HKRL Archives - May 1994

Cintamini

By Aradhya devi dasi


The cowherd man leaned down from his tractor and said, "Cintamini left her
body this morning." 

In great surprise, I asked, "Had she been sick?" "No, not at all," he
replied. "She ate very well last night, as usual. But this morning...she
was gone." 

We both looked down at the ground for a long moment. "Where is her body?"
I asked. He gulped. "Still in her stall. I...I guess I'll have to pull her
out. That's why I've got the tractor. I didn't want her sons..." Tears
began streaming down my cheeks. He said quietly, "I'll be careful." Then
he left in a roar of diesel smoke. 

Cintamini, the queen of the herd, had left the planet. Her sons, the
Padayatra oxen, her daughters, generous milk cows, had suddenly become
orphans. What would they do without her? What would we do without her?
Twenty years of a profound relationship with
 a very wonderful cow were over for all of us. And it was as if my own
mother had departed. 

As I walked to the house to get the Radha-kunda water, memories of
Cintamini flooded my mind. She came to New Mayapura as a new-born calf. 

Mother Visesa presented her and her prize-winning Brown Swiss mother to
the temple, probably the first donation in France of a beautiful cow and
her calf. 

The auspicious sight of the calf drinking milk before the temple steps
struck us all with wonder. Many of us had never seen such a thing before. 

When Cintamini grew up, she was soon wed to the Holstein bull, Giridhari.
Most of her children were therefore black, but shaped like her - Black
Swiss! What was wonderful about Cintamini was her intense attachment to
her family. They always stayed closely
 packed around her, following her wherever she went, even though the
females had their own calves, and the oxen were bigger than she was.
Cintamini would lick them all affectionately, and they would also lick
her. If they did some nonsense, she would tip her long horns at them, with
a severe look, and they would hang their heads in shame. 

The baby calves would nibble those long curving horns, as she sat
majestically chewing her cud, and bounce around her like babies do with
their grandmothers. Finally, she had one son who looked exactly like her,
Prajapati. He became the herd bull after hi s father left his body. But,
big and hefty though he was, strong enough to push a tractor with his
head, he still meekly followed Cintamini like a little calf. Some of his
offspring looked a lot like Cintamini's. And they also joined her group. 

One day, the biggest and strongest of those handsome black oxen began
school: learning to wear the yoke and pull a cart. 

Finally, Yadava and Dharma were taken away to pull the Deities' cart on
European Padayatra. 

After walking all the way from Amsterdam to Paris, Yadava could hardly put
one foot in front of the other, he was so tired.  Yet, he kept on trying,
lowering his head and leaning into his yoke with the last of his strength. 
When they brought him home in the van, even before the truck had come to a
stop, Cintamini came galloping across the filed, bellowing at the top of
her lungs, the whole family galloping after her.  They couldn't see
Yadava, and he couldn't see them. 

Anyway, he was lying down collapsed in the van.  But when he heard his
mother's voice, he got up the strength to answer back.  And tired as he
was, when we opened the tailgate, he dragged himself out and ran straight
to Cintamini's loving licks.  The whol e family galloped in circles around
him, to welcome back their hero, the glory of their lineage.  He had gone
on Padayatra!  He had pulled Lord Caitanya's chariot! 

Cintamini didn't leave his side until he had completely recovered. 
Although we had been sure he would leave his body within a few hours, he
lived several years longer, close to Cintamini's care. 

I will always remember the way Cintamini looked when she had found that
ever-longed-for hole in the fence, the gate to freedom, to the greener
grass on the other side of the fence, to the neighbor's fields.  She would
trot, like a race horse, head held hi gh, her long horns gracefully
balancing in the air above her head, and moo as though singing with joy. 

Her family followed her, in a line, kicking up heir heels in glee.  Before
we could get out the sticks and run to stop her, they would have munched a
good little snack in the new wheat.  When we arrived, brandishing our
sticks and shouting, she would mild ly turn back, as thought sighing, "the
jig's up," and go back to her own field, not without a last regretful
glance at all that good wheat going to waste! 

One day, her daughter Bhava lost her calf.  Usually cows don't really
notice much in these cases.  After a day or two, they go on with business
as usual.  But Bhava was inconsolable.  Finally Cintamini took her under
her wing.  She would stand beside her for hours, licking her face, her
back, her ears, as thought Bhava were a little calf. 

From then on, we never could separate them again.  Even if they were put
two stalls apart in the barn, they would both make such a fuss that we
would have to put them together.  Now the stall next to Bhava is empty. 

Gathering the Gurukula children together, I walked out to the Goshalla. 
We brought Deity garlands, Radha-kunda water and kartals.  Cintaminit's
body was lying in state in the courtyard on a bed of soft green grass. 

Her legs were placed as though she were gracefully trotting, her head lay
gently on the ground.  No signs of struggle or pain.  In fact, you would
have thought she was just dreaming in the spring sunshine.  We decorated
her perfectly symmetrical horns wit h the garlands.  She was as beautiful
as the day we worshipped her for Goverdhana Puja. 

We started a long kirtan.  We put Radha-kunda water on her head.  We
circumambulated her.  We offered her our obeisances.  Then we took maha to
the family.  We found a big sheet of plastic in the barn and brought it to
cover her. 

It had been a very bright sunny day until then, but suddenly it started
pouring down rain, although the sun was still shining.  We all raised our
hands and shouted, "Haribol! Haribol!"  On the way home, we saw a radiant
rainbow shining in the sky.  It cam e down just in the field behind the
barn.  I thought in astonishment, "This was no ordinary cow.  Even the
demigods appreciated her." 

Later that evening, during arati, I suddenly noticed that the Deities were
wearing the outfit embroidered with surabhi cows.  Krsna had a special
grin that night, as though something very nice had just happened.  Then I
realized that just behind His head on the backdrop, two surabhi cows were
lifting their heads to eat leaves from a desire tree. 

All glories to cow protection!  All glories to the great soul,
Cintamini-mata!  May she bless us and continue to serve Srila Prabhupada
and Krsna's cows forever. 

-- Hare Krsna Rural Life, May 1994