Holy Cow & Other Bullshit

Cows are sacred.

Cows are our mother.

So goes the anthem —

echoed in temples,

painted on walls,

printed in manifestos disguised as prayers.

And yet —

that same mother

is slaughtered by kilograms, 

shipped in silence,

wrapped in red tape

and exported as ethics for someone else’s appetite.

Because selling what you won’t eat

feels less like sin

when the knife’s in another man’s hand.

Ah yes — vegetarianism:

the holy diet of restraint.

Except myth remembers otherwise —

feasts of flesh, rivers of wine,

rituals thick with sacrifice.

The gods weren’t fasting.

They were feasting.

So if Hindus never ate meat,

why does the Rig Veda

praise Indra’s hunger for cow meat?

Why did vegetarianism 

find its vocal cords

only after Jain and Buddhist winds

softened the air?

Did we import morality

while exporting our mothers?

And why is it —

the loudest custodians of scripture

haven’t read a word of them?

Not the Geeta.

Not the Vedas.

Not the Upanishads.

Just secondhand commandments

passed down like heirloom superstition —

rehearsed until belief 

hardened into truth.

We praise celibacy

and export the Kamasutra.

We worship cows

and sanction their mass murder.

We preach sanctity

but outsource the sin.

In this circus of curated devotion,

faith becomes theatre.

Culture becomes currency.

Morality becomes marketing.

Maybe this was never about faith.

Because faith — when true —

is private.

But this?

This isn’t personal.

This is politics

masquerading as piety.

And in a country

where six in ten

still beg the gods for dinner,

religion is the rope

and politics pulls the leash.

Where politics is religion

and religion is politics,

cows are not mother.

Not god.

Not sacred.

Not sovereign.

Just product.

Wrapped in ritual.

Sold in silence.

Peddled for power.

And maybe —

that’s the only real blasphemy

we’re too holy —

and too hollow —

to admit.