My name is Curly

The lines below were penned a few months back, and I sent it to Balan to gather his opinion. I recall him suggesting quite some edits. In fact I even wondered later should I preserve this? In fact this might be a bore to people who might come across and read. But to me it is the best far I think I can go with my limited ability in writing. This is based on real life people and a few unfortunate animals that happened to be in their proximity. I wonder if I have even remotely come close to penning and sketching the actual abysmal depth to which  people can sink. But the Pig even though it was a fact, is also a euphemism and or an allegory and represents affection that has been wounded but still cannot bear to dislike, hate or distance from the demons in angel- wear.

It comes from ones pedigree that one has the guts to acknowledge and be proud of one is an animal- and I have it. There is no insignificance and triviality attached with being an animal. And my father always said the human race may rule us but they cannot plunder our soul; they may enslave us but they cannot rob the freedom of our mind; they may slaughter us for game and food, but they cannot decimate our spirit. And it is animals that enjoy every moment of living. Humans, they fear, they fear death, and fearing death they forget to live. My father was wise to understand this. And this fact of life the fact of the stupid nature of humans was told to me by the wise Owl too.

My father was proud of being a pig. My siblings were six. I had four big sisters and two big brothers. But then there was always an air of melancholy in my parents. I did not fathom not even on the Easter night when my father came to each one of us and hugged .My mother kissed us each a long time before they were led out by the caretaker. She told me in bare whisper .You will have a wonderful life from tomorrow and may not have to smell the sty any more .My father tugged my curled tail , that was his way of shaking hands. He tugs it with warmth and strong, like human shakes hands. He had for the first time tears in his eyes. But I could see he was fighting back. Then they were led out. That was the last I would ever see them .Two distant shots of gunfire did not mean anything to me or my siblings who were half in slumber when my parents bade goodbye. And I slept tucking my head amongst the stack of hay, the sound of merry making and music could be faintly heard in the distance, emanating from the bungalow. That was the last I would see them. It was Easter night!!!!!!!!

I’m a pig. And I say that with pride. Not everyone conform to the state of being pig, and not every one acknowledges being a hog. I want to grunt loud and clear that I’m proud to be Pig. But I cannot, they have tied the nylon cord around my mouth, and my tongue hurts from the puncture from my tooth. I do not know if I will ever be able to grunt, I remembered the premonition and the ill feel in the gut on that morning of Easter Sunday four years ago... That was when she came into the sty along with the farmer and the white man and woman. Her touch made me quiver. And now I know why. The spirits of my fore- fathers were forewarning me of the ominous.

She was boisterous and quoted often from the scriptures on the journey from the farm. She in fact looked to me a strange person to be conforming as she tried to tell through her animated gesticulating conversation. The white man and woman who accompanied her seemed to be awed by her charm. My father often used to tell my mother over dinner the pious and the god fearing do not express and flaunt their love for the creator.

It was a huge limousine. The white man who was tall sat next to the chauffer. And I was placed through the journey on the lap of the woman. We were seated in the rear with the white woman. I could recall her animated monologue which erupted into laughter, and die off and the passengers listened to the magnificent stories the woman spun with amazing ease. When I was picked up from the sty by the woman, she began to talk to me like humans do to their little ones. She held me through my forelegs and dangled me with her out stretched hands like a marionette. The white man said,’ be careful it is still a babe. ‘Oh this so petite’, said the woman ignoring the white mans imploring, and she continued, ‘good lord mother of Christ look at his tail this sweet indeed curled up’. All the while I was literally almost having a bird’s eye view of the sty and the adjacent stables. I was never taken out of the sty by father and mother. The little while since I have been born, I spent in the sty. And used to wait for our parents who used to venture out often. I took a deep breadth when she brought me down and straddled me in her arms. It was dizzy being dangled in the air and my legs almost spreadeagled.They were I could understand talking about me and my sisters. But most of it was gibberish. The woman all the while kept fondling and massaging my coat. She playfully pulled my tail and yelled “hey Thomas I’m going to name him ‘Curly’,Oh oh such a sweet tail, see Thomas how great God is. Didn't I tell you yesterday night that the Lord has promised me an Easter gift...? And here it is oh Christ hallelujah …”

The limousine, from what I could see through the window went through winding roads and probably was speeding through the country side. That was my first day out. It was strange and foreign to me. Since I was born I spent my life in the sty and peeping through the cracks on the wooden door into the stables were fat cows were masticating cud and making mowing sound.

