The INDIGO success story

A lot of us who travel regularly are now coming to one conclusion that Indigo is the best airline we have servicing the customers. But take a moment to think about it .. how is it that they are doing so well, when in the same eco space .. Kingfisher, IA-AI, Spicejet and others are bleeding profusely? 

The answer is simple Indigo's operational efficiency is so high that they have made an aggregate profit of close to 2200 crores, when the Industry lost a total of 46000 crores, Spicejet and Jet airways booked a loss of roughly 700 crores, domestic travel decreased by around 4 %, fuel costs went up by 13% and the rupee weakened by 7%. IN this time, Kingfisher tanked to the bottom and IA-AI went on the ventilator supported only by the government infusing a lot money into it regularly. 

Indigo has a few strategies which they follow like religion and that is why they have reached where they have.

1. Less number of people per aircraft: This is very self explanatory. They have a people per aircraft ratio of 101. Their rivals have the same ratio of around 130. Less people, less clutter, more work gets done and a low turnaround time is maintained. They have a turnaround time of 31 minutes. Can you imagine, a plane being ready to take off 31 minutes after the last passenger left the cabin from an earlier flight?  

2. One set of airplanes: Indigo has a fleet of 74 new Airbus A320 aircraft, the airline offers 459 daily flights connecting to 36 destinations. Spice jet has a mix of 58 aircrafts spread across (Boeing 737-800, Boeing 737MAX, Boeing 737-900ER, Bombardier Dash 8 Q400) and another 70 have been ordered. If you have one kind of aircraft, you need to have spares and servicing expertise in only that engine type. The strategy helps in two ways. One, IndiGo doesn't have to maintain a large inventory of spares or engines. Two, its aircraft are not grounded because some spare parts are not available - that is something the vendors have to worry about. That is reflected in the fact that its technical dispatch reliability of 99.4 per cent is amongst the best in the world. The third advantage is that it prevents the airline from shocks (like a sudden problem in the engine requiring replacement). The difference was visible in 2010 when Kingfisher Airlines had to ground its aircraft because of snags in the engine, but IndiGo which used the same machine didn't because of the vendor support contracts. Even its C-checks, which an aircraft has to go through regularly, are planned with cost in mind. IndiGo gets these checks done in Sri Lanka, unlike its competitors who send their aircraft to as far as Dubai, Hong Kong, Singapore and Kuala Lumpur. The advantage here is that you burn less fuel to reach Sir Lanka and, since all your planes go to one place, you get a better price. 

3. No Gourmet Kitchens: You do not walk into an Indigo aircraft expecting to be served 5 star cuisine. This makes them 30% lighter than the other airlines, giving them a good fuel economy which they convert into 27% or roughly 12 hours more of airtime than their closest competitors. And if you know the aircraft industry a bit, you will understand that the only time an airline company is making money is when their flights are in the air and not on ground. And isn't this the exact same reason why KF tanked big time? 

And the most important point

4. Operating the high density routes: Despite having a 74 strong fleet they operate to only 36 destination. Spicejet with a 58 strong fleet operates to 54 destinations. This is an indication of spreading yourself too thin. Indigo know their profit routes well and have more flights leaving one destination than one flight leaving many destinations.

So the bottom line is simple if you are ready to chuck the flash and plan your work well, you can make profits in a hostile environment too. Go Indigo! :) 

Oz's India tour

Oz's meek capitulation has forced me to write this piece. I am not a big fan of Oz or its players, but their 'limp surrender' makes a cricket fan, like me who has seen a fair amount of the sport, wonder if they were really that bad. Well, I will leave that for you to decide. 

Losing the initiative:
I observed one thing was constant and finally made the difference that the Indians played with a different attitude. They seemed to have learnt from the England series and made an extra effort to stop the game drifting towards the Aussies and grab the initiative back at crucial junctions of the series. In none of the test matches did the Aussies, despite batting first gain a first innings lead, no matter how slender it was. And this to me was the first hit in their thrashing. India did not exactly set the world on fire, but were marginally better than the Aussies and that seemed enough to dissuade the Aussies every single time.     

The best example of this was the Mohali test. Despite losing one full day to rain and then going on to post 400 odd runs in their first innings, Oz failed to seize the day. Oz bowlers were taken to the cleaners by a debutant, Shikhar Dhawan. It was not the runs, but the manner in which he got them that once again put Oz down in the dumps. It wouldn't be unfair to say he created that game for India with his simple and tremendous stroke play. 

Off field antics: 
I understand that every team has a culture and one would like every one playing for the team to fall in line with it. The game we play for our country is far more bigger than an individual. In the face of this, the handling of the homework gate scandal and its after effects were there for all of us to see. The vice-captain went home for personal reasons hours after he was stood down from the 3rd test only to come back and be reinstated as  the captain. 



Not in my wildest dreams have I seen so much dirty linen being washed in public by an Oz team. It is the stuff of teams from Pakistan, West Indies and India more so.  But not from Oz. Definitely not them. It amazed me that they decided to drop their best bowler on display (Pattinson) and the only other batsman who had some experience of batting on Indian conditions for a test match when they were 0-2 down. Whatever was the explanation given, it sure didn't make them look professionals at end of the 5th day of that test. This obsession with discipline will some day come back to haunt them again. 

Captain's bad back:
Captain Clarke missed the 4th test and expectedly so. After all he had been carrying 10 others on it for the duration of 3 tests. Too much was asked out of him, as a batsman he had to play savior and score runs too as no one else had a clue where the next run was coming from. 

As a captain because he was saddled with a bowling attack who got walloped at will in the first 3 tests. 

India pays back:
That Shane Warne should make a mention of the Ugly Australian behavior is obvious. Ever since India started winning more and more abroad, under Ganguly, Dravid and co,  there is different attitude about the team. Yes, we lost badly in the 8 tests abroad and to England at home too but still they are not a team who will back down anymore. You saw that in the last test. Siddle traded verbal volleys with Rahane and Warner tried his hand at upsetting Dhoni. Shane Watson got into a spat with Ishant and B Kumar on the 3rd morning.   All of this is fine if you can back it up with actions. They went to the press making statements that chasing a 100 would be tough on that wicket. Though Vijay got out to a poor shot, Kohli and Pujara seemed to be batting on a different wicket. Whats more impressive, the way they approached the target with a calm and composed mind was heartening to see. 

These are exciting times for test cricket. SA are clearly head and shoulders above all the other teams with 4 of their top order batsmen averaging in the 50s. England are doing well but they seem a long way away from the top. If India manage to have a decent outing in SA (read 1-1 draw) it would really do their morale a world of good and will help this bunch of cricketers settle down in to understanding what would be their roles and where will the team go with them at the core. The Oz series has just about ended and I can't wait to see our lads in action in SA again.      

Mr. and Mrs. Rao – Part II

Not a lot was spoken over dinner. The three of them left the house after dinner. Mr. Rao locked the door behind him. As they waited for a taxi, Mr. Rao spotted a vendor selling jasmine flowers woven together. He bought a gajra for his wife. Vasant was fascinated at the understanding the couple had. Mrs. Rao stood with her back to Mr. Rao as he asked her for a hair pin. He then proceeded to neatly clip it to her hair. They got into a taxi and reached the theater.

Vasant bought ice cream for all of them. Mr. Rao had no problems feeding ice-cream to his wife. She excused herself and went ahead leaving the two men behind.

“Sir, how did the tragedy happen?” asked Vasant.

“It is a long story. Our elders had arranged for a meeting. Like I told you I had only one wish about the girl I would get married to. Surekha fitted that and we decided to get married. Everyone was happy about the impending celebrations but somehow I got wind that not all was fine. I went and met Surekha’s father. He was inconsolable. He begged me to forgive him. He said that he had cheated me and we should not go ahead with the wedding. I asked him to tell me everything and then he told me the whole story”

“Story?”

