Cows are sacred.
Cows are our mother.
So chants every Hindu nationalist
before exporting her, slaughtered—
with paperwork dipped in Ganga jal,
smuggled in sanctity.
The same country
that lights diyas to bovine maternity
sells her flesh by the ton—
as long as it’s not their hands
soaked in the blood.
Ah yes, vegetarianism —
our divine diet.
Because gods only sipped air
and nibbled on moonlight, right?
Except the myths say otherwise:
meat roasting in yagnas,
wine flooding like sacred rivers.
Our gods feasted like emperors.
But you?
You pretend they fasted on silence and virtue.
If Hindus were never meat-eaters,
why do ancient texts carve out a different truth?
Why does the Rig Veda sing
of Indra’s indulgence in cow meat?
Why did vegetarianism bloom
only after the rise of Jainism and Buddhism?
Did we import ahimsa from other faiths
while exporting our so-called mothers
to foreign lands for butchery?
Why is it
that the noisiest priests of purity
have never touched the scriptures they defend—
not the Geeta,
not the Vedas,
not the Upanishads?
Why is their religion
secondhand—
inherited from hearsay,
parroted from men who’ve never proven
a single page they preach?
We peddle our mothers for profit
and teach our children to bow to them.
We glorify celibacy
and export Kamasutra like soft porn for the West,
shaming the very desires
our ancestors canonized.
We sell flesh in crates
and call it vision.
We murder in silence
and call it sanskaar.
You don’t eat beef —
you just outsource the sin.
You don’t sacrifice —
you subcontract it.
You don’t kill —
you erase the corpse with slogans.
This isn’t mere hypocrisy.
This is holy hypocrisy —
wrapped in saffron,
perfumed in denial,
wreathed in garlands
of mother-worship and moral panic.
But a lie told in a temple
is still a fucking lie.
And maybe —
this was never about religion.
Because religion, at its marrow,
is political.
And a country
where six in ten
beg gods for two meals a day
needs politics
like the blind need a cane—
to walk,
to strike,
to believe they’re not falling.
In a land
where politics is religion,
and religion is politics,
cows are neither mother nor god,
neither sacred nor sovereign.
Cows —
are just capital in a different skin,
currency for the ignorant,
commodity for the devout.
Atheists
are just believers
who’ve seen the true face of faith.
And I?
I’m not even an atheist.
I am an anti-theist —
a cocky bastard
who mocks the very idea of worship.
Because —
worship is for the visually impaired
and I don't even wear glasses.
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