This is an attempt to create a write up that would find its place midway between fiction & non-fiction. There are no cultural or religious intentions behind this article. I only attempt to present facts that I have collected from various sources. Mostly I want to see if I can spin the yarn..
This is the story of two bulls, Kobe & Moori.
Kobe is the glorious descendant of the much valued Tajima-gyu breed from Japan. Kobe was born to a wagyu cow in a very homely farm where life happened in perfect harmony with nature. His country is considered to be one of the most progressive ones in the world, in-spite of being in a geographically challenged location. The farm was the home for some glorious ancestors that had left him the legacy of a well bred genetic strain, for the same reason he was smart strong & very good looking. The calf’s were allowed to drink enough milk from their mothers until a certain age after which they naturally moved to isolation. They were provided healthy green food, most importantly they were given enough love,care and pampering to grow. Kobe knows that he would be sent to the butchery in next 5 years, but his people would allow him to live as a king until then.
If given an option, he still would have preferred to be born to a French couple from the famous Blonde D’Aquitaine breed. He had heard tales from his parents about how that breed of cattle were kept stress free, listened to music and most importantly had the privilege of hearing his human keepers tell stories to them for hours. He had been told that humans paid a great fortune to get their hands on a slice of their body, it was considered to be a great honor to be on a wealthy man’s plate.
However meaningful, Kobe’s life was not that eventful. He had heard stories about bulls who fought many humans in a arena, sometimes tossing them up in the air. It was their best encounter with the two legged creatures. The humans were notoriously famous for using some sharp tools to make the bull bleed; it skewed the fight, yet the victory was for the bull because they knew that human’s feared them and the game was to get over their weakness. He used to hear jokes about how humans would take the privates of the fallen bull and consume it with great appreciation hoping to Man-Up more, it was a rare delicacy known as Rocky Mountain oysters. He hoped to have an ending that said “I had the balls to make a Man out of a HuMan”, he was told that animal’s had many smaller graves that were kept in places that were called super markets, always had nice pictures and details about them which allowed the humans to precisely track details about where they came from. Kobe lived in a very peaceful setting, he had good healthcare & enjoyed personal attention from his fellow humans. Death for him was never horrifying, he was always motivated by the idea of fulfilling human culinary desire of enjoying an enriching meat menu. That was the least he could do for all the special treatment humans give him. He knew exactly when he would be asked to leave, for him life would happen after he was gone. He was a walking fortune for his owners, so he had all the pride to keep his head high. This however is not Kobe’s story.
Moori on the same side of the globe was born to a Sindhi cow breed. Although he was a descendant of a much richer ancestral heritage, he was born in an Industrial Age to a family that depended on agriculture for their economical needs. As told by his mother, Moori had 4 other siblings in previous years out of which the bull calf’s were repeatedly sent off in their early age by his owner, he only hoped that they are still alive. His female siblings were allowed to stay on the farm, eventually they aspired to be producing good milk for the humans. He was very confused about why humans did the exact opposite of this with their own offsprings. Moori’s mother had been in the farm for close to 8 years, having taken care of his 4 siblings made her weak and hence she gave less milk every year. Moori used to have only half the share of his mother’s milk, rest was the owners share that he used to sell to his customers. His mother used to take him along for grazing, even though most of it was dry hay; some days were eventful when they had corn stem and tree leaves to chew on. He still remembers the day when he had a few banana peel and how that flavored his rumen for a whole day. She used to tell him stories about how there were Greenlands in the places where humans have now built tall buildings, about her childhood when they used to eat fresh cold cut grass from the farms that had the taste of fresh morning dew. There were good times when humans used to have them as companions for festivities & celebration. Moori’s father was a sporty bull who used to work with a plough all day. Some days he would ride the human family on the bullock cart to long distances. The humans were so compassionate & thankful then. The world changed, machines took over and eventually his father was sent to some other place from where he never returned. There were rumors that old bulls always ended up in a place called a butcher shop where they would be cut to pieces and distributed among humans.
