THE ONES WHO NEED A MIRACLE


Or, as I also wanted to call it: The Ones Who Won’t Make It

This will be short, and hopefully not too disturbing, but in meeting them, even though their outcomes are unlikely to be good, I wanted to acknowledge that they where met, recognized, and cared for, for at least a brief moment in their lives. Many others like them exist, and their stories will never be told. Let these few offer a small representation of the many whose lives pass on, unnoticed.

SURYA

I didn’t know what to call him, and their names usually come easily to me. But he appeared one day, out of the blue, as so many do. It was not far from where I stay, where another white dog lived, same size and same age. The first dog had the unusual characteristic of one brown eye, and one blue eye. His face was pure white, and the icy blue eye gave him a startling, ghostly quality. He was stunning. Although he belonged to someone and had a family, he was painfully thin, and painfully shy. I couldn’t get close to him, to try to start a relationship, and start deworming treatments, and whatever else he needed. Every time I approached, he would dart away, in complete fear. This was a high traffic area; the danger of his jumping into an oncoming vehicle was very real. So, I had to leave it, and if he was one of the ones I could not touch, so be it.

“Ghost” continued this way, shy, and darting, recoiling at even the slightest eye contact. He always looked scared and somewhat lost. Physically he was painfully thin and malnourished, and I didn’t know how long he could go on this way. When Surya showed up, the pups were close to six months at this time. Surya was full of confidence, physical strength, with an ease of character and friendliness. He had all the desirable traits Ghost seemed to lack; he was one of the finest dogs I had ever met. He roamed the neighborhood, not quarrelling with any other dog, one of those dogs who is accepted by the others, and poses no threat. And the first dog, Ghost, now took on a new role and soon a new form, as his companion, and shadow.

They had to be brothers, and somehow Surya had managed to find him. The change in Ghost’s character at the inclusion of Surya in his life was dramatic. He became more confident, friendly, started to put on weight, and blossomed. The two were inseparable. It was clear to me that Ghost’s problem had been at least partly emotional; he had been at a loss without his connection to this other dog. We often fail to recognize the strength of the bonds these creatures share, but this could not be missed. Ghost transformed and thrived, immediately, at the inclusion of Surya in his life.

Where there was one, now there were two; Surya always in the lead, and Ghost following close by, finally leaving the self imposed confines of his limited turf. Tails up, tongues lolling from their mouths, they were no nuisance to anyone; just two happy dogs that greeted the neighborhood and their world with their joy.

Things went on this way for months. Surya, in addition to finding his brother, had found the chicken shop not so far away, and the two could feast on leftover chicken parts, and thrive.

As for me, it was time for a visa run, and I had to leave India until I could get a new visa.

A few days before leaving, I found Surya, in the chai shop he and his brother had adopted, a painfully thin shadow of his former self, wasting away, the cause unknown. Even while I was there, little could be done. He was in great pain, with little appetite, and losing his ability to walk. No labs, no hospitals, no caretakers …. What could be done? I was watching him disintegrate in front of me. This was more the outcome I had anticipated for his brother, Ghost. I have seen many pups like Ghost, who cannot thrive, waste away, until one day they are simply no longer seen. But Surya? I was shocked to see him like this. The dogs were fully-grown now, and in beautiful health. What had happened? Had the beautiful Surya, somehow traded places, and perhaps fate, with his brother? I doubt he will be alive when I return.

The bonds of brotherhood between them were amazing. Surya had clearly been doing well wherever he had come from, but still had the longing to find his brother and companion. He found him, and his presence changed Ghost from a weak, scared and malnourished dog into a mirror image of himself. Ghost had become a dog of health, confidence, and happiness. Surya gave him strength, and life. Was there a price? Was it now it was Surya’s turn to decline? Had he given his brother a chance to work out his time in this life, and had he willingly sacrificed himself? We don’t know. But Ghost continues to thrive, now roaming the streets on his own, not as friendly and confident as his brother, but close. Surya lies in pain, barely able to walk, deteriorating in his physical body.

This dog was a beauty, unlike most that I have seen. In the Buddhist beliefs, one can make a choice at the point of full enlightenment to stop the final merge into nirvana, making a choice to remain as a Bodhisattva; one who will delay full enlightenment until every sentient being is relieved of their sorrows and their sufferings.

