Muthulingam, A dog from wellawatte

Dickens would say it was the best of times, and it was the worst of times. Doriasamy Muthulingam, knew it was the worst of times. Muthulingam, was a dog, who had balls. Not literally, of course. Mohammed, that swine in feline skin, had seen to that. What had been worrying him however, something far more complex, something his mother had warned him about a long time ago. Racism. Muthulingam didn't like racism. Every time he heard cars going fast, it reminded him how weak he was, how insignificant he was, how dispensable he was. It made him feel, like a Sri Lankan. So he sat and he watched, the world go by, life go by, dinner, on the other side of the street go by. He saw the police across thestreet. Who like him, were protecting their turf, and who like him, took food without paying for it from the neighborhood shops. But unlike him, they weren't chased away. Having thought that, Muthulingam knew there were many who had less than he had. Like for instance, Threewheeler, the dog who had lost his right hind leg in an accident. Or Dainis De Silva, who at nearly ninety, never missed a Friday night. Muthulingam, was one of few who had ever associated with him. Dainis De Silva was no man of the neighborhood. He came from nearly three hours away, from a little house, in a village in Ambalangoda, every weekend, on a crutch, to beg. Muthu wanted to protect the old man. Buy him something to eat, but all he could do was bark away the rats tried to gnaw on him. Like they gnawed at the other beggar. Muthulingam didn't know his name. But not that anyone called him either. He had been reduced to less than a dog, less than a man in the eyes of the world. The rats ran around his face, over his sarong, as he huddled across the stinking wet street. Or like teen girl, the sixteen year old in a tight shirt, whose parents tried to sell her by force. She opened at 8pm for business. She like her cousin, was an optimist. But unlike her cousin, she was taken dressed, innocent and new, not drugged, laughed at and by force.

Muthulingam hated Cow girl. It wasn't so much her cleanliness, or her smell, or her fur, but her attitude. He was never good enough for her. She barked him down, in front of people, in front of the pack, even in front of vehicles. He wasn't actually sad that she had gone. The van had come in the night, put her in. They said she had smiled and said everything was ok. What Muthulingam knew, hearts of hearts, was what troubled him. She loved him. She had never actually said it, but he had seen it in her eyes. He just didn't get how someone could come and put a dog in a van, and take it away like that. Sure, some had collars, some didn't. And those who hadn't collars, could bite. But so many had to suffer, and it was considered ok. But now she was gone, and there was little he could do. Maybe one day, they will come for him too. Funny how much dog and man have in common.



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