My father was a medical officer in Manbhum District in then British East India. He had the pompous designation of a sub-assistant surgeon as the British rulers then described all “native” doctors by that term. They worked under a British Civil Surgeon and an Assistant Civil Surgeon of a district.

My father’s job was transferable and naturally we, father, mother, sisters and I, were almost always on the go. This gave us a great feeling of joy as we could explore new places and meet different peoples. It also imparted some variety in our lives that otherwise was quite monotonous and mundane.

We had several cows that were permanent members of our household and provided milk to us. After my father’s retirement, we settled down in Jamshedpur. By that time we had only one cow left. But she was a very good milch cow and provided us with good quantities of milk. We all loved her.

Jamshedpur was a steel town and fresh grass was hard to come by. We often had to leave the cow out on its own to graze. It used to come back every evening after grazing and everybody in the area knew it was doctor sahib’s cow.

One evening it returned home early and seemed quite ill. It could hardly stand and was passing liquid stool. My father and I went to see her and the cow looked at us pathetically as if imploring us to do something to relieve her from the agony.

We called a local Vaidya who came to take a look at the cow. He told us that someone had poisoned her and added that it won’t be possible to save her. As there was little that could be done, we remained by her side comforting her as best as we could by stroking and caressing her below her neck and head which she liked.

Suddenly a thought crossed my mind. The door of the cow shed was quite narrow and the cow could just about walk in and out. I asked my father that if the cow dies there, how we shall we take the carcass out?

Before my father could think of a solution and answer my question, our cow turned its head and looked at me with its pathetic eyes as if to tell me that she had understood what I had said.

With great difficulty it got up. Then somehow managing to stabilise itself on its tottering legs, slowly, very slowly started moving backwards step by step. It came out of its stable and upon crossing the threshold, fell down dead.

I could not hold back my tears and my hardened father who had seen many deaths as a doctor also had moist eyes. My sisters and mother came to see her one last time. She who had nourished us for so long with her rich milk.

None of us could hold back tears or eat that night and I never had any other cow in my life.