We sped on and the excited anecdotes, stories of philanthropy, of her sacrifice (not renunciation my father used to talk about) went on and on. The woman invoked the scripts and the holy Lord many a time. We were soon moving through a narrow strip of road with heavy undergrowth on either side. Must have been the edge of some forest land by the country side. I did not know a thing about such scenic and quite place, but my later life in the massive estate of the woman told me about such landscapes. The huge limo was too grand and nothing remotely resembling the sty I was born in and lived. A bronze crucifix was hung in the front inside of the car. And I felt the crucified figure on the cross was quite at discomfort perhaps not from the long time on the cross, but from being hung in the car. We were negotiating a bend in the road and a pigeon (the woman referred to as ‘dove’) flew from no where and perched precariously on the hood of the car. It was not quite sure footed there with the car swaying from side to side on that winding road. It flew away just as it came from nowhere. It looked into the inside of the car and I felt it met my eyes for a brief moment. The woman virtually jumped from her seat and let me down with a thud and I scampered back on the seat in shock. She yelled “Thomas   that is the Holy Spirit .It can’t be anything else, why should a dove now come on to our car? We are blessed Thomas, Oh mother of God I’m blessed”.

The white Man did not comment on this statement. She recalled an instance when she found an apple floating in the sea during one of her sojourns in a tropical island resort. How could an apple be found at sea? It is the Lord who did that for her. It was sign from God that he always thinks of her. The white woman meanwhile had slept. I closed my eyes and went into slumber. Though cool air in the car was soothing though the squeaking voice from the woman was to my discomfiture.

I woke up when the car was driving in through a huge iron gate with grills and sign of the cross welded on either side. The woman had slept and I found myself consigned to the floor. The creaking sound of the huge gates as they opened made me look up and scamper back on to the seat. We drove in through the gate past a huge pen with hen, ducks and geese. There were some fancy looking hen with plumes around their legs and they were short and tiny than the hens I lived with in the farm. We went past through the drive lined on either side with banana and coconut palms. Some two hundred meters down a huge mansion came into view. It had frontal lawn well manicured and with strange looking artificial pond with water lilies. Out from nowhere dogs began to bark, angry growling bark, sounded greatly angry with the incarceration they were put into. It was indeed anger at being kept in constricted cages like in the circus tents- I later came to understand.

  The car stopped in front of the mansion. The dogs went on barking agitated in the fenced enclosure some 50 meters away from the mansion. The woman took me out along with her. The white man and woman alighted from the car. We were seen at the door of the mansion by two other women, a plump one who would put a fat over fed bovine to shame. The other was dressed up and had an air of haughtiness and had her nose up, though it was nothing like that of Cleopatra. The woman put me down on the granite floor .And my instincts began to smell the surrounds. I was appalled when a four legged beast that resembled some strange creature ran straight into me from inside the house. But this was a dog not more than 6 to 8 inches tall but with long black and chestnut brown torso. I could notice it was a dog only when it barked and before I could gather myself it pushed me down and bit my nose. It hurt me. The fat bovine woman shouted some funny name and ordered that the creature go inside, and not to bother me. Unwillingly it retreated behind her. The woman who brought me began the animated discussion with the other two .I was left to move around the veranda. Strange place and strange people added to my discomfiture. The older woman took me in her arms and all went inside the house. We entered a huge room with paintings hung on the walls. There was a big table with eight chairs around. The furniture’s were exotic and looked elegant as well. The older woman kept caressing me while she took me and the white people along into a room that was with huge glass doors with frescoes painted on the glass and inside on the wall. There was a human figure placed on the pedestal. It was that of a woman and she was holding an infant like the older woman was holding me. There were flowers and roses and tube roses around the statuette. Candles were burning on silver plated candle sticks. There was an antique looking painting behind the statuette and in gothic letters it said “Praise the Lord”.

She put me on the pedestal, (I came to know they call the high rise table “altar”).I was again in fear of height.  I sniffed at the roses and the statue and shuddered at my precarious perch. She said," Thomas I will call him Curly and this is his baptism". She said this and sprinkled some water from a decanter on the altar. The white man and woman laughed.

She took me from the altar and all moved out into the huge room with the massive table. They sat on the leather holstered chairs. The other two woman as well (the one who thinks she is Cleopatra and the fat cow like one).I was placed on the floor. I looked around for the four legged creature that barked and bit me. It was cuddled up in comfort on a leather sofa.

The older woman spoke to Cleopatra and asked her to arrange some warm water and disinfectant soap to bathe me. In turn Cleopatra look alike called out some name and a short black skinned man came scampering from inside . She ordered him to get the water and soap ready in jiffy.

I was scared to move around, I was afraid of that short long dog (I was certain he was a spoiled tiny creature).I decide to stay by the woman, And curled up by her feet.

