Aaie

Bovine Love

by Gaytri Bhatia

[This piece was written for Anayu, a creation of love by Meher Varma with the support of the Doctors and Chefs of Vana, Six Senses, Dehradun. The book brings recipes rooted in Ayurveda to your kitchen. It is simple and beautiful, spiced with poetry, art, and essay. To leave meat out of the cookbook was intentional. The piece, "Aaie" offers one perspective of the animal.]

Special thanks

To Shanu, for the quintessential introduction.

To Sophee, for bringing it shape. The original text of 6 years ago was far from this beautiful form.

The dark unlit room housed a few cows. There I saw a large, (yes, size is the first thing that strikes a city slicker, otherwise exposed to only dogs and cats) and very present Aaie, stomach full: she was already carrying. The farmer had first kept Aaie for his own daughter who’d recently married and left for another village. But as her marital home already had a cow, she wasn't able to receive this beautiful creature.

Aaie means mother in Marathi. Our Aaie is a strong, proud personality. She accepts being led by another, on her own terms. She draws clear boundaries, retaining the wild expression in herself. Should you cross this line, she’ll let you know immediately, and take back the reins. She’s the ruler, the queen of this land, only letting you believe you’re in control. Her name was clear the moment she stepped her sure hooves onto the land [Vrindavan Farm].

And there I was. In the shed. Getting to know all of this and more. Behind her, leaner, was Dharti, her sister, the one farmer had originally intended to give us. Now, in the shed, he suggested, "Why not keep both? They’ll be company for each other.” Dharti refused my invitation while Aaie seemed nonplused.

And just like that, Aaie arrived. I had never lived with an animal so large. And she did not know me. There began our walk together, learning each other’s breath. Canines were my default mode for animal interactions, which led me to puppy Aaie at first. I continue to sometimes do this, till date.

One early dusk I had tried to bring her home, but her belly wasn't full yet. She showed me who was boss, dragging me through the forest. Cut and defeated by the thorn shrubs, knees scrapped and soaked in the rain, I let go of her reins. "Do what you want. Don’t come back home." I exclaim, defeated, walking off to lick my ego in a dark, quiet corner. But a while and many munches later, she called me. On her terms, she was ready to be led home.

The day arrived when she finally delivered a black deer-like offspring. Manual, our intern from Boston, was the first to see her. I was to leave for the city that morning. But I had a late start, which brought me to this moment of seeing this first born. Her long head carried a white marking, like the tikka

notoriously adorned by Shiva. The calf's black skin glistened, with large beady soft black eyes and long thick lashes. Aaie, licked her ceaselessly.

The commotion around Aaie was too much, I was sure, for her. Unappealing suggestions were being flung around the shed by my fellow farmers: "Force calf onto the teat... tie her mouth". These are typically advised to help bring the newborn to suckle. But the idea that the mother who had just delivered her own baby, broken off the umbilical cord, and licked off the amniotic sac, couldn't guide her offspring to suckle, was incredulous to me.

"Bathe her," someone said. I thought this to be a fine suggestion. Mami, the eldest lady who works on the land, collected wood and fire starter as Tai filled a massive handi (big steel vessel) with buckets of water. The water was warmed beside her shed. Aaie stepped out. I poured lota (small steel jug) after lota of warm water on her back. The water collected a mix of blood and mud and smoothly dropped off her hide. She rejected Tai’s hand along her back (maybe because she was talking too much?) but she accepted mine. I asked Tai to leave. Aaie and I shared this moment in silence, as I smoothed off the mud, blood, water with my bare hands along the thick of her back, passing the large hip bone and the dip caused by the space before her large protruding belly. She began to lick the scratches on my arm, with her thick, rough and surprisingly large and long tongue, which felt much like weathered sandpaper.

The mood had shifted.

We were no longer man and cattle. We were sisters. Experiencing the intensity of child birth and nurturing of each other. The feminine energy combined us in spirit. Our worlds now entwined, it was unclear who was giving and whom receiving. Where was the line? Was I nurturing her, or she, me?

Then there was the question of milk, and for whom she was producing. I was told that it was too much for the calf, Baaliya, and if she consumed it all, she would have diarrhea. So we struck up a deal: I asked Aaie to let me draw milk from two of her udders, while letting the other two be for Baaliya. And when Baaliya could use them all, Aaie would let me know.

How do I describe the feeling of extracting milk from a mother’s udder? Practically you need the right tension and force, good aim, and a sound grip on the collection utensil, in my case, a steel lota. Mentally, you can’t help but be absorbed into the being of this magnificent creature. Nothing exists outside.

Each drop you extract feels like the whole world. I'm acutely aware of the white warm liquid, when it plonks into the lota, the first few drops echoing loudly telling of the beginning, as the sound slowly begins to muffle as the container fills. A drop misses. I watch it splatter on the cowdung floor. Bright white against this dark grey brown, and then lighten immediately, as it gets absorbed into the flooring, leaving behind a greyish white memory of the miss.

The colostrum is dense and thick, warm and smells very much of cow. Some feel it shouldn’t be drunk as it's filled with motherly fluids. Yet others feel it should be shared by many, as it's filled with motherly fluids.

The next few days were all about the milk. Tracking its collection and movement, everyone had their eyes on this. And then Baaliya. Two for her and and two for us. As she grew, precisely three months later, I received the cue from Aaie to stop the taking. And I did. Baaliya became the receiver of it all.

What are the impressions that make me seek a depth with these majestic beasts? Culturally, yes, one is exposed to reverence from the onset. We see vehicles, including trucks screeching to a halt for the animal even on major roadways. Yes, these are true, and form a cultural foundation. But it must be deeper. And when I witness man and animal living together, watching man with patience for the beast, I think: it must be deeper still.

Back at the farm, we were soon joined by Pritha, the daughter of Dharti, the younger of the two sister cows. Simultaneously, Chi, our female dog, had just come into a full display of her own personality. She’d befriended young Pritha in our morning walks to the gaushala (cow shed} and delivered kisses to her daily. She’d inadvertently taught Pritha this love; they’d take turns licking each others’ paws and ears, dog and calf.

Watching her sibling Pritha suckle, Baaliya, full grown at a year and a half now, tried suckling milk from Aaie. Aaie would have none of it and instantly kicked off the childish request.

The four make up the characters of the land. Aaie, the mother and queen. Sister Dharti, from whom we’ve all received a head butt at some point or another. Dharti you see, holds a grudge. For the small stuff too. For example, she doesn't like to be the last one to be led to graze. And she will let you know this, seizing an opportunity of proximity within the day. But the other side of Dharti is a soft, magnificent creature, crazy for a neck rub. She’ll elongate her neck giving a giraffe a complex, head stretched back, eyes rolled back in absolute bliss, receiving a good scratch.

Baaliya, the big black baby, has all the wild of her mother, with the bounce and mischief of her Masi (mother's sister), Dharti. While Pritha is soft and gentle, but extremely unaware of the strength she can put behind the two knobs she has for horns. She brings them forward in play, not to impart pain, oblivious of man’s inability to play back with head butts. Any of them carry the strength and weight to injure a human paw merely by standing on it. But they don't.