Bonnie and Lonie

Bonnie was the daughter of a street dog who often came to eat the scraps foods we threw in the dust-bin. When the street dog gave birth to four little pups, my daughter Layla wanted to have a pet of her own. The dogs were light yellow, each having warm brown eyes. One of it was slightly bigger than the others and led the group. Two followed. The third one, being a little sickly, kept to herself. It mostly sat around, watching the others play with dried coconut shells, or search for insects in the ground.

Layla insisted we keep all four of them. She had recently learned about kennels in her science class, and she wanted to build a wooden kennel for the pups.

It took two days and a lot of tears, to convince Layla that we could, and should keep only one pup. She argued, “But why should we keep only one? What did the others do? They are all so nice.”

Layla’s mother, Rukmini, angry at my patience at reasoning with a six year old (she insists that little girls must not be allowed to reason, or rather argue, to use her own words), burst out, “If you keep four pups, I am simply going to throw both of you out of my house! God, in no time there would be dog poop everywhere, and dogs in beds and sofa and no place for us to sit in peace.”

I told Layla, “Layla dear, it’s not about what the other pups did or did not. We cannot keep all four as we do not have so much space around, you understand? Plus, it would upset mom. Now would you want to upset you mother?”

“No… but I get to choose which one to keep!” she finally agreed, looking at the playful dogs from the balcony.

“Okay! Agreed. So, which one do you choose?”

Layla rose from her chair and walked out of the balcony. Near the little rose shrub sat our sickly Bonnie, at a distance, peacefully watching the other three pups playing. Layla kneeled down beside her and scooped her up in her lap. The dog looked surprised at first, and threw her legs around, and moaned a bit. Then Layla stroked her nose slowly, brushed the skin around her throat. And then, Layla and Bonnie became friends.

“She’s so fragile. I love her. I will keep her.”

***

Bonnie, the fragile one, grew up to be a smart young dog. She followed Layla around like a shadow. The sickly young pup was now the faithful sister to Layla. As Layla studied, Bonnie sat under her study table and licked her feet. In the mornings and afternoons they played in the field with ball.

On a fine October morning, few years later, Bonnie gave birth to five little puppies. Once again, it was time for Layla to choose. This time it did not need much convincing, for she had already arranged for the other four pups to be given away to her friends from school. Her friends were delighted, and me and my wife mused upon how Layla had argued years earlier to keep all four Bonnie. How Time changes, and how little girls grow. We sipped the tea in our balcony as Layla’s friends took the pups away, and Layla smiled broadly as she saw her friends happy.

***

We called Bonnie’s son Lonie. Unlike little Bonnie, Lonie was stronger. He strode about, jumped on our laps as we sat in the afternoons sipping tea. He walked around confidently, exploring every part of the house. One day we found a necklace, a family heirloom we thought we had lost a long time ago, trailing behind Lonie, stuck around his hind paw. My wife, Rukmini, for the first time, expressed openly her love for the canines. She gave extra dog food to the dogs that day, and made a special dish for our dinner.

One day, early October, two years after Lonie was born, Layla and Rukmini left for Rukmini’s parental house. It was festivity time – Maa Durga had made her arrival, and Rukmini’s family invited us over to spend the four days of the festival with them.

I had got holidays for only two days from office, so, I decided I would join Rukmini and Layla the next day.

That day in the afternoon, my old friend Sam had come up, and chatted over coffee politics, inflation, and about the monotony of the same festivities year after year. When I went to see him off, Lonie tagged along with me. Bonnie, as usual sat with her almond brown eyes overlooking the street from the balcony.

Lonie trotted off behind me, running after cats, and occasionally digging up soil and chasing flies, as Sam and I walked and talked. Sam had to take a bus. So, we went to the bus stood and waited.

While we waited, I mused upon how much life had changed since I had last met Sam. I received a mild shock when my friend poked me at my elbow informing that his bus had arrived. It was then I realized that all this time I had paid no attention to what Sam was talking about, or the cars queuing in the puja rush hours, their incessant honking venting out frustration of the long jammed roads.

“Gotta go, brother! It’s nice meeting ya. Please drop sometime soon at my place whenever you are in Kolkata. Wouldn’t ya?” Sam called out as he climbed the bus.

“Yeah, sure! See you!” I beamed at him, and waved him good bye. It was a nice evening indeed. The buildings around were dressed in little twinkling lights, and the road was crowded. People from all walks of life, wearing their best dresses, went from pandal to pandal to see idols of Goddess Durga. The ones in cars, honked constantly for others to clear the road. The ones on foot cursed the honking, and the frantic little traffic policemen constantly waved hands to manage the traffic. This time, tomorrow, I would be away from this madness, tucked inside the remote village of my wife’s ancestral house, celebrating a homely and peaceful Durga puja. So much for city life!

I turned around for return when I realized I hadn’t seen Lonie for some time now. I called out, “Lonie!”

But there was no familiar bark acknowledging my call. I repeated a few times, and then noticed my sturdy dog, on the opposite side of the road, his ears alert. Obviously he had heard me, and was wagging his tail. I waited for him to cross the road.

