Crocodiles

Some years ago, I visited a zoo where two hundred and fifty baby crocodiles splashed in and out of a pond. The babies were all the same age, and each looked exactly like the next. They swam, played and sunbathed without an apparent care in the world. They were not aware that eventually they would wind up sautéed and processed into leather.
    A bridge, roofed in glass, had been constructed over the pond. A table offered a few small fish which could be bought tossed to the crocs through the bridge’s windows. What a pleasure it was to watch the reptiles’ antics. How they stared up at us, eagerly awaiting a snack.
    Oh, my goodness, I wondered, what will happen when they reach full-size? Where will all the necessary food come from?  Two hundred and fifty ravenous beasts!  And might it be possible they will become tame in captivity?
    Two years later, curiosity took me back to the crocs. Not even half of them were left. The survivors had matured into a wide range of sizes. How this could be? All had been raised in the same conditions, with the same food and care. I bought some fish and threw them through the window into the water. As soon as a fish was in the air, the crocodiles started fighting. The biggest and strongest reptiles snatched the tidbits. When I tried to throw a fish to a smaller croc, it was pushed away by its pond mates and denied food. How did the zookeepers manage to feed each charge? Wasn’t it their duty to make sure every animal developed equally? Or did they allow nature to take its course, letting the beasts decide amongst themselves who ate and thrived? Ironically, certainly it is the fat crocodiles which are slaughtered first. Is that some sort of justice? So many questions  . . .
    Another two years passed before I returned again to the crocodiles. Their number had shrunk even more. Unchanged, however, was the composition of the group – there were small, medium-size and big crocodiles.
 

24.11.2009

The journey of the water buffalos

Not long time ago in a deep valley near a big river, there lived a herd of wild buffaloes. Every year the meadows flooded, and the buffalos had to move to dry fields. Often during their evacuation, they could not find food for several days. Many died.
After one year’s very heavy monsoon, the animals considered if it might not be better to leave their homeland. They had a deep desire for a less-complicated life, one that was safe and offered reliable foraging.
    Most of the herd agreed to the move, but a few preferred to remain. This was their homeland, they said, even if the grass was sometimes sparse and the rains were often unforgiving. They loved this place, the buffaloes continued, despite tigers that lurked in the forest and crocodiles that bullied at the river.
    After three days, the buffaloes that did depart came upon juicy pasture surrounded by shadow-spreading trees. Nearby there were fields where farmers cultivated rice. The lead cow spoke, “This place offers us a good future. There is enough to eat. If we work hard for the farmers, they will protect and feed us. Here, I think, we would have no worries. I suggest we stay.”
Most agreed and celebrated by wallowing in a waterhole. A small group of young, strong buffaloes disagreed, however. They had no desire to be controlled by man and to submit to an early death from hard labour. So, their journey continued.
These buffaloes walked for days, which turned into months. Every time a beckoning grassland was reached, one of them said, “There must certainly be a better one ahead. We should keep going.” And they did.
    In time, the buffaloes arrived at an area so distant, they had never visited it before. There was no grass at all. The ground was covered in asphalt. There were no views of rivers or hills. Instead, there was a sea of houses. To quench their thirst, the buffalos had to drink from fountains. The only food available was what they could snatch from street vendors’ carts. Almost immediately, they were forced into trucks by men with sticks and rifles. They were unloaded at a zoo.
    Although they now live their lives behind bars, the buffaloes did achieve their goals – there is continual food, they do not have to work and their home never floods.
    A few especially handsome and clever buffaloes were awarded the special honour of joining a circus.
 

13.11.2009

The way to high school
 
    “Mum,” Nalinh said, “I don’t want to go to school anymore.”
    “Why not?” asked his mother with surprise. “You have always liked school.”
    “All the other kids come on bicycles. I am the only one who walks. I feel ridiculous.”
    “You don’t have a bicycle, Nalinh, because we don’t have the money to buy you one.”
    “Right.  And I am not going to go to school if I have to walk.”
    His mother was very troubled by this conversation. She talked with her husband. “The boy has to be educated. He can’t drop out. We have worked really hard and sacrificed to have our son reach high school. His education will let him have a better life than we have had. We must get him a bike.”
    The next day, Nalinh proudly rode his new bicycle to school. His satisfaction was short-lived.
“Mum, I am not going to go to school anymore. Everybody has a motorbike except on me. All I have is this silly old bike,” he moaned three weeks later.
    The mother tried to reason with her son, but he remained resolute. The next day he stayed in bed and refused to leave the house. This time, his father relented. He lent his motorbike to his son and rode to work on Nalinh’s bicycle.
 Nalinh was happy. A little more cajoling and threatening by the boy resulted in his father buying additional mirrors and stickers for the motorbike. He also paid for it to be painted in florescent colours.
    ”I need a car,“ Nalinh demanded with a pout three months later.
    “A WHAT?” his mother responded in astonishment. “Have you lost your mind? Have you ever
thought where this family’s  money comes from?”
    “Everybody has a car, and I want a car too. You and Dad always find the money. If I can’t have a car, I’m leaving school.”
The father was furious when he heard those words. But he also felt sure his son was serious and wouldn’t change his mind. The father knew his son was not alone in his demands. He saw the results of belligerent children every day on the street. There were more and more cars with younger and younger drivers. His son without a high school diploma? Impossible! With a very heavy heart, the father sold the land which was to have been his small farm in retirement.  The child’s education must be the priority. The father bought a small second-hand car and was happy when he saw his son smiling.
    No one could figure out how Nalinh’s father was able to raise the money to buy his son a pick-up truck a few months later. The neighbours busily whispered about Nalinh’s mother gaunt look as she bought poor quality produce from equally poor vendors who spread their scrawny vegetables on the ground for sale.
    One night, Nalinh had the most vivid dream:  he was behind the wheel of his latest set of wheels, a brand new minivan. He drove it to school where he flashed its lights and honked the horn before parking where everyone could see him and the gleaming machine. All the students gazed at the car with frank jealousy.
    When Nalinh awakened the next morning, he was still smiling with the notion of his van. When he went to get into the pick-up to drive to school, the smile vanished in an instant.  Instead of his truck, a burnt  heap awaited him at the kerb.
 
29.11.2009