The first rays of light bathe Kathmandu in gentle shades of pink and yellow, providing a fresh new coat that momentarily conceals the filth of the city. Even the passing breeze refused to carry with it the stench that is to haunt the residents later on in the day. Jackie, a stray canine usually found scavenging near the streets of Singhadurbaar, is awakened by the relentless honking of a truck driver who is using the sound as a signal to address another human some ten metres to his right when even a mere whisper would have sufficed in such silence.

After having lost an eye and half of his right ear to a couple of barbaric episodes from the most intelligent of the animals, Jackie now finds himself having to exercise extra caution when it comes to people. Even when the truck is a good distance away, he keeps a wary, tragically, the only eye he has, on what he considers a moderate threat to his existence.

However, unlike on other mornings, a sense of calm pervades the atmosphere around. There aren’t many vehicles on the road, and the few pedestrians seen strutting along the sidewalks haven’t yet chased away the group of four mongrels who, despite having lost a cumulative of three legs and a tail in the daily process of being exiled, still find themselves comfortably asleep in front of the always populated convenience store.

The weather is pleasant; a gentle breeze wafts through the air, accompanied by the sweet smell of the Jasmine plant growing nearby. For some reason, despite society’s collective apathy, the plant has managed to flourish without human nurture. Alas, the same cannot be said for the canines, most of whom are victims of acquired disability.

As he gets up, stretches and makes his way to the end of the street, he catches a glimpse of a cat looking to cross the road. Jackie’s initial urge is to chase after it, but now with only one eye to his disposal, even that puny cat is too formidable a foe. He moves past the feline, like most people move past beggars on a street, pretending not to notice so that the refusal to confront is left unjudged. Just as he is about to cross the road, he hears an eerily familiar voice coming from his blind side.

“Tommy” says the emaciated middle aged man wearing shabby shorts and a porous singlet, getting his name wrong for maybe the hundredth time. The tone of his voice is polite, but history would suggest that his character is anything but. As a matter of fact, it was because of the savagery of this man, which one would think him incapable of, that the canine lost his eye. Roughly four months ago, Jackie was sitting in front of a meat shop wagging his tail, hoping that out of either guilt or compassion, the butcher would, at some point throughout the day, reward him with a treat. After sitting there for about two hours holding on to nothing but the smell of pork belly and human greed, Jackie decided to try his luck elsewhere.

Just as he went down the street, the group of four mongrels, who then had lost only two legs and no tail, dashed past him in a successful attempt to escape the emaciated fellow, who on that occasion too was wearing the same combination of shorts and singlet that he now dons, albeit the singlet quite naturally was a lot less porous. The thin man stopped before Jackie, crouching as he tried to overcome the fatigue.

His face was scarlet, both from the chase and the embarrassment of having failed to guard his possessions. He got up, cursing and was about to retreat to his shop when he spotted Jackie, who was still wagging his tail. Suddenly, and in one continuous motion, he picked up a brick lying conveniently next to the dilapidated sidewalk, and hurled it at the canine, the only creature in a fifty-mile radius he could physically overpower. Apparently, to the thin man, all dogs were equal, albeit in a different way. That was then. This is now.

Jackie stares into his nemesis’s clear, healthy eyes, and a part of him longs to lash out in vengeance. But he has become far too wise to act on such naïve impulses. As his experience would suggest, an eye for an eye only makes the dog half deaf. Just as he is about to make a run for it, the emaciated fellow calls out to him.

“Come on boy, it’s your lucky day.”

Perhaps this is a trap, says the dog to himself. But upon noticing the yellow garland hanging from the man’s hand, Jackie’s fear immediately dissipates and a sense of delight takes over. It is that time of the year again. The same man who had cost the canine his eye now offers flowers and biscuits with affection, who for some reason, on this particular day every year appears, not as an inferior quadruped, but instead as divine apparition. Jackie munches on the biscuits as the thin man asks for blessings in return for his gesture that he won’t replicate for 364 more days. The emaciated fellow puts a tika on Jackie’s forehead and leaves.

As he makes his way through the main street, Jackie notices an elated little stray pup who can’t seem to wrap his tiny head around what is happening. He knows the feeling all too well. The first time this happened to him, he went to the bank of a dirty river and stared at his reflection to see if his body had mutated into something else. Unfortunately, he never found the right answer.

The stray pup tags along with Jackie for the rest of the day, continues feasting, and when night comes, Jackie takes him to a small hill overlooking the valley. He asks the stray pup if he wants to see something cool, to which the pup says yes. The pup looks at the city’s glittering lights, thinking that must have been the highlight, but when he hears Jackie grunting, he is taken by surprise.

After Jackie finishes excreting, he hops over to the pup’s side and barks in jubilation. Loose stool on a stray dog, now that is a privilege. The stray pup follows his master’s routine, and the two dogs start howling in celebration. The party is cut short five minutes later when an agitated man throws a stone in their direction, marking the end of their twenty-four hours of bliss.