A Dogged Pursuit

When I travelled to Tokyo last week, I got a veryspecific request from my eight year old daughter. She wanted me to get a pictureof a dog called Hachiko. The dog whose photograph she wanted is not some kind oftoy or a robot dog that we associate with Japan. This dog figures prominently inan English lesson that she has learnt at school. Initially, I suggested to herthat since it is in a schoolbook, it is likely to be a fairy tale, one that hasno bearing to real life. I think she got the feeling that her papa was trying toslime out of a perfectly simple task: take a picture of Hachiko. But shepersisted and proceeded to give me specific directions to where I would findHachiko. All I had to do was to get off the train at the Shibuya station andonce I got off the train, Hachiko would be there, waiting to be photographed.She wanted a photograph to show her classmates and tell them: "Hachikois real, and here I got a picture for you to see." Her English teacher wouldalso be, not to put too much of stress on this, suitably satisfied that herstudent had assimilated the lesson more than was strictly necessary.

One or two small problems cropped up when I landed in Tokyo with a schedulethat was packed pretty tight. Where was I going to find the time to go lookingfor a dog to photograph? The other thing was that I had forgotten to take acamera with me on the trip. How was I going to get that picture of the dog, evenif I were to find it, without a camera? Initial enquiries that I made with therest of the people traveling on the trip brought forth incredulous responses:'Hachiko? Is that Japanese for sneeze?' But when I asked the first Japaneseperson I got the opportunity to enquire from, there was an instant smile ofrecognition. Yes, I would find Hachiko in Shibuya, a bustling shopping area.And, yes, indeed, there is a train station there.

The next task was to find someone with a camera who would understand thesituation I was in. I turned to AJ Philip of the Tribune who readily agreed toaccompany me for this errand. Besides, his curiosity, I think, was also piquedas to what kind of a dog this would turn out to be. Philip then proceeded tonarrate a dog story that I found rather sad. Apparently, a friend of his had adog in a southern town in India. It was more a puppy really. After some months,this person decided that it was not possible for him to keep the puppy anddecided to let it go. He took a long drive down to another city more than ahundred kilometers away and left the dog there and returned home. One yearlater, the dog turned up at his home. There he was, outside the door, tailwagging furiously, all excited and waiting to jump at his master. Theintervening months had not been kind to him. He had grown bigger and the collarthat had been around his neck was still there but it had cut into the flesh inthe neck and it was full of sores as was the rest of his body. But there was nomistaking the excitement in the dog that was happy to have found his home. Themaster was in a dilemma. He still didn’t want to keep the dog. He solved theproblem by putting the dog to sleep—forever.

It was a sad story. But I was glad to have Philip for company as I set off toShubiya to find Hachiko. Prem Panicker from rediff also joined in. When wefinally reached Shubiya, we walked around for a bit till we saw a stationentrance with Japanese people flowing out of it in an orderly fashion. (When theJapanese park their cars, there is a uniform distance between the cars. They don’tjump red lights. It looks like the kind of country where rules work.) And, indeed, thisstation entrance was called the Hachiko Entrance. Right besides the entrance wasa huge mural full of dogs of various sizes and shapes. I duly got a picturetaken in front of the mural. But someone had the presence of mind to ask:"Which one of these is Hachiko? Shouldn’t we make sure, having come allthis way?" So I asked a policeman. He pointed a little way away, to a spotwhere there was a small crowd of people, and said, "Hachiko is there".

Hachiko turned out to be a huge bronze dog. It was sitting on its haunchesand looking towards the station entrance. It didn’t look as though it was partof a fairy tale. The metal was cold to my hand. There were people takingpictures of Hachiko —and pictures of themselves standing with Hachiko.

This was the photo-op my daughter wanted.

What’s the deal with the dog? I was asked by allthose accompanying me. For those who have been patient, this is the story as mydaughter’s lesson has it:

Hachiko belonged to a professor in the TokyoUniversity. He found him as a puppy, all miserable and wet and shivering onerainy night, and took him home. They bonded, the pup and the professor. Theprofessor took the train to the University from Shibuya station every day. Andeveryday, Hachiko would accompany him to the station. Outside the station, theprofessor would pat Hachiko goodbye. The dog would watch the master disappearamong the crowds in the station and then go out to the square outside and play.When the professor got back in the afternoon, the dog would be there outside thestation waiting for him. They would then walk back home together. When the dogwas two years old, the professor died while he was in University. Only, Hachikodidn’t come to know about this, and he went to the station to wait for him.Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months and months turned intoyears. Still, Hachiko would wait. He did this every day, for the next ten years.Seeing the dogged faithfulness of the animal, the people in the area decided tomake a statue of him. Once the statue was made, Hachiko would play around thestatue.

Finally, age caught up. He died one winter waiting for the professor atShibuya railway station. When Japan joined in the second world war, Hachiko’sstatue was melted so that the bronze it was made of could be recycled for thewar effort. But after the war, they decided to revive Hachiko's memory byerecting another statue of him. But by then, the person who had made theoriginal statue had died. So they asked his son to recreate it.

That’s the statue that my daughter wanted photographed.

As I stood looking around the spot, Christmas spirit was already in the air.It was a bright day, and there was no sign of rain in the clear sky. A Christmastree stood nearby. It was full of decorations. There were people all around, allgoing about the business of life. It would have been simpler to get a pictureoff the net. But it wouldn’t have been the same thing. So here it is, Hachiko,the faithful dog. Merry Christmas!