Politics, Noun. A strife of interests masquerading as a contest of principles.
-Ambrose Bierce
“Stop! You cannot do this,” came Mr. Hoy’s stern voice. Mrs. Suiben paid no mind and continued to pour the food into the bowl.
“Mrs. Suiben, for the millionth time: This. Is. A. Dog. Park. It’s for our pets to do their business. You cannot put food out here for the strays!” Hoy warned.
Mrs. Suiben looked at him and his lackeys nodding their agreement. No matter, she thought, her own posse was making their way behind her.
“We will not get into this again, Mr. Hoy. A dog park is for all dogs. What better way for pets and strays to get along than here, hmm?” Suiben retorted.
“Yes, yes, look at the poor babies,” Suiben’s right-hand man, Mr. Moe, came over to point to the group of eclectic dogs, thumping their tails to be let into the closed enclosure.
“Poor—” Ms. Chandra scoffed, “why don’t you look at our poor babies?” She pointed to the white furball hiding behind her leg, eyes trained on the wild strays.
“Poor? You need to—” but Moe was cut off when he saw another group of residents holding wooden sticks in their hands making their way to their spot.
“We’ve had enough of this,” came their surly greeting. “It’s only 7 am and this is what all the residents wake up to every single day. This is not done.”
“Really, Kalam?” Hoy and Suiben said together. “We’re having a discussion. You have no say in this.” They tuned him out to continue their “discussion.”
“I beg your pardon?” Kalam interrupted, incensed. “We live in this society too. And your daily morning bickering has ruined the atmosphere here. We have a say in this!”
“Absolutely,” Kalam’s gang echoed.
Suiben and Hoy turned to the new group, “And what would be your solution? Let’s hear it.”
A greying woman made her way to the front. “We say get rid of the park itself. No one should use it. Not the pets nor the strays.”
“Nonsense! The strays will die of starvation!”
“Nonsense! Where will our pets poop? In our living rooms?”
Just as things heated up between the three groups, some passing residents on their morning walk stopped to take in the spectacle.
“And you say we should leave this place?” Mr. Parth said to his wife, “where will we get this entertainment every morning, hmm?”
Mrs. Parth rolled her eyes at her husband. “That’s not nice, honey. These things can get out of hand quickly. I don’t want to be here for it…”
Parth chewed his lips in thought, a mischievous grin taking over his cunning face. “Speaking of entertainment, let’s see…” Parth discreetly made his way to the enclosure’s gate and nonchalantly pushed it open.
Hungry and eager stray dogs rushed inside the enclosure. All three groups jumped in panic. The sheltered and cowardly pet dogs pulled on their leashes. Their owners scurried to shield them from the rabid interlopers. Kalam’s group held up their canes. Meanwhile, Mrs. Suiben and her cohort tried to discipline the strays. As their regular food giver, the strays recognized her authority and reluctantly backed off from the bowls.
“You see! You see now? They are a danger to everyone!” Mr. Hoy yelped.
“All I see are unfortunate souls starving for food!” Suiben defended.
Mrs. Parth smacked her husband’s shoulder in admonishment. “You…” she trailed. But Parth spotted an opportunity for power as he merrily strolled toward the group.
“Now, now everyone, we’re all civilized here. Let’s sort this out fairly. We should…” He began.
Just then a little girl making her way to her school bus with her mum chimed in, “Vote!”
They all turned to her.
“That’s what my book said we do in our country…” She said innocently, “We should ask the dogs because it’s about them.”
Little girl’s mother laughed and hurried her away to her waiting bus.
Before anyone in the group could say anything, Mr. Parth clapped his hands in amusement.
“That settles it!” He exclaimed. He then threw a mocking, low-pitched bhau-bhau to the sitting strays.
To the surprise of everyone, one stray responded in kind. Soon the area descended into mixed pitches of bow wows.
The three groups and bystanders watched, intrigued, back and forth the tennis volley of bow wows between the strays and the pets. So far, the convo seemed intense yet civilized.
In the middle of this din, a particularly strong-willed bhau-bhau sounded, causing all other dogs to be silenced.
Everyone watched as a hulking and vicious brown feral made his way into the enclosure. Ignoring everyone, he strode to the bowls and began to eat.
When Kalam and his group tapped their canes loudly, the feral snarled, causing all the dogs and humans to back away.
Even as the group watched, they all heard the softest of meows. Turning as one, they looked on to see four wild cats making their way inside.
Mr. Moe sighed. “Right, the kitties need their own place too.”
“Wha—what do you mean?” Ms. Chandra spluttered. “We are opposing all strays.”
“Fighting like cats and dogs is a saying for a reason, Ms. Chandra. The cats here are minorities; they need special attention!” Moe declared.
As if to prove his words, a white cat broke off from its group and sniffed the food crumbs, hissing its displeasure.
“This only aggravates the problem. No dogs. No cats. No nothing. That’s final,” Kamal said.
The Bahubali stray seemed to have heard his message. He snarled at Kamal and proceeded to pee around the area, marking his territory.
The rest of the animals suddenly lost interest while the humans recoiled. Mr. Parth, on the other hand, laughed out loud. “Now that’s how you do it in the jungle raj!”
Sensing a kindred spirit perhaps, he approached the Bahubali stray only to swiftly retract when shown pointy rows of teeth.
“You—you guys carry on….” He grabbed his wife and made a hasty retreat.
“At least one of them got to eat. That’s still our victory,” Mrs. Suiben smirked at Hoy. “We’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Yeah, just one. What a shame!” Hoy retorted.
With the human and animal crowd dispersed and the Bahubali Stray fast asleep, silence reigned once more in the enclosure.
Only, unbeknownst to anyone, unseen and unaccounted members of this jungle raj were in the middle of taking things into their own hands.
“Incoming! Incoming!” the ant yelled to others. A morsel was pushed onto its mandible.
“Heave ho, guys! Heave ho! We got a lot of grub today.”
“See any nuts up there?” another worker asked.
“The blasted squirrel ran off with it up the tree!” the front worker said.
“Should we chase it?”
“No, no. It’ll find our hideout. We can’t risk it!” came the advice.
“By the way. Who won up there?” asked another.
“NOTA,” came the happy reply.
*NOTA– None of the above. An option available to Indian voters.
🛑 Short story written for “Everything is politics” monthly Blog Hop, hosted by Manali Desai & Sukaina Majeed.
SoulStuff 