The Power of Ahimsa

The Power of Ahimsa

O Bapu, in a world drowning in anger,

you walked barefoot upon hatred and made it soft.

You taught us that the sharpest sword

is not steel but forgiveness.

You showed that victory lies not in blood,

but in restraint;

that peace is not the silence of fear,

but the melody of courage.

You stood before the might of empire

with nothing but your truth as armor.

The lathi in your hand was not for war —

it was the staff of patience.

When stones were thrown,

you smiled.

When bullets raged,

you folded your palms and prayed.

Your silence spoke louder

than the shouting of armies.

Your calm gaze broke the walls of pride,

your frailty disarmed the mighty.

You taught that ahimsa

is not the coward’s refuge

but the hero’s test —

to feel pain and not return it.

To see evil and yet forgive,

to suffer and yet smile,

to be hurt yet heal —

that was your way, O Bapu.

You faced prisons like temples,

chains like sacred beads.

You transformed punishment into prayer,

and pain into purpose.

Your blood was not spilled —

it blossomed.

Every wound became a window

through which light entered history.

You turned enemies into seekers,

oppressors into witnesses.

Your strength was not to fight,

but to endure without hate.

You proved that truth

needs no army.

That a man of peace

can move a continent’s soul.

Ahimsa — your breath, your heartbeat,

your answer to the world’s madness.

When they struck, you blessed them.

When they cursed, you smiled.

You said, “Hate the sin, not the sinner.”

And the words became sacred law.

They travelled beyond borders,

and changed the language of resistance.

In your eyes, violence was darkness —

temporary, blind, consuming itself.

In your soul, non-violence was dawn —

ever rising, ever pure.

O Bapu, today the world forgets this fire,

choosing quick rage over quiet courage.

We shout louder,

but our hearts grow smaller.

We fight for names,

for flags and pride,

while your truth waits silently

like a lamp in dust.

Ahimsa was your revolution —

not of gun, but of heart.

It built no empire,

but freed the enslaved within us.

The salt you lifted was not rebellion,

but reminder —

that even the smallest act of love

can break the mightiest chain.

You taught that one who conquers self

conquers all.

That to forgive

is not weakness but divine strength.

You said, “Non-violence is my creed,”

and lived it till your last breath.

Even as death embraced you,

your lips uttered only “Ram.”

O saint of truth,

may your ahimsa return to us —

in our words,

in our choices,

in our trembling world.

For in your way lies the cure

to the madness of our time.

Let us learn again

to fight without fists,

to win without wounds.

Let us make our hearts your battlefield,

and love our victory.

Let our silence be our protest,

and kindness our revolution.

Ahimsa — your immortal gift —

still waits to be lived.

And when we live it truly,

the world will again whisper your name.

O Bapu, child of truth,

your power was not in might,

but in mercy.

And through that mercy,

humanity found its path again.