Cows Hurt More Than Love

General Chyangra was not feeling happy. Despite being the youngest general in the history of the Indian Army at age 16, he felt woefully inadequate as his mother still had to sign on documents for him. He walked towards the negotiation room as she scolded him.

“Did you eat a proper breakfast, Chyangra?”

“Yes.”
“Will you eat a proper lunch?”

“If I don’t kill myself before, yes.”

“I’m letting that one go. Have you got everything you need for the big negotiation meeting?”

“I hope so.”

“Stand straight!”

“You’re causing me to slouch like that, you know.”

“Well, what sort of general are you then, if your mother makes you slouch like that?!”

General Chyangra sighed a large, loud sigh that wafted through the corridor like a soft wind blowing through a funeral no one attended.

“Turn here!”

General Chyangra’s mother sounded like a vicious thunderstorm causing the pallbearers to avoid burying the coffin and rush indoors to have some tomato soup instead.

“Turn, Chyangra!”

General Chyangra turned not because he wanted to but because it would make her shut up, and also because that was the direction he had to turn towards anyway. He refrained from talking back because it would lead to conversation. It annoyed him that refusing her directions would mean hurting himself. It made it seem like he was following her orders, even though he was simply doing what he would have done anyway.

“Now, are you sure you’ve got all the papers you need? Quickly check them once more before you go in there.”

General Chyangra didn’t check them even though he knew he should. Even if there was a problem, it was still better than satisfying her. Hopefully she would learn a lesson and let him be from now on. He walked in, leaving his mother angrily thinking it served him right if he forgot something. Hopefully he would learn a lesson and listen to her from now on.

The secret meeting room was located in the most important floor of the Military Headquarters: The Astrological Dance Bar. It consisted of a giant, dimly lit, purple-tinted, oval-shaped room with walls made of shark flesh, and in the center, a large desk shaped like a cowboy hat. The desk was made of ivory and had neon borders. On each corner of the hat were gold-plated plates ringed with eagle beaks. The Prime Time Minister’s wife, Sweety Gopal, sat in a corner, filing her nails as her husband combed her hair with one of the plates. General Chyangra coughed slightly, capturing nobody’s attention. Sweety Gopal shifted from one ass to another.

“Hey!”

Gen. C’s mother screamed just before the door shut on her face, causing Gen. C’s special General’s hat to fall off his head. “Oh my!”, said Sweety Gopal. She rose theatrically, tripped over her rosy skirt, and fell to the floor. Without missing a beat, she crawled towards the General, picked up the hat, and handed it to the wide-eyed Chyangra.

“Rarrrr”, said Sweety, pretending to be a kitty kat, and clawed his thigh. Staring at him seriously for a while, she suddenly burst out laughing like only people who are used to faking laughter can. General Chyangra didn’t quite know what to do and looked upset.

“Don’t worry, she won’t bite”, said the Prime Time Minister, smiling menacingly in the dim purple light. He stuck out his tongue and licked the palm of his right hand.

Gen. C kept the plate back on the table.

“We have urgent business to discuss, Mr. Mandi.”

“All business is urgent when you’re this handsome, Chyangra.”, said Mr. Mandi, running his spittle-dewed hand through his oily hair.

“Where is our Military planner?”

“Perhaps she is somewhere else.”

“Perhaps we should discuss this alone.”

“Sweety can be trusted. She’s seen more than you know.”, Mr. Mandi winked.

“What is that even supposed to mean?”

“Waiter! A whiskey!”

“There’s no waiter here, it’s the secret meeting room.”

“Who brought us our previous drinks then?”

“I don’t care, Mandi! Listen to me!”

“My ears are yours.”

“But your heart is mine.”

“Of course, Sweety.”

“We have received intelligence reports from our most trusted source.”

“Forever and ever?”

“The enemy is planning a deadly attack on our nation.”

“Until I die.”

“Dammit, listen to me!”

“Matters of the heart, Chyangra. Matters of the heart.”

“This is not in the form of an out-and-out war, but something more secret; more sinister.”

“Ooh, scary!”

“Are you being sarcastic?”

“No, I wet my pants.”
“For God’s sake, Mandi.”

“The dam of my prostate must release the river of my urine from time to time. Circle of life in Planet Mandi, whaddya say, buddy?!”
“That is incorrect on all the possible counts.”

“What is this secret sinister method, Chyangra?”

“They plan on infiltrating our army and the government, sir. With a series of cleverly disguised spies.”

“Dastardly!”

“Several of our men have apparently been bought in return for a trip to Purulia.”

“What should we do?”
“Well, for starters, pay our own people more.”