“And I cannot understand why the Muslims abhor Pigs”, she began, “Look at the poor little fellow”, she bent down and patted me, and continued,  “how sweet he is. He will make a good pet. And I, always from my childhood wanted a pig, you know with such lovely tail and curly ears. And it is just amazing that the Lord sent me this little one on this Easter day”. 
It was the white woman who replied. It was a retort of sorts. “Do you also believe that we are here because your Lord decreed so”? The white man let out a chuckle. The woman did not quite appreciate that. She gathered herself sooner than you could notice and went on. “I have always had fantastic dreams from my child hood. And you know you will find it difficult to believe, all that have come true. I dreamt myself as Audrey Hepburn in the Roman Holidays. And even I was struck with wonder when I eventually could do my travel in Rome the way Audrey Hepburn did. It was not the charming Gregory Peck as escort but a priest. It was the Lord himself and I saw the best of Rome and the Vatican  with a priest. One cannot ask for more from the Lord”! She exclaimed. You remember the dove- the Holy Spirit who flew and sat on our car. I have had dreams of that too. She added with a clairvoyant imperiousness.

They had meanwhile begun eating their meal and the fair one with the fat nose was serving, along with the dark skinned man. She and the fat cow like woman probably made the cuisine. I was tired and hungry and moved slowly around the room, watchful of the spoiled long short dog. The woman asked the one with the fat nose if there was food made for me. She in turn summoned the dark skinned man and dictated instructions. He scampered away with a nod.

The white man and woman retreated after the meal to another room and the one with the fat nose escorted them. The woman and the fat one took me out to the bathroom, which had shiny marble paved on the floor, and closets and wash taps with gold plated handles and swarvoski stones on the tap head.  I was put into the tub which had a foot of water. And they scrubbed and bathed me with highly perfumed soap. I was showered in hot water and wiped with soft cotton towel. The fat one took me into the bed room and dried me with an electric dryer. They brushed my coat and put a satin collar in golden color on my neck, it had two tiny bells and a tiny crucifix on it. Perhaps that was my initiation! I was exhausted by then .The dark skinned man put down near me a bowl of cooked rice and vegetables. They gave me milk as well. I was indeed hungry, since there was no food for long. By the time I was finished tiredness and sleep engulfed me. I do not know when I fell into sleep and how long. When I woke up it was dark and I was lying on a soft pillow covered with satin cloth. I could hear the clock ticking and the chime struck. I lost count it was twelve I guess. Twelve midnight. My first day in my new home. My mistress, and now I am her pet!  Was this that my mother referred to on that Easter night when she and father were led out by the farmer, “son you will have a good life”?

I have meanwhile traveled much with the woman in her huge limo which breathes out cool air. I always noticed the crucifix dangling in front and the miserable face of the man on it. And every time I saw he seemed more anguished. She took me around like dogs are taken around. I was petted and fed well. I was privy to move around in the interiors of the bungalow. The fat woman and the fair one gave me bath every week.

Life was splendid. And I had no reason to have any premonition of any dnger or impending perils. And the quite insistent words of the Owl seemed facetious.
Days went by! Often there were celebrations,fun and frolic in the bungalow after prayers for which men in white robes descended from somewhere. I often heard servants speak in hushed tones that there were profane activities often later.

I taste blood in my mouth, my blood, and my punctured tongue is bleeding. The feel of my own blood! I want to throw out but my mouth is tied with the cord my tongue hang out limb from my mouth. And cannot pull it in.  Ha the holy eucharates the whole clan used to partake during the many religious ritualistic congregations that was held in the bungalow and always followed by feasting and frolicking. The men in white robes used to tell loud raising the antique wine cup “this is my blood, partake this and bond with me”. I wondered if there was cannibalism involved. Humans drinking their own blood and the blood of their ilk! And now

 I taste my blood!

I was sleeping indulgently on my pillow in her private room, the room of my mistress, it was then the short stout dark skinned man accompanied by two other men came in and tied the nylon cord around my mouth. They did that swiftly .I was pinned on to the floor and a choker noose was put around my neck. I resisted violently at the door of her room. Then I felt lightning strike my heart, she came and kicked me out through the door and shouted at the men” slaughter the fat bastard I have the bishop for dinner tomorrow. This fat swine has been having a jolly good time all these years. Ha even pigs must be kept in their place and much of the luxury of my room makes him cling back. And don’t dirty my house on the way down”. She shouted the last sentence perhaps for her henchmen. I got a skewed view of her and saw her aquiline face, her eyes were bulged, red shot and evil and there was not an iota of love or empathy which she claimed she has and which I believed she had- all that she faked! They shoved my back with a rod and I squeaked in pain. They pulled and tugged me down the flight of stairs, I slid some, down and though I tried to fight back and tried to fix myself staunchly on my four they managed to drag me down. I realised that it was not nightmare but reality, reality that dawns even when you wish them away. Reality dawned not when they strapped my mouth with the cord, not when they put choker around my neck , not when my tongue hurt, not when they pocked my back with the iron rod and dragged me down the stairs, it pained but when she kicked me through the door and when her face manifested  with all that she really was  and what she really  is, a turncoat and a pathetic hypocrite.

