A Splendid Buffalo (Lahuri Bhainsi)

"What's going on at Lukhuré's place, eh? His house is full of people!" The dware looked out over his wall and saw a jet-black creature there. "What's that in Lukhuré's yard?" he asked impatiently, as if there should

always be someone at hand to answer his questions or to tell him that what he said was true. He looked around, but there was no one near. Abashed, he called down to Rambire Gharti in the field, "Rame, hey, Rame! What's all the fuss at Lukhuré's place? Look! Is that a black cow there? What is it?"

"Eh? Oh, I think Lukhuré said something the other day about going to buy a buffalo. He must have brought it home today," muttered Rambire as he came up the steps to the dware 's house. He touched his head to the dware 's feet, then shaded his eyes and looked over towards Lukhuré's house.

"Hey, it is you know! It certainly is a buffalo! The serf has brought a buffalo home!"^[1]

"Lukhuré's bought a buffalo?" said the dware in amazement. He'd never have believed such a thing, even in a dream. If this were true, it was the most astonishing thing and something of a misdemeanor. He had always intended to get a good buffalo himself, but he'd been putting it off for years. Now that wretch Lukhuré had got one! How could this be? It felt like a blow to his status, indeed, and made him feel uneasy. It was as if someone had pricked him with a gramophone needle.

"What kind of buffalo has he got, then, Lukhuré the serf?"

"I don't know, I'm sure. He said he was going to look out for something that cost up to a hundred a hoof." Rambire spoke absentmindedly, staring hard at Lukhuré's yard. Perhaps Rambire was wandering pleasurably through a dream in which a buffalo was tethered outside his door, too, with a great deal of excitement going on around it.

The dware could not contain his curiosity, and a terrible compulsion led him toward Lukhuré's house. "Come on," he said. "Let's have a look. Let's see what kind of buffalo that serf has got for himself."

Lukhuré's yard was full of people, and Pode, his four-year-old son, ran round and round the buffalo, clapping his hands. His feet had hardly touched the ground since father brought it home to Ankuri Bhanjyang.^[2] Long before the buffalo arrived, Pode had told all his friends about it and assembled them in the yard. As soon as his father stepped inside, he rushed up to him happily and swung from his coat.

"Father, have you brought our buffalo? Have you? Hey Gopé, look! Look at the buffalo my father's brought home! It's our buffalo, you know! Every evening we'll have buckets and buckets of milk! It looks beautiful, too! And we'll take ghee to the town and sell it there.^[3] Then we'll buy ourselves some good coats with the money! Won't we, father? Don't you think so?"

[1] The reference to Lukhuré as a "serf" may be literal or simply contemptuous.

[2] The story is set in a hill village, as its name suggests: a bhanjyang is a pass or col.

[3] Ghee (Nepali ghiu ) is a kind of cooking oil made from butter.

"Yes, oh yes. When I next go to town I'll buy you a lovely coat." Lukhuré wore a gentle smile; today he was delighted. For a change, his son's insistent demands did not make him snap. His old remorse was gone. The hopelessness that caused bitterness and envy had come to an end for him. Today a splendid buffalo, all fit and healthy, was tethered in his yard. Standing there on his doorstep, it was like the wishing tree, granting his small son's demands and fulfilling his age-old dream. He gazed at it with love and affection. Even the cold evening wind felt like the gentle hand of fortune or a mother's loving caress. He approached the buffalo slowly. It was a marvelous creature, for sure. It had big heavy udders, a black body so sleek that the flies simply slipped down from its hide, and short, stubby horns. A thrill ran through his body, anti he patted it fondly.

Lukhuré was not alone in his feelings; Ghainti, his wife, was delighted, too. She obeyed her husband's every command without her usual wranglings. Usually, she would answer him back with all sorts of rude words if he asked for even a cup of water, but today he found that it was offered without even having to ask. She cooked some soup voluntarily, too, from some old leftover corn flour and filled up two baskets with grass. Then she heaped it up on the doorstep, saying, "This will do for this evening." Now she was hurrying in and out with great enthusiasm. Lukhuré was pleased as he watched her bustling about; it was all thanks to his splendid buffalo. Usually, a whole day could go by without her even looking happy or uttering a pleasant word. Where had the old Ghainti gone now, that embodiment of strife and malevolence who always answered back at length and misinterpreted even compliments in the most unpleasant ways? Where had this new Ghainti come from, cheery and smiling, an image of love and helpfulness? Lukhuré watched her and grinned. All around, he saw nature smiling. A vermilion pinkness spread up to the top of the mountains in the west. The forests, the hills, the very leaves of the trees beside his house, all seemed to share his pleasure. He forgot how tired he felt after the long walk home and began to attend to his buffalo, as excited as a twenty-year-old. He warmed the broth and fed some to it, then washed off the dried dung that caked its flanks. From his own hands he fed it some oil; then he stroked it with such dedication that it seemed the two of them would merge into one.

