Gorku

As a child nothing fascinated me more than to hear the tale of Gorku from my mother.

Gorku was a buffalo who lived in maternal grandparents house in Madras. She was a lovely buffalo, extremely fond of mud bath. One day she was found missing.

Now, depending on who is telling the tale, the events following this piece of information would vary. It would also vary with every retelling of the tale. Even though I knew the ending it was still a hilarious story and I would insist on hearing it again and again. And even now whenever amma visits me or whenever I see any of my mama, I ask for this tale.

The bare plot is very simple. Gorku ran away. My fourth mama, who at that time was living at home while searching for a job, was given the responsibility of fetching the buffalo home. My maternal grandfather was a trifle impatient man and no one dared to say anything to him except my amma. Anyway, my fourth mama, whose name is Mani mama, went off to fetch the buffalo home in the company of the cowhand who unfortunately happened to have only one eye.

The cowhand was a firm believer of astrology. So off they went to West Mambalam to consult an astrologer who used parrots to predict the future- kili jyotisyam. On the way the cowhand, who was a ladies man, kept winking at all the pretty girls.

“Hey amma, have you seen a buffalo walk past this road? She is a beautiful buffalo with shiny black skin.”

The girls would giggle and Mani mama would wish the earth swallowed him.

Anyway, they reached the astrologer who confidently predicted that the buffalo would return home soon.

The buffalo did not come home and thatha was not too pleased. Mani mama visited the municipal corporation to see if the buffalo had been impounded but Gorku was not there.

Then few days later while Mani mama was walking down the street in Mambalam, he chanced to see Gorku.

“Gorku,” he called out.

Gorku immediately recognized him.

“Gorku, Gorku,” she bellowed out.

It turned out that the cowhand had been demanding a raise which thatha had refused to consider.
Anyway it all turned out well and there was a happy reunion.

“What happened to Gorku?” I would ask amma, food poised at the mouth, for I would have refused to eat without the story of Gorku told to me at meal times.

Amma would shrug her shoulders. She could not remember. Perchance she was sold when thatha died.

I believe Gorku is well and alive. Somewhere out there she is wallowing in her favourite mud bath.

I saw Gorku counterpart when I did a site visit to Ghazipur. The photo is not very well focussed but I could not take a photograph without explaining about Gorku.