You want the official handbook, but my eyes know the truth. Every January, I stand in that dusty registration line checking horns and humps, but I see only the fear in the bulls’ eyes—the same panic I felt seeing my boy off at Ranchi station. A proper jallikattu is measured not by rules followed, but by how many animals leave the *vaadivasal* without that trembling. My kitchen’s quiet calculation taught me that any system that treats life as a number is already broken.
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