There was a grim silence, followed by tears of laughter.

“Haha!”
“Heehee!”

“Gosh, I’ve wet my pants again. I quite enjoy doing that.”

“Do you now?”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“These spies could be anyone.”

“Stop looking at me like that, I say.”

“Trust no one, sir.”

“Not even you?”

“Not even yourself.”

“I never do. The other day I told myself I’ll only have three ladoos but-”

“Shall we discuss the plan?”

“Why not?”

Gen. C walked towards a giant drawer with pulls made of bison horns, brought out a huge map of the world, and placed it on the table. After a few minutes, Mandi managed to locate Russia.

“Here we are.”

“That’s not us, sir. We’re here.”

“Well that’s disappointing.”

Gen. C got impatient.

“So this the plan. We attack here tomorrow. I have arranged for a strike at dawn.”

“Is that fair though?”

“How do you mean?”

“Won’t they be asleep then?”

“Well, no.”

“What do we do after this attack?”

Gen. C’s eyes lit up and a hint of crazy shone through his smiling teeth.

“Celebrate!”

“Waiter! Whiskey!”

A waiter showed up with three glasses of whiskey.

“Who are you?”

“Shivaji Ram, sir.”

“Why are you serving whiskey in the secret meeting room?”

“Where else should I be serving whiskey, sir?”

Gen C. and Prime Time Mandi had no answer to this pertinent question. Gen. C had a sip. Prime Time Mandi finished his glass. Sweety said, “Cheers.” but didn’t drink anything. Shivaji Ram disappeared.

“I feel funny, Chyangra.”
“It’s these shark flesh walls, Mandi. I told them not to go so overboard.”

“Going overboard is the only way to win a war, Chyangra.”

“Why do I feel like a loser then?”

“Winning rarely makes you feel like a winner, Chyangra.”

“I can’t stop feeling like a loser.”

“Well, I can’t stop looking this handsome.”

“Sometimes I cry through the night.”

“There there, Chyangra.”

“Sometimes I wake up with tears flowing down to my pants.”

“Do you change them or just let them be?”

“I don’t know what to do with all this emotion, Mandi.”
“Kill, Chyangra. That’s what makes you such a good general.”

“I don’t want to be a good general.”
“What do you want then?”
“Not this.”

“You can give me your hat if you like.”

Gen. C took off his hat and threw it away.

“Hey!”

“I don’t even have the important papers I wanted to bring.”

“Check in the tiger cage.”

Gen. C walked to the tiger cage to find Lokesh the royal bengal tiger chewing on what appeared to be a set of important papers.

“Why god why?”, said Gen C, looking exasperated and about to give up.

“Why not?”, answered Mandi, looking very pleased with himself.

“How did it get there?”, Gen C wondered.

“Maybe you fed it to him.”

“No, it was my mother. She’s trying to teach me lessons.”

“Why don’t you backflip her plan and teach her a lesson instead?”

“I try and fail everyday.”

“This failure is what makes you feel like a loser.”
“But you said winning doesn’t make one feel like a winner.”
“That’s right.”

“So is there no way out for me?”

“Not as long as there’s no way in.”

“What do you mean?”
“Love, Chyangra! Love!”

“Take that rose off your mouth.”
“Ow!”

“What about love?”

“Love is like chocolate, Chyangra. You have to pay for it.”

“Can’t I demand love?”

“Not if you can’t offer any.”

“I hate my life.”

“My life is quite good.”, said Mandi, smiling to himself yet again.

“Waiter, whiskey!”

Shivaji Ram apparated with three whiskey glasses. A wrestling yoga star entered behind him, and stepped onto the DJ console.

“Ok guys, time to party!”

“Who is this?”
“The resident DJ.”

The yoga star started playing astrological dance music. A flood of swamis entered the room and started dancing vigorously. Sweety Gopal rushed to the middle and joined them.

Mishti Bhoda, the overachieving youngster who was the first female military planner in the history of the Indian army, appeared in full regalia.

“Sorry I’m late. Your mother wanted advice on how to discipline you.”

Gen. C sipped his drink slurpily. Mandi slurped his drink sleepily. Mishti Bhoda slapped them both.

“Both of you look like going to sleep.”

“Sleep is all I desire.”

“Death is what I want.”

“Me too, actually.”

Both of them plonked to the floor comically. Mishti Bhoda placed them on top of each other. The wrestling yoga star switched to an emotional song and started watching porn on his phone.

“Idiots”, said Mishti.

Shivaji Ram appeared and took their drinks away. He offered one to Mishti, who refused.

“Who are you?”, asked Mishti, but he had dissapparated away.