Love beyond bondage

Chongtham Ronikumar *

Every morning, I wake before the sunlight. The house's air feels heavy with duties waiting for me. I wash my face, tie my clothes tightly and walk towards the shed behind my house. This is where my cow lies.

She is not just an animal to me. She looks at me with calm eyes, as if she understands more than she should. When I touch her head, I feel both happiness and shame. I depend on her milk to feed my entire family. Without it, my children may fall sick, and our small income will disappear. Yet, somewhere inside me, a voice keeps asking if this dependence is fair.

People say a cow is holy. People say a cow is a gift from the invisible divine. I don't fully believe in old rules and blind traditions, but still, they live inside me. When I milk her, I feel as if I am taking something that doesn't fully belong to me. She does not protest, but her nature speaks louder than words.

One day, the cow walked out of the house gate. She did not run, nor did she look back. She walked slowly, as if she had made a decision. That day, she did not return in the evening. No milk came. No sound of her bell was heard.

My family worried. My neighbors laughed. Some said the cow was freed from bondage. Others said she would return because animals always do. But I felt something different. I felt fear-not of loss, but of truth.

That night, I could not sleep. My phone was beside me, but I didn't call anyone. I felt that if I called, I would break some unseen rules. My thoughts move in zig-zag lines- between love and duty, faith and reason, freedom and survival. I felt dizzy, as if the world was slowly pulling me into sleep without rest.

In my mind, the cow was wandering freely. I also imagined her being afraid, not knowing where to go. Even in freedom, fear follows. I understood then this bondage is not only ropes and sheds. Bondage lives inside the mind.

The next morning, I went searching for her. I walked through fields, small roads , and quiet places. Sweat covered my body. I felt irritated because I had not bathed properly. My mind felt unclean too, filled with confusion and guilt.

As I walked, I realized something important. I had always been busy earning money, earning respect and earning survival. But I had never truly earned peace. I believed I was practical, not orthodox, yet deep inside, fear of tradition still controlled me.

After hours, I found the cow near a riverbank. She stood still, drinking water. She looked peaceful. When she saw me, she did not run. She simply stared at me.

At that moment, I did not pull her rope. I did not speak. I sat on the ground and watched her breathe. Strange calmness filled me. I understood love is not always ownership. Some- times, love is letting go while still caring.

I brought her home later, but things changed. I stopped forcing myself to think in extremes. I cared for her better. I gave her rest. I stopped seeing her only as a source of milk. The milk reduced, but my heart felt lighter.

Life did not become perfect. I still worried about money. I still felt irritated sometimes. I still made mistakes. But I began planning myself better. I judged myself less harshly. I searched for calmness in small acts- clean water, honest work, quiet mornings.

I learned that love is devotion with action. Love is not a blind belief, nor complete rejection. Love is a balance. It works for humans and animals, for chan- ging and unchanging beings alike.

Peace is not found fully in rules of freedom alone. It is found in understanding- slowly, imperfectly, but truly.

And every morning now, when I look into the cow's eyes, I no longer feel only shame or duty. I feel love- simple, honest, and human.