“Yes. Surekha has a twin sister, Rekha. To hide Surekha’s tragedy they had dressed up Rekha as her twin. I asked him why did they do this and the poor old man of 65 could not control himself any longer. He said ‘Rekha and Surekha are twins. Their aunt loved them a lot and took both the girls to her village to live with her when they were in school. All was going well when one day this happened. Girls and boys in the school were always competing against each other and would like it when the teacher punished their rivals. So the girls would generally get inside the class and shut the doors. So when the boys would come in late the teacher would cane them. One day the boys decided to take similar revenge and did the same with the girls. And on that day .. during the ensuing commotion Surekha’s hand got caught between the doors and was crushed. The poor kid was crying and howling but her voice got lost in the noise and by the time they realized it was too late. We tried everything from bringing her to Mumbai to taking her to the best of doctors but nothing came through and finally her hand had to be imputed at her wrist. I am sorry that I did this to you, but whenever you become a father maybe then you will understand what I did and why I did it.’ I heard this story and just told him that I will marry Surekha and her only” said Mr. Rao.

“Sir, you are simply great. Knowing that she did not have a proper left hand you still married her. It is really commendable” said Vasant.

“You have to pay for whatever wrong you do in this world” Mr. Rao said.

“I didn't understand sir”

The bell rang indicating that the picture was about to begin.

“I will tell you later. Come on now. Let’s go watch the movie.”

 Vasant and Mr. Rao made their way in. Inside the theater Mr. and Mrs. Rao were electrified as they saw their favorite actors performing on the screen. The sound of their laughter resonated across the theater  It looked as if these two had met their long lost friends are enjoying every second of it. 

They returned back to the house. Having changed into his night clothes, Vasant went out to the balcony.  

As Vasant stared into the silence and the beautiful moonlight that now engulfed the city of Mumbai, Mr. Rao joined him. Vasant was left with no words and no questions but with he was still restless.

“Vasant sir, why did you call me great?”

“Sir, what you have done requires a lot of courage. Most people would have refused the proposal”

“I just could not have done that. How could I when I am the one responsible for her condition?”

“I don’t understand sir”

Mr. Rao was now unable to hide his tears. He said, “I was one of the boys involved in closing the door on her hand. The day Surekha’s father told me the story; I realized what a mistake I had made as a kid. I decided that I would get married to her and will play the role of her left hand. I am happy that god gave me an opportunity to correct that mistake”

Mrs. Rao came out of her room and called Mr. Rao out. When he turned to face her, there were no tears at all. The couple wished good night to Vasant before retiring for the night. As Vasant gazed out at the beautiful moonlight, he realized that Mr. and Mrs. Rao were in tune with life like Lata Mangeshkar would be with her singing and had comedy running in their veins like Laurel and Hardy.     

Mr. and Mrs. Rao – Part I

Vasant’s journey to Mumbai was uneventful. He despised travelling to Mumbai on work. It was a crowded city and fast paced. He loved Pune much better. Travelling to Mumbai was still something he could handle, but an overnight stay would unsettle him.

Though Mumbai is home to millions of people, the houses themselves are very small for the majority of the middle class people. Further more, out of many whom Vasant knew in Mumbai … people with large homes did not have big hearts … and people who genuinely welcomed guests with open arms often lived in dingy and small places. But on this visit he was not thinking about where he would be put up for the night.

Mr. Dhoble, the Branch manager of Bank of Maharashtra – ShivajiNagar branch, had called him to his cabin and assigned Vasant some work which required him to travel to the bank’s headquarters in Mumbai.

“But sir …” Vasant fumbled.

“Look here, Vasant.  I know your difficulties. This time you won’t need to scout for places to stay overnight. The bank has allocated a residential guest house to Mr. Rao in Andheri. I have spoken to him already and he is fine with you staying with them. After all, it is a matter of one night. ” Dhoble spoke as if he expected Vasant to crib about the same thing.

“Alright sir” Vasant said as he left the cabin.

Vasant reached Andheri and took a taxi to the guest house. He climbed 2 flights of stairs to see a beautifully carved out WELCOME sign in front of him. He rang the bell and was enchanted by the sound it made. It neither had rung too loudly to disturb the housemates nor too faintly that Vasant himself could not hear it.

Since it was a Sunday, Mr. Rao was at home. He welcomed Vasant inside and showed him to the guest room. Having placed his suitcase on the small table in the guest room Vasant came out. Mr. Rao showed him to the washroom and when he came out offered him a towel. Vasant did what should be done on such occasions, wipe your hands as a mere formality and not go hammer and tongs on the towel.

“Surekha  ...” Mr. Rao called out to his wife.

Mrs. Rao appeared with a tray held in her right hand. The tray had two cups of hot tea and a few biscuits to go.

“This is my wife, Surekha” said Mr. Rao

She hurriedly joined her hands in a Namaste but Mrs. Rao’ sari’s pallu got entangled between her hands because of it.  She left the two men to discuss about official matters and entered the kitchen.

Mr. Rao and Vasant spoke about a lot of stuff. 20 minutes had passed by and Vasant had not yet touched the cup of tea. But what made Vasant feel at ease was that Mr. Rao did not remind him about the same. Vasant picked up the cup and sipped the tea. It was warm and he liked it.

He was a man who believed that .. Taste is not characteristic to a dish or a beverage but to the feeling with which it is offered to the guest.

He glanced around the living room and stopped at a photo of Mr. and Mrs. Rao. It was one from their wedding. He noticed that she had really long hair in the still photo but when he met her a minute ago it seemed like she had cut her tresses short. He thought to himself why would some one who is blessed with such long hair give in to the latest fashion styles and cut her beautiful tresses short.  He was lost in his thoughts when Mr. Rao asked …   

“If you don’t mind, would you care to join me in the kitchen? We could continue to talk while I help Surekha with a few things for dinner”

“Dinner! But there is no real hurry sir” said Vasant, a little surprised.

“We have to hurry, else we might miss it” said Mr. Rao smilingly.

“Do you need to go somewhere?”

“Not only me, have you had to come too. In fact, all 3 of us are going out after dinner”

“Where?”

“To see the latest Laurel and Hardy movie”

“Laurel and Hardy’s latest movie. Hahaha. Us, at this age going out to watch Laurel and Hardy?” Vasant laughed, a little surprised at Mr. Rao’s statement.

“Vasant sir, you are sadly mistaken. Laurel and Hardy movies are not for a specific age but for people of all ages who like to laugh. Please come with me, I will show you their portrait in my kitchen”

Vasant followed Mr. Rao into the kitchen and he was amazed at what he saw in there.

Two life sized portraits were hung on a wall. One was a Laurel and Hardy still from one of their classics and the other showed Lata Mangeshkar at a singing booth.

“Mr. Rao, you are simply great. You have an awesome selection” said Vasant amazed.

“Thank you. I do not have photos of gods and goddesses in my house instead I have these two portraits. And since most of my time is spent in the kitchen, I got them fixed here an not in the living room”

Vasant was lost in these thoughts, when he couldn’t help observe the efficiency with which Mr. Rao took to prepare Chutney. He neatly grated the coconut without even a small portion of it falling out.

Then he mixed the grated coconut with the other ingredients in a food processor and made nice and fresh chutney. Vasant was clearly impressed when Mr. Rao then neatly washed the plate and the grater and kept them in their places. He then went on to cut vegetables while talking to Vasant.

Vasant casually glanced in the direction of Mrs. Rao 

Vasant did concur that, if and when a few people are invited home the lady of the house does need a little help in preparing a few things. But this never happens in front of the guests. This is also true with men who boast that they never enter the kitchen no matter what.

Mrs. Rao was also helping her husband. Fetching a few things he needed to help her out and in doing so at one point of time the pallu of her sari drifted a little, just for a second. But that one second was enough for Vasant to observe that Mrs. Rao’s left hand ended at her wrist.     

Mr. Rao’s ‘Most of my time is spent in the kitchen’ now started sinking in. Vasant’s mind was now disturbed. He excused himself and went out to the balcony through the living room. 

Mr. Rao also came out to join Vasant in the balcony. Unable to control his anxiety, Vasant asked Mr. Rao, “Sir, if you don’t mind could I ask you a question?”

Mr. Rao simply Hmmm’d in approval.

“Did the tragedy with Mrs. Rao’s hand happen before the wedding or after it?”

“Hmm. I knew you would ask this question. The tragedy happened before the wedding.”

“Sir, You are a brave man. You still approved of her and went on to marry her. It is really commendable. Could I please ask you another question, if you don’t mind?”

“Go on”

“I noticed that Mrs. Rao had really long hair when you got married. What happened?”

