Our Mindset Episode 52
The groom came over with a buffalo in a tempo and parked it under a tree. As he limped over to check on the animal, it caught everyone’s attention—why was he limping? People naturally looked at his foot. When asked about it, he removed the bandage on his toe and explained that it first cracks, then starts oozing foul blood. “I’ve tried both the clinic and praying to God,” he said, “but nothing seems to help.”
One of the guests said, “You’ve developed a soil allergy. If you go to the fields like this, the wound will only worsen. A cracked toe doesn’t know it’s injured. If anything hits it while working, it could get infected badly. The soil makes it worse. Either don’t go to the fields until it heals, or wear socks while working.”
You couldn’t fault the guests for giving advice. After all, he did say that medical treatment and prayers didn’t help. They assumed it was due to fieldwork. But he’d been working in soil for eight years before without any issues. Everyone who passed by had some opinion or suggestion, but I was the one dealing with the consequences. Now, with this supposed soil allergy, I started stressing about whether he’d be able to return to the fields at all.
After some tea and refreshments, the guests noticed our goats. One of our goats had given birth to a healthy little buck. It had grown nicely. A guest said, “Why are you even keeping this one? We have a heifer at home—she’ll be pregnant within a year. Bring her instead. We’ve got a shed, she’ll manage with the other two animals. You’re living in a hut—raising goats and chickens isn’t sustainable. I’ll take this goat and buck, and bring you the heifer.”
The groom agreed instantly. But I didn’t want to sell the goat. He said, “The heifer’s worth ₹5,000. Since your goat and buck are still young, I’ll count them as ₹3,000. You can pay the remaining ₹2,000 later. Just don’t sell the goat elsewhere.”
I didn’t really want to let them go, but I thought—if not today, we’ll have to sell them someday. He said he’d be back with the heifer by 6 PM. Since he was my niece’s husband—a guest from our own family—I didn’t insist on seeing the heifer or asking too many questions. I trusted him, handed over the goat and buck, and got back to work.
By 5 PM, the kids came back from school. The goat was bleating loudly. The kids asked, “Mom, where are the baby goats?” I told them, “We sold them earlier.” Both kids immediately burst into tears. “They were ours! Why did you sell them?” Aparna said, “We had divided them between us. The little one was mine, and the buck was Pravin’s. We even gave them names. Why did you sell them? Bring them back!”
Seeing my children cry like that brought tears to my eyes too. I felt terrible, but there was no going back. So I said, “Soon we’ll be getting a young buffalo. We’ll give her a name together, and this time, we won’t sell her—ever.” I tried to comfort them as best as I could.