A DOG'S LIFE Evening approaches in the city. Fat-cat software designers and call-centre operatives pour out of air-cooled offices. Above in the cobalt sky the first fruit bats are setting out on silent wings, and rose-ringed parakeets squawk amid the flame tree blossoms. Nobody notices the little yellow pariah-pup hovering in the bushes outside the INDISOF works canteen. Drooping tail, protruding ribs, body porous with sores: a waning life.
A second canine, head held high, glossy and golden, tail coiled like a comma, makes for the canteen, skirting the bougainvillea-covered shrine built long ago to honour a visiting cobra. Darkness has descended with tropical haste. Mouth-watering aromas waft across the garden. In the bushes the little pariah licks its lips. At last the door opens and the cook appears bearing leftovers - rice, dal, vegetables, fruit. Even custard. The fine, golden dog makes rapid inroads into the pile of food.
Unable to bear its passive vigil any longer, the runt creeps out of hiding and crawls towards the feast.
In an instant the golden dog is upon it, sinking a huge canine into its bony flank. The runt screams. The other lets go. He stands back and watches as his victim makes off as fast as its ailing body will allow. Then he goes back to his meal.
The runt limps along the road and stops at a chai-vendor's stall. ‘Pah!’ the vendor shouts. ‘Get away!’ He hurls a stone, catching the animal on the flank, exactly where the golden dog has left his mark. Ears flat along its neck, it shies into the road. Lorries hoot as they thunder by so closely that their back draft sends it staggering sideways. Unlit autorickshaws swerve to miss it. A cyclist screeches to a halt, cursing as the load of tomatoes balanced on his crossbar spills onto the tarmac. By some miracle the runt makes it across. It limps down the uneven footpath, past the temple to the goddess Mariamma festooned with coloured lights: a celebration of life. A donkey family shepherding gangly-legged foals through the traffic fumes, stops to munch the litter around a jackfruit stall. The pup too roots among the rubbish, snapping up rotten morsels from under the donkeys’ noses. A grey-bristled beggar in a dirty lunghi picks among the debris with truncated fingers. The pup half-wags its tail but the old man ignores it and shuffles off on naked stumps that were once feet. The animal shadows him. They reach the bustling evening market. Pyramids of limes and grapes jostle with papayas and pomegranates. Chillies, aubergines and gourds seem huge in the lamplight. The scent of tuber-roses suffuses the air. The beggar goes from stall to stall, extending the remains of his hand. Sometimes he is rewarded with a decaying banana or an orange no longer fit to grace the flawless displays. The pup finds nothing to assuage its hunger. On trembling legs it drags itself after the old man. At the end of the market is a handcart laden with coconuts. The beggar shuffles past. The vendor watches him: a young man, with three marks of Shiva across his forehead and pity in his eyes.
‘Wait!’ he calls and takes a coconut from his pile. The old man stands impassively as the vendor splits it with an axe. The little dog too, fixes its starving eyes on the coconut. Instinct tells it that one chunk of the rich meat contains enough goodness to restore life into its body. ‘Here, Tata. Take.’ The vendor places the pieces into the beggar’s outstretched hands, avoiding his touch. Squatting down the old man clears his throat and spits. Then he begins to prise the white flesh from the shell. For the first time he notices the dog. He picks up a piece of husk and lobs it at the animal, which retreats behind a pile of rotting papers. Night air gives respite from the heat. Behind the rubbish tip, the runt has crumpled up and lies motionless. Time passes. The pup sniffs the air in its sleep. It opens its eyes and lifts its head a little. The market has shut down. The lights have been extinguished. The beggar has gone. All is silent. In the moonlight the pup discerns jagged shards scattered on the ground nearby. Nose twitching, it drags itself over to them. A tremor of anticipation ripples across its body.
With teeth like needles, it scrapes at the discarded shell. Then it begins to gulp down the life-giving coconut flesh, which had finally defeated the old beggar’s finger-stumps. A Dog's Life is read by Bernard Cribbins. | 