Then the dware entered Lukhuré's yard. With the dware came Rambire, and Ghamane and Khulal, too. The dware fixed his gaze on the splendid, attractive buffalo. His eyes were like those of a kite when it spots a carcass far below. The others launched an assault of thoughts at it, too, and looked at it with covetous eyes.

"What did you pay for that, eh, Lukhuré?" Lukhuré was engrossed in his animal, and he jumped when he heard these sugary tones. Startled,

he looked up and saw the dware , so Lukhuré rose hurriedly, walked over to the dware , and bowed down at his feet. Cautiously, Lukhuré said, "Well, sir, it actually cost me 120 a hoof. What do you think?" Then he looked curiously at the dware .

The dware was not overpleased by the unusual tone of satisfaction he detected in Lukhuré's voice or by the happy glint in his eye. The dware felt a prickling sensation, and his tongue tasted sour. He grimaced in distaste and his eyes flashed angrily, but he managed to conceal these unsuitable reactions with his usual smarmy attitude.

"Why, who can say? Who knows with these buffaloes?" he said, inspecting the animal thoroughly. He stooped to look at its udders; then walked right round it, assessing its body, its eyes, its horns.... Really, it was in excellent condition. It made him yearn for it. The dware's mind darkened, like a cloth that is stained by smoke.

"You gave rather a lot for it. How much milk will it give? Just because it has good udders doesn't mean that it's of any use. You won't afford to eat meat just because it's fat."^[4] He turned up his nose and narrowed his eyes. Lukhuré was afraid.

"What's wrong?" He looked apprehensively into the dware's eyes but could see no change of mood there: all his crookedness was hidden under his moustache. Then the dware returned his gaze and Lukhuré's eyes turned gray with fear. The dware examined the buffalo a second time, walking all around it. At last he said with great gravity and with as much sympathy as he could muster, "This buffalo is short of breath. Look, Rambire, am I wrong?"

Rambire glanced at the dware ; then he, too, walked round the buffalo to inspect it. Khulal and Ghamane repeated the performance. Eventually, Rambire declared, "Would the dware's eyes deceive him?" He spoke as if there was nothing else he could say. "You've seen lots of buffaloes like this, haven't you, brother Ghamane? It is short of breath, is it not?"

Ghamane and Khulal affirmed in unison that it was indeed, and although it was not clear what Rambire really thought, the dware quickly turned this to his advantage.

"It's not easy to deceive me, you know. How many buffaloes have I dealt with in my time? If its eyes were not in good condition, the whole animal would be worthless."

Lukhuré began to see stars; it was as if Rahu in the darkness was going to gulp down the moon of his long-cherished dream.^[5] It was as if he had fallen into a ditch of total darkness through no fault of his own. There was not even a blade of grass to clutch at: oh Lord!

[4] The dware means that its milk will not earn him enough for him to supplement his family's meagre diet with meat, an expensive luxury item.

[5] Rahu is the name of a demon who seizes the sun and moon and thus causes eclipses.

"But Dhakal at Jyamdi village swore to me! If there was anything wrong with it, he said, he'd give me all my money back." He groped for a way out.

"Who, that dirty bastard Dhakal?" The dware frowned. "If you start believing what he says, you're lost! How many people has he tossed into the mire? What do you say, Rame? Do I lie?"

"No, sir! If this buffalo isn't sick, you can pour beer down my throat!" said Rambire firmly. Then he searched the dware 's eyes to assess the impact of his words.

Lukhuré sat down in the yard and held his head in his hands. His garden of dreams was suddenly blighted by frost. His joyous skies grew dark with remorse. His vision blurred, and the smiling sky, singing birds, and dancing leaves all disappeared. He panicked and broke into a sweat. Were his hopes completely shattered? Had he wasted so much money, money he'd splashed out like water, on something that had no value? Had fate cheated him like that? Even as he watched, everything vanished into a dark cloud: Ghainti, little Pode, his house, and everything else that was his. A groan of anguish burst from his lips, "Oh Lord! That damned scoundrel! I'll go tomorrow and put this old cow back on his doorstep!"

The little boy had been gamboling about as if he was the emperor of the world. But now he noticed the sudden change in his father's mood and looked fearfully up at him. Ghainti had been raining down favors for all she was worth, but now she leaned on the door frame, blowing out with rage, like a cake of dried dung when it falls into water.

The dware went home, biting back a cunning grin. Ghamane and Khulal followed behind him. "No point grieving over it," said Rambire, putting his hand on Lukhuré's shoulder. "What had to be has happened. You should have asked a few people for some advice." Then he went home, too. The unfortunate house and the little family that lived there were left alone to bewail their fate.

