This is all you have done

You slit the necks of flowers that had just bloomed and were spreading their fragrance into the air around them, and hung them around the necks of your gods, decorating them. Your ears could not hear the anguished cries of the flowers. Your eyes had lost the sensitivity to rejoice in seeing them blooming in the lap of the very branches that had nurtured them.

This is all you have done.

You squeezed and milked the udders of the cow that wandered freely, grazed on grass, and returned with milk accumulated for her calf. You poured that milk, curd and ghee over the foreheads of your stone gods and called it abhishekam. None of it filled the stomachs of the hungry. You were immersed in your demonic celebration. You called the cow “Mother” because she gave you milk and ghee. Otherwise, the cow too would have been sacrificed to satisfy the hunger of your gods, just like buffaloes, sheep and chickens. Your selfish minds, your religion, your caste and your scriptures could not see a mother in any other animal.

This is all you have done.

The silkworm wrapped a thread around its own body for its protection. You did not spare even that. You boiled the worm alive in fiercely boiling water, killed it, took the silk wrapped around its body, and turned it into clothes for your luxury. Your merciless religions even instructed you to offer those silk garments in homa and havans. And you did exactly that. The fact that those innocent worms lost their lives for your meaningless rituals never touched your hardened hearts.

This is all you have done.

You drove away the honeybees that had sucked the nectar from lakhs of flowers and hidden it in their hives. You destroyed their homes, stole their honey and poured it over the foreheads of your stone gods. You stole honey from insects smaller than your fingernails and proudly proclaimed yourselves powerful, intelligent and pious. Where does the poison lie—in the honeybee’s sting or in your hearts?

What else have you done for your gods?

You did not cut your own necks and offer yourselves to your gods. You did not decorate them with your own bodies. You did not let your own blood flow over them as an abhishekam. You are very calculating people. You offer your hair to your gods because it will grow back. At most, you give your gods money that you can earn again, or clothes, silver and gold that you can buy again—and even that only after your wish has been granted by your god.

But you do not offer to your gods your heart, your hands and feet, your eyes and ears—organs that cannot be born again, that cannot grow again, and that cannot simply be bought.

You offered your gods flowers plucked from somewhere, milk taken away from cow, honey stolen from bees, and silk stolen from worms—and then asked them for blessings.

This is all you have done!

I condemn your meaningless rituals and your merciless religions!