That day, the market in my neighbourhood was unusually crowded. To make matters worse, it was extremely hot and a radio news report stated that the maximum temperature was 47 degrees Celsius.
I detest going to congested places, but I had to step out in the scorching sun to buy some groceries. I hate situations when I have no options and on this particular occasion, I really did not know what danger was in store for me in the next few minutes.
I was new to the city and it was my first visit to the market. I thought there would be no rush at that hour, but soon I was proved wrong. Owing to vendors who occupy the pavement for the weekly bazaar (market), the place was unusually crowded and there were buyers from various social strata.
Invariably, this weekly ‘event’ throws normal traffic out of gear. But since the municipality makes a good earning from it, people have to put up with the resultant inconvenience.
As I walked up to the entry point, I saw a motley crowd — men, women and kids — crisscrossing the narrow road. In the absence of a road divider, it was a free-for-all. Anybody could move in any direction on foot, on bicycles or on two-wheelers — unbridled and without any fear of the law or even of getting injured in the melee.
Traffic rules were thrown out of the window. Many just dragged their bicycles along, satchels hanging from the handle, bulging with items. Some others remained mounted on their motorbikes or scooters even as they bargained and collected their merchandise unmindful of the inconvenience they were causing to others.
And why should four-wheelers lag behind? They also came honking from both directions, adding to the prevailing chaos. They drove perilously through the unruly crowd.
That was not all. With green leaves and other stuff strewn all over, the narrow road had become a grazing ground for stray cows and bulls that roamed freely. These quadrupeds seemed to be too sacred for everybody, including the municipality. So nobody could even touch them, let alone round them up.
While shopping for my requirements, I was virtually moving through a maze of men, women, vehicles, cows and bulls. I had just moved away from a vendor to reach another when I felt something goading me at the ribs. I thought somebody was trying to pinch my purse or cell phone from the side pocket of my long ‘kurta’ (knee-length long shirt). But as I moved to catch the culprit, I was aghast to find a bull trying to charge at me.
Scared as I was, I took position behind a bicycle. But the beast pushed its horns through the bicycle frame to hit me. However, I dodged it. When it made another attempt, I took shelter behind a motorbike on which was seated a hefty man.
By now, several people tried to shoo it away but it was not relenting. It kept moving towards me menacingly. Moving through the dense crowd, I dashed in the opposite direction, thinking that the big bull would not be able to turn back swiftly.
Sensing danger to my life, some people attacked the bull with whatever they could lay their hands on. But the animal did not stop. In fact, it appeared to be looking for me.
I was getting goose bumps and wondering what was going to happen next. Will the beast find me out in the crowd and goad me? I had not harmed it yet it had singled me out for its attack. Why? I was certainly not in Spain.
All these thoughts were flashing through my mind, but the immediate need was to keep running for life. Like the nasty bull, I was also looking for it in all directions. If out of the hundreds of people it had chosen only me as its target for the day, it could emerge from any side.
“My gosh, what am I going to do now!” I told myself in fear. Weird thoughts were overtaking me. In reflex action, I moved to a comparatively secluded place. I was satisfied that at last I was in a safe zone. I heaved not one but so many sighs of relief, wiped the sweat off from my face. Just then one of the strangers who had helped me escape the nasty attack saw me and approached rather quickly. He said with a smile, “Do you know why that bull was after you?”
Like an innocent child I said, “No”.
“Look at the ‘kurta’ you are wearing”.
I looked down at it for a few seconds and in a dazed state asked him what was so special or wrong about it.
Though he was a younger person, he gave me an elderly advice: “Next time you come to this market, don’t come wearing any garment that is red in colour. Have you not heard of the phrase ‘Red rag to the bull’?”
“Yes, I understand.” Pretending to be really childish I told him: “I thought only Spanish bulls detest red.”
Since then, I have tucked that red piece of garment, to wear only on days when I would not venture out!
Lalit Raizada is a journalist based in India.
