" A dog is the only thing on earth that loves you more than you love yourself"(Josh Billings)
I must admit I’ve had a love-hate relationship with dogs.
This does not mean that our home has been bereft of the canine species. They
have come in all shapes and colours. Their names have varied from Toffee to
Brandy, Jui (fire) to Candy. The other members of the household go overboard
showering love and affection on their four-legged friends.
This doggy story began in 1983. Our car broke down near a
nondescript village called Reckmaro Rong
Pling Plang. An exotic name this. It is tucked away in a remote part of
Karbi Anglong district. Our driver was literally a driver and new little about
the mechanism of a vehicle. So while he fidgeted and fiddled with every part of
the car save for the precise section, I whiled away one hour of my life
collecting wild flowers and dried leaves. As my two and a half year old son
wandered around, he chanced upon a litter of healthy pups belonging to the
villagers. He insisted on taking one home. No amount of cajoling, cuddling and
reprimanding could deter him. He would have nothing else but the pup.
We called him Junior,
for he was subaltern to our Sultan of the German-snout in both size and
pedigree. My son, who had difficulty in pronouncing the “J”, called him Dunior. So he was “Dunior” for one and
all….. “Dunior co-mee hair”was the refrain.
With time I realised the value of having Dunior in the
house. The hours of story-telling and demand for toys was cut short. My little
boy spent the day training, teaching, scrubbing and feeding his pet much to the
envy of Sultan of the German-snout. I took to teaching the Karbi children in
the nearby convent. It was a neat arrangement.
The thrill and ecstasy of looking after the pooch was shared
by another member of the household. He was our gardener S. Rengma. A proficient
gardener and a perfect gentleman; his green fingers turned out vegetables and
blooms that won me tributes and trophies. Devoted to his work and loyal to his
master, we could not have asked for more. Moreover, he indulged my fancy of
having a Chinese gardener, so what if he was not from China, he definitely
looked like one. So it was a three-pronged team: Rengma, Dunior and my son.
Rengma’s eyes would glisten at the sight of Dunior. He
joined in the fun of washing and feeding him with inexplicable glee. The pup
grew up healthy and strong.
Life was hunky-dory in the small, beautiful town of Diphu,
where our bungalow was perched on a hill, till it was time for us to leave for
another district. We were sad and so was Rengma. With tearful eyes he asked for
Dunior as a parting gift …a token of remembrance!
Our son, though heart-broken,
was told that it was impossible to take both the dogs from one end of the state
to another. Dunior would definitely be in safe hands, we said.
We left Diphu taking Sultan of the German-snout. Our son was
soon admitted to his first school and I took up another job to teach another
set of children. The ebb and flow of life’s tides continued. Dunior settled
into the recesses of our minds.
One fine day, an old friend from Diphu dropped in. In the
course of his conversation he unfolded the fate of Dunior. A month after our departure,
Rengma held a grand feast. Dunior was slaughtered for the occasion and “kukur
pitha” was served to his kith and kin. We were aghast! We decided never to tell
our son.
As for Rengma, we have given him a place in the gallery of
Rogues.
"The dog is a gentleman; I hope to go to his heaven, not man's."(Mark Twain)
Doggy sketch courtesy Sanghamitra Das
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