My Dear Pig And Me - A Naga

It's Saturday. Home alone. The rest of the family are in the village. They will be back home at night on the four-wheel Willy's jeep. It's afternoon and the sun is giving up. And my dear pig's stomach has given up too. He has started grunting. So, I grab the intricately woven bamboo basket my grandfather made and vanish into the greenery behind the house. There should be fresh leaves for my dear pig! And then, my mind rolls over the whole issue of my dear pig and me - a Naga.
So much as I put the Shillong knife across each green leaf and sometimes in a bunch, I know that I have better prospects in life. I also remember my grand uncle telling me we have sound minds and not to be like 'tsumars' (Indians).He left last year.

I also realize that many of my tribesmen have been cut off so effortlessly just like I am cutting the leaves. Oh, how easily they have been cut! God forgive the 'tsumars'. And as I look at the basket already full, I am moved. I am not alone! Perhaps, somewhere across the thousands of square miles of greenery of my country Naga, another tribesman is thinking alike as he attends to his dear pig. What a tribe I belong to! And so my gathering is finished and like a seasoned Naga warrior I suddenly appear out of the greenery. My dear pig has stepped up his grunting pace. So I throw a handful from the basket into his hollow wooden bowl. He is hungry indeed. The sparkling nose under the afternoon ray seems to assure me more of that. Then I get this realization that I a tribesman am also hungry with a more real hunger, something like the Israelite tribesmen had under Egypt's bondage. And certainly Jehovah wouldn't fuse my tribe into a heathen people. God forbid.

Oh, the water must be boiling! So I head to the fireplace and the basin dances because of the restless water. The water is done. And as I pour the water into the Waterman bucket, I know my tribe is also done and ready to impact the world just like the wheat bran and other vegetables are in the Waterman's. Still thinking about this I walk to the corner beside the kitchen and sit down to chop the basket-full as finely as my dear pig prefers. To my surprise I come to know that I am honestly very specific to my dear pig's preference not my convenience so much as my tribe is honest to our'tribality'.

Eureka! With this wonderful discovery, up I stand with my grandfather's basket-full and put the chopped leaves into the bucket. Then I stir up everything together with my bare hands. And somehow I feel my hands being replaced by a thousand computerized mechanical hands that would do the stirring for a thousand pigs in a massive pig farm in my country Naga. As I carefully stir, a potato passes by and I grab it and crush it gently. That potato then assures me of another massive potato chips industry in my country Naga. Perhaps the whole of South East Asia can be the market for that. And the uranium reserves will provide any amount of power required. As I keep on thinking my dear pig's meal gets ready because my stirring has done its job. He must be very hungry by now. So I lift up the bucket and proceed towards him. I pour the bucket-full into his dry wooden bowl. He gulps it up with perfect timing.
Then I learn I will have my own time too. I will know how wonderful it is to gulp in freedom. May my dear pig inspire me more. May the Holy Ghost lead my tribe into all truth and revelation.