“Ummm.. I had only one wish that the girl I get married should have really nice and long hair. The problem is I got promoted and so there is a lot of touring that I need to undertake. There isn't time enough to neatly plait them anymore” said Mr. Rao in a resigned tone fighting tears. 

Vasant’s mind grew restless as he got the answer to his question, about Mrs. Rao’s hair.

The problem with such questions is that when you get the answer you simply have to take the answer. Generally, we search for some kind of an assurance and a calming influence with an answer. But when you do not get that you do not have a choice in selecting what you want.     

    

Part II : http://einzweidrei.blogspot.de/2012/11/mr-and-mrs-rao-part-ii.html

Krishna and Jarasandha

The Rajasuya Yagna was considered to be a prominent one because of two reasons;

a. It went on to establish the supremacy of the King performing the yagna over all the other kings of the land and 

b. It automatically qualified him a lace in the Indra Sabha in his after life. 

All those around Yudhishthira eulogized him and urged him to embark on the Rajasuya sacrifice. But Yudhishthira would not take a final decision without consulting the knower of all things, Krishna. He sent a messenger to Dwaraka, seeking Krishna’s advise. Krishna took the opportunity to visit Indraprastha where he could meet his cousins, aunt and sister. He proceeded in his celestial chariot that traveled like a ray of the sun.

On reaching Indraprastha, Krishna paid his regards to Yudhishthira and Kunti, affectionately embraced his other cousins and blessed his sister Subhadra. He then sat down to answer the king’s query about his eligibility to perform the Rajasuya.

Krishna told the mighty Pandava monarch, “I, however, have a concern. A survey of the kings in the country shows that you are superior to all of them. There is, however, one exception. And that is the Magadha king, Jarasandha. This evil oppressor of mankind is so powerful that even I had to abandon my capital, Mathura, for fear of him, and flee to the Western coast.

“We had to build a very strong fort at Dwaraka so that my people and I could live free of Jarasandha’s attacks. Jarasandha carries a grouse against us because I killed the evil king Kamsa who was married to two of his daughters. All kings have become Jarasandha’s vassals, and those who resist him are imprisoned in a fort. He has so far imprisoned eighty-six kings. After capturing fourteen more, he intends to offer them one by one as sacrifice to the god Rudra. He will surely not accept you as superior to him, and would do all he could to obstruct the sacrifice. He would seek eternal fame by defeating you.”

“What makes him so invincible?” Yudhishthira asked Krishna.

Krishna related Jarasandha’s story to the king.

The History:

Brihadratha, the mighty king of Magadha, married the twins of the Kasi ruler, both endowed with beauty and intelligence. The two wives gave him great happiness but failed to provide a son to carry on the dynasty. One day, he heard that a sage, Chanda kaushika, was camping at the outskirts of his capital. The king went with his wives to seek the blessings of the sage.

Brihadratha pleased the rishi by worshipping him and offering him valuable presents. When the king told the sage of his desire to have a son, the rishi blessed him and said, so be it. Just then a mango from the tree under which they were sitting, fell on the lap of Chandakausika. The holy man handed over the fruit to the king and asked him to give it to his wives. The sage left after assuring the king that he would get a son who would be a mighty monarch.

Being equally fond of both his wives, Brihadratha divided the fruit between them. Both of them conceived. When they delivered, each wife had half of a baby, having one arm, one leg, half a head and half a torso. The disappointed queens disposed of the sundered baby through a maid who threw the parts out through the backdoor of the palace.

A rakshasa woman, Jara by name, who lived on flesh, was foraging in the garbage for food. She found the two halves of the baby thrown by the maid. Fate playing a part, she joined the two symmetrical pieces together. A healthy baby was formed which started to howl in a thunderous voice. It was so large and heavy that Jara could not carry it away. The inmates of the palace came running to find out what the commotion was about. Jara handed over the baby to them and ran away. When the queens recognised the baby, they were overjoyed. The baby was given named Jarasandha meaning,  joined together by Jara.

Some time later, the rishi Chandakausika again visited Magadha. King Brihadrada received him with great respect and worshipped him. The learned one predicted to the king that the child born to him would grow in strength and conquer the whole world. All the kings of the earth would tremble before his might. After making this prediction, the sage went away to attend to his business. When Jarasandha came of age, Brihadrada retired to the forest, installing his son as ruler.

In time Jarasandha grew into a fearsome king. Being a friend of Kamsa, Jarasandha drove the Yadava tribe of Vrishnis along with our cousins, the Kukuras and the Andhakas, out of Mathura. Krishna recognized that Jarasandha was invincible and his death was not yet due, and to keep out of his way,  moved to Dwaraka.

Krishna told Yudhishthira that he would not be able to perform his Rajasuya unless Jarasandha was eliminated. This could be achieved only if Jarasandha was engaged in a personal combat, as the Magadha king was incapable of being vanquished in the battlefield. It was decided that Arjuna and Bhima, along with Krishna, should proceed to Magadha to put an end to this oppressor of kings.

  

The Fight:                                                      

On arriving at Magadha, Arjuna, Bhima and Krishna gained entry into the city disguised as brahmins. They did not want to be recognized as princes. Soon they were in the presence of Jarasandha.

Once they reached Jarasandha’s presence, they revealed their identity to him. Krishna demanded that all the kings that Jarasandha had imprisoned should be released. 

Jarasandha scornfully replied that he would add these three to those imprisoned.  “But,” he said, “I always defeat my foe in war before killing or imprisoning him. In your case, since you are without an army, I am prepared to fight you individually.”

It was decided that a combat between the king and one of the three visitors should be held. When asked to select his opponent, the proud Jarasandha pointed to Bhima, the one who looked the biggest and strongest. Jarasandha took the precaution of installing his son Sahadeva as king before the battle started, in the unlikely event of his being killed in the fight.

What followed was a war between two mountains. Bhima and Jarasandha were engaged in personal combat for fourteen days even as the earth shook under them. They clashed like elephants and let out roars that sent fear in the spines of those who heard them. Before entering the combat on the last day, Krishna picked up a small twig on their way to the wrestling arena. Bhima  managed to overwhelm Jarasandha who lay down exhausted during the course of the combat. Seizing this opportunity, Krishna pulled out the twig and separated it right down the middle. This was to tell Bhima that he should do the same to Jarasandha to defeat him.  

Bhima did as was told. There was a great roar from Jarasandha as he met his death.

Krishna released all the kings imprisoned by Jarasandha in the hill fortress known as Girivraja. The liberated kings worshipped Krishna and asked what command he had for them. Krishna told them that they were free to return to their kingdoms.

“You have Bhima to thank for your liberation,” Krishna told the kings. “He is the brother of the great king, Yudhishthira, who is holding a Rajasuya sacrifice. You should all assist the Pandava king in his Rajasuya.” The kings agreed in one voice. 

The new king of Maghada, Sahadeva, sought Krishna’s blessings and commenced his beneficial rule.

The victorious three were given a rousing welcome when they returned to Indraparastha. Krishna took leave of the Pandavas and left for Dwaraka, having accomplished his objective of eliminating Jarasandha.

Mhais II

Continued from Part I
http://einzweidrei.blogspot.de/2012/08/mhais-buffalo-prologue-mhais-is-marathi.html

Part II

None of us had expected the villagers' to be considerative enough make arrangements for us to not just sit, but also lie down and sleep. As soon as he saw this, the over smart Madhu Manushte found his voice,"Man has estranged his own brethren in these modern times. If at all there is a glimpse of humanity and equality it is only in the villages" He had now gathered a small audience around him, among them the almost-pretty almost-petite girl and her father. That girl was, for no apparent reason, staring at Madhu while batting her eyelids at a faster pace than usual.That spurred Madhu on even more.

"Is that the tobacco dealer Manushte's kid?" Bagunana turned on his side, and asked Jhampya Damle sprawled on his mattress next to him. But Jhampya was already snoring by now. 

So some third guy quipped, "Think so. He attends a college in Mumbai I think"

"Eh! Even janitors go to a college these days" Bagunana passed on a unnecessary derogatory remark in the midst of changing sides.  

