CAN'T HAVE ONE WITHOUT THE OTHER

It is the day after the three Gods have been dragged back toward their home and their chariots are literally parked right in the middle of town. Hundreds of thousands of the devout converge around the carts and flock to the temple, bicycle rickshaws cruise up and down the road, holy men in loin cloths beg for coins and, of course, cows stand in everyone's way and lazily chew coconuts.

I am standing outside the temple drinking in this uniquely colorful Indian scene when I am approached by Mr. T. P. Sampat, a lively and robust 77-year-old man. Like many Indians, he is simply curious about me, a foreigner. But when I find out he works and lives at a rest home for old cows, I start asking him questions. I have been having somewhat of a love affair with Indian cows on this trip and I am seriously intrigued. Noticing my interest, he immediately offers me an invitation to visit the nearby Shree Jagannath Puri Goshala.

As we walk through the narrow, ancient lanes of Puri, skirting around the occasional cow lying right on the dirt path, I envision a bunch of old cows long retired from years of giving milk, sitting around talking about the old days, comparing their pains and wounds, playing bridge, knitting, doing crossword puzzles and enjoying their golden years. Sampat, who wears a white cotton lungi, has thick black glasses and speaks in a booming voice, talks excitedly. He says there are thousands of goshalas which can be found all over India . He tells me he keeps the books of this goshala and that he is a lifelong vegetarian. He quotes a famous vegetarian, George Bernard Shaw.

 "GBS said, 'I will not convert my body into a graveyard,'" he says. Sampat also notes that 75% of all Hindus, about 400 million people, are also vegetarians. "There are so many other products we can take," he says loudly. "Why kill the animals? To save the environment, you must protect and serve the animals and birds."

 Sampat points out that there are literally thousands of Hindu gods, but it is Lord Krishna who is the one most closely associated with the cow. Although the Jagannath is not in reality a cow festival, I did notice there were plenty of cows on hand for this colorful event.

 We pass under the iron gate of the goshala upon which sit two small stone carvings of cows being suckled by their calves. Between the cows stands a small blue statue of Lord Krishna, on whose birthday every August, Sampat informs me, Hindus offer prayer, homage, flowers and gifts to the cow.

 "Krishna was such a charming boy," Sampat says. "When he was young, he tended to thousands of cows."

 The goshala is a clean stone and dirt compound which takes care of nearly 200 cows and some bulls. According to Sampat, about 80% of the cows in the goshala are old and cannot give milk anymore.

 "These are the milky cows," Sampat says proudly, pointing to a walled area where several dozen cows stand eating at their trough. It is late in the afternoon, milking time. Several men are kneeling and squeezing teats. Next door, inside a long stone room stand ten calves. A new calf has just been born three days ago.

 In another nearby room Sampat introduces me to two bulls, named Chandhi and Hare Ram, who service "the hot females," as he says, and produce more bulls and cows for the goshala. He also points out that local residents also bring their cows to mate with the bulls.

"PURORESU KAMPAI!!"

The mild fall day has turned chilly as darkness settles over the stadium. The overflow crowd of 50,000 could not care less, however. There is a building rumble as they rise in excited anticipation. On the field a forklift has emerged from a tunnel carrying the object of their lust; a folded up, ten foot high barbed wire cage. Crewmembers remove the cage from the forklift and begin assembling it around the mat in the middle of the field. Piece by piece the cage rises.

 The workers check every last detail. They tighten bolts and make sure all the wires are connected. Reporters and photographers are told to stand behind a line that has been placed around the cage, so as not to get hurt by any explosions. Two television cameramen don head to toe fireproof suits.

Suddenly the lights around the cage are turned on. The song "Wild Thing" blares over the stadium speakers as the announcer introduces Atsushi Onita. The crowd erupts into a frothy, passionate roar, a guttural din that sweeps the stadium. Tens of thousands sing in unison ; "Wild thing!... you make my heart sing...!" Onita emerges from his locker room, surrounded by his entourage. He is greeted by an impossibly loud roar.

He walks purposefully down the aisle and towards the cage. Wailing cries of "Onita! Onita!" can be heard amongst the thunder. Fans reach out to touch him, as if he's a god. Cameras flash all over the stadium. Onita climbs the steps and enters the cage. The stadium seems to shake.

Without missing a beat, the announcer introduces Onita's opponent. A hard driving heavy metal song starts up and the crowd explodes again. Genichiro Tenryu emerges from the locker room and quickly walks towards the cage. Chants of "Tenryu! Tenryu!" sweep the stadium. It is hard to tell who is more popular, Onita or Tenryu. Tenryu climbs through the door of the cage and the stadium becomes a bloodthirsty mob with the primal feeling of anticipation. For the Japanese fans, the intense pressures of their daily lives are suddenly meaningless. The only thing that matters to this howling throng is the fate of these two men, Onita and Tenryu, their heroes, their idols, locked inside a sadistically booby trapped, barbed wire cage. It is a monumental earth shaking battle happening before their eyes. A passion play of real life giants.

The door is shut and locked. It's time for Onita versus Tenryu in the Electric Dynamite, Barbed Wire Cage Death Match!