Few animals have shaped Hindu imagination as deeply as the bull and the cow. Shiva’s mount is Nandi, the great humped bull, while the divine cow Surabhi symbolizes nourishment and abundance. Yet the modern story of their descendants is full of irony. To understand this, we need a story with six bovine characters: Nandi, Billa, Surabhi, Clive, Owen, and Jenny.
Nandi is the great humped bull (Bos Indicus) of the Indian subcontinent, recognizable by the hump over his shoulders and the loose fold of skin beneath his neck, the dewlap. An uncastrated Nandi is powerful and intimidating. When castrated, he becomes Billa, the bullock that for thousands of years pulled carts, ploughed fields, and carried goods across long distances. Billa was the indispensable beast of burden of South Asia, capable of working for days under a blazing tropical sun.
Surabhi is Nandi’s mate, the humped Indian cow. She produces less milk than European breeds, but she evolved for survival rather than abundance. Her offspring inherit remarkable heat tolerance. The hump stores fat reserves, while the loose skin helps dissipate heat. Together, these features allow Indian cattle to thrive where many other breeds struggle.
Across the world lived another family. Clive is the humpless bull (Bos Taurus) of Europe, the Nile Valley, and Mesopotamia, adapted to cooler climates. When castrated, he becomes Owen, a useful draught animal in temperate regions but one that tires quickly in tropical heat. Jenny, Clive’s mate, produces far more milk than Surabhi. For dairy farmers, that difference matters enormously.
Nature, however, rarely gives everything at once. Jenny gives abundant milk, but Owen cannot endure the heat or travel the long distances that Billa manages with ease. Surabhi gives less milk, yet Billa remains one of the greatest working animals ever bred for tropical agriculture.
Modern commerce separated these strengths. Indian zebu cattle, descendants of Nandi and Surabhi, spread across the tropical world. Brazil, with its vast hot grasslands, became one of the greatest beneficiaries. Today much of Brazil’s beef industry relies on cattle descended from Indian zebu breeds (Nandi and Surabhi’s children) because they flourish in hot climates where European breeds perform poorly. Even the hump, once associated in India with Shiva’s sacred symbol, the linga, is prized there as a delicacy.
Meanwhile, India pursued a different goal. The demand for milk encouraged widespread cross-breeding between indigenous cows and high-yielding European dairy breeds, often through artificial insemination. Modern dairy production depends on repeated pregnancies because cows produce milk only after calving. This system transformed milk output and filled markets with butter, cheese, and ghee.
The irony is striking. Descendants of Nandi and Surabhi helped build the global beef industry in tropical countries, while Indian dairy increasingly depended on genetics from European cattle to increase milk production. Beef travelled abroad; milk flowed at home.
This is the paradox hidden behind familiar symbols. The same civilisation that venerates Nandi and celebrates Surabhi now participates in two global industries built on very different priorities: one values the heat-hardy body of the Indian zebu for beef production, the other values the milk yield of European cattle for dairy production. The sacred bull, the working bullock, the modest milk cow, the European dairy breeds, and the economics of global agriculture together tell a far more complicated story than the simple labels of “pure” and “impure” ever can.
