Story Of A Black Male Goat

Siddhi B Ranjitkar

Early in the morning of February 16, 2013, somebody groped my body, and then pulled me by my neck out of the company of my other goats. The man pulled me out of the dark room of the house, and brought me out but it was still dark. A microbus was waiting outside. One man climbed up the microbus another man pushed me up to the rooftop of the bus. The man tied up the rope holding me to the iron bar of the microbus rooftop, so that I could neither escape nor fall from the microbus. The microbus moved on through the dark lanes of Kathmandu making me almost fall due to the bumps. At first, I enjoyed the ride. It was not a first ride. However, soon I found that the chilly wind of the February morning of the Kathmandu made me shiver. I started making loud noise but none of the gentlemen and ladies riding the bus did care about my cries. The driver made a sharp comment on my cries, “it will see in a few moments.”

When the bus came out to the main highways, it ran so fast, the cold wind became unbearable to me. I cried as loudly as possible to hint the driver that I was cold but he did not take heed of my loud cries. After sometimes, the driver suddenly pulled over the car. I thought that someone was going to bring me down and I would stay with other humans to travel cozily. It was not true; a few policemen checked the bus. The driver and his helper talked to the police, and then let them go. Even the policemen did not take a look at me. The bus moved on, the cold wind hit me again making me shiver violently. I made noises but none of the passengers said a single word about my trouble.

A motorcyclist wrapped up to his nose in different clothes to protect from the hitting wind with a pillion rider signaled the driver to stop the minibus. The driver did not stop the bus. Then, the motorcyclist tried the second time to stop the bus but the driver did not stop it. At the third attempt, the driver pulled over his car on the side, and the motorcyclist told the driver, “the goat is going to die from the cold, bring it down and put it in the bus.” The motorcyclist moved on forward. Someone in the bus commented that the motorcyclist must be an animal rights man. Others kept quiet. The driver did not do anything but moved on. I made noises continuously, as it was the only way to keep me either warm or divert my attention from the bitter cold.

The driver stopped the car again. Policemen came out of the cocoon. One policeman asked the driver, “Where are you going?” the driver told the policeman, “To Dolakha Bhimsen.” The policeman wrote something in a register, and then gave him a signal to move ahead. Then, I thought that the driver must have been taking me back home.

I was born in Dolakha. I was the most privileged one among the siblings. I was black and male. A black male goat is very valuable to Nepalis. My cousins were castrated but I was not. Castrated goats get fat, and then sold out to butchers. They are not good for making sacrifices to deities, as deities don’t accept the castrated goats and female goats. Black goats like me are saved from castration.  I heard that some black goats but not entirely black are dyed to make them completely black before selling them out.

As I grew up, I enjoyed living together with my siblings. We went together to a nearby forest to graze. We could eat whatever we like. So, we became choosy. We picked up the topmost part of every plant to eat. The topmost parts are delicious and tender, and we enjoyed chewing them.

As I began to reach maturity, I started off going after the female goats. I am totally black. All other male goats have been already castrated. So, they are not much different from the female goats. Only thing they could not do is to reproduce other kids. So, I have monopoly on all the female goats. I even tried to ride on the castrated goats but they were shy and just ran away from me. They were not smart and active as I was. So, female goats don’t care of them but of me only.

I helped our boss to produce as my black male goats as possible. Once, he has so many black kids; he was sure that he could produce as many black male goats like me as he could feed them. So, one day, he told the shepherd, “Now, we can sell this black guy, as we have so many black kids. We can make them as this black guy. We cannot go on feeding this guy, it grows old, and nobody would buy it then. Now is the time to sell it because it will fetch the highest price.”

My boss sold me to a goat broker. This man bought a number of male goats, castrated goats and even some old female goats. My boss priced me higher than all other goats. My boss said to the broker, “This black goat fetches a highest price in the Kathmandu market. It has a special value.”

The goat broker did not contradict my boss. However, he bargained with my boss and finally bought me. Thus, I was separated from my siblings but with me were some other castrated goats but they were not active at all. They were keeping company with me but their business is just to eat. They don’t make even noises, as they are not used to shout and make noises. Then, we did not have a chance to go to a nearby forest. Some men of the broker brought us some feed but I did not enjoy them; however, other castrated goats chew them without question.

One day, a pickup truck came to us. A smart driver pulled over it just near to us. Some of us were frightened but I was not. I was wondering what for the truck was. After sometimes, some men came to us and forced us to board the pickup truck. It was the first time I ever had a chance to ride a vehicle driven by a human.

