Fear of death
It was a Monday in Feb. 1960.
The heat was unrelenting. In the cloudless sky, a solitary eagle was
seen flying in erratic circles.
 Henry was inside the premises of the municipal slaughterhouse in
Baseline Road, Dematagoda, looking for the office to buy an animal
branded for slaughter, for a vow.
The place was oppressively quiet and sombre like a cemetery. Standing
there all alone he felt uncomfortable like a trespasser. Some heads of
cattle were inhumanly tied to stakes at the far end.
They were apparently brought by someone for slaughter. In the land
adjoining was the incongruously located, “Society for the Prevention of
cruelty to Animals.” Then, out of nowhere emerged a man dressed in
sarong and banion. He was unshaven and looked unfriendly. Henry was
shaken by the sudden ghostly appearance.
“Looking for anything, Sir?”he asked.
“Yes, the slaughterhouse office”.
“For what, Sir, you are not allowed in there.”
“I want to buy an animal for a vow. Can you help me?”
“Yes, the animals over there are mine. I am selling them to the
slaughter house today. If it suits your purpose pick one.”
His answer revealed a callous disregard for life but it brought him
unexpected relief. He was spared the red tape of dealing with the
office.
He looked at the wretched bunch of cattle to make a selection. They
were seven in all.
The females outnumbered the males.
All were weak, hide and bone caricatures looking sad and listless
with far away looks in their wet eyes.
They seemed full of what was impending. Animals sense death when it
is imminent. The forewarning is relayed to them by some mysterious force
in nature beyond comprehension.
He picked the young bull and paid the man his price. The help he
needed to take it out, he got from a labourer named Wilfred.
He showed Wilfred his proud selection. “Its almost a calf. Merit to
you for saving it”, said he casting an unpleasant remark at the seller.
 The seller was a small-time businessman. His business was meat. For
him, slaughter was not immoral.
Henry’s animal had a lovable face. The horns were just peeping out
like cork in a bottle. The eyes, wide open from excessive fear, were
tearing. The flow had left a dark trail on the sides of its face.
He did not know that it was crying. He did not even know that animals
cry. Few people do. The cry of an animal is different. It is noiseless,
introverted. Only the eyes reflect it. They, however, do not cry
unprovoked like humans. They cry for some compelling reason as when they
know they are to be killed. The consequent agony is similar to that
suffered by the condemned in death-row.
Wilfred armed with the rope tactfully approached it. He first felt
its head fondly to calm it. Then very gently noosed it. It behaved well.
Then he called, “Come on Son, let us go!” and pulled the rope. It did
not move. When force was applied, it shook its head violently and
dropped to its feet. It now lay rock still.
To make it stand up a lot of endearing words, goading and tugging had
to be used. Once on its feet, it ran straight to the road and along it
like a wild horse. So strong was it that their combined strength would
not restrain it. The rope slipped from their hands. It broke free. It
was running away from death, terrified, pathetically unaware that it had
been saved. Henry was angry but the fear of death is a necessary
concomitant of life.
While running, it detoured at a by-road and galloped over marshes,
gardens, fields and ditches with the two of them in hot pursuit. Henry
could not afford to lose it and followed it resolutely. It had covered
quite a distance when, for its own good luck, got bogged down in a
stinking garbage dump near Wanathamulla Road. They watchfully approached
it. Wilfred grabbed the rope. The animal was so passive that Henry
thought it had resigned to the ultimate.
He found transport for it in an empty firewood cart going his way.
Wilfred was paid his fee. Henry’s purpose was achieved. It was a moment
of triumph for him. The seven hour ordeal ended. Exhausted and unkempt
but happy, he took a bus home. The cart with the bull would follow him.
Before sundown, the cart drove into Henry’s compound. He unharnessed the
bull, tilted the cart and carefully manouvered the animal out.
 Henry and family regally received it. Then they all crowded around
it. Henry affectionately patted its hind quarter. But it did not
respond. Its muscles did not twitch nor its ears flick. It stood dead
still scornfully rejecting everything and everybody. Its initial shock
and fear seemed to linger. Its eyes continued to tear, now, more
profusely. It did not eat or drink.
Even on the second day, it rejected food and water. Henry was worried
that it would starve itself to death. He decided to call the vet the
next day.
But on next day something remarkable happened. His seven year-old
son, on whose behalf the vow was made, placed a bucket of water by it.
It looked at the child trustfully. Then gurgled the water in one huge
draught. From then on it ate and drank ceaselessly. Its eyes teared no
more. It was brimful of life. The very same instinct that caused it to
rebel had assured it that it was in safe hands. Its fear of death
completely evaporated.
As for Henry, he was at peace now. The all important vow of a life
for a life had been honoured.
- D. P. L. W. Silva
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