Spanish Bullfighting

 

                                      -Brutal and Beastly

We had dithered a lot before actually deciding to go to a bullfight in Madrid, being aware of what it was going to be like. We went because we had heard so much about it, and also because we thought our experience of Spain would be incomplete without experiencing a bull fight--  it being so much  a part of Spanish culture like Flamenco or football. After all, one does not visit a country just to see its monuments but also to get a feel of its culture, people and ethos. Despite the awareness, we eventually realized that the bull fight in our imagination had generous portions of romanticism and glamour (all that Hemingway stuff  ... pictures and movies showing the matadors and bulls in heroic light) and when stripped bare of such ingredients of delusion, the reality turned out to be very disturbing. Incidentally, bullfight is banned in some parts of Spain and it is said that majority of Spaniards any way don’t approve of it.

The atmosphere was festive when we arrived at the bullring - with people thronging, flags fluttering and a band playing a rousing music.

 

 

                                                     The Bull Ring

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                     

                                           

                                                  The Bull Ring in Madrid

 

 

The proceeds began with the participants entering the ring in a ceremonious procession that included horsemen and mule driven carts. Slim and fit as swords, the men were smartly dressed in tightfitting, brocaded costumes. The band played a music that strongly reminded us of Wild West Hollywood movies. When the procession left the arena, only 4 or 5 Peones, whose job, we came to learn, was to tease the bull and test their strength by darting around the arena with their red capes held wide in their hands.

 

Soon the bull is sighted in the grand arena near one of the 4 gates which open into it. It is a magnificent beast -strong, powerful and looking ready to take on the world- though initially it does appear a bit confused and lost -like a village hick in a big city.

 

We feelthat a small ribbon knot on the bull’s back, just behind its head, is perhaps tied to a pin stuck into its skin that is meant to irritate it. It looks around mighty annoyed and sighting a Peone at a distance, charges at him at once. Peone runs, being chased by the bull and he escapes from it smartly into a narrow shelter with open top just as the bull closes in on him. There are other similar shelters provided along the periphery of the arena for the Peones and other tormenters of the bull to escape from it just when it is on the verge of taking them up in its loving horns. Other Peones positioned in different parts of the arena mock the bull by calling out to it raucously and waving the red capes in their hands. Chasing them, the bull runs thundering around the ring, without being able to get at them- thanks to the strategically placed shelter for its tormentors--but it tires itself in the process.

 

The bull is now sufficiently tired and a Peone takes the liberty of annoying and confusing the bull some more by standing firm, facing it defiantly with the red cape spread wide in his hands while the angry bull watches him from a distance. With its head held low, snorting and scraping the earth with its hoofs and raising dust, the bull prepares for the attack. It charges with all the momentum capable of a body weighing a thousand pounds or more - its muscles rippling under the skin that glistens in the evening light. But we are in for disappointment. We are shocked to find that the bull is too innocent for this game –instead of targeting his tormentor’s body, it goes for the red cape, and it is not even able to hit the cape since the peone pulls it off the bull’s line of attack in the nick of time. The bull overshoots its target, carried forward under its own momentum, and it takes a while for it to turn around and gather strength for another attack. The attack results in the same fiasco for the bull as before. This is repeated, except that the bull overshoots less and less and the peone makes it go around him with the deft handling of the cape.

 

We are disappointed. The bull does not learn; it repeatedly makes the same mistake of going for the red cape instead of its opponent’s body. It is a fatal flaw.

 

The Peones take their turn to fool the bull with their red capes, making it turn around them in increasingly shorter circles.

 

It is time for the next level of torment for the bull.

 

 Enter- a banderilloro, smartly dressed, with two barbs or short lances dangling from

his outstretched hands. He stands erect and taut on the tips of his toes, waiting for the bull to notice him. It does, shortly – and rushes at him at once. Just when the bull is almost on him, the banderillo deftly dodges the bull, curving his body over it, and running past its flank. And at the same time- too quickly for us to notice- he manages to plant- at one go- both the barbs he has been holding in his hands on the bull’s back, just behind its head. The tips of the barbs are sort of hooked and though they have pierced the bull’s body only by a few inches, they do not fall off as the bull tries to shake them off. Blood starts oozing out of the wounds and it flows down the bull’s flanks. We are disturbed by the sight.

