for the sake of his boy, he vowed to keep going strong. Going another 10 years at the factory, he worked multiple shifts, saving every penny that he could. He loved his boy very much and wanted him to have a good life, much better than he had had. When Bablu was 10 years of age, his father opened a small dry cleaning shop in Varanasi, a large city 20 km from Tejpur.

Bablu grew up to be an extremely shy and introverted boy and didn't have many friends in the real world. The few friends Bablu had, found him odd and behind his back, made fun of him. It was true that Bablu didn't show much emotion and it was hard to make him laugh. He always seemed serious and had a habit of asking unusual questions. Bablu preferred spending time in his room, on his computer. He loved coding and tinkering with electronic circuits which he harvested from old radio and television sets. Bablu shared a deep bond with his father, his father was his best friend and he loved him very much.

It was a Friday. Bablu’s father finished work around 8 pm that day, a bit later than usual. It usually took him about half an hour to get home on his old scooter. The main highway connecting the two cities had been in good shape ever since the government leased it out to a private toll operator. On most days, there wasn’t much traffic, except for Fridays. Friday was the weekend rush, chaotic, with a lot of cars and trucks on the road.

It was around half past eight and Bablu hadn't had dinner yet. Since it was a Friday, he was waiting for his father to bring him his favorite Tandoori Roti with Black Chole from the little dhaba near his dry cleaning shop. Every Friday, Bablu eagerly waited for the special dinner. The Tandoori Roti with Black Chole was his favorite and father and son had it together. When they ate, they didn't talk too much and rarely expressed how much they loved each other. But they both waited eagerly for this moment every week.

It was hard to drive a scooter at night due to oncoming vehicles using a high headlight beam, some cars, and almost all trucks. It was illegal to use a high beam and everyone knew it. But they all used it because they could see farther. But then, when they all used it, no one could see farther, it was a tragedy of the commons. The increased traffic on Friday evenings made this situation worse.

Bablu’s father was on his way home, riding his scooter and thinking of his son when a cow suddenly ventured onto the road. He didn't see the black cow as the high beam from a tractor coming from the other side of the road flashed into his eyes. He was doing 45 km/hr on his scooter when he hit the cow. Pain overpowered the cow, it panicked, ran to the other side of the road and was hit by the tractor, a much larger impact.

When the tractor hit the cow, there was a loud noise followed by an ear-piercing human cry. It was Bablu’s father. The impact of the collision with the cow made him fly in the air for a few seconds. Tragically, he landed on the plows attached to the tractor. The cow lay motionless on the side of the road, blood and little chunks of flesh splattered all around her. She was alive and breathing, but, not for long.

Bablu was waiting at home. It was past 10 pm and his father was not home. Some days, when his father got late from work, he felt quite vulnerable and emotional, contrary to his usual nature.

His father would not come home today, he was lying near the cow, still impaled on the plow attached to the tractor. One of the chisels had penetrated his abdomen. There was still some life left in him and he was wailing with pain. But so was the cow. Some people had gathered around them. A few took out their smartphones and starting filming, a few started a live video stream. It wasn't often that they witnessed an accident in real time and they wanted their friends to see. One of the spectators quickly called the local Cow Protection Committee as he had the number saved in his phone’s hotlist. Moments later, some kind soul thought of calling an ambulance for the dying human, poor Bablu’s father.

With the little life left in him, Bablu’s father imagined his boy’s face. He knew his boy would be a great man one day. His boy was creative and intelligent and would be everything that his father could not be. His boy was the center of his universe. He didn't want to die because that would mean his boy would be alone in this world. Oh, how he wished he wasn't dying! Not for himself, but for his boy, whom he loved very much.

The truck from the local cow shelter arrived first, accompanied by the local government veterinary doctor. Everyone helped lift the cow, still alive, onto the truck. The cow would live, the vet told them. Everyone was relieved. The ambulance arrived half an hour later. There were still a few spectators there. Some of them found it morally objectionable to leave a dying man on the road, some just stayed because they said nothing else to do at home and some didn't want to stop the live video stream. Most others had left after the truck from the cow shelter left. After all, the cow was alive and safe.

But it was too late for the ambulance, life had left Bablu’s father. He lied motionless, impaled on the plow with a little smile on his face. He was thinking about his boy in his last moments. When the ambulance driver asked for help in lifting the dead body from the plow, there was a slight hesitation from the spectators. After a painful delay of a few minutes, a day laborer, dirty and scruffy in appearance, stepped forward and helped lift the body. No one else wanted blood on their clothes unless it was the cow, that was sacred, so an exception.

Finally, the ambulance left with the lifeless body of Bablu’s father in the back. On the road, in the midst of all that blood and chunks of flesh, lied a little plastic bag. It had 2 servings of Bablu’s favorite Tandoori Roti with Black Chole. Before he died, Bablu’s father was looking forward to sharing that special meal with his son.

At home, Bablu fell asleep, waiting for his father, whom he loved very much. The night got darker. The little calf standing on the other side of the road was waiting for his mother too, he loved his mother very much.