The other Che

Normally, this kind of thing happens when someone you love, dies, but I cannot wait for my dog to pass away to be able to praise him in writing. He was brought into our house after my elder brother got the idea of keeping a pet so that he could get over a breakup. Three years have passed since then, and he has gotten over many a breakups, but both he and I just cant get over Che, our doggy.  Infact it was through my dog that I got to know about Che Guevara, something the real Che’s ghost would never forgive me of- people getting to know about him through dogs!

Che is a black Labrador- very shiny, fat and cute. His lack of proper vertical and anterior growth, and excess of posterior development makes him look like a giant mouse. His looks only help him in getting all the love and affection that anyone, dog or otherwise, could expect to get from us.

Personally for me, he is the greatest source of entertainment. When I come home tired and exhausted, he would make it a point to get me alright. He would orbit around me in funny trajectories which at times would turn into meteor-like. He would then start rotating and jumping around some imaginary axis cutting through his own body. It would be his ultimate mission to somehow reach my nose and to be able to lick it, and once is just not enough. When he gets tired of the aerobics, he would turn docile and start following me where ever I go. At nights, he plays the dual role of a pillow and an alarm clock for me. I generally make him sleep next to me, and put my legs onto him, and he wouldn’t make even the slightest of fuss. But as soon as it is 6 or 7 in the morning, he would start barking and would let me know that it is time to get up!

But he fails terribly in the traditional role of a dog as a watchkeeper. He would treat even the strangest of men with the same love and affection as he treats us. This make me insecure, not about my life and safety, but about his fidelity towards me.

Nature wise, Che is just like me. We sleep as much as we can, and whatever time we stay awake, we like having as much fun as possible. I owe a large portion of the credit of my success in the civil services examination to him. It was he who accompanied me through my nightouts  during my preparation. When I was studying, he used to sit right next to me, not making the slightest of sounds. When I used to go to the terrace for taking a drag or revising what I had studied, he would follow me with all his theatrics.  He would complete all his necessary works during my stay on the terrace, like keeping a watchout at his imaginary territory, urinating and marking the boundaries of the same,  observing the growth of the vegetables in the terrace farm- his future vegetarian food-something that disgusted my dad like anything,  and preying, feasting, and playing around with the innumerous kinds of insects that would be hovering around the tubelights of the terrace. These are the memories I can never forget, and I owe it to him

Sometimes, I think of bringing him over to my district, but I am not too sure. Will he be able to getproper care and attention that he gets at home, one never knows. Anyways, I shall decide upon it as soon as I find my feet in the district.

The Dilemma

It was a rare day of celebrations in Ratanpur, a small village about two hundred miles from the city of Rajkot in Gujrat. The year long drought, which had sucked all that was left in the poor, and had transferred it completely to the rich moneylenders, finally looked like loosening its grip on the land. For months now, the villagers had been doing prayers, yajnas, sacrifices, and what not, to please the Gods of rain. A number of widows had been burnt after being declared ominous, many dalit families had been chased away from the village for similar reasons, many young girls were betrothed with dogs, and hundreds of pundits had been fed with the best of stuff available for a number of months. Today, the villagers were looking at the wet sky with a mixed sense of accomplishment and fear for the future.

As Bhoomi looked at the drops of rain falling outside through her window, her mind was miles away, caught in an emotional dilemma. Ever since her mother passed away about six years ago, she had completely come of age. As she and her father, Kishen, formed everything that was left of their family, she had taken upon herself the entire work inside the household. Every day, she got up before sunrise and went to the village well to fetch water. Then she would complete all the daily chores before her father got up. Together, she and her father would then prepare the breakfast and go to the fields. After working all day, they would come back before sunset, and then Bhoomi would prepare the dinner. In other words, she was the backbone of her family- upon which her father derived the energy to live, and the desire to survive- even with the meager means they had. For a year now, since her neighbor lata got married off, her father was almost always talking about her marriage. And why not?, she turned 17 only last year, and it was a social taboo for a father to keep his daughter unmarried till that age.

            If it were left to her, Bhoomi would have never agreed. She loved her father too much, and she realized the vital role she played in the family. If she went away, it would destroy everything- like the domino effect. Ironically, when the drought was killing everyone, it was helping Bhoomi in this regard. When there is little to eat, how can her father arrange a dowry? This kept her mind clear. But now that the sky turned dark with clouds, her mind got cluttered with confusion.  But the fact that her father related her marriage to his ticket to heaven or hell, made her think.

That day, her father had said that he would come late, as the rain celebrations were on. Her father would be drinking today, after a long time. As she was cooking a special meal for them, a number of thoughts were waving in her mind. Finally, all of their troubles would be over, Bhoomi thought. Baujee would be able to pay off his debts to that greasy old Ganesh, the money lender. May be he would also be able to get Ma's ring back, something she had saved for Bhoomi's wedding. They would not be eating grasses anymore, and she would prepare good meals. May be marriage was not a bad thing at all. After all, it was something her father wanted. She would give it to him and make him proud. May be her father would not be so worse off without her. She would make him remarry. What was his age, after all, forty something, and remarrying was not a rare thing amidst the males. May be she could also make visits regularly, and make sure everything was going fine. May be she could persuade her husband to be considerate with her case. In any case, she also had dreamt of being a bride and wearing a red saree. She would look lovely wearing her mother's ring. God had seldom been kind on them, may be this time he would!. She did not know when her conscious thoughts became a subconscious dream.

Next day, as Mr Sharma was reading the news daily with a cup of hot tea prepared by Mrs Sharma, he almost overlooked the small feed on page number 11, which talked something about a dozen of people who got killed after drinking poisoned Hooch, a locally made moonshine. The list of the deceased included Bhola, Natthu, Paras Nath... and Kishen.