Meanwhile, as the villagers with the cots got closer to us, Madhu kept getting even more fired up. "In today's world human beings have become so distant from each other. But that distance, that chasm is wholly absent in villages." he looked from one face to another in his audience, ending up at the almost-petitie girl's face. "You know what makes these villages special? They have hospitality. They have courtesy. And they have... um .. um .. um" Madhu wanted to say they have something else and complete a rhetorical trio, but could not think of a word that would fit. So he just cleared his throat for a long time, and joined the others in looking at the approaching cots. 

But when the cot-carriers started walking, not towards the people gathered, but towards the mhais, everyone was taken aback. No one had thought that the human kindness in villages has evolved to such an extent that they would ensure a mhais' comfort by having her lie down on cots. So all passengers, curious to see how the villagers would pick up the mhais and put her on the cots, gathered around the bus once again.But we weren't really fortunate enough to see such a spectacle. Instead the villagers put the cots up sideways, put blankets over them, and created a small canopy for the mhais. We were told that this whole effort was taken to make sure that the mhais isn't exposed to the harsh sun for too long, and that flies don't start feasting on her wounds. 

After seeing the mhais so comfortably esconced in her lair, passengers again started discussing their own fate. Some of them turned to the driver and conductor. 

"Umm.... Mister Driver... Mister Driver... when will the bus get going again?"
"What can I do unless the mhais is moved?" he shot back.
"I won't let anyone touch the Mhais!!" Dharma Mandavkar, the owner yelled.
"So what are we supposed to do? Just sit around here baking in the sun?" one passenger yelled back.
 "And if my mhais dies, then who will pay me the compensation for it? Tell me!" Dharma countered."The police will get here, file an FIR, and then we'll see what happens. What do you all say?" he turned to other villagers and asked. They all nodded and murmurred in support.

"But how will police come to a small village like this?" someone asked.
"There's a police outpost two kilometres from here." Dharma said.
"Why would there be police in the Post Office?" the teacher, obviously. Who else would ask a question like that?
"Huh! A post office is one thing and an outpost is another thing. Gentleman folks like you don't even know such a simple thing?" Dharma verbally jabbed the teacher.
"But..but.." teacher went into face-saving mode, "how will the police come to know that there's been an accident here?"
"Arjuna has gone to call them." Dharma said.
"Arjuna! Che ! Why did you send Arjuna?" a geriatric villager whinged, "condemned soul ! He'll sit there playing checkers with the cops."
"No one else was ready to go. What should I have done?" Dharma complained, "What else should I do? Leave the mhais here and go myself? And if these people shrewdly move the mhais aside and get going, then what?"
"Yes yes, you are right," another villager jumped to his defence. "You can't trust these slimy ST people."
"Be polite. We are good people." a passenger demanded.
"I am sorry sir, no offence but you really have no business saying anything here." Dharma said to him, "I have taken a huge loan to buy this mhais. Hasn't even been six months. And now her neck bone is broken and..."
"No sir, her neck bone isn't broken," another passenger interrupted, "A while back I saw her move her neck"
"That she might have moved a little but that doesn't mean the bone isn't broken. The whole bus ran over her neck!" Dharma answered back. 
"Look mister, if the whole bus had run over her neck would it not have snapped in two. What bullshit are you talking about?" The ever-intensifying sun and ever-intensifying hunger was now making the passengers even more frustrated. "The bumper hit the mhais slowly and she fell down, that's all. Minor injury. No broken bones or anything" analysed a passenger. 
"If it's such a minor injury, then is she fascinated by the idea of lying on the road unnecessarily? Huh? Tell me!" another villager countered, "I felt it with my own hands. Her backbone is broken down to pieces" 
"Eh? You are saying her back bone. This guy says her neckbone. Stick to one story." Now the passengers put up a united front.
"So? If such a big bus hit her, you expect just one bone to be broken?" the villagers union  fired back. 
"But tell me, if so many of her bones are broken, won't the mhais be yelling in pain right now?" a passenger said. 
"Maybe her tongue bone is broken too!" someone wisecracked. A titter of laughter in the passenger group. 
"Don't crack jokes. This is serious." Dharma roared, "If it was your mhais, you would have understood. Poor thing, used to give 15 liters of milk everyday".
"Yeah right. When has a mhais from Konkan ever produced that much milk?" another passenger chimed in.
"It's a Kathiawari mhais" Dharma replied.
"Hahh! Don't bullshit us. This scrawny thing and Kathiawari? Kathiawari mhais are much heftier than this. If a bus bumped into a Kathiawari mhais, the bus would break into two and not the mhais." came the retort.
"This silly discussion has gone on long enough." one passenger took center stage. "Why wait for the police and lengthen it longer? I say, let's all chip in with donations of a few rupees and gather some money for her treatment. And we can be on our way."
As soon as he heard the word "donation", Jhampya Damle sprung up from his slumber and shouted, "Donations? Why all these expenses? There's a government hospital for cattle at Chiplun. The mhais can be treated there"

"How far is Chiplun from here?"
"22 miles."
"Hmm, then let's put the mhais in a bullock cart and take her there." Jhampya continued to come up with ways to avoid parting with any money, "Or..or... put her on top of the bus and we'll take her there."
"But why? But why?" Madhu Manushte deserted the passenger ranks and joined the villagers union, "You can not con them just like that because they are poor villagers. This man has suffered a damage. ST should compensate him for that."
"So until then, should we just sit around here?" a passenger asked.
"That's not any of the mhais owner's business. That is your own business. Your own." he said, again stealing a glance at the almost-petite babe. 
"But why do they let their mhais wander on to the road like that?"
"Hey, the road is public property, not your private one." Dharma said, "We'll let a mhais wander or a yak wander. Who the hell are you to push us around?"
"I admit that everyone is being very inconvenienced. But it is not right to look at individual conveniences and inconveniences at an occasion like this. And furthermore...."

Madhu might have continued in this sanctimonious vein for a lot longer, but someone shouted, "Look look! The cops are coming!"

And both groups turned their gaze in that direction. Two-three people were walking towards us about a quarter mile away. 

Meanwhile an ST bus headed to Chiplun stopped near us. The driver of that bus started talking with our driver. As we all know that there is a law in nature that if two bus drivers or two truck drivers, when they converge at one point coming from opposite directions... and yes, two ants as well, they have to stop for a little while and mutter something to each other. Who knows what they talk about? They probably warn each other about the presence of cops in either direction. Anyway, our driver sent a message with the other driver for the ST folks in Chiplun to send another bus while this Mhais issue was being sorted out.

By then, the three people finally reached the spot. It was difficult to figure out exactly who among them, if any, were cops. So assuming that the most confident looking of the three might be a cop, the khadi politician stepped forward, and politely said to him,
"He-he. Hmm.." he smiled, "I was saying... please get done with the FIR quickly, if it isn't too much trouble, and free us from this predicament."
"Why are you telling me that?" the guy growled back, "Tell that guy. He is the cop. I have been through enough trouble hunting cops. I went to the outpost, and there wasn't a single constable to be found. No inspector around either. Fortunately I found this Orderly, so got him along."
 So the villagers turned towards the Orderly and paid their respects. It was around noon, and yet the Orderly's eyes seemed heavy with lethargy, as if he had just been woken up. Looking at his face, many of us thought that he either didn't get enough winks last night, or got more than enough drinks last night. Without any concern of splattering anyone, he spat out a quart or so of paan-juice in front of him, and in a voice as heavy as his eyes, he fired of the first official question,
"Who is the diver(sic)?"
The driver stepped forward.
"Let's see your lie-sun (licence)". The driver handed over his 'lie-sun'.
 

The Orderly started examining the license in a manner resembling a rookie astrologer examining his first horoscope. Other curious people also crowded around the Orderly and peered over his shoulder, muttering "Yes yes, let's see the license." Now what's so visually appealing about a license that everyone rushed to see it? Nothing. But still, a bunch of people almost mobbed the orderly.

That's when a passing truck stopped. It's driver, a Sardarji, got down and got himself abreast of the whole situation. And then said at the top of his voice,
"Even if a man dies, no one gets too bothered these days. What's the big deal if a bhains is dying? Just work something out amongst yourselves, all of you", and with that unsolicited and useless bit of advice, went on his way, his tailpipe firing a (un)healthy amount of black smoke in our direction.

