Mother Cow, Mother India: A Multispecies Politics Of Dairy In India

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THE DYING, NEWBORN Holstein bull-calf lay on his side, sinall head extended upward on the hot sands of the Jaipur live "cattle" market. Saliva and froth dribbled out of his mouth as he panted slowly and feebly. He was emaciated, skeletal, barely holding on to his life by a thread. His black and white soft skin, exposed to the harsh Rajasthani sun, was surprisingly clean, though covered thickly with flies who buzzed in droves around his mouth and mucous-laden eyes, which were cloudy and dull, staring unseeing into the distance.

Thick rows of buffaloes, cows, and their infants were tied close together in pairs near the trucks or in groups, their faces tightly harnessed together down to a low stake on the ground. These animals could scarcely raise their heads or shift even a couple of steps to the side, remaining that way for hours until sold and loaded onto cramped trucks. It looked chaotic, hot, dusty. However, as I was to learn, an organized method of buying and selling these animals was in place. There was already a ring of vehicles around the entire periphery of the market, mainly large Ashok Leyland trucks and smaller Tata Tempos, standing empty, or in the process of offloading animals. More trucks continued to drive in, every inch of space packed with animals. At the gate, there was a small shack where market managers and a veterinarian sat at a table, stamping "fit-for-transport" certificates, without which it was illegal to transport live animals. Throngs of middlemen stood nearby, bargaining on behalf of dairy farmers, butchers, and transporters, negotiating the price for these certificates to be illegally stamped. Past these clusters of chained mothers and calves, the animal market broke into open space.

Next to the dying calf, a female black and white cow lay in the middle of the exposed space, stretched out with her legs extended and neck arched, eyes rolling right to the back of her head, exposing only the whites. Her swollen udders hung heavily onto the scorching sands, which were steaming hot even through my sandals. Foam frothed from her mouth, and her entire body shook with her laboured breathing.

Manil, a Jaipuri animal activist, leaned over quietly to me. "Mother and son, no doubt," he whispered. "She must have given birth only one day or even only a few hours ago. They were transported in that condition, neither could withstand it."