I, Death and Killing (I)

The Oxford Dictionary defines ‘Killing’ as “An act of causing death”. And when I think about my death, I feel so sad, so happy, so puzzled and sometimes none. In bad times I feel that death is good for me and I wait for it. But when I fall sick, I fear death and I cry not to fall sick again like a baby. Probably nobody is going to kill me until one day but there is something I need to tell you about my killings. But it’s not my pride that I share you!

As a very young boy of two or more, I was very interested in hunting crickets, those beautiful butterflies and small insects. I would run after them mad with excitements jumping and hopping around after them like a kittens after the mother cat’s tail. The crickets would hop while the butterflies flew and that annoyed the little boy. Then I would go with long sticks and smash them on the ground like I created all of them.  And sometimes I would also break their body parts to watch them suffer.

When I was six, I picked up making catapult and birds (small or big) were my target then. I would hide and shoot them down like dropping walnuts. And I watched them die with their mouth gaping.

When I was in primary school, I would bunk and spend my days searching the ant-houses just to burn them down into ashes. And then I would go back home with pride.

Once while returning from my school (I walked through the forest alone through a small path, that’s how I used to go to school), a bee hit my forehead and stung me. That left me with fever and swollen-faced for about a week. On the 9th day, I burnt down the whole colony. That same year, I killed two cocks for an evening party.

Our neighbour had a piggery when I was 10 or so. Once I had to help the neighbour boy kill one swine that freaked me out with its cry. And the next thing I saw was a pool of red blood!

At twelve, a friend taught me to catch fish and caught about a hundred of fishes using net or other ways. And they could not swim in my plastic bag of empty air. And on that same year, a heifer died after I hit it on her forehead with a stone while diverting off our garden.

Then in my college (SHIATS), on holiday party I went to a chicken shop and asked them two 2 kg and waited for some moments there. In front of my eyes they cut three of them alive and got them in my hand. It was too fast and brutal! I thought that was brutal?

And the following year, I walked across the street and found that same meat shop. There a board read, “Raja Chicken” and found another meat shop adjacent to the old one. That’s for selling mutton and fish! In both the shops, helpless animals stood in line with one or two of them slaughtered every time a customer comes in before their eyes! And these incidents carried me away back to mine, those killings that I did! I was a sick man then! Indeed a very sick man!! A big sinner!

But finally, I’m blessed with a life with which I can try to help the remaining animals in my small ways with this crooked life ahead! Thank you my LORD!!