To Bichchhu, with love....

One look at him and you may be disappointed to find that he is neither an Alsatian, nor a Dalmatian, a foxhound, a basset, a pit bull terrier or a golden retriever. He was a “desi” breed, like the ones who rush to eat the leftovers thrown in the garbage pits of our grandparents’ homes, or to describe more aptly, the omnipresent howling ones eager to smell our sweaty calves in the early hours of dawn when we enthusiastically go out for our morning walks. He had a white coat you know, a rarity for an indigenous breed (forcing me to believe that may be a few of his genes came from the canines of the Britishers!). And my brother Mayur named him Bichchhu (do not wonder why, because I also do not know where he got the name from.)

We had gone to my Mama’s place (my mother’s elder brother) in Fatemabad Tea Estate, situated in the fringes of the Manas National Park, Bansbari Range; this tea estate is a buffer between the Natural World Heritage Site and the adjacent Bodo villages. Mama lived in this huge plush wooden estate manager’s bungalow with an old world charm. The polished wooden floors glistened like glass, and where even poaches with sunny-side-up were devoured with fork and spoon (a skill I am yet to master) at breakfast. I was eight years old, and Mayur was five. Mama decided to take us in an elephant safari, so that we can explore the adjoining wilderness of Manas. But naturally, we were excited! We stood in awe of the giant animals, and that is when the trouble started. My little brother, with all the dogmatism and the strength that a five year old can muster, started howling at the top of his voice for an elephant calf! Oh yes, he howled and cried and threw tantrums. Even my mother’s tight slaps and father’s reprimands could not pacify him. Things were almost going out of control when Mama proposed a truce. He told my brother that if he behaved through the rest of our stay there, he will be rewarded with a puppy.

The rest of the stay went of smoothly. And on our way back home, we were carrying a white puppy, barely two weeks old, and my brother was as happy as a well fed cat. Initially, there were teething problems. Dog shit here and there, his loud barking at unearthly hours, my fear, the ordeal of his daily bath, who will wash the bowl where his food was served, etc. etc. 

But my best memories of Bichchhu remain his ferocious nature. Even a slight sound of someone touching the main gate of our house, and Bichcchu tore up the entire compound with his loud bark. He had a very, very loud bark. He was not a very big guy, given his lineage. But he compensated for that with his aggressive attitude.

I am not exactly crazy about pets, even dogs. But with time, I got accustomed to having him around. Bichchhu was omnipresent, like the betel nut trees that lined the boundary of our compound. He exhibited certain traits which my grandmother attributed to dogs’ ability to see the Almighty. For example, he always kept a profound silence in the evening hours when my mother offered her evening prayers. And I remember the day when my father met his untimely death; Bichchhu howled the night through like a pained soul. 

With the passing years, Bichchhu became the undisputed watchman of our house. He bit the neighbourhood kids (I can count atleast five), he bit my best friend, he bit my brother too, his master! And I remember a couple of occasions when my mother had to shell out money for the rabies vaccines of the victims.

But somehow, we did not mind.

Slowly, age started to take its toll on Bichchhu. I know others may find it a bit eccentric on my part, but he reminded me of Jackie Shroff. Why I cannot say! He developed a cataract, and with half blind eyes, Bichchhu continued to guard us. But soon, he became quieter. We could sense him mellowing down. He used to keep to himself. He no longer barked when someone opened the latch of the main gate. He slept for longer hours. He did not leap with his usual cheerfulness when he saw my brother. He ceased to glare at me.

And one fine morning, when the sun shone like a crazy diamond, Bichchhu became silent forever. He lived a good life, all of fourteen years. Fourteen years! Decent enough for his species, they said. We buried him inside the compound of his home, near the main gate. May be we wanted him to keep a guard on us even after he was gone.

Our home became quiet forever, never again to see another creature take his place. Somehow, he was irreplaceable; he still is. 

Was it Mark Twain who said, ““Heaven goes by favor. If it went by merit, you would stay out and your dog would go in.” ?