SAVED BY THE RUBBER ON MY MAG WHEEL

This happened when i was on route to BR Hills. It was near a town called Sollehalli. The speedometer read 70 kmph, when on the corner of my eye, i saw a hue of grey and blue. There was a tinge of red too. I applied the disk and took a sharp deviation to check it out. It was a cattle fair. Bullocks so massive, that the new Safari Storme would look like chicken. Plus, they were some cute calves too.
The brilliant thing about this were the colours of the horns on the cattle. It added to their majestic size. Plus, the entire fair like atmosphere, from vegetables to chaddis. I preferred my jockeys and did not buy any.
I took a lot of pictures. As usual, there were curious onlookers. I clicked away with glee. Little did i realise the mob that was gathering behind me.
I was taken back when an old timer asked me to handover the camera. He said that he was some sort of sarpach aka goonda of the land. Photographs were not allowed. He had a group of people with him, some with machetes and axes, which was normal in a cattle fair, but sure made me sweat. My bike was approximately 12 feet away. I could break for it. I had seen enough episodes of COPS. By this time, there were other comments, such as 10 grand in cash. I did not have that much, and even if i did, i would not part with it easily.
Someone from the crowd came forward and asked if i would delete the pics. I agreed and so, some of the most amazing pictures of a cattle fair were gone. Some exchanges later, which did not make sense, i was let off. I realized that these guys did not see my bike, else they would have taken that, no questions asked. I started it and before they could look back, i became Jason Bourne and sped away. Thankfully the return journey, on the same route, was without any incident.
I kept wondering as to why did they object to pictures of bovine. And then it flashed me; i had seen trucks with Kerala number plates and some among the crowd were Muslims. Putting two and two, those cattle were headed for slaughter houses. They were destined for biryani in Mandi Mohalla and steak at Barbeque Nation. My photos could have saved them.
But i don't blame them either. The region was reeling under a drought. Bank loans had to be paid, loan sharks were knocking on their huts and the government had long forgotten about them. Looking back, i'm lucky that i wasn't chopped up and mixed with beef. Worse, with dad having a catering business, i would have ended up on my own frying pan, literally. I'm happy to be alive. As the French say, C'est la vie`.