A mud splattered cow stood in the middle of the pebble and dirt country road, its forlorn eyes telling them to shoo, daring them to make the first move. It gave Ain the opportunity to laugh out loud for the first time since she had awakened.
They had entered the village road barely minutes ago when the animal strolled onto their path and stopped.
Arman stifled his own guffaw, his hands scratching his head at the incredulous standoff. Time seemed to have stood still, but he knew it had gone into its third or fourth minute.
Fortunately, they were the only four wheeled vehicles put on the spot. A few laughing riders on motorbikes and bicycles hollered and jeered as they safely bypassed the duo's furry, road-blocking, antagonist.
He looked at her and smiled. The radiance in her features momentarily made him forget the troubles they were in. Glad for once to see the young woman whom he had accosted from the hospital hours before unable to stop herself from laughing in delight.
"I don't suppose you could, you know…" he gestured to Ain, pointing his index fingers to his temple. She laughed even louder, tears flowing down her flushed red cheeks. He grinned in returned.
They both spotted the scrawny young teen, running from one of the huts besides the paddy field, the words "bad Sappee, bad bad cow" ringing in the wind.
To Arman's surprised, Ain opened her door and got down, walking gingerly towards the cow munching something in its mouth just as the teenager arrived.
"Sorry, Maam. Aiyoh, she is always challenging cars like this," he said, a toothy grin flashing as he looked at Ain, then to the pickup going "Wow!"
Arman joined them and admired the ease in her action of stroking the cow's hump, getting an appreciative grunt in return.
"Her name's Sappee?" she said.
"Yes, Maam. Sappee. I gave her the name myself," said the youth taking hold of the weather beaten, frayed rope tied to Sappee's neck. His other hand began stroking the cow's head. Scolding, stern eyes looking straight into the cow. It answered with a grunt and a stare of nonchalance disdain.
"Will she let us pass, Macha?" asked Arman.
"Of course, sir. Sappee is not mean, just naughty. We go now, you'll see," he said, toothy grin appearing again.
Arman joined the staring contest between the duo only for Sappee to turn her attention on him. Her snorting a loud breath startled him and Arman stumbled backwards a few steps away. Heard Ain let out another hearty laughter.
"Don't do that, Arman. You don't have the same bond they have."
"Yeah. I figured that out," he said, as the teen led Sappee away from the middle of the narrow road to the hut he had emerged from.
"Thank you, Nava. Good to know you," he heard Ain hollered out before walking back to the pickup, her head shaking in delight.
Arman drove off, though still at a snail's pace further up the road, praying Sappee doesn't decide on taking a shortcut to appear in front of them. They couldn't speed as the road's edge was a mere glance away. Ain lost count of her saying the Salam to elderly folks on their motorbikes. Once their pickup slowed to a snail's pace playing chicken with a flock of goose for long minutes before Arman spotted the junction he was looking for.
A pine tree growing proud from a small clearing and a hut marked the turning. The pickup's tires screeched noisily upon loosing traction on the mainly gravel path. A mix of shrubs lined its sides as Ain wound her windows down and ran her fingers against blooming flowers, fresh light yellow. They provide a radiant, natural boundary to the paddy fields.
"I used to play in the mud when I was young. Plenty of fish to catch. By hand, sometimes," said Arman, his eyes gazing the distance as a house, on stilts except for the rear portion, came into view. The upper half of its two doors opened outwards. An ornately designed staircase leading to the yard.
"This is so breath-taking. I don't remember ever spending time in a real village," replied Ain.
"Nah… the setting may be rustic, but you still get cable, the internet. And cellular network's not bad either. Which is a pity since I left my phone at the hospital," he said.
Too late he saw's Ain face coloring, voiced a wordless "Sorry". Arman drove into a small garage on the right side of the house, and after a short wait, switched off the engine. A window opened and an elderly woman, fair skinned, head covered by a milky white shawl with pink and maroon flower motifs, peered towards her visitors.
Arman alighted from the driver' seat, took his backpack from the rear and joined Ain who stood ramrod at her side of the pickup. He saw the nervous look on her face.
We're strangers to her so of course she would be wary…
The juice from the music player had long dried up. That he had not heard anything other than his own thoughts cheered Arman. It was then it dawned on him on how comforting it had been. Hours of listening to hundreds of songs to the point of boredom was a torture trip Arman didn't want ever again.
Are you NOT reading my mind, Ain? Hello?
Nothing but silence. He glanced at Ain who was looking somewhere in the distance where they had been. Arman followed her gaze and caught a speck of movement. Realized it was the boy and his cow. He sighed a breath of relief. Ain heard him and raised her eyebrows, followed with a smile.
Am I the paranoid one now?
The door of the house opened fully and the woman they saw earlier stepped out, wearing a light pink kurung and a brownish, maroon batik skirt. She smiled at them both.
"Ayai… Why didn't you call ahead that you're visiting? I could've asked some tilapia from Pak Aziz. Come, come. Let's do the introductions inside," she said, extending her hand to Ain.
She turned towards him. Saw her eyes looking somewhat cloudy (Is something wrong, Ain?). The smile on her face forced as she took the extended hand. All three walked into the house, the rumble of a traffic choked federal road long drowned by the buzzing natural echoes.