 

A second banderillo now takes on the bull and plants another two barb on its back. With the four spikes that have been stuck on its back dangling from its body and the wounds bleeding, the bull is obviously in pain. And it has reason to be very angry.

 

The misery for the bull now goes several notches up.

 

Two men come riding into the ring. Their horses look like the ones the knights rode in another era because of the armour protecting their flanks that reach down almost to the ground. Each one is holding a long lance in his hand. We learn that they are known as picadors. There are footmen accompanying the horse riders. No sooner the bull sights the horse than it goes full throttle towards it and attacks its flank. The horse is pushed around by the bull but it holds its ground, and the formidable looking horns of the bull are no match for the manmade armour that protects the horse. Attempt by the shorter bull to topple the horse by trying to thrust its horns under the horse’s belly also fails since latter’s armour reaches down to the ground. While the bull is busy attacking the wrong enemy, it is offering an excellent chance to the picadore to pierce its back with his long lance from his vantage position on the horseback. He makes most of the opportunity, plunging the lance into the bull’s back and pinning it down. The pushing and shoving goes on for a while till the bull pulls away with its blood soaked flanks. The second picadore takes over from where the first one left in inflicting further injuries to the bull.

 

 

Suddenly the arena looks empty except for the bull. Its body is undergoing involuntary convulsions due to the raw wounds on its body. Its mental condition can only be guessed.

 

The reason for the emptying of the ring becomes clear –to provide centre stage for the matador as he struts into our view with a cape in one hand and an ominous looking sword in the other.

 

It is now one-to-one match between the man and the beast. But it must be mentioned that the peones are on standby to rescue the matador if things happen to go bad for him.

 

 The matador, standing at a distance, eyes the bull steadily. The bull in turn stands still and stares back at him and the cape he is holding. It is a classic stand-off. The matador calls out raucously and taunts the bull. After some hesitation, and apparently unable to take the insults any more, the bull decides take on the matador and charges at him.

 

Bull’s basic and fatal flaw in its strategy is obvious when it rushes to attack the red cape which the matador is holding up to it rather than the matador himself. We start to wonder if this foolishness is something the bull is born with or it has been instilled into it by training. Be that as it may, the matador takes full advantage of this weakness of the bull and makes it go round and round by pulling away the cape just as the bull hits it- every time making the bull overshoot its target.  The matador courts danger with the bull’s horns almost grazing him as he holds the cape increasingly close to him, attracting the bull ever closer to him. Every such move elicits loud cheers of ‘Ole!’ from the crowd. We think (and almost anticipate—having fully gone over to the side of the hapless bull) that if ever the matador gets caught in the upward thrust of the bull’s horns, he would end up high in the air with two holes in his tummy.

 

 Lithe and erect, the matador is stylish and his every posture and every movement is full of grace like of a ballet dancer.  He is playing with grave danger and this adds to his daredevil charm.

 

here are times when the bull, after it has missed and overshot the target, turns back and stands still to look at the matador and his cape, appearing to wonder–what went wrong? At the same time, the matador turns his back towards the bull and walks away- seemingly offering his back for a possible attack by the bull from behind- to wave at the crowd and acknowledge its ovation. The bull does not attack him from behind, though it is a perfect opportunity-- showing it to be fair-minded and sporting. We wish the humans too reciprocated being equally fair minded instead of stacking the odds against it so heavily and so blatantly.

 

The final act is about to happen. The matador goes to the peripheral wall of the ring. Apparently there is an exchange of swords across the wall-- one which is more practical than ceremonial is exchanged by the matador for the one with which he has entered the ring. After returning to the bull and making it chase his red cape around him in ever sharper and risky maneuovours a few more times, the matador decides that the time has come for the coup-de-grace. This is when he faces the bull which stands in front of him as if defeated. It is bleeding copiously from the wounds where the four spikes gifted by the banderillos are still sticking tenaciously and from the deep wounds inflicted by the picadors’ lances. The animal is hyperventilating with exhaustion, shock and loss of blood. It is confused and mesmerized by the tricky maneuovours of the matador. Time has come for the matador to strike.

