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I
like beefsteak, and frequently eat it when I
happen to be abroad.
At the same time, I agree with the Supreme
Court’s upholding of the Gujarat law banning cow
slaughter. My
reason has got nothing to do with Hindutva.
Nor am I guilty of hypocrisy and double
standards when I permit myself to eat beef abroad,
but argue against cow slaughter in India.
It’s merely that I recognize the special
role the cow has long played in the social
dynamics and the unorganized political economy of
the country.
In his book Cows, Pigs, Wars and Witches:
The Riddles of Culture, American sociologist
Marvin Harris has formulated a persuasive, secular
rationale behind the Indian mystique of the scared
cow. According
to Harris, the cow represents the only capital
that the landless in India can hope to possess.
By deeming the cow to be sacred, we protect
this literally grass-roots capital: The poor,
landless man’s cow can with impunity graze on
the rich man’s fields and yield milk and biofuel
for her master and his family.
The
trespassing cow represents social justice and a
seminal beginning of the redistribution of wealth. This holds true in urban as well as rural areas.
Cows meander through our city streets like
perambulatory traffic islands, much to the
amusement of foreign visitors.
The cattle forage at will, without fear of
harm, from the refuse bins of vegetable markets
and roadside eateries, relieving their owners of
the financial burden of having to buy fodder.
If, in addition to its employment guarantee
scheme, the UPA government enables every Indian
below the poverty like to own a cow, we could
witness an economic sea change in the country.
On the other hand, Bangladesh is a
cautionary example of what can happen to a country
which has depleted its cattle wealth.
On a visit there some years ago, I was
intrigued to discover that there were hardly any
cattle in the country, almost all having been
butchered for meat. The result? Bangladesh have to import vast quantities of
powdered milk from Australia and Europe, a luxury
it can ill afford.
Even the humblest village tea stall has
tins of Nestle.
Operation Flood?
Forget it.
So tuck into your filet mignon, if you
fancy it. Just
make sure it’s from a foreign cow.
Spare the Indian cow, the great white hope
of the dispossessed.
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