The Masterpiece

The final test of loyalty

Chapter 1: the day of placement

One couldn’t ask for a better day to retrospect. Sitting on the grass, waiting for the night to cover me with its shadow of peace, I felt a deep force running through me, the feeling of accomplishment. Placements had just started in our college and I had been quite lucky to land up with a sweet job at the start itself. It was as if my college life was finally getting over. During such moments in life people look out for other people in trouble, which I believe is a sadistic impulse one gets. The touch of fur and hair would remind me of a long haired guy in college who would throw himself on me without provocation, but, unlike his brute touch it was extremely soft and momentary. With a swift turn of the head I could see him. His majesty had to be acknowledged. Silvery white hair, brooding jaws and two eyes which displayed grace were lost on me in an instant. The hair on his body was like grass on the meadow waiting for the wind to work itself through it, the wind, like a mermaid wading through the blue ocean with sheer joy. His domestication and age were apparent from his grace and sublime submission to the work of time. It was strange that a dog from the elegant and sophisticated breed of Pomeranians could be found wandering near a boy’s hostel.

Chapter 2: acquaintance

“Where is his rightful owner?” “What is this pet dog doing here?” “What about the hostel hygiene?” the student mess in-charge was in a foul mood and a fleeting look at the creature basking under the afternoon sun certainly aggravated his irritation. The authorities had handed out several memos to the members of the hostel committee and the content demanded specific budget cuts in the food supplies which were unreasonable at this point of time, since the cost of vegetables were scaling record heights. Some of the hostel mates were quick to notify him about the dog’s history and rendered a calculated narrative which could explain why the creature was enjoying its afternoon siesta out on the hostel lawn bench. The dog had been abandoned by the owner for some reason and ironically, he found some solace in the noisy environment of the hostel. The mess in-charge was able to direct his anger at something else and the dog was perhaps, able to brood over a lost bone. Evidently, his claws had worn out and his latency was quite a concern for many dog lovers in the hostel but there was nothing much they could do about it. His prior domestication and inoculation from the wild had made his body a slave to medicinal shots. Without veterinary facilities the dog was considered as a living host of diseases and some inmates kept a safe distance from him. Some youngsters pitied the mongrel and spared some food occasionally. “We should call him “Stalin”” remarked Basu. Basu was a music maniac and loved to flaunt words in his vocabulary and as any ardent follower of communism; he carried a volume of speeches delivered by Marx in Russia with him even to the rest-room. His belligerent response to everyone’s disgust was a simple statement delivered with conviction, “If Archimedes could frame a theorem in his bathtub, I am just seconds away from self discovery and enlightenment”. Despite Basu’s idiosyncrasies, his discussions were emphatic and engaging, forcing many inmates to believe that he was some kind of a ‘misplaced’ philosopher. However, everyone seemed to like the title he blessed the dog with and Stalin was now ‘unofficially’ the new resident of our hostel lawn.

Slowly, everyone got used to the presence of Stalin and any reference to him helped us distract ourselves from the usual arduous routine in the hostel.

Chapter 3: The incident

The sophistication involved in a dog’s life can be slowly understood by studying their general behavior. Stray dogs divide themselves into groups and clusters where each group understands their territorial limitations. The territories are usually divided according to the benefits in an area and some compromise is reached, which not only allows them to live in a chartered manner but also helps them to claim food in their zones. Any intruder in their zone is unwelcome barring human beings who are apparently their “perpetual masters”. It took only a week before Stalin had to face the native dogs and the incident remains etched in my mind.

It was a cold winter night, and all the hostel inmates were busy with assignments and reports they had to submit the following week. A packed hostel in the night is reminiscent of a busy office on the streets of Manhattan before the close of the stock exchange. The only difference lies in the nature of work and the type of noises that erupt infrequently. The night draped a blanket of darkness over the pavements and roads leading to the hostel. Stalin crouched on a bench in the lawn lazily drawing his eyes to close. Then out of instinct he opened his eyes to see a dozen glittering eyes advancing towards him. The stray dogs of this zone had decided to attack him and this had to be done to assert their authority and rights in the zone. Stalin stood his ground. He had none of the tenacity his opponents possessed and was clearly outnumbered. He had almost decided that it had to be his final stand before death when Basu and I walked out of the gate in the hostel. Basu was the first one to notice the standoff and in an effort to save Stalin, he picked up a rock and threw tentatively at one of the attackers. Following suit, I aimed at two other attackers and visibly stunned the stray animals ran for their lives. Satisfied with our effort we stepped on an old haggard motorbike and drove to the night canteen which was 4 Km from the campus.

