Harmless Sport? People May Need Jallikattu, but the Bulls Don’t
Exciting and with some reverence for the beast, clearly, people need Jallikattu. But does the animal need it?
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Never has the humble Indian bull been so much in the news. Often discarded by farmers because it doesn’t give milk, or sold for meat or leather, the bull has a different story in Tamil Nadu. Here, select bulls are kept in choice conditions, almost worshipped, brought up the way someone would rear a portly pedigree pet. The bulls are also released in an arena each year during the Jallikattu festival so young men can wrestle them down, control them, and conquer them.
Animal rights activists and a growing section of people, mostly outside Tamil Nadu, have pointed out the obvious provocativeness of the sport. Bulls are inherently peaceable animals.
Imagine if they were not.
A fair number of abandoned bulls - huge, virile, and a ton of muscle - walk through cities and towns of India daily. Mostly, they trundle past in a nonchalant, cud-chewing sashay, harming no one. If bulls were not peaceful, there would be a lot more deaths and injuries in India, and like leopards and tigers, bulls too would be locked up or trapped. An experiment done by a university professor recently lined up people in a bull-fighting ring. When the young bull was released, it ran amongst the lines of people, avoiding each one. It demonstrated that the animal wants to avoid people, rather than attack.
The contention thus is: bulls are peaceful animals, and by its very nature, Jallikattu provokes this calm animal. Secondly, activists have documented cruelty towards the bulls just before Jallikattu: this video shows how bulls have suspicious liquid force-fed to them, their tails bitten or broken, and backs goaded by people just before entering the Jallikattu arena.
Last year, the Supreme Court in ongoing hearings said Jallikattu was cruel and opined that such a game should be played only on computers. As a result of this, Tamil Nadu is in chaos. Huge rallies of people, both online and offline, with slogans like #TamilPride are asserting that Jallikattu is Tamil identity itself and should not be stopped.
The matter, like many populist issues, has become political. Tamil Nadu has asked the Centre to allow the sport, and called for an ordinance on the issue. Actors have come together saying Jallikattu must be saved at all costs. Kamal Hassan have said if Jallikattu is banned, biryani can be banned also; implying that as long as people eat meat, a festival like this shouldn’t be a problem. The difference, of course, is that people eat meat to live; while festival and sport are optional alternatives.
Why is Jallikattu such a wildly popular sport? Like the sport of wrestling, the premise is simple. It is man versus beast on the simple setting of a patch of bare earth. Hooves flying, tail bucking, eyes rolling, the bulls try to get away when released, while one man or groups of men try to wrestle it by controlling the hump. The process lasts some minutes. It is not a gladiatorial sport, or as gory as Spanish bullfighting, but it nevertheless appeals to the most primeval of instincts.
It is a community event; thrill laced with adoring fear. Like Mumbai’s Dahi Handi festival (young people, usually men, make a human pyramid to break a hanging pot), it is popular but can inflict injury.
The second pro-Jallikattu argument is that the festival has led to preservation of indigenous bulls, who would otherwise be slaughtered.
Exciting, primeval, thrilling, and with some reverence for the beast it tries to control, clearly, people need Jallikattu. But does the animal need it?
Provoking peaceful animals, even if they are revered throughout the year, is not a triumph for the animal. It is a triumph for the person who wants to showcase his virility. A festival that once started as a farmer’s festival has today become larger in scale and scope, as is the case with many organised festivals or community events. Questions are raised about protests coming from ‘outsiders’. Tamil people say they are being accused of being archaic, but they are happy with that tag as long as they continue their ‘tradition’.
Does a non-Tamil have the right to ask for something to stop in Tamil Nadu? What are the ramifications of such an ask when made on behalf of an animal that just can’t speak? What about the fact that other alternate Tamil voices need to be heard as well?
The answers will be fiercely, and politically contested.
One thing is clear. The final decision needs to include farmers in decision making. The worst fall-out would be if the reverence for the bull is lost in the ban on Jallikattu. But as life evolves, traditions should evolve too. The traditions of bear dancing; and wild animal sacrifice at Pujas have been halted too. If Jallikattu can be organised without cruelty, capture or control of the bull, that should be explored. For instance, Nepal does a beauty contest for elephants, and India does one for cows. It sounds silly, but it also sounds harmless.
Like people, animals also have rights. They also have the right to privacy and dignity. It is acceptable for people to compromise these ideals if it is a case of life and death. Further, the idea that only a particular group of people should decide on a particular issue is fraught with problems. While many say farmers engaged with Jallikattu are not articulate enough to appear in the media, it is also true that many politically connected groups are raising the issue vociferously. How different voices - and not just one noisy one - will be negotiated will be the real test. And in the end, the non-speaking bull should be the main concern.
Ideally, Jallikattu should evolve into something less basic and confrontational. But then, it is also likely to have less adrenaline-fuelled cheering from the stands.
(Neha Sinha is a wildlife conservationist. She tweets at @nehaa_sinha)
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