They dragged me over the rough granite. My torso was bruised and I could feel blood on my body.

When I was pulled past the fig tree out side the pathway I saw him perched on the branch of the Jack-fruit tree... Stoic countenance as he always keeps, I could hear him whisper to me “pig, is a pig- did I not warn you of this peril you are being dragged into?”

When I woke I was in the corner of the hen pen and saw that I was thrown over the pile of hen droppings. My body ached and I could taste blood dripping down my mouth. The resistance I put up while they pulled dragged me over the granite pathway had torn portions of skin from my under belly. It was like sharp needles piercing my skin. At every turn and move I felt the excruciating pain. I closed my eyes and I did not know how soon I slipped again into delirious sleep .My pain soothed by the hallucination that I slid into.

When I began my life in the bungalow three years ago I did not even have an iota of premonition of things that would befall me. But then the goodies of life that came my way inhibited my thoughts and blinded my vision that I came to trust her and the clan. Now I realize that it is only when the nail pierces your skin that you feel the pain and no amount of sane warnings will make you see and look loudly at the impending disaster that will befall you.

The Owl once said,she is a person who excels in deception and venality. Her clan is the euphemism for hypocrisy, subterfuge and ruse. The owl utter words of wisdom, like a hermit. He was privy to all that happened in this huge mansion. At night he pervaded the bungalow in body and spirit, and by day break he was gone.  Perched up high in the branch of the Jack tree or his silent meditation inside the bungalow, where he used to fly in late at nights. He has couple of usual places inside the bungalow where he perches with intense, deep meditation and surveillance-on the sill up on the portrait and on the transept of the cross that is kept fixed to the wall in the exotically painted room where the house hold folks kneel and chatter their litany of prayers most days.

.

The Owl told me many an instance “Beware, you are a pig and pigs are kept in farms for slaughter. You are misled by the woman to believe that she keeps you as pet but one day she will have you stuffed up as gourmet dish”. And persistently I have many a time rubbished his forewarning.

During many nights when he visited the bungalow I have conversed with him till dawn. And he gave me an insight to the world around, the world from which as he said I was seemingly protected by delusion, by a cocoon which is not permanent. And always  I strongly disagreed. All his wisdom did not erase my myopic vision, of the goodness I believed the world has. I refused to let his sanity eclipse my thoughts and beliefs.

He is the tenth in the generation of owls to stalk the life of the clan who lives in the bungalow. And the family biography was passed down to generations of Owls. He once said, “in most parts of the world birds of my species have been associated with death and misfortune. More so because of our screeching terrifying calls and nocturnal behavior. But there are other perceptions that are pleasant as well. And you little fellow can go with any of the notions that comforts you. But the best I agree to is the opinion summarized by a gentleman in the West”, ‘I rejoice that there are owls. Let them do the idiotic maniacal hooting for men. It is a sound admirably suited to swamps and twilight woods which no day illustrates, suggesting a vast and underdeveloped nature which men have not recogonised. They represent the stark twilight and unsatisfied   thoughts which all men have’.

.

I see his sagely warning about my destiny, my fate, may be coming true soon. I am certain. I can see the dark shadow of death and the unknown stalking me like it stalked the man in Samara. I can see her staring at me instilling fear and utter loneliness. I’m scared I’m scared. “I do not want to die. Like all living creatures when the hour of reckoning seems around I do not want to leave, please I do not want to die”.

Day is breaking and I can see the silver lining in the horizon. And soon I might be send into perpetual day or darkness. Now here they come, the voices of the men are at the door of the pen. I’m still bound hind and fore, and the nylon cord tied cruelly over my mouth has virtually ripped my tongue and I can only feel numbness. Here, the doors are thrown open and I’m pulled out by the rope. I have no strength to resist and I yield. They are dragging me out and on to the block of stone. I can see the stout black fellow raise a heavy glistening knife and put it on my throat below my lower jaw. Do I now feel good? I suppose so. I have no fear, why then did I resist? It feels so good to embrace the inevitable. I can feel the knife slice through the outer layer of my skin, ha, now it has reached the fatty layer which human beings love. The stout fellow is persistently putting more pressure on the blade and now I can feel it slice through the flesh and snap my air trachea. I can still hear them laugh and applaud the stout guy for quick and efficient job. They have not slit apart my throat. Because she had also instructed them to preserve my head on my torso so that the gourmet dish can be embellished in style and pomp. The deep slice the knife made, now makes the blood flow out and starves my brain. I can feel darkness enter my eyes slowly. I cannot feel pain . Death has no pain; there is no pain in death. Because I died few hours ago….., when she kicked me out through the door of her suite.