 

The matador holds his long sword in his outstretched hand at level with bull’s head, as if pointing out the most vulnerable spot at which he is going to strike. The bull lurches forward- one last time. The matador smartly dodges and as the bull runs past him, plunges the sword into its back, just behind its head, all the way down - only the hilt is visible at the spot where it has been plunged. We later come to know that the matadors learn the skill of instant killing from butchers. The spot chosen is such that there is no resistance to the sword from any bone as it plunges in. That the sword has gone through the bull’s heart becomes obvious by the instantaneous effect it has on the bull. It stands immobilized -- still as if frozen. Its belly heaves dangerously, and it starts to vomit blood. The matador, standing in front of the bull, observes it closely, and gives a knock on its head at a chosen spot. It is the last straw. The bull topples and falls on its back– legs in the air.

 

There is a flurry of activities with the footmen of the matador swarming around the dying bull. One removes the spikes and another the sword-- from the bull’s back. The sword is handed to the matador who, with his cape, wipes the blood off it. The weapons of torment are being salvaged presumably for reuse. The blood on the sandy ground is quickly erased by men wielding spades who spread unsullied sand over it.

 

Suddenly a cart drawn by mules arrives on the scene, and before we realize what is happening, the dying bull is tied to it and dragged away most unceremoniously --with a dramatic U-turn thrown in for good measure. It leaves a bloody trail in its wake which too is quickly erased by the spades. We strongly feel that being dragged on the ground- while it is yet do its dying properly and in peace - is the unkindest cut and a most undeserving insult to the victim of this unfair fight.

 

We are profoundly affected by what we have been witnessing. But we are in for further shocking surprises when the ground is prepared for another fight and another bull appears in the arena— looking strong, powerful and ready to take on the world. We have seen it all before and know better. We wish the bull too knew that its brute strength is no match for the cunning of the men who are ganging up against it.

 

We had come to watch what we thought as one bull fight, but end up watching mutely as six more bulls are butchered and dragged away. We are shocked by our own behaviour- how we got progressively inured to the brutality being exhibited as a sporting spectacle in front of us.

 

We feel guilty of watching this gory sport and seek some justification for our participation in it as spectators. The nearest we come to is by considering it as ritual hunting - celebration of our primitive ancestors getting the better of beasts far stronger than their puny selves. We imagined how they, working as a coordinated team and armed only with crude Stone Age weapons, could hunt animals much stronger and larger like wild bulls (such eye-catching part of the Spanish art from cave paintings to Picasso) or even mammoths. A bunch of them would probably first chase the animal till it gets tired and then the more daring ones would go near it to attack it with spears to weaken it by injuries and bleeding, and finally the bravest of them would go very near it to deliver the final fatal blow. Of course –for them it meant food on the table and fully justified. But now it could only be justified as a celebration of our primitive ancestor’s hunting skill that has eventually brought us the civilization and sensibilities by which to judge the very same celebration.

 

The proceeds began with the participants entering the ring in a ceremonious procession that included horsemen and mule driven carts. Slim and fit as swords, the men were smartly dressed in tightfitting, brocaded costumes. The band played a music that strongly reminded us of Wild West Hollywood movies. When the procession left the arena, only 4 or 5 Peones, whose job, we came to learn, was to tease the bull and test their strength by darting around the arena with their red capes held wide in their hands.

 

Soon the bull is sighted in the grand arena near one of the 4 gates which open into it. It is a magnificent beast -strong, powerful and looking ready to take on the world- though initially it does appear a bit confused and lost -like a village hick in a big city.

 

We feelthat a small ribbon knot on the bull’s back, just behind its head, is perhaps tied to a pin stuck into its skin that is meant to irritate it. It looks around mighty annoyed and sighting a Peone at a distance, charges at him at once. Peone runs, being chased by the bull and he escapes from it smartly into a narrow shelter with open top just as the bull closes in on him. There are other similar shelters provided along the periphery of the arena for the Peones and other tormenters of the bull to escape from it just when it is on the verge of taking them up in its loving horns. Other Peones positioned in different parts of the arena mock the bull by calling out to it raucously and waving the red capes in their hands. Chasing them, the bull runs thundering around the ring, without being able to get at them- thanks to the strategically placed shelter for its tormentors--but it tires itself in the process.

