He had no family—no one to awaken a smile on his face, no one who shared the same blood in
their veins. Only the animals were loyal to him.
I first learned that Ditha was a human when my father one day tested my learning about numbers
and counting.
"Son, how many animals are in our courtyard?" he asked me one afternoon in early fall before
the winter rain began.
Ten," I replied with a triumphant smile.
“No. Try again,” he encouraged.
Eager to prove my prowess, I counted on my fingers to ensure none were missed."Three goats,
two cows, one buffalo, one horse, one donkey, one dog, and one Ditha.”
“Oh, no, son. Ditha is not an animal. He is human, just like us.”
I balked. “How could that be? He lives above the barn—he is as filthy as a goat and he barely
speaks.”
“Perhaps,” my father replied softly, “that is because people don’t bother to speak with him.
What if we treated Ditha not as livestock, but as a person the same as you and me? Does he not
feel pain and love, just as other people do?”
Ditha moved as the animals did — slow and lumbering around the yard, and only with purpose
to get to food. He smelled as they did, and his hair was unkempt like theirs. He did not look
anything like we do, yet my father told me he was a human.
I couldn’t sleep that night. My brain raced with questions. If he is a man, why does he live
like animals? Why does he sleep in barnyard? In my dreams I saw Ditha run like a horse and eat
grass like a goat. I couldn’t help but feel pity for him.
Often, I wandered into the stables to listen while he murmured to the goats and sheep. Little did I
know that they were his only friends.
Although, he was always there I knew little about him –— only that his mother died when he
was ten, and being a hooker’s son, he was driven out of town. My grandfather, then the village
chief, brought him home and put him to work to earn his keep. Two meals a day and a room in
Page | 12