May 15, VRINDAVAN, INDIA (SUN) — An excerpt from the May issue of the Care For Cows newsletter.

The following is based on a true story from Gauseva Chamatkar, an historical collection of cow miracles.

The riot of 1857 was spread all over India – Delhi was the centre of it. Each and every street had become a mortuary. There was blood shed everywhere. The rioters had lost discrimination between good and bad. I was the chief of the Muslim rioters.

At the end of a long day of looting and killing I was exhausted and hungry. Our pockets and bags were full of money but the markets were desserted out of fear of the riots, and all the houses were locked. We gathered in an empty courtyard and my men went out to search for food. Soon four of my men returned pulling a chubby cow behind them. I didn’t know how that poor one fell in the claws of those hungry wolves. One of them had tied his turban around her neck and before I could say anything they tied the legs of that crying cow and threw her down on the ground. Who would save a dumb cow from the hands of the Muslims in the middle of that riot?

At that time all those so-called leaders of Hindu religion, those who give long lectures on cow protection, were all safely hidden in holes. The cow was tired. Tears were falling from her eyes and I was agitated out of hunger. My body was weak. It is against my religion to consider the cow holy and to serve her. But seeing that innocent cow surrounded by those cruel wolves who were sharpening their knives and about to kill her, I felt pity on her. The cow was frightened and pregnant, and seeing her I remembered my pregnant wife, and I began to shiver.

I stood up with courage and said to my friends, “Can’t you see that out of hunger I’m about to die, and you fools are not yet able to provide me food. All of you immediately go and collect wood and salt and I will take care of this.” As soon as my friends left I took the knife which was meant for killing the poor cow, cut her loose, and patted her back. At first she couldn’t stand up, unable to believe this behavior from me. I stroked her again and she stood up, stretched herself and swished her tail. At that moment she glanced at me in such a way as if telling me “You will be rewarded for your kindness”. She then left, quickly disappearing out of sight. When my friends returned I was lying on the ground, as if unconscious from hunger. They shook me and asked about the cow. I pretended that I had no idea what had happened. Having no energy to pursue her, they made some chapatis and ate them instead.

When the riots came to an end I was caught by the authorities and sentenced to death by hanging. Hundreds of people gathered outside the jail to watch the event as I was brought up to the gallows. A red hood was pulled over my eyes, and everything went dark. A noose was then secured around my neck. My throat was dry. Within moments the floor opened beneath me and I fell to what I thought would be my death. Suspended mid-air, almost unconscious from fear, I struggled to regain my senses as I realized I was not in fact dead, nor dying, but somehow my feet were being supported upon what seemed to be two sharp horns. The noose around my neck miraculously remained slack. Thinking me dead I was brought out from under the platform. Seeing me in fact alive, the doctor was shocked and moved back in astonishment.

According to the law at that time, I was hung thrice, and every time two horns caught my fall. As the noose of the gallows was unable to take my life even after three attempts, the court set me free. I came out of the jail with my relatives and there I saw a cow. She looked at me with her cooling eyes, then turned and walked away, followed by her calf. Immediately I remembered the pregnant cow I had saved during the riot in Delhi. That cow had looked at me in the same way when I had released her.

In my religion serving forms is considered a sin – but I bowed down to that cow who I believe had saved my life. Since that time I consider serving cows my duty, and I will continue to serve cows till the end of my life. I put the dust of the cow’s feet on my head, then I go to do namaj .