He was stressed out that his mother might someday end up in a butchery even after 8 years of continuous hard work. He was wondering if the humans he worked for would ever realize the respectful relation their ancestors had with his. While he had no schooling, he was always held back by the genetic wisdom of not trying to kill humans. His life was quite helpless, especially with the strength that he had and yet not being able to use it to protect his family. Some days he would just weep and pray that all this gets over soon.
One fine day, Moori decided to set on a journey. He thought that his uncertain life should always end by his choice. He knew that he had to anyway die in the hands of a confused human, he might as well see the world from his eyes. He cut his rope, drank all the milk he could from his mother and bid a sad farewell to her. His mother told him that humans were always in search of something called knowledge and only that can save his life. He had observed how the human kids would carry some heavy luggage from places called schools, he knew that knowledge was something you carry on your back and it hurts like hell. He was a bull, he thought if his father could carry humans on his back then he could certainly bear the weight of knowledge. Yet school was place where they were expected to learn all the great things in life. It was highly likely that the school would have all the answers. A stray bull in his land was never seen with suspicion, especially if it was minding its own business. He only had to pretend that someone owned him. He wandered into a school bubbling with activity, he stood close to a group of kids that were making synchronous noises. When he observed closely, they were busy chanting about why Mary had a lamb and importance of wondering what stars are. He was not sure why they would keep all this as a suspense. He observed & only concluded that school was a place where you confuse a human so much that they try to get out of that place every year. With this, he had no hopes of knowing why humans wanted to cut & distribute animals. He would rather be talking to animals as the school had no information about all the mysteries of nature and its co-existences.
He wandered further from the village into a swamp land and saw a bunch of water-buffaloes sitting in a puddle. He was curious about the uniqueness of their color. He had observed that cows & bulls come in a variety of colors. The brownish red ones from his clan used to boast about their superior red-sindhi lineage and zebu patriarch’s. He was quite obnoxious when they spoke about the color of the leather on their bodies, especially when the end game of that was to be on a human’s foot or to hold the piece of cloth that hid the lower portions of their body. He wondered why humans were so shameful & pretentious creatures.
As he approached the swamp, he saw that the buffaloes welcome’d him by clearing some space in the puddle. He gently slid into the mushy gooey richness of the mud. He had seen some human females in the family smear some mud on their faces hoping to look more beautiful, he was still wondering why the buffaloes never got fairer.
He found a huge old buffalo sitting calm next to a patch of green grass near the puddle. He was still a million questions and wanted to strike a conversation with the old man. He quietly slid next to him and cleared his throat, he said ‘Hello Sir, I am Moori’ I am a white Sindhi bull from an agricultural land. He narrated his story about why he had to leave his mother in search of answers.
The old man did not budge, he kept chewing his cud. Moori knew that buffaloes are lazy creatures, humans would compare other humans with buffaloes to use it as a form of supreme insult; which meant extreme levels of thick skinned laziness.
After a few attempts, the old man spoke. He said, my name is Pothan and I am 40 years old. He said, he had all the answers to Moori’s questions, but he was not sure if Moori would live that long to know all of it.
He wanted to give the details rather quickly, but being a buffalo was not an ordinary business. Their timeline was on the slower axis, life was all about relaxing & eating. The water buffalo’s were famous for following a very strict time table with only 3 things to do.
He started with some facts he said, there are over 100 Million of my kind in this land. We are domesticated for our thick milk with higher fat content. He said that humans make a good earning by selling their milk, sometime even adding a little water would still won’t make a difference. He held his head high with pride as he said, we animals never cheat !
As he gave more details about their lifecycle, Moori’s expression changed to that of watching a horror movie. He said that most of the bull’s were sent to the butchery at an age of 3-4 years based on their size and growth. The best part of their life was that they were blessed with a lower intellect and hence it never bothered them with a lot of questions. Life was quite simple, if they woke up that day alive then the whole day was for them to party. If they did not, they were called ‘carabeef’ that served a higher purpose. Their body was perfectly adapted to hot swamp weather, which no other domestic breed would dare to flourish.
He said: listen carefully Moori, I might have an idea for your survival.
to be continued …
http://edition.cnn.com/travel/article/most-expensive-meat/index.html
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cattle_slaughter_in_India
