The goat chewed absent-mindedly as a small group on the other side of the stable made merry. A bull, flanked on either side by a brown horse, was saying, “Her skin was like milk and her neck was like marble.” His friends approved of the direction the story was going in by mooing, neighing and bleating their general appreciation. The bull continued, “She nuzzled my neck, ‘Mahabali, take me! Make me a cow,’ she said.”

“This is what Ayodhya is coming to,” said a displeased voice from behind the goat. The goat turned and momentarily stopped chewing. A beautiful cow stood in front of him. There was hay in her mouth but she wasn’t chewing. She looked holy.

“I am Kurup,” the goat introduced himself and waited. Then he realised he was staring and resumed chewing.

“Suvarna,” said the cow and her eyes finally came to rest upon Kurup. “Forgive my temper. But those beasts are talking about me.”

The goat didn’t know what to say. He had been listening to the bull for quite some time now. Now it started to appear distasteful.

“I haven’t seen you here before,” the cow said.