For a moment, I was tempted. The sun was beating down and the hundreds of cows nearby were doing their bit for global warming, breaking wind and spewing out methane. Who would refuse a chilled glass of orange-flavoured squash in this setting? Well, practically anybody, if they knew it was spiked with cow urine. So what if it’s distilled?
But it was hammered into me at journalism school that I had to get my feet wet (in this case, my beak) to be able to do justice to a story. So I did take two sips, along with two deep breaths, and survived to write this piece. Frankly, I couldn’t taste the urine but then I thankfully don’t know what urine tastes like, distilled or neat. But I sure do know how it smells like now. The stench was oppressive and hopefully it was not coming from my glass. I lowered mine and placed it as far away as possible on the table.
A cow enthusiast who had come to learn some tricks of the cow trade was visibly proud when his small daughter asked for a second helping. “Yeh Ram baan hai (This drink is like Ram’s arrow—it solves all problems),” endorsed P.L. Toshniwal. But I noticed that he hadn’t touched a drop of his drink. I couldn’t resist and asked why. “As long I remain an office-bearer,” he said gravely, “I have sworn not to take anything this gaushala produces.” Such sincerity, only the gaumata could bring this about.