That evening, the buffalo did indeed give very little milk. Actually, this was quite inevitable because it had just been driven along for ten miles, but the natural shortage just made Lukhuré feel even more suspicious.

"Did it really give little milk?" he thought. "Why would that happen if there were not something wrong with it?"

All night long, he tossed and turned in his bed, feeling as if he was being stung all over by hornets. On one side were his son's ambitions—he had begged for a buffalo day and night—all pulverized to dust now. On the other side was all that money wasted. He was hardly going to be able to pull such a sum from his pocket. Money was like the dirt on his son's hands—here today, gone tomorrow. Today he earned it; the

next day it was spent. How many lifetimes would it take to pay off his debt to Nepal Bahun?^[6]

"Oh Lord, that bastard Dhakal has really ruined the poor!" Lukhuré turned from side to side. In the darkness, his 250 rupees became an image of Nepal Bahun, as black as iron, and danced before his eyes. Long claws came out of its fingers and started to come toward him.

Lukhuré groaned, then screamed out in the dark. Instead of making Ghainti feel sorry for her husband, his cries just fueled her violent anger: "You were a cursed idiot! You should have taken some people along who knew better, instead of taking all that money and throwing it down a hole! You've gone completely mad!"

Until this evening, she had been the epitome of love and kindness. Now she had become an emanation of the fearsome goddess. She had been so keen to have a buffalo she had given him the very jewels from her nose and ears. And now the debt was huge. It was hardly surprising that she was furious.

"You've given over our whole house and everything we possess to the moneylender. You've even stripped me bare of my jewels. And then you looked like a blind man at the thing you were buying. Take it back where it came from first thing in the morning. Throw the rotten carcass down on his threshold; then come straight back, you blind fool!"

Lukhuré's wife's long tirades were the most unbearable aspect of the whole affair. They made him reel. "Oh Lord, if such a lovely looking buffalo hadn't been sick, I wouldn't have had to suffer all this."

But what if it suddenly dropped down dead? Lukhuré was gripped by terror at the thought. He kindled a fire in the hearth and lit the lamp. What if it dropped right there, tethered to its peg? He rushed out to the stall and set the lamp in a niche. The buffalo was still tied up there, just as before. Sleek, black, and heavy uddered—a thoroughly splendid buffalo. He stroked it; it was so beautiful. There was no sign of any change in its condition. He sighed, but his sigh was disconsolate. If only there'd been nothing wrong with it....

"You don't keep a buffalo just because it's nice to look at.... And if you want to fool me ... how many buffaloes like this have I dealt with?" The dware 's words still rang in his ears. To deceive him would be no joke. Lukhuré felt utterly miserable. He went back and laid down on his bed, but the sounds of the night could not lull him to sleep. And his wife's sharp words broke his heart to pieces. "Cursed idiot! You're wondering what you would do if it dropped down dead, aren't you! Wasting money on such a worthless creature!" But really—what if it did drop down dead out there? Lukhuré shook with worry; then he stood up

[6] Nepal Bahun, whose name simply means "Nepal Brahman," is the local moneylender.

angrily again and went to take another good look. Once he had felt every part of its body, he went back to bed. But Ghainti's words were as sharp as needles, and she went on goading him all night. In the dark he looked over at her regretfully, silently begging her for forgiveness.

Actually, even Ghainti was going too far. What could poor Lukhuré do? He hadn't meant to throw his money away. It was fate that had really robbed them; it had been kind to that bloody Dhakal. Why couldn't the woman understand this?

"Oh Lord, may that bloody, scrounging Brahman be turned to ashes! He brings only misery to the poor. Surely he'll get burned one day by the money he's taken from them!"

"It's you that got burned! Why are you dreaming about someone else getting burned? What are you planning now, you fool, slaughtering it and selling the meat?" Ghainti's voice shook with anger and hurt.

What could Lukhuré do? He'd have to drive it all those miles again if he was going to take it back. Then Dhakal would only insult him and send him away again. If the bastard was so gracious that he was always giving people refunds, he'd hardly have deceived him and robbed him in the first place! Lukhuré threw himself down like a dead man.

The next day, the village elders were assembled outside the dware 's house. It's a custom in the villages for them to gather each morning and evening at some respected person's house to smoke, talk, and share one another's sorrows. All the affairs of the village are discussed on such occasions; this was going on now. Lukhuré came along, looking gloomy. He bowed to the dware and sat very nervously to one side of him.

"What is it, Lukhé?^[7] What do you have to say?" asked the dware in an insincere tone. "Did the buffalo give plenty of milk yesterday?"

"No, sir. It hardly gave any at all," replied Lukhuré miserably. He was truly in the depths of despair.

