Rabindranath Tagore imagined a nation
“Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high,
where the world has not been broken into fragments by narrow domestic walls.”
But in the land of Braj, the minds of the four-legged Brajwasis are not without fear.
Their days are shaped by danger and neglect.
They are run over by speeding vehicles on streets that offer them no refuge.
They are left uncared for during the floods of the Yamuna, struggling alone against rising waters.
They are injured by electrocution, scarred by dog fights, and forgotten once the crisis passes.
They suffer a deep loss of belonging, pushed aside through relocation and “rehabilitation”,
as though compassion itself could be outsourced.
Their world is broken into fragments,
not by borders drawn on maps,
but by indifference, haste, and convenience.
This stands in stark contrast to what Tagore envisioned.
For them, life is not lived in freedom.
It is lived in constant fear.
And yet, in this same land, there are those who refuse to look away.
The volunteers of Braj Animal Care stand quietly on the frontlines.
They wear no uniforms and carry no authority.
They carry food, medicines, bandages, patience, and time.
They wade into floodwaters when others retreat.
They tend wounds that society chooses not to see.
They remain when rescue is inconvenient, when care is exhausting,
when love demands consistency.
They practise a different constitution.
As we mark the 77th Republic Day of our nation, celebrating the day our Constitution came into effect,
it is worth pausing to ask:
What does freedom mean
to those who do not read constitutions,
who do not understand borders, laws, or declarations,
but who experience hunger, pain, kindness, and compassion
with a sincerity far purer than our own?
For the four-legged Brajwasis,
the cows, dogs, monkeys, birds, and silent beings who share this sacred land,
there is only one constitution worth upholding:
The Constitution of Love and Care.
A constitution where protection is not conditional.
Where care does not disappear after festivals or floods.
Where belonging is not decided by usefulness.
Where words arise from truth
and are followed by tireless action.
Can Tagore’s nation truly be awake
if its most vulnerable inhabitants still live in fear?
In the land of Braj,
where the mind is led forward by Thee,
let us awaken,
not only to rights,
but also to love and care.
Because for those who walk on four legs,
love is the only law they understand,
and care is the only freedom they need.
And perhaps only when the animals of Braj live without fear
can we truly say,
Let my country awake.