Is this the case with Surya? Had he come to rescue his brother from a fate which he had now taken on in his place? We will never fully know; it remains a part of our not understanding the world and the mystery of how and why it works. Mystery rules much of our daily lives. Can a Bodhisatva return in the form of a dog? I think there are many Buddhists who would say “NO.” Well, why not? It is the ego, which makes us feel so unique, and so superior. A certain degree of ego is necessary to physical survival, but when it separates us from the rest of creation and being, does it perhaps serve only as a distortion of the mirror of totality and unity that is around us.

Surya, I finally had a name for you, as I write this, Surya, the Sun. Bodhisattva or mere Beautiful Being of Light and Love, shine on Surya, in your new form, whatever and wherever that may be.

Prem.











HARIDWAR DOG


Mange seems to be a real issue in Haridwar these days for the dogs.

I had started going to Haridwar for the Kumbh Mela once or twice a week. The Kumbh Mela is called the world’s largest spiritual gathering. Yogis, Babas, holy men and women come from all parts of India and Nepal for this auspicious occasion and gathering which occurs every twelve years… except that there are four locations, so it’s actually every three years, but never mind, this is India, and what’s a few years?

Having just missed the last Kumbh that was three years ago, I was quite keen on experiencing this one. This one, after all, was a “Maha” Kumbh, the Big One, that occurs only in twelve years time … since time immemorial, they [like to] say. So, start-up date, January 14th, I went. Days of planning were required; after all, his was the “Maha” Kumbh … maybe as many as 200 million people to prepare for [so they like to say]. Roads were blocked between Rishikesh, and Haridwar, and one had to position oneself logistically, and prepare oneself mentally and physically for the trip, and the gathering. It is said the crowds are so massive, that people lose family members in these crowds. Ailing parents and grandparents, impoverished “extra” girl children, “lost”, never to be seen again, the crowds so massive.

For months, we had seen the pitching of miles of tents to hold the pilgrims, the police, and the “holy ones” and their followers. Special bridges had been built in Haridwar and Rishikesh to help the masses cross the Ganges, and wooden corrals were constructed to direct the crowds and keep them from forming a mad rush and crush into the holy town of Haridwar.

Early in the morning, pre-dawn, I went. Prepared for the walk, the crowds, and the emanation of so much “sahkti” that one could be bowelled over from the sheer intensity of the energy and power of the vibration, I set out with great determination and preparation for the state of awe.

I arrived, just as the sun was about to rise. Perfect … and there I was, pretty much alone, except for a few other foreigners, foreign reporters, and lots of military police. And there we were, looking at one another, a bit puzzled and bemused. “Uh, any Baba’s?”




Not so many. This is India, after all, and things are not always what they seem. I made my way around, and made it back to Rishikesh after giving it a reasonable search, pretty early in the day. Sat down for a cup of chai, and read that morning’s newspaper. Page two, with even a photo, a full story on how the crowds had gathered to watch the town of Haridwar fill with the saffron colors of the sadhus’ robes …. “Huh?”

But I was there … how could I miss that? Which city of Haridwar were they talking about? Upon closer examination, the photo was not actually from Haridwar, but from Allahabad, the site of the last Kumbh (three years ago). And to make it in time for that mornings press, the story would have had to been written the previous night …. India; things are not always what they seem, never mind a little distortion. A good story is a good story, after all.

Anyway, I digress. What I did find was lots of dogs with serious cases of mange, and it was rampant. The dogs looked well fed enough, on the whole, but the miseries of the skin condition were running wild. Usually prepared with a small stock of medicines ever in my bag, I was able to medicate at least twenty or so, while looking for the Holy Ones and receive their blessings with darshan.

The Kumbh was to continue for the next few months, with many auspicious bathing days, and opportunities to see the saints. The next big day was the 26th, when thousands of Naga Babas were to descend upon the town of Haridwar. Nagas, the naked ones, who never left the Himalayas, who never left their caves, their seclusion, their meditation, their tapas and their austerities, except to take a dip in the holy Ganges on these astrologically auspicious days, and add their shakti to the purifying power of the Ganges. Not only would the karma of the one taking the bath in the Ganges be cleansed on these special days, but also the karmas of generations of past and future family members. If you know anything about my family … this was a “must.” It was worth a second try.

I went this time with my friend Kosta, a Rishikesh regular for many years, and a man who had the assurance of his own Naga Baba in Rishikesh, that this was “it.” The really Big Day, and the “real” start of the Kumbh Mela; forget that nonsense of the 14th as the start date. So we went, again, early morning, half asleep, ready to march the long road, blocked to all vehicular traffic. We arrived pre-dawn. A few more people this time, some of the same foreign photographers as before, and there we were, with all the military police. Lights were now strung over Harki Puri, and the site was beautiful. The Ganges ran strong and swift, … and quite empty.

