Language beyond words

Yesterday was my mother's 8th death anniversary. My daughter visited the Home for the Aged, where they announce the day meal commemorating the departed dear ones of the family. It is a remarkable institution - established 145 years ago with financial support from the famous Syrian Jew, David Sassoon. (www.niwaraoldagehome.org) It brought back memories of Gulu the dog.

Gulu had adopted us as his pet family. He was a stray on our IMDR campus. He was named Gulu after his tendency to vanish before you could bat an eyelid. He became a favourite with some students, after he strode to the dais when one inspired guest speaker was delivering his most abstruse address to an unsuspecting audience of students. The speaker stopped in his tracks at the sight of Gulu sharing the dais with him. After that the poor fellow could not regain his composure. I lost my cool and asked a student to get a pack of biscuits to tempt Gulu away from the auditorium. Anyway, the whole thing provided unmitigated amusement to the students.

Gulu would come at fixed times in the morning and night to our house and demand his meal of roti and milk. He would soon disappear after making a quick go at his meal. He was brown in colour and probably a cross between a local breed and fox terrier. He had a nonchalant but alert manner. Not being a pet, he had a rather obstinate turn of mind. Strangely enough, though he wasn't overtly friendly with anyone, most people who knew him felt very friendly and protective about him. My daughter was one of them.

My mother had been ailing for most of February 2002. She had lost her appetite and was eating very little. She was bed-ridden for almost 7 years. She was becoming weaker with every passing day. But she had the ability to pull herself back from the brink. She had done that in the past. So I wasn't prepared for the end. On the fateful day, I had a session in the morning at about 10 am. I went to the class.

At about 11.15 am the door of the room was nudged open and it is Gulu who ambles in. He came near me and sniffed at my feet. I wasn't happy at all at this intrusion. So I shooed him out of the class. The attendant came running to take Gulu out and away. I told him to feed Gulu with some biscuits. After 10 minutes, Gulu scratched open the room door. Gulu had never entered my class any time before. He was also well aware that I did not countenance his entry in the premises. Yet he had made a re-entry. I told the class that Gulu was trying to communicate something.

Just then the attendant came with a note that asked me to rush to the residence as my mother's condition had worsened. She breathed her last at 11.40 am. I believe Gulu was trying to tell me that she was sinking.

The whole of the morning Gulu sat glued to the floor in the verandah of our house. Only after the body was removed for the funeral ride to the crematorium, Gulu moved from that place.

After a couple of weeks, one morning we noticed that Gulu hadn't paid his nightly visit for dinner.

Soon we discovered that he was lying dead in the parking area. The guards said Gulu had no marks of injury. Presumably he died of poisoning. I was about to ask for the stray dog van to take the body away, when my daughter insisted that Gulu be given his final resting place in the garden. She is generally given to keeping her emotions to herself, but cares deeply about animals and life in general. All arrangements were made and Gulu was laid to rest at the southern boundary of the land on which stands the residence of the director, IMDR.

Gulu was a different dog. He communicated without the usual canine gestures. He lived life on his own terms. He had chosen places where he was at home. He was not given to noise, so he didn't make a nuisance anywhere. Even in the case of the guest lecture, once he realised the goings on he left quietly. He was with me when it mattered most and left this world quietly, soon after my mother's departure. I still wonder what kind of life Gulu led.

In India we are told to view human beings and animals with the same dignity and respect. Obviously it's the lack that brings on a dictum. But Gulu commands not only respect but something more - a salute.