We finally reached the gas station to refuel and searched our pockets for money. “Hey, somebody picked my wallet” remarked Basu. “How the hell can you be so careless?” my reprimand did not make any significant impact as our vehicle was comprehensively dry and we were stranded at the petrol pump without any cash at our disposal. “Eh, this is gonna be our longest night together, comrade” joked Basu. I was not in the mood for jokes as I had to forward an assignment next morning and the worst part was that I had no clue about the topic. “Guess what, Stalin followed us to the station” remarked Basu. As the exasperated animal came closer we were in for a special surprise. Stalin had picked up Basu’s wallet from the road, where he had carelessly dropped it, and ran all the way to pull us out of the mess.

Chapter 4: The Final Test

Keeping track of seasons and describing them with passion and panache is a hobby well suited for poets and great writers. However, such changes rarely make an impact on a superficial community which yearns for materialistic benefits just by joining pieces of metals and plastics to conjure a device used by a million lazy people to simplify their lives. The only thing which mattered to us was the mess timetable and whatever they had to offer during the recess.

In the evening, hostel inmates loved to squat on the lawn, making groups and explicitly narrating their chronicles of successes and failures which were inevitably spiced up with infectious laughter rendered by the audience. The clock of life had changed Basu, who by now had developed certain capitalistic inclinations after reading about the ideological shifts developing in socialistic nations. It was still hard to say whether he was an ardent follower of Marx or a Friedman enthusiast, but it did not matter much as nobody ever took his political views seriously. Stalin was an apathetic member of the confluence and he had developed no special interest in Basu’s theories and arguments.

Many people enjoyed their evening walk and some people walked their dogs in the college campus which included the hostel premises. Hostel lawns also served as grazing grounds for numerous cows and buffaloes and soon their open defecation in specific areas caused uproar amongst students who demanded the disposal of cow dung from the hostel. However, the authority thought it was best not to entertain such complaints as students may start demanding more luxuries. In fact, some wardens even publicly spoke in favor of the defecation, specifically relating their childhood accounts of playing with cow dung and slapping cakes on their walls, which were received with suppressed expressions of disgust and dissent. Fortunately, cows realized soon enough that their nature’s call was the topic of a public debate and wisely refrained from public excretion much to students’ delight. This kind gesture earned them the right to roam freely near the hostel premises and agitations were unanimously withdrawn by inmates.

Dusk was fast settling in when somehow, an evening dog walker unintentionally irked a bull and subsequently, the bull started charging at him with blood shot eyes and murderous intent. The dog walker went white with fear as blood drained from his face. The poodle accompanying him concealed itself behind the fellow’s legs and slightly raised his cowering eyes which betrayed a stifling feeling of helplessness. In a flash, something sprang up on the bull’s ear biting into the soft and hairy hide with aggression and skill. The bull was evidently surprised by Stalin’s move and temporarily lost control over its objective. The bull ran in various directions before deciding to shrug Stalin off its ear. The bull rammed him on the ground with a force apparently equal to ten times his body weight. Stalin’s bones would have been pulverized by the impact but he still held his jaws tightly on the bull’s ear. The bull rammed Stalin on the trunk of a nearby tree and unable to withstand further pummeling he broke free. The bull was still in frenzy as the shock of being attacked had almost driven him crazy. While we rushed to Stalin for help the bull swiftly disappeared into the thickets. Stalin wasn’t breathing. The dog walker wiped beads of perspiration from his forehead and stood awkwardly, struggling to maintain some form of composure. “Yeah, what a waste. He was no good anyway. He was more like a roaming box of fleas. I had to abandon this beast” retorted the dog walker. This ungrateful fellow was the erstwhile owner of Stalin. The whole gathering raised their heads in his direction and sensing resentment he hurried down the road without looking back. Everyone was silent. Stalin was lying tangled on the tall grass near the tree and yet, he looked calm. “Maybe this is what they call honor; saving people who no longer need you” said Basu silently. For the first time everyone agreed with him. Stalin had cleared the test; the final test of loyalty.

R. Lakshminarayan

“Dedication and loyalty are virtues of the great”