by Muhammad Mohsin Iqbal
The life of a shepherd is an endless tale of labor, struggle, and perseverance. From the first light of dawn until the stars pierce the velvet of night, he trudges across barren fields and treacherous mountains. The rocks cut his feet, the winds bite his skin, yet he presses on because the survival of his sheep and goats depends upon him. Over time, a strange intimacy develops between him and his flock. With a wave of his stick, the animals change direction; with a murmur of his voice, they halt. He breeds them, protects them, and sacrifices his comfort for theirs. His authority rests not upon cruelty but upon care, for the true shepherd knows that his worth lies in safeguarding the lives entrusted to him.
But there are those who corrupt this image for darker designs. Some men fancy themselves shepherds of nations, but in truth, they are nothing more than deceivers. They imagine millions of human beings to be nothing but herds to be driven wherever they please. They confuse authority with ownership, leadership with domination. They take the noble staff of the shepherd and turn it into a rod of tyranny. Such is the tragedy we see across our border, where the cool breeze of peace is constantly turned into sparks of enmity.
India, instead of embracing the blessings of good neighborly relations, often chooses to fan the fires of hatred. Its politics, time and again, reveals the same pattern; when elections draw near, new dramas are staged, new villains are cast, and new spectacles of hostility are put on display. If the spectacle begins to falter, if the script threatens to flop, the quickest remedy is found in manufacturing conflict with Pakistan. It is a diversion, a sinister trick, but one repeated so often that even humanity blushes at the brazenness of it.
The Indian leadership imagines itself the Chaudhry of South Asia — the unchallenged gangster of the neighborhood. They believe they can bully smaller nations, trample over international norms, and drive their people like sheep with slogans of false grandeur. They see not one billion and forty-five crore individuals with rights, hopes, and dignity, but a herd to be manipulated. In this delusion, they have not raised sheep but have created confused and hateful creatures who thrive on violence and hatred, swooping down on their neighbors as well as their own kind.
This poisonous shepherd has even thrown sport, the universal playground of peace, into the furnace of his vengeance. Behind closed doors, Indian and Pakistani players share handshakes, meals, and moments of brotherhood, but once on the field, the madness of the shepherd takes hold. Cricket, which should have been a bridge, becomes another battlefield where hostility is performed for domestic applause. Hatred, rehearsed in political arenas, is exported to stadiums and carried forward by fans as though it were sacred duty. Having gained awareness, those who initially declined the trophy are now asking to claim it. Let it be shown that it is the shepherd who has been leading them astray.
Yet history has already reminded this shepherd of his limits. Not long ago, in a moment of reckless adventurism, India’s aggression was met with a sharp and decisive response from Pakistan. That single day, that single dose of medicine, cured the fever of its delusions. But memories are short, and arrogance returns quickly. They should remember well that the pill of yesterday was mild compared to the injection that could follow tomorrow. And Pakistan, calm but vigilant, possesses many such remedies in stock — remedies potent enough to restore sanity to even the most fanatical of shepherds.
The greatest tragedy, however, lies not in the shepherd’s arrogance but in the suffering of his flock. The ordinary people of India — men and women who yearn for peace, progress, and dignity — are led astray by slogans of hate. They are taught to see neighbors as enemies, not brothers; to see peace as weakness, not strength. Their dreams of prosperity are sacrificed on the altar of political theatre. In following their shepherd, they too are driven into the wilderness of enmity, paying the price for ambitions that are not their own.
But such delusions cannot last forever. History has no patience with shepherds who breed hatred. Empires have risen and fallen on the same arrogance. Tyrants have strutted the stage, imagining themselves invincible, only to be swept aside by the winds of justice. India’s fanatic shepherd may play his games for a while, but in the end he too will face the consequences of his deception. Hatred is a fire that first consumes the one who kindles it.
The lesson is simple, though difficult for the arrogant to accept; true leadership is stewardship, not domination. The real shepherd sacrifices for his flock; the false shepherd sacrifices his flock for himself. If Indian leaders were to embrace the former path, South Asia could become a garden of peace, prosperity, and cooperation. If they persist in the latter, they will reap only isolation, disgrace, and eventual ruin.
Let the shepherd across the border remember; the world has already seen through the masquerade. His stick no longer inspires fear, only pity. And when the final reckoning comes, when the time arrives for him to answer for the flames he has kindled, no delusion will shield him, no boast will save him. For the destiny of the false shepherd is always the same; contempt in life, disgrace in history, and oblivion in memory.
