Seenappa buys a cow

Seenappa is amongst the most unassuming farmers you would come across in Javalagiri.  A thin, wiry man with a toothy smile and the easy stride that farmers have, his commitment to hard work is special.  Which is why I seek his labour as often as I can, to do the odd digging, clearing and planting that farms are always crying out for.  If there is one part of him that is possibly less endowed than it should be, it is the part well enclosed by the skull.  To add to this woeful deficiency of grey matter, is an inability to take decisions when they should be taken – a factor that has ensured his wife’s dominance over significant aspects of his life.

In July, Seenappa had exchanged a word with me on his monsoon plan; he would spend about seven thousand rupees on growing ragi on his land – this was normal -  and another fifteen on a cow.

“My wife…” he explained.  When I struggled to find the connection between female bovine and the better half, he elaborated, “it’s her decision to buy the cow.  It is milking now and we reckon that the profit in the next few months should be substantial.”  I tended to agree as a milking cow is generally (save for the onset of a nasty illness) a safe bet.  Farmers in these parts buy cattle that are a genetic mix of Jersey and naati (local) for, while this reduces the yield of milk, the animal is hardier and easier to maintain. 

Seenappa made his investments and, over the months,  kept me abreast of the progress.  The cow was doing well.  The ragi – failure of the monsoon notwithstanding – was ok.

When I saw Seenappa a few days ago, he grinned at me as he always does and, honestly, he looked a bit different.  Just what was different about him, I could not fathom and, as he began to chat, I lost that thread of thought. 

“How are your investments, Seenappa? The ragi and the cow?”

“Good, Sir,” he replied. “ I should get about twenty thousand from the ragi and its stalk sale (cattle fodder). But, Sir, this is only because all the effort is by me and my wife, with very little outside labour.” (which, incidentally is about two hundred rupees a day).  

So, a profit of about thirteen thousand rupees in all, for four months of regular effort, night vigils to prevent wild boar incursions and the risk of crop failure.

“And how is the cow coming along?”

He hesitated and then grinned (again, I noticed something different, but couldn’t place my finger on it).  “Sir, I don’t know about the cow. We spent about four thousand on the cow this season, and the milk has yielded about ten thousand.”

“That’s excellent!”  The analyst is me is calculating a return on investment (quarter-on-quarter) of forty percent.

“Yes, Sir.  A week ago, I was placing some feed near the cow when she, poor thing, shook her head to get rid of some flies.  Her horn took my tooth right out.” He lifted his gum to show me the now-dried stain; so this was what was different about him!

“Good Lord! But I suppose you are lucky it didn’t get further up……” Its easy to look at the brighter side, when it’s not you who has lost a tooth.

“Yes, Sir,” he readily agreed.”I went to the Government hospital and got it treated for free. But if I am to get a tooth to replace this, it should cost me a little more than all the profit that I have made on the cow this far.”

“That is dreadful!” I exclaimed. “So, what have you decided?”

“Well, we need the cow more than the tooth.” He answered philosophically as he walked briskly away, in that characteristic easy way of his, to dig another pit.