We walked the town of Haridwar, the streets deserted, and the trafficked blocked. To prepare for the masses, Haridwar officials had closed the streets to all traffic, except pedestrian. We walked the streets of Old Haridwar, enchanted by the sights and the silence. Even the dogs were still asleep. I saw temples, shrines, ashrams and dharamshalas I could never notice before, with the crowds usually being so deep one can only walk the streets with safety in mind. One normally walks Haridwar as one does most Indian cities, as an obstacle course, focusing only on avoiding a collision with the frenetic flow of motorbikes, rickshaws, autos, and bicycles; all on their own path. Sightseeing is usually out of the question; but this was magic, and a darshan of its own.

Later in the day, a parade went on, but the beauty that day was in the stillness of the morning, and in the darshan of the Ganga, and in the rest of the sleeping dogs, at peace with the world and in their own dreams.

Unhurriedly, at a pace all its own, the Kumbh eventually came into full swing, with many saying when asked why the tents were all empty, “Why would they be filled? The Kumbh Mela starts after March 15.” And after march 15th passed, the date then became one in April …
Yeah, Ok … So why did Haridwar, the newspapers, the web sites say it started in mid-January?

Never, mind, this is India; and what’s a few months in time?






There were more parades, more bathing days, and slowly, slowly, more people coming. I would go, not so often, at first, and always prepared with lots of medication for the dogs. The regular Babas around Maya Devi Ashram started calling me “Dog Woman.” Some would be a bit more polite and say Dog Walli, or Dog Doctor. The Babas from Rishikesh already recognized me, and would nod their heads and say, yes, that’s the Dog Woman, not sure if they should acknowledge an acquaintance with me or not.






One of the first dogs I treated for a mild case of mange was a Babas dog in the Juna Akhara camp. He was a young, and minor Baba, but a delight, and my entre into many tents and camps that I would never had gotten into without his guidance and invitation. Now at least some of the Babas of Juna Akhara know the power of ivermectin, and its efficacy over mange. Some of them praise me, some shrug their shoulders, and some laugh … and it’s all good.






The camps can be intense, with a world and a vocabulary, and energy all its own. One does not have to go far to get a break. The shops and restaurants outside of Maya Devi ashram are largely unaffected by the Kumbh, and it’s business as usual. A few hundred meters outside the camp looking for some respite, I saw him, and gasped. I had come from Naga Babas with no clothes, ashes covering their bare skin, dread locks flowing four feet on the ground, pierced penises, endless chillum pipes passed around, drums, horns, and mantras, but I was not prepared for this.

I saw a rather large size dog, with dark grey leathery skin but no hair, and a horrible red jaw and lips, exposing where he should have had teeth, but now only had a bleeding, angry ravaged open wound instead of a proper jaw. An accident? I don’t know. A stick to the face, knocking out his teeth? I don’t know. A medical condition; again, I don’t know. Just an awful sight, with flies landing on his open sores. I didn’t know what to do. I ended up giving him antibiotics, and mange medication. He could eat, and seemed not to be too troubled by his condition. Strangely accepting it, or just numbed by his own condition, I don’t know.

I didn’t see him again for some days. But when I did see him again, somehow, he looked a bit better. The jaw looked better, the bleeding had stopped, and it seemed to be finding its own way to mend. And his hair was actually growing back a bit. I repeated the mange medication, and gave him some more food. In buying his food, the shopkeeper started advising me on what he likes to eat! A small miracle, I thought. I had found the one shopkeeper who had taken an interest in him. I asked him if he would continue antibiotics for him on a regular basis, showed him how to administer the pills, and he said “yes.”

I thought the dog had a chance. I had felt guilty at first about feeding him, and medicating him, and then having to leave him. Is it fair to give him hope, when I can’t follow up with anything? Are these the times it is better to leave it, and let this pain and this path take its course?