"What's your name?" the Orderly asked our driver.
"It's written on the license there," Madhu interjected "Shivram Govind."
"Sir, you all please don't come in between. I am talking to the diver."
"But I don't see the point in asking him his name again, after reading it on his license.." Madhu started arguing.
"Listen. Let me follow our due procedure" the Orderly said and in a sterner voice continued, "DON'T INTERFERE!!!"

Madhu shrank away a bit due to the gruff police-y scolding. Luckily the almost-petite girl was not nearby. But he regained his composure in a few seconds and said with barely concealed hubris,
"Heh.. heh... just admit that you can't read English."
"Look here, now what I can read and can't read is my personal matter, UNDERSTAND?? I don't like wise cracks, I warn you." the barb about English had clearly hit a sore spot. Because he then spat out some paan-juice with such force, it could have easily qualified him for the finals of a paan-juice-spitting event at the Olympics.

"Hey Shivram Govind" the Orderly said wiping his lips, "What is your name?"
"The same, the same", said the driver.
"What's same?" the Orderly thundered.
"Shivram Govind"
"So give a straight answer. Don't be a wiseguy. Address?"
"Parve Chawl, Chimji Bhomji Street, Bombay 10" the driver answered straight.
"But Orderly-saab" another passenger interjected, "Why don't you quickly do the FIR instead of talking to the driver? We have been stranded here for over three hours now."
"Sir, I told you before," the Orderly replied, "Let me follow our due procedure."
"But what the hell? We are being fried in this hot sun." Usman Bhai now jumped into the fray, "There isn't even any milk for our kids. What sort of a village is this? No milk, even??"
"Where will the milk come from if you ST people go around killing all our mhais?" a long-awaited contribution from the villager camp.
"What crap!" Usman Bhai turned towards him "Tell me, how many dozen mhais did we kill of your? How many dozen? Orderly-saab, you conduct the inquiry for the FIR, write down whatever you have to on a paper, and set us poor passengers free. Eh? What do you say, folks? Am I not right? This whole damn delay since the morning. We would have reached Mahad by now."
"Hey, did I cause the delay?" the Orderly said.
"When did we say you caused the delay? We're not stupid, you know" another passenger piped up. The fear of police was clearly subsiding. The way those frogs in one of Aesop's fables started hopping on a log after they stopped fearing it, passengers started hopping around the Orderly.
"But still what is this? It took more than three hours after the accident for the police to show up. How professional and inefficient! But of course when it comes to extorting money from the public..."
"Don't talk too much rot about us I warn you!!!" the Orderly shouted.
"But why not?" Madhu eased back into the passengers camp. "Why not? Why were the no cops at the site of an accident? Do you need to be invited to come? This is an accident, not someone's wedding reception that someone needs to invite you to come over."
"What am I, some sort of God to know what's happening everywhere? Was I supposed to get some vision that you folks were going to kill a mhais?" the Orderly responded.
"We didn't kill the mhais."
"Your ST killed it."
"Our ST????" the teacher entered the ring, "Our ST??? Tell me, no tell me, if a mhais strolls in front of a speeding bus, then what do you expect? That it will give milk instead of dying?" As clear as dictation.
"Acually, it's not the driver's fault" another passenger said, "It's the mhais' fault."
"Yeah right. The mhais is supposed to have brains?" a villager shot back.
"The mhais might not have any, but don't you people have brains? Why do you leave them open like this outside their stables?"
"Then where will they graze? Tell me, where will they graze? Just because you folks are from Mumbai, you think you can get away with spouting any nonsense?"
"Hmm... who is the owner of the Mhais?", the Orderly asked. The owner stepped forward. "Your name?"
"Dharma Mandavkar"
"Father's name?"
"Yeshya, deceased." Dharma must have some experience with court cases and such, because he seemed to know exactly when to use terms like 'deceased'.
"Orderly-saab, do an FIR, please." another passenger joined the chorus.
"Sir, let me follow our due procedure. Don't interrupt me all the time. OK, listen, you, Mandavkaree."
"His name isn't Mandavkaree, it's Mandavkar" a passenger added helpfully.
"YOU PASSENGER FOLKS, GET AWAY FROM ME AND STAND THERE!!!" the Orderly raised his voice to newer high.
"OK, OK, we'll get away, but please, free us from this mess."
"That'll take time." the Orderly said.
"Take time? Why? You have all the papers and forms with you. Just take down all the statements and finish the FIR."
"I don't have authority." the Orderly said.
"You don't have authority? So you're not a cop?"
"Not a cop? Then what am I, a thief?"
"Then why don't you start the FIR?"
"I don't have authority"
"So who has authority?"
"Our sub-inspector."
"So why didn't you get him along? Did you come to check the mhais' pulse?" people were getting angrier by the minute. "So no FIR until the sub-inspector comes?"
"No" said the Orderly.
"So when will he get here?"
"He's gone to Chiplun."
"So we have to sit around in this sun until he comes back from Chiplun?" a passenger said. "That's horrible. Listen, driver, I tell you, put the bus in reverse, back up, and let's get going. Let's see what happens. If some complication arises, take down our names and addresses and we'll help you out. Come on folks!"

Passengers started climbing back on the bus. But the driver was sitting where he was. Calmly, he took out two cigarettes from his pocket. Lit one for himself, and passed the second one to the conductor. "Come on, driver. We told you we'll bear the responsibility. Come on!"

"Come on? What come on?" the driver answered, "My license is still in his hand." Realizing the futility of the situation, the passengers got down from the bus again.
"Hmmm.. hey what time did the accident happen?" the Orderly asked the driver. But a passenger jumped in before the driver could answer.
"Why are you asking useless questions if you have no authority? Idiot! Tell you what, go back to your outpost and take a nap until the sub-inspector returns."

The passengers had now fully resigned themselves to the circumstances. Cigarettes and snacks started being passed around. And a few groups of people sat around shooting the breeze, waiting for their fate to rescue them. Madhu meanwhile introduced himself to the almost-pretty almost-petite girl's father and struck up a conversation.
"Seriously, the Honors course is so difficult. And professors these days don't have any knowledge. Furthermore...." he continued dispensing his spiel. 

Bagunana, meanwhile kept moving from group to group, sampling all the foods, and made sure his lunch was taken care of without spending a penny. As he eyed the omelettes in Usman Bhai's aluminum lunch box, he said, "Say what you will, Usman Bhai, I believe all religions are equally correct and pious.... pass me some of that omelette, will you?", and he slipped away to appropriate some curd-puffed rice from the teacher's lunch box.

People had settled down comfortably as if they would be staying for a week. The Orderly had also by now assimilated in the group, and was smoking a cigarette borrowed from someone. Another couple of hours passed in this lethargic mode. And finally there was a noise of a vehicle horn. An official-looking pick-up van was motoring towards us.
"Looks like the real cops are here now!" someone said. And everyone ran towards the road once again. The van reached the accident spot. A couple of ST officials, an inspector, a constable and a veterinary doctor trooped out of it. The Orderly swooped in and smarty saluted the inspector. And the ST officials started talking to the driver and the conductor.

As soon as they saw the inspector, all the leading lights of the passenger camp, like Usman Bhai, khadi politician, Madhu Manushte, Teacher, Bagunana, etc. forged ahead. Leading the way, Madhu Manushte. He reached the inspector, and said to him in chaste English,

"You see, you see, sir. You see, we have been held up here, you see, for more than half past six hours, you see.", a nice missile of Bombay English fired at the inspector. The inspector however, clearly unimpressed, brushed him aside like a fly, and said in his truly stern police-y voice,

"Where is the driver?". The driver stepped ahead.
"License?" the Orderly handed over the license.
With the license in his hand, the inspector, accompanied by the ST officials, the driver, Mandavkar, passenger union leaders, other villagers, led somewhat of a procession towards the mhais.

"Get the measuring tape out." the inspector commanded, and the constable produced a tape. "OK, where did the mhais come in front of the bus?"
"Sir, I'll tell you, I'll tell you", one villager chirped.
"Shut up! You, driver, Shivram Govind, tell me, where did the mhais come in front of your bus?" the inspector was taking charge.
"Sir, I swear, I was going at barely twenty. When my bus was near that mango tree, the mhais which was on the side, suddenly walked on to the road." Without anyone telling him to do so, the constable ran towards the mango tree with his measuring tape. The orderly took the other end of the tape and started measuring the distance till the mhais.
Now the measuring tape turned out to be so ancient and jaded, that neither of them could make out the numbers on it. So the same distance was recorded as anywhere from 100 yards to 25 feet. Finally, they gave up on the tape and the language of 50 paces, 10 paces, and so on was adopted. Then the two obsessively just kept measuring any distance they possible could.

