This story starts with my dadi. She died almost a year back, but don’t worry, this isn’t a eulogy. In her last days dadi made friends with a cow. She fed her, named her (Radha) and defended her fiercely against stray dogs.

The myth goes like this: when dadi died, Radha wept and prodded her head against our gate, in a despairing gesture. People said, ‘she wept with one eye and a soot-like outline marked that eye.’ Eyewitnesses spoke with such unfaltering conviction that soon this myth became my dadi’s never-to-be-questioned legacy. My family, inevitably, loved and adored Radha as my dadi’s speechless mourner. Though she didn’t occupy our dining table, Radha was a frequent, if not a regular, guest at breakfast and lunch.

One early morning, I witnessed Radha’s arrival at breakfast. My uncle (tauji) was there with a lump of bread, sabzi and rice, cupped in his hands. He put the food in her mouth and stroked her tawny skin with his emptied hands. Just on Radha’s tail though, was a bull (lets call him Kanahiya). He stroked Radha gently on her stomach. This enraged my uncle. He called upon our house-help, Raju, who too were angered by Kanahiya’s intrusion. Raju had grown up under dadi’s tutelage and he was possessive and protective of anything that symbolized her. Raju in-turn called upon his brothers. The little troupe of children in Raju’s house followed the lead and safely distanced, began hooting and throwing stones at Kanahiya. The stones were hopelessly off the mark, some didn’t even make it over the gate. Finally, Raju brought a stick out and lashed Kanahiya’s hide with it. He turned around but came back again; he wanted Radha badly. Apparently Radha wanted him too. She turned around, left some more of the bread strewn on the floor and went out. My uncle resigned and closed the steel-gate, as if, in this minute gesture saying ‘Go kids, have sex.’