Skip to main content

Of Rebellion and Revolution

Cattle are important. And because cattle are important, cowherds are important. There has to be someone to milk the cattle and clean the dung. It doesn't benefit a king to kill cowherds.

Which is why, when the rebellion comes, it comes from the cowherd. He may be dark-skinned and wear feathers in his hair and play bamboo flutes and spend the day far too alone to gossip and plot, but he observes. He watches the oxen drag the plough, the crack of the whip behind them. But he also looks at the same bulls in the spring, locking horns in fierce combat. He watches the cow obey the hurr-hurrs as she is led along the road, but he also sees how she becomes a tigress when her calf is in danger. The same bullocks that solemnly drag the overloaded cart, now maddened, gore the drover.

The cowherd observes, and he learns that the weak can become strong. He learns that sickles can become swords, that the humble wooden stick can break a spinal cord. He may be a king's human beast; but listen to the notes of the flute, and tremble. In those notes, crowns are tossed away.

in the creak
of the old gibbet
a war cry
that shook the earth
but not the throne

(Published in Haibun Today September 2014)

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Ku on the theme of "Water"

 drinking up a mountain of ice tea — summer heat Holi advent… all the colours of the water guns neighbour’s plants — Amma’s acrobatics to water them potted plants — we redirect or neighbour’s A/C drip after last rites resealing the pot of gangajal summer forenoon sparrows turn our dog’s bowl into a bath (Published in Cafe Haiku on 04/04/2021 for the theme of "Water")

spooky road...

 

Homecoming

He was a Sainik School boy, since his 6th standard, then NDA, then IMA. 45 years of marriage to my mother did not get that out of his system. I was internally devastated as we wheelchaired him to the Navy hospital ward. He'd lost weight and energy and, as it seemed, the will to live. At the Navy hospital, we weren't allowed to stay or minister to him. I thought I had seen the last of him. In the night call with mother he told us what he ate at the Naval hospital: noodles and manchurian for lunch, chapati-dal-subzi for dinner. We had struggled for weeks as he nauseated food, and ate nothing but thin buttermilk. That was his home, among the men in uniform. The boy just got home, after 30 years in the wilderness of civilian life. finally finding what our pet likes eating most — attention Published in Glomag May 2025