Gauri-The Adorable Bride.

As an eighteen-year-old boy, raised in a city, I was captivated by Gauri’s big, sparkling eyes. She wobbled on her unsteady legs, still mastering the art of walking.

Granny kept me updated on Gauri’s playful antics after I returned to the city.

Three years later, I came to Granny’s home for another vacation. Gauri had blossomed into an elegant young cow, standing confidently among the other cattle, a calf at her side. She held a special place in Granny’s heart.

In the years that followed, Gauri proved invaluable to my grandmother, providing abundant milk.

“Isn’t it amazing how graceful she is, especially when you compare her to the other four cows we have? Gauri has never once acted out or shown any resistance during milking. She always lets out a gentle moo before she wants to relieve herself, signaling that it’s time for her to be moved to a corner of the shed.” Granny often spoke highly of Gauri.

Little did I realize, as I marveled at Gauri’s remarkable growth, that destiny was weaving a tale far more intricate than I could ever imagine. Eight years later, I was left contemplating the unexpected turns life had taken.

“Pritish’s horoscope says he has every chance of a second marriage,” lamented Shivani’s mother, causing my mother to dab her eyes.

“Don’t worry. According to the pundit, we will arrange for Pritish and Gauri to tie the knot. The next day, we will cut the yellow thread from her neck and annul the marriage. She’ll simply be known as his ‘first wife,’ now divorced. Thus, Pritish will have a second marriage with your daughter.”

Granny had already negotiated with a villager to sell the other cows, as age was catching up with her, and the workers reported at erratic times.

Only Gauri had remained her favourite cow. Granny decided to retain her. So Gauri became the only choice for this ‘marriage’.

While I had always cherished Gauri as a cow, she was being proposed as my first wife!

I wasn’t one to easily embrace any antiquated beliefs, yet several emotional appeals surrounded me.

I wasn’t a firm believer in horoscopes. Yet, I wondered, what was the point of Shivani’s mom checking the horoscopes when we had already chosen to be together? They say ignorance is bliss; had this topic not come up, we could have steered clear of unnecessary anxieties. Despite my reservations, I decided to play along to appease the elders and keep Shivani, who seemed quite distressed, happy.

.

The wedding was arranged at Granny’s house.

Clad in my groom’s attire, I watched as Gauri was adorned with a shimmering red dupatta.

“This is absurd,” I thought as the pundit proclaimed us husband and wife, after he instructed me to tie a yellow thread around Gauri’s neck and apply sindoor on her forehead.

My friends seized the opportunity to poke fun at me through messages. ‘All the best for your first night with Gauri-hahaha.’

Disgusted, I squeezed my eyes shut, attempting to drift off. The pundit had instructed me to be ready by 7 the following morning for the ceremony to remove the yellow thread from Gauri’s neck.

I visited the cow-shed for the so-called ‘divorce’ ritual. The pundit arrived. After reciting some mantras, he handed me a pair of scissors and said, “Now you can cut the thread. It’s the right moment to end a marriage.”

What happened next was pure chaos. Gauri let out strange calls and shook her head fiercely, refusing to allow the scissors anywhere near her. My mother and grandmother held her firm, urging me to act quickly. Shivani’s mother joined the frantic scene, her frustration evident.

With a decisive wave of my hand, I chose to put an end to this commotion.

My affection for Gauri ran deep. Honestly, what sort of humanity allows such cruelty towards a cow? It was clear she was distressed by someone attempting to cut the yellow thread tied around her neck.

“Leave her,” I declared firmly.

“But…,” my mother began hesitantly, gauging my growing annoyance.

“Listen, Mom,” I said, raising my finger in the air and glancing around to indicate that my words were intended for everyone present. “You all pressured me into this marriage ritual, which has no legal standing. So, why should we distress that poor, innocent cow? Let the thread remain.”

My elevated tone silenced all discussions. I turned to Shivani, and she nodded in silent agreement, our understanding clear.

The wedding proceeded, and our careers soon took us overseas.

Before we left, I made it abundantly clear to my grandmother not to bother Gauri or attempt to cut the thread. I knew the women weren’t happy about it, but I stood my ground.

A couple of years later, I learned that Gauri’s health had declined.

When Shivani and I visited the village, we were heartbroken to see Gauri’s deterioration. She passed away shortly after we arrived, as if she had been waiting for us.

Draped in her bridal red dupatta and with the yellow thread still around her neck, Gauri departed, seeking eternal peace.