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| ‘Humanity Strays: Reflections on law, morality, and compassion’ | | | SHONIMA MALHOTRA
Hum bezooban hue to kya, hum mein bhi jaan hai
Sincere, dependable hein hum, wafadaari hamari pehchan hai.
Insaano ki tarah humare paas rehne ke liye chhat nahi to iss mein hamari kya galti hai
Sadak pe rahna hamari majboori hai, issi pe hamari saansan chalti hai
Ae insaan agar tera paas power hai, to uska sahi istmal kar
Waise hi besahara hein hum, hum par bewajah vaar na kar.
Tu hume relocate karega to hum kya hi kar payengae
Par yaad rakhna tera iss decision se hum ghut ghut kar mar jaengae.
Indian Sanskriti has, since times immemorial, always celebrated and reflected the cultural and moral spirit of coexistence — a culture woven with threads of love, compassion, kindness, and acceptance — not just toward fellow humans but toward every living being that shares this earth with us. From the teachings of the Vedas to the lives of saints and sages, the philosophies of Buddha and Mahavira, every strand of our heritage reminds us that humanity extends beyond humankind. The cow grazing freely in the fields, the dog resting by the temple gate, and the bird sipping water from a courtyard bowl — these are not mere sights, but reflections of our natural rhythm of coexistence - bound not by dominance but by mutual acceptance. Stray dogs are part of our ecosystem — an inseparable part of the landscape that defines India’s compassionate soul. It is this very spirit of inclusion that makes the recent directive to remove dogs from educational and institutional spaces deeply disheartening. Such measures appear to disregard the essence of our cultural compassion, replacing empathy with exclusion.
In fact, this directive makes us feel as though humanity has been killed—not by law, but by our selective compassion. In a span of just a few months, the Supreme Court of India has delivered two landmark verdicts on the issue of stray dogs—both reflecting the worldwide ongoing struggle between compassion and caution. In its earlier decision of August 2025, the Court had initially directed that stray dogs picked up from the streets should not be released back into their localities. However after worldwide public protests, the Court softened its earlier stance, allowing sterilised and vaccinated dogs to return to their localities—a conscious acknowledgment of their right to exist within the spaces they once guarded and an act that seemed to restore a fragment of humanity to our urban conscience. Yet, on 7 November 2025, the same Court, adopted a more stringent approach, directing all States and Union Territories to remove stray dogs from sensitive public areas—schools, hospitals, bus stands, and railway stations—and relocate them to designated shelters, after sterilisation and vaccination, drawing invisible boundaries between ‘our’ world and ‘theirs.’ They compel us to reflect on whether true harmony lies in creating fences of protection or bridges of empathy—reminding us that coexistence, like nature itself, thrives not in exclusion but in balance.
The intent, even if protection, but the outcome reveals our deeper disconnect: a society that worships compassion in temples but forgets it on the streets. The decision, though guided by concern, also reminds us how authority—when untempered by empathy—can blur into control. The decision, though legally sound, exposes a spiritual void in our collective conscience. We forget that in Indian culture, animals have long been revered as the vehicles of Gods—Garuda for Vishnu, Nandi for Shiva, Mushak for Ganesha, and even the humble dog, the companion of Bhairava and Yama. To discard them today in the name of fear is to turn away not just from nature, but from divinity itself. When God has granted every living being the right to live, what makes any human entitled to take it away from them? The moment we lose empathy for those who share our world, humanity fall silent and the gods we worship become mere idols, not ideals. Uprooting them entirely from these spaces also violates the ethos of compassion and coexistence that the Constitution itself encourages through Article 51A(g). Instead of teaching coexistence, such actions may silently endorse intolerance toward those who cannot speak for themselves.
Stray animals did not choose the streets; they were pushed there by human neglect and administrative apathy. It is not the dogs who failed the system — it is the system that failed them. Municipal bodies are entrusted with the duty to control the stray population through sterilisation, vaccination, and care. But years of inefficiency, poor planning, greed, corruption and lack of coordination have turned this civic responsibility into a humanitarian crisis. But unfortunately, instead of addressing the root cause — the failure of human governance — blame is conveniently shifted to the voiceless. What is most ironical is the silence of those in power. The Supreme Court, while quick to deliberate on where strays should stay, has remained quiet on why they exist in such numbers in the first place. Why is there no accountability demanded from the municipalities who were duty-bound to act? Why is the failure of human institutions tolerated, while animals are punished for simply surviving?
Moreover, if the law is so bothered by the presence of strays, why does it remain unbothered by the suffering of millions breathing in poison, waiting for justice, or silenced by corruption? Are these problems any less fatal than rabies? Yet these issues rarely ignite the same urgency or outrage. Perhaps because those responsible are not voiceless — they can speak, justify, and manipulate, wrapping wrongs in the language of logic and authority. The irony is piercing: those who have the power to reason escape scrutiny, while the mute and innocent — the strays, the speechless, the powerless — bear the full weight of our collective indifference.
I am not at all denying that the matter be resolved. My concern is that but it must be done through rational decisions and compassion, rather than through measures that strip away humanity. Justice cannot be one-sided. To hold the powerless accountable while sparing the powerful is not justice — it is hypocrisy. Selective compassion has become our greatest pretense. And perhaps, that is the real epidemic — the silent extinction of kindness. In reality, it isn’t the dogs that need relocation — it is our conscience that needs to return home. Humanity today stands at the edge of moral marginalization.
Perhaps it is time we pause and look inward. Let us not wait for karma to remind us of what kindness could have repaired. The test of humanity lies not in how loud we pray, but in how gently we let others live. It is about protecting the innocent — human or animal alike – on the balanced scales of justice.
Animals are not voiceless; it is we who refuse to hear them.
They are not feelingless; it is we who refuse to recognise their pain. |
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