‘She must be attempting sati,’ said another. ‘O mother cow, are there no limits to your godliness?’

‘Ridiculous,’ the psychologist argued. ‘These cultural explanations are unscientific. The cow was procured from an abattoir. Each time she sees a kitchen she is reminded of steak. Cows have a good sense of smell, you see. She is now fixated on burning the kitchen down.’

Periodically, the committee sat to resolve cases presented by the cow psychologist. Some problems were self-created. The psychologist had read that old cows become rejuvenated if they spend time with young calves. He instituted a programme in which, every Friday, calves from the neighbouring villages would visit the cow shelter. When the calves arrived and tried to play, the old ones would kick them away.

‘It’s not their fault. Give them soft toys instead,’ suggested the milkman.

‘How absurd! Whoever heard of soft toys for cows?’ responded the cow psychologist.

The milkman explained. Most mothers were used to soft toys during their productive years and didn’t have the ability to deal with real calves. Calves compete for milk. But religious injunctions do not permit their killing. Therefore, they’re starved to death. Then their skin is stuffed with straw. Four wooden legs are thrust into it. Each morning this soft toy is brought to the mother, and she, thinking this toy is her calf, allows her milk to flow freely. How can she be expected to deal with real calves?’

The cow psychologist thanked the milkman for his insight. Motivated, he introduced a new programme: Pre-loved Toys for Cows. Soon they were receiving stuffed bovines from English boys and girls. Not all cases could be disposed of with soft toys. For some, they prescribed, ‘send her off to Vrindavan.’ For others, particularly on matters of attempted suicide—for they were concerned that the cows were contemplating suicide in a place that was meant to protect them, to be their sanctuary—they sought guidance from neighbouring cow shelters. Rich merchants and landlords did not support these cow shelters enough. Neither did they have strong committees that appointed cow psychologists. They were behind the curve on everything from funding to fodder to fellows. Here maggots seemed better protected than cows. The cow psychologist suggested that the committee approach the Maharaja of Jhunjhunu, who held the title Gau Brahmin Pratipalak (Defender of Cows and Brahmins)—the order was important—to set up a society for the mental well-being of cows.

‘Ask the moneylenders to put in a request. The Maharaja is heavily in their debt. He will not refuse them.’

Soon children were applying for voluntary work in the cow shelter. The men had no choice but to develop a criterion for selection.

‘Do you know how to massage?’

‘The cow. Yes, I can.’

‘Not the cow.’

‘Yes.’