"You two, find out where the brakes were applied. Find the skid marks if any." the inspector said to them. Then he turned to the vet and said, "Doctor, take a look at the mhais' wounds."
One of the ST officials started examining the bus' wounds, and the vet started examining the mhais' wounds.
"Any broken bones?" the inspector asked.
"Tough to say for sure," the vet replied "we'll have to get an X-ray taken."
"Oh wow!" khadi politician said in astonishment, "They can get X-rays for a mhais too, nowadays? It wasn't so in the old days. In fact before independence....", and he started with his stock speech about the days before independence, and independence itself.

He captured half a dozen folks and made them listen to everything he had so say.

Meanwhile the inspector, with the rest of the procession, started walking towards the brake marks. He stopped in between, and said, "Ah! I see there's a lot of blood at this spot. But why here, and not there..."
"Blood?" the Teacher derisively said. "What blood? Your stupid Orderly has been spitting paan-juice all over the place. Manner-less fellow! Some drops even messed up my dhoti.", and then as if introducing evidence in court, he held up a corner of his dhoti and showed everyone the stains as exhibit # 1. The Orderly suddenly thought of measuring some other distance and exited the procession. 

"Where's the animal's owner?" the inspector asked, and the owner stepped forward. "What's your name?"
"Dharma Mandavkar, Golmirey village, Chilpun taluka, Ratnagiri district, age 40, profession farmer." Dharma said the whole thing in a single breath, as if out of experience.
"Enough enough. Stop it. I see. Did anyone witness the accident?"
"Sir, I'll tell you." an over excited villager stepped forward. "Well...what happened.... what happened..."
"You tell me what happened. What can I tell you?" the inspector said impatiently.
"Yes yes, telling you. So sir... what happened...what happened was.."

The inspector sharply drew his breath with irritation, and the old man got to the point. Well, what he thought was the point.
"I was at Jilgya Maslekar's place. And I chewed some tobacco. Yes? And I had left his place to go. Yes?"
"And then?"
"Yes, yes, telling you...so.."
"Dada, you wait." he was interrupted by Supdu Sutaar, the village carpenter who had been silent so far. "I'll tell him. Sir, I saw the accident live-ly. Saw it live-ly."
"Alright, you saw it live-ly? Then tell me what you saw live-ly." the inspector turned to him.
"What happened, Sir, was, I chewed some tobacco, but at Zaglya's place, not Jilgya's..."
"You also chewed tobacco? Excellent!" the inspector thundered, "What does that have to do with anything? Get to the point!"
"Yes, yes, but let me finish what I... if you don't believe me, wait, Zaglya, did I chew tobacco at your place or not?". Zaglya answered in the affirmative. "See, I told you, Sir, I chewed tobacco. And then I was going... where?"
"How the hell should I know where?" the inspectors' annoyance was boiling over by now. "You tell me where you were going."
"I was going to Harchand Palav's place. Come here, Harchand." and Harchand stepped forward. "I was going to his place to fix his cupboard."
"But the cupbo..." the inspector tried to get a word in.
"Yes, just listen. Now, Sir, why did I go to Harchand Palav's place?"
"How would I know?"
"To fix his cupboard!"
"But what does that have to do with the mhais? Was the mhais inside the cupboard?"
"No. But what am I telling you? Listen. What happened to the mhais was...." Supdu showed some promising signs of getting back on track but veered away again, "All the hinges on Harchand Palav's cupboard were completely rusted and useless. Am I right, Harchand? Weren't they completely rusted? Tell him?"
"What does him telling me have anything to do with it? Tell me about the mhais." the inspector was at the end of his tether by now.
"Yes, so what I am saying is.... Harchand.."
"Harchand, you tell me what happened." the inspector turned to Harchand.
"OK, what happened Sir.." Harchand said.
"Just tell me what happened with mhais!!!" the inspector nearly exploded.
"What happened was... that thing, that thing was somewhat at the bottom, and that other thing was on top." Harchand helpfully added.
"What was at the bottom? What was on top?"
"I mean Dharma's mhais was at the bottom and the ST was on top."
"So did you or did you not see the actual accident happening?" the inspector wearily asked.
"Me? Who me? No, no, no, no!" Harchand replied. "I didn't see it happening. Why would I lie, Sir? I don't like lying. I just told you what I saw."
"Please, for god's sake, did anyone actually see the bus hitting the Mhais?" the inspector was now close to tears and decided to try another approach, "Who was seated in the front seat?"
"Heh, I was." the politician stepped forward.
"Your name?" the inspector asked.
"Babasaheb More." As soon as he heard the name Babasaheb More, the inspector's attitude completely changed.
"Oh, sorry, sorry. I didn't realize it was you, Sir." he said submissively, "You have seen, Sir, how sincerely I am conducting this investigation. But no one is cooperating at all. But how're you doing, Sir? Headed to Mumbai?"
"Yes. There's a meeting in Mantralaya (CM's office). Going for that. So you are posted at Chiplun these days?"
"Yes, Sir. Was transferred from Vengurla. I am sorry for all this inconvenience to you, Sir. Constable, get the register."
The constable immediately produced the register. He wrote down Babasaheb's statement about how it was the fault of the mhais and not the driver. The inspector started writing the FIR. Meanwhile the ST official offered the inspector a cigarette. With one eye on Babasaheb, he said, "No, thanks. I don't smoke or drink."

"That's very commendable" Babasaheb beamed approvingly, " It is so rare to find such simple and virtuous men in the police force these days." effectively, a character certificate for the inspector. This unexpected turn of events had suddenly raised Babasaheb's stock with all of us. The driver was looking at him with gratitude in his eyes. Dharma Mandavkar had stepped away and was standing there meekly. 

The inspector asked him, "How much did you buy the mhais for?"
"Two hundred rupees." he quietly answered.
"Hah, now it's two hundred?" a passenger jumped in. "A while back he was saying eight hundred. Such a blatant lie. What a liar this man is. And said the mhais gave 15 litres of milk. Hmpf!"
The inspector writing down the whole FIR at an amazing pace. He asked the vet,
"Doctor, did you examine the wounds? Did the wheels go over the mhais?"
"No way to say for sure." he replied.
"So it's most likely that the wheels did not do over the mhais?" the inspector prompted.
"Yes, yes, most likely. Most likely the mhais just has bruises." the vet caught on fast.
"Hmm.. so why did you people not put some sort of oil or something on the bruises?" the inspector asked Dharma.
"But what about my compensation? Who will pay for it?" Dharma mustered up some courage.
"You see, Babasaheb. Your voters are becoming more aware and assertive now, like the voters in a free country should." the inspector made a feeble attempt to banter, and everyone from Babasaheb onwards laughed heartily. "Alright, who else witnessed the accident? Did you?"
"Me?" Usman Bhai who had been asked the question gave a start. "No, no. I did not actually witness it. When the brakes were slammed, I fell on top of our Idrus Miyaan. And his glasses fell down. This is Idrus Miyaan, my son-in-law. Come here, Idrus. He works in Africa. And that there is my girl. And with her is my girl's girl. She is six months old. The girl's girl, I mean. Not the girl..."
"What's all this girl girl girl?" the inspector interrupted him. "Tell me about the mhais."
"Yes, yes. So the brakes were slammed, we all fell on top of each other. And the bus came to a stop. Babasaheb was sitting in front. He shouted "Mhais, Mhais!" and we got down and saw it was indeed a mhais mhais. That a mhais had come under the bus..."
That's when Babasaheb discreetly tugged at Usman Bhai's shirt, and Usman Bhai got the message and said,
"... but one thing is for sure. The bus wasn't really going very fast. What could the driver do if the mhais came in front? Everyone should take care of their own cattle, right, Sir?"

