ANNUAL CONFERENCE 2008

(Mumbai, 28th November, 2008)

The Bull Run...

"I am a Bull."

- B. K. Mohapatra, Supdt. of Customs (P).

The world is yet to discover an alternative sentence to begin an autobiography with. After writing this sentence we students looked at each other with amusement. Dandu Sir, alias Shri Dandapani Sahu, our class teacher had asked us to write the autobiography of a bull. Dandu Sir had a penchant for autobiographies of every conceivable character, animate and inanimate. In the past, he had made us write autobiographies of a monkey, a coconut tree, an umbrella, so on and so forth. But, autobiography of a bull! That really took the cake.

The bull, which a matador fights with in a Spanish arena or the proverbial bull in a china shop are uni-dimentional characters. But our desi bull is usually a gift to Lord Shiva from one of his devotees in exchange for some favour conferred by the Lord. As Shiva's representative, the Bull lords over the village with a regal authority. With his mythological avatar as Nandi, astrological avatar as Vrishav and social responsibilities as the Bull of the village, he is a multi-dimensional personality, difficult to confine within the narrow scope of an autobiography of not exceeding two hundred words.

"Don't you think it is funny to imagine yourself to be a bull," whispered my friend Mahesh.

"It would be real fun though to have a bull's power and prerogatives," I whispered back. "Think of the authority to bulldoze into the greenest of fields and feed yourself with a sumptuous meal for free," I added.

With others joining in, the whisper between us two turned into a general murmur.

The bull, as a character was catching up with the collective imagination of the classroom full of adolescent boys.

"And the right over the cows of the village to the exclusion of the mere bullocks," chipped in Madhav, the eldest boy in our class. He was three years elder to us by virtue of failing in different classes. Not to squander away his time, he had acquired enough expertise on such worldly matters.

We looked at him a little puzzled. He gave that omniscient smile and enlightened us how in the animal kingdom, unlike human beings, the female chooses the strongest possible father for its offspring, so as to pass on the best of genes to the next generation. Although he did not make much sense to us, we nodded in agreement, reluctant to let our ignorance show on such a vital subject.

The murmur, by now, had developed into almost a commotion.

"What the hell is going on there," thundered Dandu Sir. As he discovered that none of us had proceeded beyond the first sentence, the real hell broke loose on us. All of us were thrashed black and blue by him.

Whatever may be his parents' thinking behind choosing his name, Dandu Sir took it to be a person having unlimited power to impart dand, i.e. punishment.

My first tryst with the Bull had thus turned out to be a rather painful encounter.

For days following this incidence, we continued to exchange exciting information about the life of our village bull, its authority and its privileges. We were appalled by its enormous stamina and impressed by its nonchalant way of life. The impunity with which it could break the law made for mere mortals was awe-inspiring. The thrashing from Dandu Sir, we believed, was our punishment for incurring the divine displeasure of Lord Shiva for maligning his trusted aide.

Till date, I bow before every bull I come across, with reverence. I address him as Vrishav Maharaj and never wear any red cloth lest I may antagonize him.

* * * * *

"There is a beautiful bull temple nearby," informed my wife's friend. We were putting up at her place in Bengaluru on a visit to the city. She had unmistakably noticed my adulation for the bull.

"We must visit the temple," I reasoned with my wife. "After all we have nothing to do tomorrow."

My wife was rather unimpressed.

"We may as well buy a pair of ear-rings for you on the way back," I suggested as bait. "They make beautiful stone studded ones in this part of India," I concluded.

“Tomorrow is Sunday," reminded my wife. “There would be so many of your kind queuing up before the Bull God for a darshan, who knows how much time it, will take? In any case the market will be very crowded in the evening. Who will be in mood for shopping?"

"We may rather finish up the shopping first and then move to the temple," suggested Shweta.

My wife gave a winning smile as I conceded to this suggestion.