It all happened in fractions of seconds. I saw Lonie trotting towards me, and then out of nowhere came the car. For a split second I felt it hitting Lonie. The car braked suddenly. Lonie let out a sharp cry. I saw him stagger and turn around. Then the car passed. I could not ascertain how bad Lonie had been hit. There were cars after that, and more and more people. I stood on this end of the road, waiting for the traffic to clear. When I finally managed to get on the other side squeezing myself into a crevice of the never-ending traffic, there was no Lonie to be seen.

I called out again, and once more, there was no acknowledging bark. This time, however, I couldn’t keep my calm. I walked into the street adjoining the road, calling repeatedly, but there was no reply. I took a second lane, diagonally across the previous one, and kept calling. I lost count of how many alleys I passed, but there no known sound of bark. Lonie, it seemed, had vanished into thin air.

I realized it was useless to roam this way. Perhaps Bonnie would be a better guide?

With this idea, I returned home. I found Mr. Sen waiting for me at the gate. He was my next-door neighbor and came every evening to play the guitar with Layla, and an occasional hand of cards with me.

“Hi there, Roy! Where have you been? I was just going back.”

As I hurried towards him, he probably realized the frantic look about me, probably a crazy pair of eyes, and much disheveled sweated hair, and the sweaty forehead. He blurted out, “My God, Roy! You look like hell! What’s wrong?”

I stuttered out my plight, and he agreed to my idea of taking Bonnie out for a second, perhaps more fruitful search.

As I opened the main gate, Bonnie let out a small bark. She had of course realized that we had returned. She had stood up on the porch, and wagged her tail. I opened the porch gate. She barked happily. She seemed to search Lonie behind me, and as she didn’t see him, her barks grew frantic.

Mr. Sen decided to accompany us. I held Bonnie’s leash in my hand, and we walked.

“How badly do you think he was hit?”

“I couldn’t say. It all happened very fast. But I think his front paws were hit.” My voice shook. It struck me how hard this will hit Layla. Even Bonnie too.

Bonnie tagged along, her barks grew sharper, and more chilly. When we reached the road, Bonnie ran, breaking loose my grip on her leash. She crossed the road, and we did the same. The crowd was thinner now; the night was growing heavy. Bonnie led us, and we shouted Lonie’s name.

Bonnie would take a lane, and then walk some steps, and we would follow her. Then she would stop; hover a bit at a particular point. We would take cue and try to check the neighboring houses, and the associated lawns and garages, if we found any open. And then we’d see Bonnie walking off in a different way.

As the minutes passed, Bonnie grew restless. She ran and ran endlessly, moved in circles and came to an abrupt halt. Sometimes she barked, and sometimes she grew suspiciously silent. My wristwatch told us it was more than half past eleven.

Mr. Sen said, “Let’s get back. I think either the municipality people might have taken him away, or maybe seeing the leash someone has stolen him. Either way, I don’t think there’s any point in searching anymore.”

“You are right. Maybe I should check with the municipal office tomorrow morning.”

It was a struggle bringing Bonnie home that night. She barked incessantly, and waited hesitantly. I had to hold my leash tight to stop her from running again. She would stop and refuse to move at times, and it would take much coaxing and patting to make her walk again.

The night was horrible. I tossed and turned in my bed for hours. Outside, in the porch, Bonnie kept barking. In the wee hours of morning, my strained nerves had finally relaxed, and my eyes drooped to sleep.

I saw myself crossing a road. It was crowded. I was calling out Lonie’s name. The road cleared slowly, and I could see the spot where Lonie had been hit. There was some blood. I walked into unknown alleys. The road merged into mist and fog. And then there was some kind of halo of light. And in that spot light I saw the outline of a limping dog. As I walked nearer and nearer into the halo, the dog took the shape of a young girl. Almost Layla’s height. I walked ahead. The girl was limping heavily, and soon I could see blood on her left leg. Her head was bowed and her hair fell on her face. I could hear a monotone whimper. I stretched my hand out to help. Then slowly, the girl raised her face. It was Layla’s face, except it was distorted with a strange pain that made the face remote and unknown. And then, the girl became a dog again. And there were two dogs, and more dogs and some more…

I woke up in sweat. The bed-sheet was lumped and I lay in a one corner, all curled up. There was a strange pain filling my body. Like someone had been beating me for the past few hours constantly. There was a strange silence around. It took me some time to realize Rukmini and Layla were safe at Rukmini’s father’s place. Then last night’s events dawned on me.

A thin beam of morning sun filtered into the room through a tiny hole in the window. I sat up. And then, there was barking again. But this time, it wasn’t only Bonnie. Another bark, albeit a little feeble, accompanied Bonnie’s now-energetic pleas.

I rushed outside and opened the front door leading to the porch. There! Outside on either sides of the porch gate, I saw a scenario I shall forget never. Bonnie was standing on her hind paws on my side of the gate, and on the other stood Lonie, also on his hind legs, his front paws bloodied and matching Bonnie’s front paws.

Seeing me, the two dogs barked happily. I went inside to fetch the keys to open the porch gate lock. The mother and the son shall be united soon.