So again, I would not see him for some days, and my time for leaving for the visa was just around the corner. Then I saw him, and I was sickened. He had a bit of hair, but the jaw was worse, and something I had not noticed earlier, had fully erupted. He had a horrible testicular tumor, and it was huge; it had grown very quickly. It is called TVT and it is a transmissible sexual disease, and I see it a lot in the street dogs. It is highly treatable, and I have had many Rishikesh dogs treated for this. One uses a chemotherapy drug called vincrystine, available, and very inexpensive here. It is administered intravenously, for several weeks. But there was no time for my Naga Dog. I was to leave the next day. The tumor was big, starting to open, and the flies were gathering on his sores. I made frantic phone calls for help, but in the end, had to leave him. So my guilt came back, because as he looked me in the face now, he recognized me, of course, and now there was Hope. I could not fulfill that Hope, and have let him down. It will be a miracle if he is still alive when I come back. What is more likely is that I will never see him again.

So the Kumbh Mela continues, with the bathers coming for their absolution of negative karmas, for the blessings from the holy saints, for the gathering of spiritual enlightenment, and a few hundred meters away, a lonely dog, my Naga Dog, passes on, unnoticed and uncared for. My intervention had been enough to give him a degree of hope, and it was a hope I could not fulfill. I let him down, and have no good explanation for him. My Naga Dog does not understand the fabricated reality of visas and borders. It will be some sort of strange reality if he is alive when I come back. What is more likely is that I will never see him alive again; I will only see him in my memory and mind’s eye. My Naga Dog, so close to he borders of salvation, in a life of tapas and austerities all his own.










Julie


Julie dog, where do I begin? I first met Julie post-surgery. Her botched amputation had already taken place, and all the foreigners who were helping in her care were leaving one by one. The last of them, two lovely women from Finland, sought me out, hoping I could take on her post-op care. It wasn’t that Julie did not have a family, she did, and they did quite well by her and her condition that roused the sympathies of touring animal lovers. As for their actual care of Julie, in this they could not manage so very well.



Julie is a sensitive dog, and she did not take the condition of her new body very well, and the family could not manage the proper administration of medicines, enough food, or even a lead, to tie her on their veranda, rather than let her stumble onto the street where the jeeps and taxis rushed by. Her home is on this busy path, and one of the vehicles had struck her, and the injured leg required amputation. It was not done well.

I put her on a neighbor’s rooftop, as mine was as it usually is, already engaged. We gave her her medications, helped her with her walks, and gave her good food, and plenty of love and care. She came to a reasonable stage of recovery, and her family said they wanted her back. Although this surprised me, I was somewhat relieved, for taking on another dog in my somewhat precarious circumstances, was not the most practical thing to do.

I checked on her, hoping things would be all right, but they were not. Julie was losing weight, losing luster, and looking unhappy. The Finnish girls came back, and they too saw Julie somewhat temperamental, and unhappy. The family just seemed to be negligent in their care. Always friendly, always engaged with conversation about her care, and yet, she was clearly not thriving. Julie was always voracious when I came, the family complained she would eat too quickly and then up-chuck the food later on. Well, yes, feed her enough food throughout the day, and maybe she won’t have to inhale it when I come, I could not help but comment to myself.

I was sensing a bit of irritation on my part as the visits increased.

They sensed this as well, and now the reports were that Julie was eating well. She did improve, and I felt I did not have to come everyday to see her. Other visitors’ reports were that she was doing well.

A bit of time went on, I did a check on Julie, and she was horrible. Not eating, hairless, emitting an offensive odor, and depressed. The doctor had not been called, I had not been called. But the family came out, with great concern, “Mmm, Julie, not so good.”

“Julie, not so good”, I verified; “she’s going to die if nothing is done.”

IV fluids, treatment for amoebas, vitamin injections, treatment for mange and fungus, and she slowly recovered. There was never a water dish to be found for her, and she obviously had to drink the only water that was available, and that was the sewage water that runs along side their home and street.

There was only frustration in dealing with the family, but they assured me they now understood the importance of fresh water. Another tourist, who was staying nearby, took on her daily care, and again Julie recovered, and thrived.

When she left, another took her place. All seemed under control, until I did another, recent check in. Again, hairless, thin, foul smelling, and depressed. I “lost it” with the family, and vented my anger. Poor Julie curled up into a little ball, trying not to be a part of this explosion on my part.

This was all happening at the same time as my Haridwar, Naga Dog, Sparky, and countless other problems before I had to leave.

Another small miracle happened, in that on my final day in Rishikesh, I went to see Julie, feed her, medicate, and someone I had recently met came by. He took great interest in Julie, and will take on her care while he is still in town. Julie, the dog of how many lives? She seems to come to the brink of death, always to be saved, temporarily. I will check on her again, when I return, and see what the future has in store for Julie’s, and my fate.