One of the more intriguing aspects of India for me was the coexistence of man and animals. I'm not talking about domestic animals, I mean troops of wild monkeys bounding across rooftops as if re-enacting chase scenes from a kung fu flick, or large birds of prey swooping down on garbage piles in the streets.   In some villages there are wild boars that scuttle around feeding almost exclusively on cow manure, and swallows that colonise the architraves of ancient buildings sending forth clouds of whistling sprites into the dusk skyline. In Varanassi there are a handful of pygmy dolphins living quite happily in the Ganges River, weaving between boatloads of tourists and floating corpses.   Everywhere you look you will see some form of tolerance being displayed by man and animals to create a harmonious coexistence, as if each species recognised the rights of the others to be there in the first place.

Beelzebub

This story took place in Pushkar, a small town in south west Rajasthan. It is literally an oasis in the desert and considered to be one of the five most sacred locations in India. Hindu legend has it that tears shed by the goddess Parvaati landed on the site, forming a holy lake. A town was built around the lake, its edges are surrounded by temples for various gods and lined with stone steps called 'bathing ghats'. These ghats are a major attraction for pilgrims and travellers alike, hence they are diligently patrolled by Brahman priests who dispense salvation for a minimal fee. Religion is big business, everyone seems to be in on the game. Even a few of the animals.....

On my way into Pushkar I met a young kiwi traveller called Adam who was overly distressed about an incident that had just occurred.   Apparently he had been standing on the ghats when a huge black goat reared up on its hind legs and dealt him a blow with its hoofs then charged him with its horns and tried to bury them into his stomach. He was so disturbed by the assault that he had caught a rickshaw to the bus depot to buy a ticket out of town.

Some people are more melodramatic than others when it comes to dealing with attacks by large animals, so I took his story with a grain of salt.

That night in a local restaurant I overheard many similar stories from other travellers about being attacked by large black goats on the bathing ghats. The details of their encounters were horribly fascinating. All of them vowed not to return to the lake.

By the next morning I was thoroughly absorbed by these gruesome tales and made enquires with the Brahman priests down on the ghats.   I learned there were indeed a pair of goats living by the lake. The information was hazy but from what I could gather these goats were the lakes' de facto guardians, although no one knew where they came from, who they belonged to or how long they had been there.

The unofficial stance taken by the townsfolk was to treat them like holy cows. Their religious vigilance was worthy of reward, however their foul temper ensured they were given a wide berth. The most curious piece of information to arise was the belief that they only attacked non-Hindus. I would have to see these beasts in action.

At the most easterly point of the lake is a bamboo hut called Sunset Café. It was built above the ghats with a wide view of the town, the perfect location for an afternoon beverage while watching the sun sink into the western horizon. Every tourist in Pushkar seems to gather there in the evenings, either sitting on the ghats or beneath the trees nearby.

On my first visit to the café I was rewarded with a spectacular display of 'tourist- herding' by one of the territorial predators. As the sun sank behind the temples a dark shape appeared at the waters edge and commenced herding people back towards the street. Its approach was slow but effective, moving forward with horns bowed in the universal 'I'm-gonna-fuck-you-up' position. Those who did not move received a well-placed kick to the stomach, or a horn gouging to the groin. Within five minutes the ghats were cleared of all tourists.

From a hundred meters I could smell a putrid odour being emitted from the creature. It was completely overpowering, like the stale sweat of a thousand camels. Even from a distance I could tell it was unnaturally large, almost the size of a small horse. Its black hair was long and matted, its horns were gnarly and twisted...... perfect for disembowelling.   I finished my chai and made for the street, for fear it might turn on the café patrons aswell.

One café in the town square carried an item on their menu known as 'Special Lassi'.   This dark green concoction consisted of several grams of powdered ganja mixed into a delicious yoghurt beverage.   The resulting effect is like riding a rollercoaster for an entire day. The first time around is fun, the rest of the day is nauseating.

Although completely unnecessary I developed a taste for theses toxic cocktails and learnt 'the hard way' that finding my way home under their influence was quite a challenge. The easiest option was to head for the lake and follow its edges until I reached my hostel, although some areas were blocked off to pedestrians traffic in which case I would weave my way through the maze of tiny alleys behind its shore.   In doing so I discovered why the evil goats were rarely seen during the heat of the day. The alleyways were cool and shady, perfect for a large black beast seeking shelter from the sun.

I managed to avoid confrontation for the first week, but towards the end of my stay in Pushkar it appeared that my luck had run out.

During one of my brazened 'Lake-walks' I found myself disoriented in a maze of cobblestone alleys. As I crept between the buildings I became aware of a nauseating stench permeating through the air, and suddenly felt as if I was stranded in the Minator's lair. The thin, shady alleys weaved to and fro, it was hard to discern which direction the smell was coming from.

Eventually I found the mouth of the alley and could see the lake ahead when the sound of hoofs on stone rang out, sending a shiver down my spine.   To my horror a pair of horns ascended from the ghats ahead, blocking my only path forward.

I thought I might have food in my bag that could used to distract it, but after a quick search I found only my diary, a few pens and a disposable camera. The bag itself could be used as a weapon of sorts, but it wouldn't be very effective against those horns. I would have to make a run for it.

The goat was closing in, he had me in his sights and was moving fast. If I side-stepped him from a distance he could easily intercept me, I would have to lure him in close then duck out at the last minute like a matador.  

Then I remembered the camera in my bag. I knew that for a 'tourist-hating' goat it would be like a red flag to a bull.

I crouched down on one knee and lifted the viewfinder to my eye, it felt like an eternity watching him approach. When my field of vision turned black with hair and I could hear breath bellowing from its nostrils, I snapped the shot, pivoted on my heels, then leapt out of reach of his flying hoofs as it tried to remove my teeth and genitals.   The gap was open, I could see my path to freedom. I bolted past the bewildered creature before it had time to regroup, then ran the length of the lake until I reached the safety of my hostel.

Like my fellow travellers I too also vowed not to return to the lake and left the town of Pushkar shortly afterwards. Since that day I have studied this photo carefully and consider it to be tangible proof that I have come face-to-face with a flesh incarnation of the devil.   After all, any religion worshipping holy cows probably has room for an evil goat or two....