I am dead. Finally. And i do wish that instead of keeping me alive---it was so very painful---someone had the good sense to put me to sleep as is the custom when we horses meet with this kind of injury. They tried to fit a prosthetic leg on me, and while I do appreciate their concern, it was a bit of a joke that extended by agony beyond tolerable levels.

I am so glad I am dead. For by the time I died the memories of my glorious past were fading. When I exercised with the men, in the fields, galloping...oh how I loved that. When I was dressed up for the regimental parade, I looked so good, and felt so proud. When I was out with my men controlling mobs, keeping law and order, I felt tall and powerful. We were the law, we were doing good. Until that fateful day when a man attacked me, broke my leg, and actually killed me then.

Now looking down at these humans below I wonder what is fed into their DNA. Why are they so cruel, so angry, so filled with hate, so eager to attack and kill? We who live in proximity to them are of course the first targets, the dogs even more than us horses, in that I often saw people throwing stones at them, breaking their legs, and laughing when they ran away whining and crying. For the horses on the roads, used to carry loads or grooms at weddings, it was another ordeal with little food, abuse, and the whip when they faltered at any point. Yes it is not easy because human beings seem to be naturally cruel, not naturally kind, and they vent their anger on us and at each other all the time.



I was shocked when I was attacked so brutally by a man who belonged to the BJP, or so I heard people say around me. And he was not just an ordinary worker, but a legislator who the policemen said was a person elected by the people, to make the laws, to look after the citizens and to look after me. But he was so angry, so furious that he just came at me while I was on duty, and before my man could say anything he attacked me and broke my leg. Not at one point, but many. The agony was unbearable. I fell to the ground. I remember I was losing consciousness with the pain. The doctors came, they all rushed around me--I think even big politicians visited me---but all I could think of was to somehow get relief from this pain. Put me to sleep as is the rule, I tried to say but then these humans do what they want. They do not even try to listen to us.

I became a mascot of sorts, I knew that given the kind of attention I was getting from people who had never even be aware of my existence before. If only I had been this well looked after, if only we had all been so well looked after, before, perhaps the story might have been different. Even for me. But we were just objects for these people, inanimate, like another lathi, or maybe an upgraded revolver or something. Certainly not with life, otherwise perhaps they would not have tried to ‘mend’ me with these funny plastic legs they got from other countries, and respected my dignity and my pain and allowed me to sleep for ever.

Now I see that man who attacked me going around saying he never did so, and that if he is found guilty they should cut off his leg. Really? What good will that do, to him or to me?



I know we animals never lie. Human beings who are responsive to us, can understand our language. And they know that when they ask us a question, we will give them the truth. A dog friend of mine would always let the young girl who looked after him know when he had not been fed properly by her staff. When she came back home he would take his dish to her and place it at her feet with the look that made her say, “oh they havent fed you again have they?’ and immediately take action. I myself would let my policemen know when I was under the weather, they would understand me, and look after me until I was well and happy again. We communicate, but you can beat us, thrash us, but we will never lie.

Humans lie all the time. Why? Even the big men lie, as I heard all these days while I was being made to struggle to live. The infection spread through my body and yet they would tell people I am doing very well with that terrible artificial leg. I was not, I told them it was impossible, but they would take pictures and these media people would come and report, and insist I was improving. Improving? I was dying. The men who were looking after me knew that, but then they were told not to speak out, and they stayed with me while the world actually believed that I was better now that I had an artificial leg. I am a horse, I need my four legs. I am not a human being who could be taught to use a leg that is not mine!

I don’t think my death will make a difference. I can see them running around in circles to accuse each other, and all around, for the violence that got me in the first place. I can only hope that human beings realise that hitting animals who cannot protect themselves is cowardice of the highest order,and just the first step towards hitting and killing each other.

Why oh why are they so cruel? And why do they hate their own kind so much?

I can now feel the breeze of freedom. And my palpitating heart is now finally settling into the steady rhythm of peace.

Goodbye my friends

It was hard to die

When all the birds were singing in the sky……

I wish I could have been with you, but I am so happy that I am not!

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