After an hour of this farce, the FIR was finally finished. The inspector read it out aloud, and asked many of us to sign it. We signed it, but didn't quite understand how a lot of details in the FIR were relevant to the accident.
For instance, there is a Jamun tree about 50 paces away from the site of accident, and a mango tree to the south-west, the total number of passengers and their luggage, Dharma Mandavkar's barn is 61 paces from the highway... and so on.

However, the mhais' wounds were described perfunctorily - it appears as if there might have been bleeding, it does not appear as if there are any broken bones, the mhais was walking from the east towards the north east, one horn of the mhais is 2.25 inches longer than the other (the constable had originally written 2.25 yards), and so on.
The whole FIR was filled with such bizarre details. It was read out aloud, signed by a few of us. The teacher, before signing it asked around at least half a dozen time "my signing this won't lead to any complications for me, right?", and after being re-assured, signed it timidly and passed it on. Usman Bhai signed it in urdu. Madhu Manushte... well.. this was the first FIR of his life. So he put down a long and elaborate signature in english, and as a suffix added, "Junior, B.A.".
Bagunana, when summoned, got up from his place, said, "I should sign it? of course, I will!", scribbled something extremely illegible, and went back and said to Jhampya Damle "Hehe, You know, I signed as Nana Phadnavis!"

Babasaheb of course ensured that here too, his name was first.
Finally all the signatures were done, and the FIR was officially finished. The passengers breathed a big sigh of relief. The next big question was picking up the mhais from the front of the bus. But it was possible to put the bus in reverse, back up, and then get going, so passengers thought that question was up to the mhais and the villagers. Everyone started climbing aboard the bus, keen to get going after almost half a day's delay. The villagers went to remove the cots from around the mhais. That's when we heard the cry once again,

"Mhais! Mhais! Mhais!!!!"

All of us ran down to see what had gone wrong now. The four cots had been knocked down. And as it happened, the heroine of this whole saga, probably unwilling to disturb all us important people busy with the FIR, had finished her nap, gotten up, and ambled away on her four feet a long time ago. 

P.S: I always wanted to do a translation of this story, but a painting shared on facebook gave me a shot in the arm to go on and complete writing the story. It has been shared in the first part of this blog. 

Mhais I

Mhais/ Buffalo

Prologue
Mhais is Marathi for buffalo. Now you must be wondering why this guy has written a blog about a buffalo!  But all I am doing in this blog is ‘trying’ to narrate a hilarious story written, told and enacted by my favorite author P. L. Deshpande (also known as Pu La)

I know a lot will be lost in translation, but then the story has to be told. As they say, an imperfection in telling a tale is better than not telling it at all.

Part I

This incident happened towards the fag end of the month of May. The 5 a.m. Ratnagiri-Mumbai State Transport (ST) bus roared to life as scheduled. By that I mean the engine started making noises right on time. But by the time it reached the highway, it was only 7 a.m.  Usually, this distance can be covered in 7 minutes.

I spent the first half an hour was spent in absorbing the individual differences between passengers and their collective differences with the ST.

Although, I was quietly observing the atmosphere (in the bus) I was getting extremely jealous of the passenger sitting next to me. Right from the moment he took his seat, he had managed to convince himself without a doubt that my left shoulder was a complimentary pillow offered to him by the ST. Finally at 6:30 a.m. when the bus finally got going with a loud noise made by the engine, he woke up and yelled out, “Honey! Go over to the other side and sleep quietly.” He was probably used to being woken up at wrong times by his wife. He then looked around and again quickly went back to sleep.

While my left shoulder was busy in entertaining this man, a hand now fell on my right shoulder. Assuming that it belonged to the guy on my right, I gave him a troubled look. But both his hands were busy holding to a jar of pickles, which was resting in his lap. Then where did he sprout a third hand from? I made a few futile attempts to crane my neck and solve this mystery, and then gave up.

While both my shoulders were engaged like this, an entire family took refuge at my feet. The head of the family had placed both his hands on my thighs with his palms outstretched. And the lady of the house was busy ensuring that the crying of the kid in her lap kept growing louder by the moment. They had placed a long broomstick between my legs. It’s other end was brushing my nostrils for the moment.

“Arre, why have you kept this broomstick standing?” I asked with a troubled look.

“If we don’t, won’t the handle be broken” the head of the family rebuked and swept me off with a broomstick.  A while later I came to know that the he had a tendency to throw up in buses.

I quickly started praying that I would not be a target of any thing that may emanate from his mouth.

Every few moments, detailed awareness of the bumps and potholes in the road was being felt in that part of the body where it should not have been felt. Even in this uncomfortable position I could not help thinking up a metaphor for the bus – that of a huge and speedy dumpling stuffed with the spicy mix of people and luggage.

In all this commotion, it would have been a miracle if the bus conductor had actually NOT messed up his calculations about the money. He tried to count the number of people in the bus some 7 to 8 times, and then gave up. Some khaki-clad ST employees gathered around to assist him in his book-keeping. And after a lot of investigation, it was revealed that one gentleman had bought a half-ticket for himself. That led to a bit of a verbal volley between the parties involved. The volley included swears unleashed by both parties on each other.

Right then, the bell in the bus rang. The engine roared briefly and went silent. It kicked back into life and vibrated for sometime. The engine displayed an admirable ability to produce a wide array of sounds. It would whistle and hum. It would screech and coo. At one point of time, I am pretty sure I heard the engine perform a few steps of Kathak too …

“All of this chaos is a result of taking the boats off the Mumbai route” one man said loudly. And that prompted a panel discussion. A khadi- clad elderly gentleman dressed in took it upon himself to chair the discussion, without any requests to do so.

The discussion continued regardless of the engine’s cacophony. Funny thing was that the engine’s horrible noises had an effect on the gentleman sleeping on my left shoulder and he now started snoring in a rhythm similar to the engine. Of course, everyone was sleepy. The bus was scheduled to leave at 5 a.m. so everyone had woken up at an unearthly hour and gotten ready. So majority of them were complaining that they could have slept for 10 minutes at home, If only they knew about this hold up.

I lost track of the panel discussion and when I looked over to their side, the khadi clad man, took a book out of his jute bag and pretended to read. He was seated on the conductor’s seat, so he started taking stock of the situation in an independent way. Before we boarded the bus, a lot of the ST employees had politely shaken hands with him and had nicely offered him the conductor’s seat. Sharper tacks among the passengers had then realized that his khadi garb was capable of covering up a lot more than just his body.

Finally after about two hours of trials and tribulations, the engine confidently roared into life and the bus got going. And as crowded as the bus was, people settled down into their seats for the journey, and started accruing their overdue forty winks. Finally when the bus went past the Hatkhamba crossing and got on the highway headed towards Mumbai, the only awake people representing the passengers and the ST organization were me and the driver. The rest of that travelling ecosystem was fast asleep.
 
Even the manner of sleeping differed from person to person. Some people, due to the roads’ bumpiness were alternately nodding their heads as if to say “yes yes yes yes” and shaking their heads as if to say “no no no no”. In other words, not quite unlike India’s foreign policy ….. Ambiguous.

Some people were tasting their sleep. Others were swallowing their sleep. Some were sleeping with an obviously high amount of determination. Others, with their eyes open, were trying to summon back the sleep that had slipped away from them.
After a while, the smell of the jackfruits and mangoes people were carrying with them, assimilated with the stink of the dried fish others were carrying, and those two formed a formidable coalition with the aroma of the flowers stuck in the hair of female passengers, and a potent scent spread all over the bus, seemingly waking up most of us. Furthermore, the road from Ratnagiri to Mumbai has a lot of twists and turns, which makes sleeping in a practically suspension-less bus almost impossible. Our bus-world yawned and stretched into life. Tamarind chocolates, lemon drops and other such snacks usually eaten to avoid puking started exchanging hands.

The khadi-clad politician had also caught up on his sleep, and he woke up and started with the second round of his pretence of reading the book in hand. Sitting in front of me was a buttoned down shirt, and next to it a Chinese collar kurta. Next to the kurta was an almost-pretty almost-petite young woman. Her family was probably taking her to Mumbai to meet prospective grooms. Next to them were Usman Seth and his ‘phemilee’ (read family) i.e. his daughter and son-in-law who had come to visit him for the summer. Usman Seth was going to Mumbai to keep them company.

