Autumnal

It's been a hard year.

But "the year is ending". Finally. I guess all terrible things come to an end too.

Why blame the year? Time is an arbitrary thing we thought up. The utter misery of existing as creatures of habit with little control over what becomes of us is much less so. It's like a fever dream. So many horrors, so little time.

Some days are harder than others. It's more difficult to carry on pretending like there isn't a giant, unresolved boulder of ugly emotion sitting at the base of my throat. In the meanwhile, time continues its dogged, relentless march.

Does nobody ever fucking tire of keeping on?

Dogs are resilient

Dogs are resilient beyond belief.

The starving, the wounded, the abandoned and the infested

All survive.

Somehow, they persist.

In the face of calamity and

The cold calculatedness

Of human atrocity,

They persist.

In the driving rain,

And in the scorch of May heat,

You’ll see that one dogged mongrel

Trying to find shelter where there is none.

They will follow you home,

And wait like stupid children

At your doorstep

Even after you have slammed the door.

They will run to you, tails wagging,

After you have kicked them

For the umpteenth time,

For no fault of theirs.

Except that they came too close

Seemed too happy

Wanted to play.

And you’d had a bad day.

Lesson from the Mahabharata: Dharma is a dog

At the end of the great epic, as the Pandavas continued their arduous climb to the heavens, they were joined by a dog.

A perfectly benign and commonplace addition, especially to those who have ever climbed a mountain. On a trek, it's not unusual to find an amiable mongrel who will follow you, or sometimes lead the way to your destination. Their company is pleasant and non-intrusive, and to the lone climber, always welcome.

As Draupadi and the Pandavas fell by the wayside one by one, Yudhishthira, who was the last of them to keep climbing, must have taken solace in the presence of his four-legged companion.

But the real lesson here is that the dog turned out to be Dharma, the God of righteousness and dedication. Dharma can be loosely translated as ‘duty’.

There is truly nothing better than a dog to help you understand what duty really means. The immense patience and quiet dedication that goes into rearing a dog is the best lesson in being dutiful I have ever received.

Waking up at an ungodly hour to persistent toe-licking and little whiny noises to leash her highness up and take her for her royal walk, rain or shine. Paying for even a five minute delay in serving dinner by being subjected to a withering yet somehow pathetic look from princess Pancake the great. Sewing together ripped up mattresses, salvaging chewed up objects, lamenting drooled on papers with nary a sigh. Patience I didn’t know I had, energy I had no idea I could muster, all to serve the pure and benevolent Goddess of Dharma, with four paws and a few fleas.

But every labour of love and worship is rewarded. As all dog people know, that helpless ball of loyalty and love will follow you to the ends of the Earth, and they would even go with you to heaven, if they could.

Dharma is a dog after all.