The carrot and the game of life...

Inner peace is crucial for all living creatures—something that became clear to me today when I witnessed two bulls fighting on the road. Traffic came to a complete standstill, with vehicles halted and everyone’s attention fixed on the fighting bulls. As the chaos unfolded, people began praying, "Please move off the road, we’re late for work, school, and hospital appointments."

The bulls, oblivious to the disruption they caused, fought fiercely, pushing vehicles backward and forcing people to flee in fear of getting hurt. Despite attempts to intervene, the bulls continued their intense battle, inflicting as much damage on each other as possible. Eventually, when one bull fell, the other continued to push it, until the defeated bull finally ran away. The victor followed, chasing the other off to the side of the road.

As they cleared the road, the traffic light turned red again, and I could hear people around me complaining. Some blamed the government for not dealing with stray bulls, saying they should be put in “Goshalas”, while others grumbled about how the bulls seemed trained to fight on the road and cause traffic jams. One person even lamented, "First, we had a bullfight, then a traffic jam, and now the real red light. Thanks to all this, I’m late logging in to work. Just a few leave days left, and now I’ve lost one more

Some days truly bring surprises in the most unexpected ways. I was hoping today wouldn’t be one of those days.

Life often feels like a balancing act between the past and the future. My mother often scolds me for treating my "daughter," a playful calf, with snacks she calls junk. But I laugh and tell her, "Maa, that's the carrot—it's the game of life now." It's not just about feeding her; it's about ensuring those treats are healthy, not pure junk. In many ways, we either live by the memories of our parents' wisdom or cater to the future demands of our children. Everything else, beyond these deep connections, often feels ornamental or even junk. Everything I was putting into the basket was truly carefully chosen and seen with health aspect of the same. But it was quite difficult to find

After paying the bill, I stepped out into the parking lot, only to find two small calves standing there. Before I could fully process the scene, one of them suddenly rushed toward me, with desperation. As a mother, my instinct was to offer comfort, so I reached out to gently stroke its head and back, thinking it would calm the poor creature. But instead of responding with the affection I had expected, the calf reacted with an unsettling mix of agitation and anger.

It started tossing my basket and tried to unfold my hand. I clung to the basket, determined to protect the snacks I had just bought for my daughter—my little treat for her. The middle-class Indian mother in me felt a deep, protective anger bubbling up; I was ready to do whatever it took to save those snacks worth 700 hard-earned rupees. But my efforts were in vain. No matter how hard I tried, the calf was relentless.

In the end, I had no choice but to surrender. I let go of the basket, watching helplessly as the calf flung everything onto the ground. I thought the ordeal was over, but then, as if still seeking something, it rushed at me again, pushing and tossing me from every direction. I was caught in a whirl of fear and anger, shouting at the calf, “Go! Go! Leave me alone!” But despite my growing frustration, something inside me refused to cry out for help. Maybe it was my ego, a stubborn refusal to believe that a mere calf could overpower me.

Strangely enough, even though I didn’t ask for help, a few bystanders stepped in, trying to gather the scattered items back into my basket and divert the calf’s attention. Just then, a salesboy emerged from the shop, walking straight to the calf. He led it to a corner, speaking to it softly, stroking its head as if he were its master—its protector.

I stood there, a whirlwind of emotions raging inside me—loss, helplessness, fear, and anger all tangled together. The salesboy turned to me and apologized, his tone almost as if he were the calf’s father, responsible for its actions. My anger flared up, and I snapped, “Did you keep it here to rob your customers?”

The boy looked at me with a heavy heart, his voice trembling as he spoke, “No, madam, the story is beyond imagination. This calf... it’s my child.” His words took me by surprise, and he continued, “I rescued it from an accident. The poor child’s mother was killed in a road accident leaving it alone. Since then, the calf’s master left it here, uncared for—I don’t know why. My mother took pity on it, and she cared for it like her own until it grew bigger. But now... now it doesn’t listen to anyone.”

His eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and helplessness. “It follows me everywhere, even to work. If I try to tie it up in the shed, it hurts itself—dragging, swinging, howling in pain. It’s become a habit for it to stand here, watching me work. But sometimes, it lashes out at customers. I don’t know why... I wish I could understand.”

He paused, his voice breaking. “I don’t know any psychiatrist for animals. People have told me to sell it or send it to the butcher, but I can’t. I just can’t. I love this calf more than my own life. Every hour, I come out to talk to it, to calm it down, and then go back to work. My manager understands. He knows that this calf... it’s like my child now, and I have to take care of it.”

I stood there, absorbing his heartbreaking story, but the anger still simmered within me. I couldn’t shake the frustration of the moment, the loss of the snacks I had bought for my daughter, who was waiting for me at home. Despite the sadness of his tale, I couldn’t help but ask, “But what about the spilled snacks? The treat I bought for my daughter... she’s waiting for me at home.”

Even as I spoke, I could feel the conflict inside me—the tug of sympathy for the boy and his tragic story, but also the stubborn, lingering anger over my own loss. ?Conflicts are an inevitable part of life, yet it's the internal conflicts—the wars waged within our own minds—that are often the most dangerous and destructive. These internal battles, where our thoughts, emotions, and desires clash, can inflict more damage than any external confrontation. They gnaw at our peace, erode our sense of self, and can leave us feeling trapped in a cycle of doubt and turmoil.

To mitigate these internal conflicts, it is crucial to neutralize the triggers that set them off. These triggers can manifest as people, incidents, or situations that stir up unresolved emotions or repressed fears. But rather than confronting these triggers with hostility or avoidance, we must approach them with love, care, and patience. It’s about understanding that these triggers are not enemies but reflections of deeper wounds that need healing.

However, some triggers run deeper than others, rooted in past traumas or deeply ingrained patterns of thought. These are the triggers that cannot be simply healed—they must be carefully and gradually eliminated. This elimination is not an act of violence or suppression, but rather a process of compassionate detachment. It requires the same care and understanding that we would offer to a loved one, but with a firm resolve to let go.

Eliminating these deep-seated triggers takes time. It’s a process of unlearning old habits, rewiring our responses, and fostering a new sense of self that is free from the chains of past conflicts. It’s not easy, and it certainly isn’t quick, but it’s not impossible. With patience and perseverance, we can cleanse ourselves of these harmful triggers, ensuring that they do not return to haunt us.

In the end, this journey of resolving internal conflicts is one of self-liberation. It’s about reclaiming our peace, our clarity, and our true selves from the clutches of internal strife. And though the road may be long, the destination is worth every step.

The next day, I took my daughter to the store, and there it was—the same calf, standing outside as if waiting for us. This time, I noticed a gentleman feeding it some bread, and the sight softened my heart. My daughter, with her innocent curiosity, selected her snacks and then, with a smile, picked out a packet of biscuits for the calf.

As we approached, the calf noticed us, and to my surprise, it trotted over, not with the desperation I had seen before, but with a playful energy. My daughter giggled as the calf nuzzled her, and she eagerly fed it the biscuits. Watching them together, I realized something I had missed before—this little calf wasn’t just seeking affection; it was hungry, truly hungry, and it had come to me the day before in search of food, not just loving strokes on its head.

I had misread the need, mistaking its desperate actions for anger when all it wanted was something to eat. As I watched my daughter bond with the calf, I couldn’t help but smile. "Sometimes, understanding comes not from what we think we know, but from seeing the simple truth through the eyes of a child".

That day, I learned that the calf wasn’t asking for affection—it was simply asking for a mother to feed it.

With lots of love,

Kalpana Mahapatra

13th September 2024