It was once called God’s own country,
where His children dwelled in peace.
Mountains rose like guardians, rivers sang,
and fields blossomed with flowers, fruits, and grain.
Roads wound gently through the land,
carrying travelers in comfort.
Sanctuaries of wild creatures shimmered—
a feast for the eyes, a hymn to nature.
Wells, ponds, and lakes brimmed with water,
their depths alive with fish,
delicacies offered by the earth.
Homes stood in harmony with the land,
simple, strong, and kind to those within.
Rivers—three dozen veins of life—
fed the farms with their silver streams.
Organic hands tilled the soil,
never wounding nature’s breath.
Caste and creed dissolved in harmony;
festivals lit the skies for all.
Leaders served with honesty,
bureaucrats worked for the common good.
Crime was rare, literacy complete,
health abundant, life expectancy high.
Ayurveda healed with wisdom,
modern medicine a last resort,
its hospitals run by missionaries,
offering care freely or with grace.
The air was pure, the water clear,
the food balanced, the people strong.
Families stayed together—
grandparents weaving stories
while parents labored in fields or offices.
Love, friendship, camaraderie
flowed through every home and street.
God looked upon the land,
and His heart was satisfied.
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But slowly, shadows crept in.
The name remained,
yet the disciples of the devil
slipped into every corner of life.
First, they entered politics and power.
The honest were replaced—
good-hearted servants cast aside
for corrupt hands hungry for gold.
Forests fell to the axe of the mafia:
sandalwood, teak, rosewood, mahogany—
all sold for profit,
while elephants and wild beasts
were slaughtered for tusks and flesh.
The balance of nature shattered.
Then came the land mafia,
seizing acres of sacred soil,
razing rare plants and creatures,
claiming what was never theirs.
The quarry mafia carved wounds
into Mother Nature’s body,
mining granite and red stone
until the hills bled.
The construction mafia followed,
building roads, bridges, homes—
but with deceitful hands.
Cheap materials, fragile walls:
potholes after one rain,
bridges collapsing,
buildings crumbling into death.
Then came the drug mafia,
planting Ganja deep in forests,
smuggling poisons,
feeding them to youth and teens.
Addiction spread like fire.
Children stole, maimed, and killed—
sometimes their own kin—
to feed the hunger of the needle.
Girls were forced to sell their bodies
for a taste of escape.
Politicians and bureaucrats
shielded these crimes,
their pockets heavy with blood money.
Even the police, sworn to protect,
bowed to the criminals’ gold.
Now God’s own country
is ruled by devils and their disciples.
The Lord looked down in anger,
and He unleashed His fury:
floods, landslides, pandemics,
cloudbursts, tsunamis,
miseries without end.
But His wrath struck the innocent.
The ruling class, safe in palaces,
with doctors at their call,
escaped unscathed.
The common man suffered,
the poor died in silence.
And so I pray:
May the Lord find another way—
a justice that strikes the guilty,
a mercy that saves the land.
May He restore my home,
and make it once more
God’s own country.
