It is only when you arrive on the verge of losing something or someone that you horrifically realize how priceless that something or someone is. Today (on 4th March, 2016), I lost my Bunny for an hour before it could be finally traced down, having sought refuge in an elderly lady’s dog-infested flat. Unlike cats, the dogs (both the strays and the pet ones) bear a streak of strong affection and protectiveness for rabbits. (I have noticed this on multiple occasions during my two-year stint with rabbits) and so I felt the two pomelians vehemently guarding my nervous Bunny as I bent down to pick it up from a dark, pitiable corner under the table. The relief that washed over me on spotting my Gori (Gori is the name with which we address Bunny at home) was immense.
After the fruitless hour-long search around my locality, my heart was stripped of all hope. It was upsetting to peer inside the underside of cars and look for signs of recognition of a rabbit-leftover amidst a gang of unusually animated dogs. I felt, at that point, the agonizing dilemma of a father’s heart when he is summoned to the morgue to identify his child’s probable body.
But the more pressing fear was the stronger likelihood of some passerby having scooped up my adventurous rabbit from the street and having walked away with it. I looked at all possible and impossible places where she could be found loitering, but after the sun burnt me for an hour and every corner had been scanned and re-scanned (and every man/passerby/vendor quizzed), I felt the searing wave of the wind of death raging past my heart’s meadow. Within minutes, my heart was a graveyard, my eyes drizzling in a sense of deep loss and guilt. Her memories crowded over my mind from all sides, like unwanted people crowding on a child when he is lost in a fair.
Memories are happy memories as long as the people in these memories are with you. But when they have left or are lost, the same memories become stained with sadness. So, as I trudged back towards my home with heavy legs and empty hands, my mind was torturing my heart with an overdose of memories all of which were delightful at one time but seemed to terrify me now.
I would tap at its ribs repeatedly until she steps inside the tub and pees there- when she would snarl at me, showering anger like a peeved toddler does upon its parents- when she leapt on my breakfast plate during that hilarious December morning and found its foreleg sheepishly drowned in my mug of green tea. The expression on her face at that time was one of a child who has committed a blunder and is now guiltily wanting his parents to bail him out of the trouble.
There are plenty such memories sleeping behind my eyelid. It’s good that I found my Bunny in the end, or else my eyes would have too many coffins for the day.