* * * * *

The small hillock stood in serenity. Surrounded by huge trees, atop the hillock, the Bull Temple had an air of ascetism about it. The long queue of devotees was rather too disciplined, belying their number. After all, who would risk the wrath of the Bull God! After an hour or so, as we entered the sanctum sanctorum, I was spellbound with the magnificent sight of the gigantic monolith idol of the Bull. Adorned with a variety of jewellery, befitting its majestic being, the Bull looked upon its devotees with a benevolent grace. I felt bestowed and protected at once, in the true sense of yogakshema.

"I don't see much sense in worshipping an animal," my wife remarked on our way back.

"The Bull is not just any animal," I confronted. "After all it has the apparent power to harm us coupled with an imminent danger when enraged."

"A latent potential to cause harm cannot justify building temples for such creatures and worshiping them."

"Why not? I think you are grossly mistaken. Our forefathers used to worship small pox and cholera as Goddess. Even today many of us offer milk to the Cobra on Naga Panchami to buy peace. It is anyway wiser to appease a powerful creature with a capacity to cause harm rather than incurring its wrath. In case of a divine power like the Shiva's Vahana, one should not take chance even with its inanimate form," I reasoned.

"You and your bull," retorted my wife. "Had the equation for power been propounded by an Indian man, I am sure we would have been measuring the engines in terms of Bull Power instead of Horse Power. Think, how silly it would sound." And that wrapped up the argument as I diverted the topic to the beauty of the earrings my wife had bought in the morning and marveled at her fashion sense.

"It was nice of you not to mind the price. You are such a darling," cooed my wife.

* * * * *

"This city seems to be safer," I thought to myself.

I was a few days into my job in Mumbai. It was reassuring to note that the streets were free from bulls. But where was the escape from the Bull! People were all the times praying for a Bull Run in the stock market. May be all the bulls of this city are busy in the Dalal Street, I happily concluded.

Being a devout Hindu, I continued to visit the nearby Shiva Temple every Monday. Watching the devotees touch and pay respect to the Nandi before praying to the God was very reassuring.

"After all, I am not the only one suffering from the bull-phobia," I thought.

Bachubhai, another regular at the temple explained to me the proper way of having a darshan of Lord Shiva.

"You must put your thumb and the index finger on the two horns of the Nandi.

Like this," he demonstrated. "Then you should peep through the gap to have a proper darshan of the Shiva Lingam," he concluded.

In my eagerness not to displease the Lord or the Nandi, I followed his advice.

Another devotee standing nearby emphasized, "Just touching the Nandi or paying respect is not enough. You must keep him in good humour to recommend your case before Lord Shiva."

Although my need was only to escape its wrath, rather than obtaining a favour, I did not want to leave anything to chance. In all my subsequent visits, I followed this advice too.

"From my childhood, I am afraid of the bull," I confided in Bachubhai. "I pay reverence to it in both its forms, animate and inanimate. I am always eager to keep it in good humour, so that I won't incur its wrath".

"It is very wise of you," agreed Bachubhai. "However, the most dangerous type of bull is the ostensible bull."

I looked at him nonplussed.

"A person who has all the characteristics of a bull, but not a real bull, is called an ostensible bull. When you visit any government or municipal office, you would realise that many of the officers behave as if they are Lord Bholanath personified," continued Bachubhai. "Even the Principal of a school in this city is nothing less. They are virtually inaccessible to the common man."

"How does one get through to them," I asked impatiently.

"Through the Nandi." Bachubhai smiled at my ignorance. "This Nandi may come in many avatars. It could be the Saheb's Secretary, a clerk, a peon or a driver," Bachubhai paused for a moment. "It can also be one of your union leader, although in his personal capacity," added Bachubhai for good measure.

Since then, I have added this third type of bull to my list of Gods.

A timid and god fearing man; I bow my head with reverence whenever I see a Bull, animate, inanimate or ostensible.

Vrishav Maharaj ki jai ho!

* * * * *

P.S.: I shall be failing in my duty if I don't thank Dandu Sir, Shweta, Bachubhai and last but not the list my beloved wife for their valuable contribution to my perception of the Bull.