Osho, my first dog, passed away at around 8.30pm last Saturday (February 3, 2007). He died of Gastro just after his third dose of antibiotics and saline.
I saw his eyes still and fixed, his mouth open… and it took me few minutes to drown the realization in. He had departed to where he came from. We wept uncontrollably.
Swati, Baby, and I came home from the vet’s clinic after he had clinically declared him dead. We came home and buried him under a Hibiscus plant in the corner of a garden in our compound.
Every morning, I watch his grave covered with Hibiscus flowers fallen over it.
Osho had first come into my arms on February 20 this year. Just 13 days before he passed away. As the clock struck midnight, at the steps of Chaturshringi Temple, the breeder had handed over to me my first pet, Osho.
Then, he was 35—odd days old. He was so happy and excited to see me. And baby was so scared; she was afraid to even hold the crate!
I still remember his tilted face, his anticipation when I warmed his feed in hot water. I still remember how he learned everything so fast… how soon he knew that Baby was afraid of him and therefore, how alert he always used to be with her around.
How he used to run with a slanting angle… and how he barked when he heard me at the door when I came in the afternoons from work to feed him!
I still remember him standing with one of his front legs up in the air while all the other three rested on the floor.
How he always slept the way I did: with his head either on my forearm or the pillow. How he used to sneeze…
In just 13 days, I had become a father: cleaning shit, wiping face after every meal, putting him to sleep, bathing him, changing newspapers, cleaning the floor after he does his duties…
And now he is no more. His pictures and his memories will keep him alive. I don’t know whether he has reborn as a dog or in any other form. I hope he has.
I hope that the Hibiscus plant above his grave never stops flowering. Let it blossom for Osho and let the flowers fall from the sky for as long as it can.
My Osho, wherever you are: R.I.P.
