Amidst the silence of the rich and powerful_ And the burgeoning of the lotus,_ There must be more._ Beyond the clamour,_ The onslaught of the hammer_ Pulverised all that was sacred_ Into dead meat;_ What an amazing feat!Black is the colour of the day,_ A face smeared with ink,_ By men in orange, who declare,_ We are in the very pink,_ Of health.Watch, how with stealth_ They enter the Press Club_ And smear Rasheed,_ For hosting a party with beef._ Did anyone ask them to take a leaf_ Out of the Constitution of India?Watch, as they protest with ‘non-violence',_ Smearing a face at a book release,_ And as they give Mohammad Akhlaq_ A release,_ From his life.Watch the strife_ Of a man_ Who sweats by his brow,_ Then settles down to eat_ A meal in his kitchen,_ With a diya lit low.It turns out to be_ His last supper,_ As they enter his home_ Armed with the upper,_ Hand of ideology.They lynch him,_ Calling him cow-slaughterer,_ But don't seem to blink over manslaughter.They scream ‘Sangh Parivar ki fateh'_ But Akhlaq merely said,_ ‘Bharat Mata ki jai!'They say, they have so many places to live,_ But this is Hindu-stan, but_ Wasn't the idea of India_ A rainbow,_ Arched across the globe,_ That strove,_ For ahimsa within diversity?They painted Hinduism black;_ Who will meld with this colour,_ Or take it back?But now,_ I fear for the cows_ And how!_ No one is being heard_ We are part of the herd.
October 22, 2015
Sagari Chhabra
(Poet, playwright, author and film-maker. Her latest book is In Search Of Freedom)