THE BULL RUN
"Have you ever seen a bullock cart taking reverse?" Vikram asked me.
Well, I had grown up in a village in Mangalore where bullock carts were a common sight... We had them everywhere in our village. While returning from school, so often, we children would get a joy ride in Thaburanna's famous bullock cart. But, never did I bother to observe whether his bullock cart ever took a reverse!
Last night, when Vikram asked me that question, I began to think about it, for the first time.
"The bull doesn't look up; it takes the load, looks down... and moves. That is called the 'Bull Run'," Vikram continued. "Your neck may bleed, back may hurt... but you move, with your head down."
But, need I be docile, submissive? Need I be a bullock carrying others' load? Why should my neck bleed? Why should my back hurt? Why should I suffer?
"Because, the need to take load comes with your decision to take charge," Vikram added. "You have to accept the load... and move... gladly."
I couldn't fully agree. Who is in charge - the bullock or Thaburanna? I remember, the times, Thaburanna handed to us, the children, the whip and we would have great fun whipping the bullock. But, never, ever did we think of the pain, the suffering the bullock had to go through... never, ever did we think about its bruised neck, and the burdened back. All that we saw was the faithful bullock moving, taking all of us - and the heavy load of goods - never looking up, never complaining. It was pure fun... Then.
Last evening, my neck was bleeding, and the back was hurting... I was feeling the pain, the burden, the frustration. That was the time, Vikram was trying to pep me up with the bullock-cart analogy. That was the time - the first time - I realised the kind of pain we children used to inflict upon the hapless animal, all for our fun. That was, also, for the first time I had thought whether a bullock cart ever took reverse.
Thaburanna, we knew, took good care of his bullock. His love for the animal was a village folklore. Yet, he whipped the animal, caused bruises and pain. We never noticed - and could never understand - the contradiction, the paradox. Some years after I had moved to Mumbai, my mother wrote a letter to me informing me about Taburanna's death. He was old, and he had spent his entire life running his bullock cart. That fateful day, he was fast asleep as the bullock, so faithfully, without looking up, carried the heavy load and its master. A speeding truck had knocked off the cart, killing, on the spot, both - the faithful servant and the caring, old master. The task master.
The bull run had ended.
GERALD D'CUNHA
Well, I had grown up in a village in Mangalore where bullock carts were a common sight... We had them everywhere in our village. While returning from school, so often, we children would get a joy ride in Thaburanna's famous bullock cart. But, never did I bother to observe whether his bullock cart ever took a reverse!
Last night, when Vikram asked me that question, I began to think about it, for the first time.
"The bull doesn't look up; it takes the load, looks down... and moves. That is called the 'Bull Run'," Vikram continued. "Your neck may bleed, back may hurt... but you move, with your head down."
But, need I be docile, submissive? Need I be a bullock carrying others' load? Why should my neck bleed? Why should my back hurt? Why should I suffer?
"Because, the need to take load comes with your decision to take charge," Vikram added. "You have to accept the load... and move... gladly."
I couldn't fully agree. Who is in charge - the bullock or Thaburanna? I remember, the times, Thaburanna handed to us, the children, the whip and we would have great fun whipping the bullock. But, never, ever did we think of the pain, the suffering the bullock had to go through... never, ever did we think about its bruised neck, and the burdened back. All that we saw was the faithful bullock moving, taking all of us - and the heavy load of goods - never looking up, never complaining. It was pure fun... Then.
Last evening, my neck was bleeding, and the back was hurting... I was feeling the pain, the burden, the frustration. That was the time, Vikram was trying to pep me up with the bullock-cart analogy. That was the time - the first time - I realised the kind of pain we children used to inflict upon the hapless animal, all for our fun. That was, also, for the first time I had thought whether a bullock cart ever took reverse.
Thaburanna, we knew, took good care of his bullock. His love for the animal was a village folklore. Yet, he whipped the animal, caused bruises and pain. We never noticed - and could never understand - the contradiction, the paradox. Some years after I had moved to Mumbai, my mother wrote a letter to me informing me about Taburanna's death. He was old, and he had spent his entire life running his bullock cart. That fateful day, he was fast asleep as the bullock, so faithfully, without looking up, carried the heavy load and its master. A speeding truck had knocked off the cart, killing, on the spot, both - the faithful servant and the caring, old master. The task master.
The bull run had ended.
GERALD D'CUNHA
Comments
Thanks,
GERRY