It was a long journey. We did not know where we were going. The road was long and winding. We moved sometimes left and sometimes right. Sometimes we climbed up and then down. The man sitting next to the driver told the driver, “Pleases dropped off the goats at the ‘khashi bazaar’ means a goat market in Kathmandu. The man told the driver, “there is still a chance of selling some of them immediately. I want to sell them as soon as possible. I cannot feed them. They are hungry all the time, they ask for fodder all the time.”

Certainly, we are hungry. It was almost a half-day we did not eat anything. We were used to eat the whole day but the goat broker did not feed us. As soon as we got off of the truck most of us ran after the leftover fodder at the goat market. However, none of us has a chance to snatch a leaf when the owner of the fodder started off hitting us with a long stick. We were never beaten off in our village. We were loved so much but in Kathmandu we found out that everybody came to us and bargained the price at which were to sell.

Every one of the castrated and old female goats was sold in weight but I was not. Goats in general fetched high prices but black goats in particular fetched the highest price. The seller and the buyer singled me out. Castrated goats fetched the second highest price, and finally the female goats fetched the lowest price.

I did not know why they priced me so high. Buyers come to see me and then turn away from me saying the price is high. Most of the castrated goats and female goats have gone but some poor looking castrated goats and very old female goats remained with me. At least I have had a company of someone of the same spices.

Then, today early in the morning, a man came to the owner of us, and told him, “I understand you have a totally black goat. I need a one. I have promised to sacrifice an absolutely black goat to Dolakha Bhimsen if my business grows. Since then my business has been growing fast. I need to sacrifice a black goat to Dolakha Bhimsen.”

The man checked my whole body to see if I have any other color hairs other than black ones. He used his powerful torch to light my body and went through every part of my body and finally satisfied with the color of my hairs. He did not bargained as others did at the goat market and elsewhere but simply counted the paper money and bought me, and then put me on the microbus to Dolakha.

Obviously, I was not going to my home but to the Business Deity called Bhimsen in Dolakha. It was already late morning when we reached Dolakha. My new owner was in a hurry to sacrifice me. He knew that only before noon he could sacrifice me to the deity because the spirit of the deity would leave the shrine afternoon, then the spirit of Lord Shiva takes the place. So, he has to do it just before noon.

He took me to the nearby stone spout to clean me, and then brought me to the shrine to the Dolakha Bhimsen that has been waiting for me to drink my blood, as he has already meet the demand of his devotee. Surprisingly, I saw some other goats of different colors, and some male chickens, too; all lined up to the deity.

Then, a priest came to me with a jar of holy water. He put some water in my ear and in my butt, too. I was so tired; so, I was not concerned with what he was doing. Then, the priest took one of my ears and told in hardly audible voice, ”You have been born to an animal because of your past deeds, now we will free you from the animal life forever if you agree on getting sacrificed to the deity.”  Then, he threw a handful of water to my ear and on my back and elsewhere. I need to shake my body to clear off the water from my body; so did I. They took it as my acceptance to what the priest said to me in my ear. One of them immediately grabbed my neck and pushed me to the deity. I saw the small metallic image of the deity.

Then, a strong man held me putting my belly on his left thigh, and then he held my mouth by his left hand inserting his thumb into my mouth. Someone behind us held my four legs together so that I would not be able to move. Then, the strong man upturned by head by his left hand, and took a sharp knife lying in front of the deity, and the man touched the knife his lead and asked the permission of the deity to sacrifice me to the deity. Then, he slit my neck in a sharp swipe of the knife. A fountain of my blood rushed to the metallic image of the deity. Thus, my blood washed the image of the deity. Then, they took me around the shrine offering my blood to the deities sitting around the shrine. Finally, they brought me to the foreground of the shrine, and laid me in peace there. The man slitting my throat separated my head from the body, and took it to the deity, and placed it in front of the image of the deity. Then, the priest lighted a bunch of wicks soaked in oil, and put them on my head facing the deity. This was to enlighten me to heaven. I would not need to be born as an animal but those so-called humans did not know how much I enjoyed my life as a goat until they sacrificed me to the deity that has increased the volume of business of his devotee.

They feasted on my meat. They enjoyed it very much. They distributed the meat as ‘prasad’ means the blessing from the deity. So, if you are born as a male goat you never know where and when you end up. There are many gods and goddesses that meet the demands of their devotees provided devotees sacrifice male goats in general and black male goats in particular in Nepal.

February 20, 2013