Yesterday, I was attacked by a cow. Actually, two cows, to be precise.
I stay in a guesthouse that can only be accessed by a small alleyway. This small path has charming potential, but not when it becomes the labyrinth of cows. And, for the majority of the day, there is at least one sorry-looking uttered animal loitering in this space.
Freshly back in India from the not-so-wild West, I have felt high irrational cow anxiety. As I dodge them, the even more menacing monkeys, the mangy dogs, the checker board of animal feces, and the constant flow of people and motorbikes, I'm sure I appear to be doing some strange superstitious white girl dance through the streets.
None of these obstacles pose any real danger. Particularly the cows. They are everywhere. They are docile. And, according to everyone around here, they are holy creatures.
Still, I was head-butted twice last year by one of these god-like beings, one time leaving a hell of shiner on my thigh. Both incidents took place in the same confined space: the alleyway to my guesthouse...which, again, I walk down several time a day...through the labyrinth of cows.
I was particularly anxious when I met the labyrinth yesterday. I paused, took a few a deep breaths, assessed my path. I looked Cow #1 dead in the eyes, in a pleading sort of way. Just as I was about to make my pass, Cow #2 went into attack mode. His rage seemed to be directed at Cow #1, but I was becoming just as much a part of their skirmish. There are no words for my fear or my level of ridiculous. No one ever taught me how to react to a cow attack, and I'm certain I did everything wrong. There was pushing. There was screaming. There was throwing of a water bottle. There was running at a very unimpressive rate back towards my point of origin. There was hiding behind the guesthouse gate.
It all happened quite fast. By the time I was behind the gate, assessing my left foot that was clipped by a cow foot, the cow squabble was over. An emotionless-faced local man passed by and motioned for me to come out from behind the gate. He grunted at me and the cows to model how to work my way through the labyrinth. Once I emerged, I proceeded with Anna Skinner drama protocol: I walked straight up to every person I knew in town to tell the tale of the cow attack.
The consensus from the Indian men: You need to carry a stick and work on your cow grunt.
The consensus form the new-age Western yogis: The cows could smell your fear. You manifested the cow attack. You need to cultivate love for the cows. Perhaps pet them under the chin.
I'm going to take a multi-pronged approach to the cows and follow both sets of advice. I may try to apply the cow wisdom more broadly, too. Generally speaking, India -- the whole massive country of a billion people -- scares me senseless. As with the cows, this fear is fairly irrational. I mean, India has given me a few metaphorical shiners, but mostly it has provided me with lots of interesting experiences and life lessons and wonderfully kind people. So, perhaps I should cultivate more love in my heart for this big bonanza of a country, not focus so much on my extensive patchwork quilt of fears. I will try to pet it under the chin a bit more, but I will also keep a firm grip on my protective stick.
