Chapter 4: Dadi’s Drama and the Dog Showdown

Dadi was shoved and staggered.

Her chappal slipped on the stone, and for a moment I thought she’d go sprawling. The fish seller aunty caught her and whispered, “That’s Sharma ji’s son, just back to visit his father. We can’t cross him. I’ll help you wipe it, just let it go…”

Dadi’s eyes blazed. “Let it go? How can I let it go!”

“His dog dirtied my scooty—what kind of justice is this? I don’t care who his father is!”

She took a step, tripped, and plopped down in front of the man, slapping her legs and wailing.

“Arrey! Bullying an old lady in broad daylight! My head hurts, my legs hurt, everything hurts! I can’t breathe…”

She let loose her ultimate: the sixty-year-old’s drama slapdown, plus the ‘thunder without rain’ wailing.

Her age card caught the man off guard.

Dadi’s acting was Filmfare-level—a masterclass in full-on Bollywood drama.

She pressed her hand to her forehead, moaning like a heroine in a black-and-white movie, eyes darting to the swelling crowd. People whispered, “Bas, Sharma ji ka beta toh gaya kaam se.”

A crowd gathered, whispering and pointing.

Dadi thumped her chest. “I’m an honest person, not one for many words.”

“You clean my scooty wheels, and we’re even.”

The man’s pride took a hit—his face turned red and white. He gritted his teeth. “You shameless old hag.”

The silly dog barked and lunged, straining at the leash.

“Trying to scam me? You picked the wrong guy!”

In a fit, he let go of the leash.

The fierce dog shot forward like a wild horse, tongue lolling, growling, and lunged at Dadi.

“Arrey! Arrey! Arrey!”

Dadi checked her purse strings, wiped sweat off her brow, and muttered a quick, “Bhagwan, bachao!” as she scrambled back—left foot over right, right foot over left—stumbling as fast as she could. “Bas karo! I take it back! I’m just an old lady, not much to say!”

Everything happened in a flash—the crowd scattered in panic.

Seeing the dog about to bite Dadi’s arm, I darted through the legs, aimed for its head, and leaped with a cannonball flying kick—Desi style—right to its face, cow dung and all.

The dog took my Mighty Vajra Leg, howled, and was knocked half a metre away, even though I was a third its size.

Strike while the iron’s hot.

I spun and followed up with my cow-dung-coated Shadowless Billu Punch, smacking it on the head and giving it a full facial.

“Awooo-woof!”

It yelped. My moves made it cry.

“Meow meow!”

It barked, I meowed—my voice thin, but packed with all the drama of a Hindi serial heroine under a banyan tree.

The silly dog ran off, tail tucked.

I chased it a bit, just to make sure Dadi was safe.

The crowd, who’d just been panicking, now erupted in cheers.

“Wah, what a jhakaas cat! Top-tier cat combat skills! That kick was insane!”

“You don’t get it—it’s risking its life for her. It knows it can’t win, but it wins on guts. Cats just act tough!”

“Hey, I thought it was all white, but look—there’s a black patch on its chin. Is this a cow cat?”

“The first thing it did after chasing the dog was check on Dadi. Once it saw she was okay, it kept chasing the dog. What a brave and clever cat!”

Someone in the crowd dropped a samosa in shock; the smell of frying onions and hot oil mixed with the cheers.

Photos snapped everywhere. The fish aunty posted one to Facebook: “Billu the Defender, Dadi’s pride!” I stood by Dadi, chin up, soaking in the glory.

That’s right! I am the legendary Doodh-More-More-More-More Kam-Less-Less-Less-Less, the cow cat!

Dadi and I stared at each other. She finally broke into a smile, eyes crinkling with laughter, both surprised and delighted. She patted my head, her hands trembling. A neighbour handed her a glass of water, whispering, “Bahut himmatwali billi hai aapki, Didi.”

Dadi clutched me to her, her hands still shaking as she hugged me close. “Billu, from now on, you’re Dadi’s Billu.”