"Just as I said. . . . "The dware turned to the others. "This Lukhé is a simple, honest man. That bloody Brahman tilled land down in the plains before he came here. What does he care? He has completely defrauded him. He's always the same. Was it right for him to take so much money from an ignorant, innocent man like this? I've been there too, you know." He puffed at the tobacco that Kanchi Ghartini had passed him, blowing ashes into the air.

"There now, you see? That's what it means when people say that you never realize when something is going to go wrong. Now he's emptied his purse for a sickly buffalo.... And who will buy it from him?" Budhathoki looked at Lukhuré's miserable face.

[7] The dware is patronizing Lukhuré when addressing him with the diminutive form of his name.

"Who else would be blind enough to put all his money on a sickly buffalo? Tell me that!" said the dware , shaking his head in contempt.

"You'll have got yourself into debt over this, I suppose?" said Ghamane.

"If this man's buffalo isn't sick, make me eat forbidden food!" gravely declared Sitaram Pandit, the dware 's priest, and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. Then he looked at the dware . In fact, he had never even seen Lukhuré's buffalo, but he would not hesitate to find fault with a motorcar bought by some stranger in Bombay, not to mention a local buffalo, if he thought it would please his master. With this combined assault of truth and falsehood, no glimmer of hope was left in Lukhuré's mind. Desperately, he began to wail, "Oh dware , I am ruined! The bloody scoundrel's destroyed me! I'm so desperate I feel like giving everything up and leaving the world behind!"

"But what does this have to do with us? It was your own decision, not ours. You trusted your own judgment. Nor did we advise you. What do you say to that?" The dware seemed very severe, and Lukhuré was overcome.

"Sir, I admit it. I was so stupid. I chopped myself in the knee with an ax! But what can I do now? My wife's jewelry didn't fetch much. How will I pay off the 250 I borrowed from Nepal Bahun? Oh Lord, what can I do?" Lukhuré's voice trembled; he seemed to stagger under an immense burden of remorse.

"There's no other way out," Rambire spoke up from the corner. "You'll just have to take the rotten thing back."

"This unworthy Rame's words are not worth our attention." The dware dismissed this suggestion peremptorily. "You don't know that avaricious scoundrel. He will tell you anything you want to hear. But once your money's in his hands, all you'll get from him is abuse."

"Sir, I've had it. What should I do? I'm ruined." Lukhuré floundered like a fish out of water.

"You're in big trouble; it's true," Rambire spoke more kindly than the others. His voice was tinged with sympathy. "Come, dware . Lukhé is a poor man of our village, and he's in a fix. If you don't consider the problem, who else can he turn to?"

"What do you mean, Rame? Are you suggesting that I should jump into the pit just so he can get out?" The dware 's tone was sarcastic.

"No, sir. Fifty rupees, or 100, is nothing to a man like you. But for a poor man it can mean the end. If you don't do it, who will?" Rambire pressed his case, and Budhathoki backed him up.

"Yes, sir, you should help the poor man out. He has no one to turn to. He serves as well as he is able."

The dware pretended to think the matter over for a long time. At last,

he announced very gravely, "Are you all of one mind, then? If so, what can I say? It's an act of charity for one poor man. Although... no, not even Lukhuré need consider as low a price as 150. But, of course, I'm taking a risk, too. Either I'm getting a buffalo for 150, or I'm ruining myself. But of course, if it's an act of charity... 150, Lukhuré, what do you say?" It was as if he was setting down a great load of beneficence, borne through many lifetimes.

"The dware 's words are fitting. To spend money on such a buffalo is like investing in a carcass. There's no wrong being done to Lukhuré if 150 is written off." This grave statement came from Sitaram Pandit. He was the religious leader of the village, and so his words were like scripture itself. He was like the unopposed chairman, and his decision was final.

"There, that's the opinion of our respected priest. What do you say to that?" The dware turned to Lukhuré. "Well, what do you say?"

His eyes were piercing. What could Lukhuré say, poor man? He looked around at them all. Except for the dware , Budhathoki, Rame, and the Pandit, they were all silent. There was helplessness in their faces. They hung their heads, unable to look Lukhuré straight in the eye.

That same evening, there were great goings-on at the dware 's house. A splendid buffalo was tethered in his yard: sleek, black, and heavy uddered. A half dozen of the headman's children crowded all around it. The dware was attending to it with the keenness of a twenty-year-old.

As he fed it some hay, he looked over to Lukhuré's yard. There wasn't much to see there now. Father and son were both standing up on their wall. Then Rambire came in and bowed down at the dware 's's feet.

"What do you say then, Rame? Isn't she a gem?"

"Certainly, sir, she's one in a million!"

They both looked over at Lukhuré's house. The outline of Lukhuré and his son, standing there staring at the buffalo, gradually faded into the soil as dusk's earthy shadow descended from the hilltops.

(from Bikal [1962] 1977; also included in Sajha Katha [1968] 1979)