I love Saturday mornings. Farm fresh eggs with cheese, whole milk with cream straight from our cow, (whom we've nicknamed Bessie) and lots of rich Indian coffee in the cool of the day. As I wash the breakfast dishes, I look out our kitchen window to see 2 bullocks wander by in the pasture next door. As with most bullocks in this area of southern India, their horns are brightly painted red and green with the tips covered in brass cups topped with balls and bells. The dishes will have to wait while I grab my videocamera and head outside for a closer look. Before I can see him, I can hear his horn bells jangling constantly as the darker one strips most of the leaves off a small tree growing in the pasture. In less than a minute, he moves on toward his partner, stopping here and there to graze in the grass. I wonder about the constant jingling of his bells. Does he wonder, “Is it just me or do you hear that ringing sound too?”
Hindus adorn their cows and bullocks with paint, powders, flowers, bells, etc. because they hold cows in high esteem and respect them for their gentle, giving nature. Such decorations are part of annual agricultural festivals that honor cows. They give
Hindus adorn their cows and bullocks with paint, powders, flowers, bells, etc. because they hold cows in high esteem and respect them for their gentle, giving nature. Such decorations are part of annual agricultural festivals that honor cows. They give
so willingly of life-sustaining nutrients from their milk and provide fuel and fertilizer from their dung. Yet they take so little, content to graze on grasses, leaves, and any garbage they can scavenge. These bullocks are work animals and in this rural village, they represent age-old agricultural traditions. Frequently, they pull a bullock cart up and down our rural road and sometimes even venture out on the 4 lane divided highway about 1 km away. But this morning, they seem content in this time of quiet and leisure, with only the sounds of a rooster crowing and cows mooing. And of course, that constant ringing in their ears.
As they wander off, another sound draws my attention to the opposite direction. Through the bougainvillea vines growing on the fence, I see a herd of goats making their way toward me, led by a thin, old man dressed in a lungi tied around his waist and a cloth wrapped around his head. He is carrying a large pole as he gently nudges the goats on toward home. He walks very slowly, as if he's made this walk a thousand times before but when he catches sight of me, he stops and stares directly at me. Seconds later, he starts off again at a rapid pace, making a direct line for me, calling to me as he comes. As he walks right up to me, I ask his permission to film him and when he seems not to mind, he seems to enjoy posing for me. I ask him a few questions in English and he responds in Tamil. Quickly, we both realize we have no common language but smiles. At one point, he seems to ask me a question and when I hold up my hands showing him I don't understand, he shows me a small plastic bottle in his hand. He opens it, pinches out a brown leaflike substance, and quickly sniffs it up his nose. As I watch, I wonder if he had been offering to share with me first. Without another word or even a nod goodbye, he turns quickly and returns to his goats, who are continuing on toward home.
It's a beautiful, peaceful morning on this farm in India. I made some new friends this morning and it's always a good day when God gives you new friends. The bullocks seemed friendly and the old man offered to share what little he had with me. Maybe tomorrow I'll offer to share my Indian coffee with him.
Back to the dishes...
Susan
“...joy comes with the morning.” Psalm 30:5
As they wander off, another sound draws my attention to the opposite direction. Through the bougainvillea vines growing on the fence, I see a herd of goats making their way toward me, led by a thin, old man dressed in a lungi tied around his waist and a cloth wrapped around his head. He is carrying a large pole as he gently nudges the goats on toward home. He walks very slowly, as if he's made this walk a thousand times before but when he catches sight of me, he stops and stares directly at me. Seconds later, he starts off again at a rapid pace, making a direct line for me, calling to me as he comes. As he walks right up to me, I ask his permission to film him and when he seems not to mind, he seems to enjoy posing for me. I ask him a few questions in English and he responds in Tamil. Quickly, we both realize we have no common language but smiles. At one point, he seems to ask me a question and when I hold up my hands showing him I don't understand, he shows me a small plastic bottle in his hand. He opens it, pinches out a brown leaflike substance, and quickly sniffs it up his nose. As I watch, I wonder if he had been offering to share with me first. Without another word or even a nod goodbye, he turns quickly and returns to his goats, who are continuing on toward home.
It's a beautiful, peaceful morning on this farm in India. I made some new friends this morning and it's always a good day when God gives you new friends. The bullocks seemed friendly and the old man offered to share what little he had with me. Maybe tomorrow I'll offer to share my Indian coffee with him.
Back to the dishes...
Susan
“...joy comes with the morning.” Psalm 30:5
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