Next to them was young Madhu Manushtey, a guy who defined what a whipster is. He was going back to Mumbai to start the next semester. And most of the other people were workers, clerks and other assorted salaried class types who had just used up their quota of leaves, and were returning to Mumbai with their wife and kids.
I, on the other hand was returning to Mumbai, as usual wondering “why the hell did I come here?”. While going to Konkan, “why the hell am I going there?” and while returning from Konkan, “why the hell did I come here?”; apart from these two, I find it difficult to have any other thoughts during my Konkan visits. Anyway, the whole bus was now more or less awake and I could also now move my left shoulder as its use as a pillow had drawn to a close. 

And then suddenly I heard, “Mhais, mhais mhais!!!!!!!!”, people were yelling the same thing in different voices from the front of the bus. Immediately after that, a sound that the letters from A to Z are incapable to describing – the sound of brakes being slammed very hard. And holding on dearly their noses and their lives, fifty or so men, women, children, and their trunks, suitcases, barrels, bed-sets, jackfruits, mangoes, brooms, ropes, tools… and an infinite number of purses… were rudely displaced from their respective locations. After that, you can imagine the scene. Some had their hands around someone else’s necks and shoulders; others had landed at someone else’s feet or in their laps. A few seconds passed in these rather unorthodox poses and positions, before everyone restored their dignities. And after a few more seconds, we all had a collective epiphany – a mhais had been run over by the wheels of our bus.

The driver had already jumped down from the bus. A lot of passengers also started rushing outside through the back door. A big crowd of passengers started heading towards the front wheels of the bus where the mhais was. Suddenly, a group of about a dozen or so women from the nearby fields gathered around the mhais with their few dozen children, and they all started wailing at the top of their voices. The mob around the mhais was so big, that I couldn’t quite gauge the precise nature of the relationship that had formed between the mhais and the bus’ wheels.

In all that commotion, I manage to steal a peek of the mhais. It seemed like she was trying to come to terms with all the wailing and crying that was going on around her. Plus she was nodding her head once in a while. You know connoisseurs at a musical concert or an opera nod their head in appreciation when the singer performs a particularly admirable vocal feat? It seemed as if the mhais too was periodically expressing its admiration whenever one of the ladies or the children let out a particularly amazing cry.

As I craned my neck a bit more, I saw a steady stream of blood flowing from the side of the mhais’ back which disconcerted me a little. The sight of blood makes me feel like I am going to faint. Even the blood from a swatted mosquito is enough to make me dizzy… and here was an entire mhais bleeding! Of course, I wasn’t the only one squeamish about blood. Because I wasn’t the only one from the bus who first ran enthusiastically towards the front wheels of the bus, and then made a swift retreat at the sight of the mhais.

In about five minutes or so, the number of voices in the crying chorus started dwindling. When the accident happened, all these ladies had for some reason assumed that it was their mhais that had been hit by the bus, and started bawling. As they took a closer look, the ladies started realizing one by one that the mhais didn’t belong to them, so they got up and went back to whatever they were doing. Pretty soon, not a single crying lady was there at the scene.

Then the driver, conductor, khadi-clad politician, and other enterprising passengers surged ahead for closer scrutiny. They crowded around the mhais and started examining the scene.

The mhais is still alive!” came the first update.

Then suddenly some of then started yelling, “Water! Water! Get some water!”

A gentleman who worked in an American company in Mumbai offered his thermos. For some reason, this man had informed everyone on the bus that he works in an “American company”. As he started advancing towards the mhais with his thermos, one guy stopped him and said, “Hehe. Just this much water? What good is that to this huge animal? Hehehe!”, and promptly chugged down just this much water himself.

“Your thermos is really good, by the way” he further added. “Must be American!” came his backhanded compliment.

The driver and conductor realizing there wasn’t much they could do but wait, ambled away to a corner and lit their bidis. Meanwhile passengers started splashing water on the mhais. And boy, did they splash! They splashed so much water, that if the passengers hadn’t decided to keep some of the water for their remaining journey and stopped, then the cause of death for the mhais in the autopsy would not have been “hit by a bus”, but rather, “drowning”.

After a while, the animal’s actual owner reached the accident site with his wife. The bawling started once again.
“Oh my chandi… my poor chandi… used to give 10 liters of milk everyday!”

10 litres! Buffalos are known to be very productive of course. But considering that this mhais was from Konkan, my guess is that the figure 10 liters probably referred to the sum total of all the milk she had given in her lifetime.

Now everyone gathered around the owner and his wife. The buttoned down shirt from the bus turned out to be a doctor. He started suggesting medicine for the mhais’ wounds.

“Hmpf! I won’t let anyone touch her!” the owner roared. “Let the police come and then we’ll see what to do about this.”

Police!!!!  None of the passengers had thought about this possibility.

“Yes yes. That’s right. That’s right. It’s an ak-shi-den. Unless the police come and an FIR is filed, nothing can be done when there’s an ak-shi-den.” said a jacket with a black cap.

Police.. FIR.. as these known terms started making rounds, some experienced passengers took down their bedding sets from the top of the bus. Walked over to an empty shed by the side of the road, and spread their mattresses.

“Hmmm….Bagunana… we are assured of a 4 hour nap now, what do you say?” said Jhampya Damle as he unfolded his body on the mattress.

“4 hours? Are you crazy, Jhampya? Remember, when the bus ran over a chicken last year near Hatkhamba, we were sitting around for 3 hours. A chicken! And here we have a full grown mhais. If a chicken took three hours, then a mhais will…? You do the math!” Bagunana said as he lay down, “We’ll be here till evening for sure.”

Meanwhile the sun was getting brighter, and people started looking for shade to take refuge in. Then some of them got together to look for water. Cigarettes and snacks started exchanging hands.

"You know, if she keeps bleeding like this, the mhais will die in about 15-20 minutes," Dr. Buttoned down shirt was trying to convince the politician.

"I don't care even if she dies," the owner overheard him and shouted, "but if I don't make the ST people regret this blunder of theirs, I won't go by the name Dharma Mandavkar again!"

Some new information for us all - the mhais owner's name was Dharma Mandavkar.

Suddenly, Usman Bhai caught hold of a kid, sent him up a Jamun tree nearby, and got a basketful of Jamun plucked out. Then some clever passengers sent Usman Bhai up a gum tree, as the expression goes, and got their own tongues blackened. That lead to another panel discussion - this time on the medicinal value of Jamun. Chairing the discussion was the khadi clad politician, as expected.  

As soon as familiar words like diabetes, hypertension and so on started being bandied around, the doctor joined the panel.

"Eh? No. What are you all talking about – Jamun and all? Nah, nothing in them." Doctor opened his mouth. So far it had been busy eating those Jamun.

For about five minutes or so, he delivered a jargon-filled and unintelligible monolgue, and the only useful information to come out of it was that he was a Doctor of Homoeopathy.

"Does your homoeopathy work on a mhais?" a curious mind asked.

"Don't be absurd. How can homoeopathy work on a mhais," came a dissenting voice from the corner.

"Why won't it work?" the curious mind bristled. "If it can work on humans, it must definitely work on mhais. You just need to follow the dietary restrictions sincerely, am I right, Doctor? But I must say, your homoeopathy's dietary restrictions are very hard to follow. What do you guys have against coffee?"

"Coffee has a toxin in it named tanin," said someone else, definitely a teacher. Because giving such an obviously wrong piece of information with such unshakeable confidence is something only teachers can do. This was the same guy who used my shoulder like a pillow.

"Who told you coffee has tanine in it? That's not correct. Tea has tanine." the curious mind responded, "Coffee has coffin or something like that. Am I right, Doctor?"

The doctor spat out a Jamun seed and was about to say something when,

"What nonsense are you talking about?" the teacher now bristled, "Coffin? Coffin is the Christian peoples' funerary box!!"

The teacher said the words "funerary box" with such self-righteous emphasis, that it summarily ended the debate on what coffee exactly has in it. And people returned to the panel discussion on characteristics of the Jamun fruit.

That's when we saw half a dozen men walking towards us with a few cots in their hands. 

....  to be continued 


** The portrait depicting the scene belongs to Ravish Dhanawade.
His blogs can be found at:
 http://ravishdhanawde.blogspot.in/2012_06_16_archive.html