Appu
short story
by Santwana Chatterjee
I sat dazed with the lifeless body of Appu on my lap. Although
everything was over I could not let go of his body. The love Appu
taught me, the affection he drew from me the friendship that existed between
us will remain as long as I live. I felt his white coat. His two black
mischievous eyes would never look at me. I was crying inconsolably, but
Appu was not there to lick my tears away. I was left alone , no one to
turn to at this hour of grief. I remembered the day Ritu aunty
presented me with a cute little white German Spits puppy . I picked him up
and he licked my nose with his soft pink tongue. It was love at first
sight. My barren life was full with love for the helpless little puppy, I
called Appu.
My life changed from the very day. I was a late riser, but
not after Appu came to my life. Early in the morning he would wake me
up, licking my palm and would put his wet nose on my ear. The moment I
opened my eyes I would find him sitting upright beside me, looking at me
with intense eagerness. I could not disappoint him and would take him
out for a walk which he enjoyed enormously. Gradually it became a habit
with me too. Though I prepared his meal as directed by the vet, his
meals would never be complete without tit-bits from my lunch and dinner.
I spoiled him thoroughly. I would wash him, cuddle
him, brush his coat, play with him, in short he was everything to me, a
middle aged spinster, with indifferent looks and with a reputation of
having a bad temper, devoid of affection, an eccentric whom people
generally avoided and made fun of at the back.
Appu did not judge me, he
gave his love unconditionally, the way a dog can only do. After Appu came to
my life, I never felt lonely. Appu was also a very good watch dog. He
would run around the house driving away anybody he thought was an
intruder. He would not even spare the crows. He grew up to be a most
mischievous and naughty dog pampered beyond imagination. But I did not have
the heart to punish him for his misdeeds, which were much too often, but
for once. My landlord, Mr. Bose, used to come on a fixed date every
month to collect the rent and some how I did not like him at all. Endowed
with a keen sense of observation that comes naturally to a dog, Appu
could guess my feelings and could not tolerate my land lord and I had to
put him on leash every month when he came. One month I forgot to chain him
and the moment Mr. Bose stepped inside Appu started growling.
My
landlord got scared and backed out quickly and that was his undoing. Appu went
after him and made him run for cover with his heart in his mouth.
Passers by look looked at him with suspicion as they saw him running out of
my house, his belly sticking out, with a dog at his heels. The
incident took only two to three minutes and by that time I took control of the
situation and rebuked Appu sternly and held him back by his collar.
Once safely out of our gate and Appu under my control, Mr. Bose shouted
from the street madam, this is too much. Why do you keep a dog if you
cannot control him. Either you train your dog or vacate my house . He
stood there fuming with rage. People witnessing the little scene got a free
entertainment. I got so angry, I did what I had never done before. I
beat Appu mercilessly with his own leash. But Appu took the beating lying
down. I sat down on the floor, throwing away the leash and weeping. Two
year old Appu was all over me, licking and sniffing me, disturbed to see
me cry.
I took his soft worm body to my bosom and asked for
forgiveness, hating myself. I never beat him after that. Thus through good and
bad the two of us lived. Before meeting Appu I never knew that such
friendship, bond and affection could exist between a human being a canine. I
saw Appu grow up into a handsome dog. But time flew and only in eleven
years the little puppy grew old. For the last few months Appu was not
keeping well, skipping meals. I called the vet and he said Appu was
dying.
He had a cancerous grown in his tummy and it was in an advanced
stage. They said that he was suffering like hell. He was deteriorating
fast and it was quite evident that he was in great pain. He would wag
his tail gently and try to lift his head when I called him by name. The
doctor advised me to put him to sleep. There was no point in keeping
him alive for a few more months and let him suffer. After a few sleepless
nights and after watching helplessly how Appur suffered I called the
vet. I took Appu on my lap. When the doctor pushed in the injection Appu
looked at me for the last time. I knew for certain he realized that we were
parting. After the vet left I sat with his body on my lap. My mind went
back to nearly fifty years. I was only five and we went to visit my
grandfather. He lived alone with his dog, Peter. Peter was my grandfather's pet, just as Appu was mine.
Peter would let me cuddle him and play
with his ball. I do not know how old he was but he appeared quite big to
me. For some days I heard Peter was sick. He stopped taking meals and
would remain hidden under the bed all the time. Grandfather brought the
vet and after he was gone I was not allowed to go near Peter. I heard
he had a disease, which sounded like rabbit to me (of course now I
know).
The next day I woke up early, it was nearly dawn. From my bedroom
window I saw Peter was sitting chained at the back yard. Grandfather stood
before him with his hunting rifle. Peter was looking at grandfather, it
seemed to me, with a strange appeal in his eyes and in a moment the
rifle went off, the bullet hitting Peter in the middle of his forehead. I
was shocked and horrified, so much so, I never asked anybody about
Peter or the incident. From that day onwards I looked at my grandfather as
a murderer and hated him and I refused to visit him even when he was in
his deathbed.
With Appu's lifeless body on my lap, I cried for forgiveness of my
grandfather. How he must have suffered to pull the trigger on Peter. It
took fifty years for me to learn the truth. You could never know the
agony and the ecstasy of keeping a pet unless you actually have one.
