I am disturbed—but of course, some are far more distressed by the very fact of their disturbance—how utterly inconvenient for the fragile illusion of their carefully curated inner peace.
The incident in Pahalgam is horrifying. Yet, instead of being jolted into awareness, we watch as people retreat into the cocoon of meditation and philosophical detachment, reciting hollow mantras of peace and tolerance. They don’t seek resolution —they crave anesthesia. Their version of peace is nothing more than an air-conditioned detour from reality.
Let’s not sugarcoat it. Those seeking “peace” by turning away from atrocities are not noble—they’re selfish. Whether cloaked in the garb of spirituality or buried beneath consumerist comfort, it’s the same: a cold-hearted refusal to face pain that isn’t directly theirs.
When the Pandavas were in exile, Balarama and Satyaki—wise, practical men—offered Yudhishthira an escape. “Come to Dwaraka. Be with Krishna. Forget this madness.” Krishna, ever the silent chessmaster, observed. This was the jackpot. The dream life. Divine company, royal comforts, no war. And Yudhishthira? He flat-out refused. “No thanks.” Krishna simply nodded. “Told you he wouldn’t.”
Sri Rama too had a golden ticket back to peace. Bharata laid out a perfect redemption arc—Kaikeyi and Manthara erased from the story, Ayodhya begging for his return. All love, no conflict. But Rama chose the forest, the chaos, the Ravana to come. Because dharma doesn’t shy away from trouble. It walks into it.
Even the gods don’t get a free pass. Whenever Bhagavan incarnates to restore dharma, it’s never a spa retreat. It’s war. Devatas don’t lounge in divine jacuzzis—they’re dragged into the mud of battle. Dharma isn’t a vacation. It’s a cosmic cleaning job.
And then there’s Arjuna. The mighty warrior reduced to a monk with a bow, ready to live off wild berries to avoid hurting his elders. Surely the ever-smiling, flute-playing Krishna would understand? Not quite. Krishna verbally smacks him down—calls him unmanly, polluted, delusional. Arjuna must be shaken into responsibility. He loses nearly everything—but gains clarity, gains dharma.
And what do we, the modern Hindus, choose? Peace over dharma. Every time, wrapped in clever justifications, spiritual mumbo-jumbo, or worldly logic. But there’s no precedent for it. None. Only destruction—personal, societal, civilizational.
Look at Sita. Look at Draupadi. Read their stories again. They’re not tales of peace—they’re brutal nightmares of betrayal, abandonment, humiliation, and relentless dharmic struggle. Want to understand pain? Don’t go to a retreat. Go speak to the woman who begged for her husband’s life in Pahalgam. Ask her what peace means now. Ask her what sound screams through her nights. Spoiler: it’s not the sound of OM—it’s the deafening roar of gunshots and the screams of the broken.
True peace for her and others like her will only come when every last jihadi is begging for his life, knowing he’ll receive none of the paradise he imagined. That’s justice. That’s dharma. That’s the only real closure.
Remember how Bhima treated Dushasana? He didn’t sit down for a dialogue. He tore him apart. And the crowd fainted—not from fear, but from the raw, terrifying purity of true justice. Dushasana felt no remorse. Neither do these modern monsters. They think their god is throwing them a feast for every innocent they butcher.
So no, I’m not at peace. I don’t want to be. Because dharma doesn’t serve comfort. It demands sacrifice. It demands awareness. And when necessary, it even demands blood.
Dharma is beyond peace. Beyond happiness. Beyond feel-good slogans and well-lit parties. To stand for dharma is to bear the weight of sleepless nights, of harsh truths, of agonizing responsibilities.
And that? That’s the natural order.
– Govinda Das (ISKCON Member)