 

The bull is now sufficiently tired and a Peone takes the liberty of annoying and confusing the bull some more by standing firm, facing it defiantly with the red cape spread wide in his hands while the angry bull watches him from a distance. With its head held low, snorting and scraping the earth with its hoofs and raising dust, the bull prepares for the attack. It charges with all the momentum capable of a body weighing a thousand pounds or more - its muscles rippling under the skin that glistens in the evening light. But we are in for disappointment. We are shocked to find that the bull is too innocent for this game –instead of targeting his tormentor’s body, it goes for the red cape, and it is not even able to hit the cape since the peone pulls it off the bull’s line of attack in the nick of time. The bull overshoots its target, carried forward under its own momentum, and it takes a while for it to turn around and gather strength for another attack. The attack results in the same fiasco for the bull as before. This is repeated, except that the bull overshoots less and less and the peone makes it go around him with the deft handling of the cape.

 

We are disappointed. The bull does not learn; it repeatedly makes the same mistake of going for the red cape instead of its opponent’s body. It is a fatal flaw.

 

The Peones take their turn to fool the bull with their red capes, making it turn around them in increasingly shorter circles.

 

 It is time for the next level of torment for the bull.

 

Enter- a banderilloro, smartly dressed, with two barbs or short lances dangling from his outstretched hands. He stands erect and taut on the tips of his toes, waiting for the bull to notice him. It does, shortly – and rushes at him at once. Just when the bull is almost on him, the banderillo deftly dodges the bull, curving his body over it, and running past its flank. And at the same time- too quickly for us to notice- he manages to plant- at one go- both the barbs he has been holding in his hands on the bull’s back, just behind its head. The tips of the barbs are sort of hooked and though they have pierced the bull’s body only by a few inches, they do not fall off as the bull tries to shake them off. Blood starts oozing out of the wounds and it flows down the bull’s flanks. We are disturbed by the sight.

 

A second banderillo now takes on the bull and plants another two barb on its back. With the four spikes that have been stuck on its back dangling from its body and the wounds bleeding, the bull is obviously in pain. And it has reason to be very angry.

 The misery of the bull is to be now ratcheted up.

 

 

 

 

                                         

                                        The Bull Facing the Peones

 

 Two men come riding into the ring. Their horses look like the ones the knights rode in another era because of the armour protecting their flanks that reach down almost to the ground. Each one is holding a long lance in his hand. We learn that they are known as picadors. There are footmen accompanying the horse riders. No sooner the bull sights the horse than it goes full throttle towards it and attacks its flank. The horse is pushed around by the bull but it holds its ground, and the formidable looking horns of the bull are no match for the manmade armour that protects the horse. Attempt by the shorter bull to topple the horse by trying to thrust its horns under the horse’s belly also fails since latter’s armour reaches down to the ground. While the bull is busy attacking the wrong enemy, it is offering an excellent chance to the picadore to pierce its back with his long lance from his vantage position on the horseback. He makes most of the opportunity, plunging the lance into the bull’s back and pinning it down. The pushing and shoving goes on for a while till the bull pulls away with its blood soaked flanks. The second picadore takes over from where the first one left in inflicting further injuries to the bull.

 

 

              Picador Wounding and Pinning Down the Bull With His Lance   

 

 

 Suddenly the arena looks empty except for the bull. Its body is undergoing involuntary convulsions due to the raw wounds on its body. Its mental condition can only be guessed.

 

The reason for the emptying of the ring becomes clear –to provide centre stage for the matador as he struts into our view with a cape in one hand and an ominous looking sword in the other.

 

It is now one-to-one match between the man and the beast. But it must be mentioned that the peones are on standby to rescue the matador if things happen to go bad for him.

The matador, standing at a distance, eyes the bull steadily. The bull in turn stands still and stares back at him and the cape he is holding. It is a classic stand-off. The matador calls out raucously and taunts the bull. After some hesitation, and apparently unable to take the insults any more, the bull decides take on the matador and charges at him.

 

Bull’s basic and fatal flaw in its strategy is obvious when it rushes to attack the red cape which the matador is holding up to it rather than the matador himself. We start to wonder if this foolishness is something the bull is born with or it has been instilled into it by training. Be that as it may, the matador takes full advantage of this weakness of the bull and makes it go round and round by pulling away the cape just as the bull hits it- every time making the bull overshoot its target.  The matador courts danger with the bull’s horns almost grazing him as he holds the cape increasingly close to him, attracting the bull ever closer to him. Every such move elicits loud cheers of ‘Ole!’ from the crowd. We think (and almost anticipate—having fully gone over to the side of the hapless bull) that if ever the matador gets caught in the upward thrust of the bull’s horns, he would end up high in the air with two holes in his tummy.

 Lithe and erect, the matador is stylish and his every posture and every movement is full of grace like of a ballet dancer.  He is playing with grave danger and this adds to his daredevil charm.

 

 

 

                                                             Face to Face

 

 There are times when the bull, after it has missed and overshot the target, turns back and stands still to look at the matador and his cape, appearing to wonder–what went wrong? At the same time, the matador turns his back towards the bull and walks away- seemingly offering his back for a possible attack by the bull from behind- to wave at the crowd and acknowledge its ovation. The bull does not attack him from behind, though it is a perfect opportunity-- showing it to be fair-minded and sporting. We wish the humans too reciprocated being equally fair minded instead of stacking the odds against it so heavily and so blatantly.
 

 

 

 

                                 

                           A Dangerous Manoeuver  by the Matador 

 

The final act is about to happen. The matador goes to the peripheral wall of the ring. Apparently there is an exchange of swords across the wall-- one which is more practical than ceremonial is exchanged by the matador for the one with which he has entered the ring. After returning to the bull and making it chase his red cape around him in ever sharper and risky maneuovours a few more times, the matador decides that the time has come for the coup-de-grace. This is when he faces the bull which stands in front of him as if defeated. It is bleeding copiously from the wounds where the four spikes gifted by the banderillos are still sticking tenaciously and from the deep wounds inflicted by the picadors’ lances. The animal is hyperventilating with exhaustion, shock and loss of blood. It is confused and mesmerized by the tricky maneuovours of the matador. Time has come for the matador to strike.

 

The matador holds his long sword in his outstretched hand at level with bull’s head, as if pointing out the most vulnerable spot at which he is going to strike. The bull lurches forward- one last time. The matador smartly dodges and as the bull runs past him, plunges the sword into its back, just behind its head, all the way down - only the hilt is visible at the spot where it has been plunged. We later come to know that the matadors learn the skill of instant killing from butchers. The spot chosen is such that there is no resistance to the sword from any bone as it plunges in. That the sword has gone through the bull’s heart becomes obvious by the instantaneous effect it has on the bull. It stands immobilized -- still as if frozen. Its belly heaves dangerously, and it starts to vomit blood. The matador, standing in front of the bull, observes it closely, and gives a knock on its head at a chosen spot. It is the last straw. The bull topples and falls on its back– legs in the air.

 

 

There is a flurry of activities with the footmen of the matador swarming around the dying bull. One removes the spikes and another the sword-- from the bull’s back. The sword is handed to the matador who, with his cape, wipes the blood off it. The weapons of torment are being salvaged presumably for reuse. The blood on the sandy ground is quickly erased by men wielding spades who spread unsullied sand over it.

 

Suddenly a cart drawn by mules arrives on the scene, and before we realize what is happening, the dying bull is tied to it and dragged away most unceremoniously --with a dramatic U-turn thrown in for good measure. It leaves a bloody trail in its wake which too is quickly erased by the spades. We strongly feel that being dragged on the ground- while it is yet do its dying properly and in peace - is the unkindest cut and a most undeserving insult to the victim of this unfair fight.

 

We are profoundly affected by what we have been witnessing. But we are in for further shocking surprises when the ground is prepared for another fight and another bull appears in the arena— looking strong, powerful and ready to take on the world. We have seen it all before and know better. We wish the bull too knew that its brute strength is no match for the cunning of the men who are ganging up against it.

 

 We had come to watch what we thought as one bull fight, but end up watching mutely as six more bulls are butchered and dragged away. We are shocked by our own behaviour- how we got progressively inured to the brutality being exhibited as a sporting spectacle in front of us.

 

We feel guilty of watching this gory sport and seek some justification for our participation in it as spectators. The nearest we come to is by considering it as ritual hunting - celebration of our primitive ancestors getting the better of beasts far stronger than their puny selves. We imagined how they, working as a coordinated team and armed only with crude Stone Age weapons, could hunt animals much stronger and larger like wild bulls (such eye-catching part of the Spanish art from cave paintings to Picasso) or even mammoths. A bunch of them would probably first chase the animal till it gets tired and then the more daring ones would go near it to attack it with spears to weaken it by injuries and bleeding, and finally the bravest of them would go very near it to deliver the final fatal blow. Of course –for them it meant food on the table and fully justified. But now it could only be justified as a celebration of our primitive ancestor’s hunting skill that has eventually brought us the civilization and sensibilities by which to judge the very same celebration.

 

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