On World Veterinary Day, a memory from Kashmir that does not fade

• RK Online Desk
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• 25 Apr 2026

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by Khursheed Ahmad Shah 

April 25 is World Veterinary Day, while global attention focuses on animal welfare, I remember something I witnessed in Kashmir that remains difficult to forget.

It is a winter afternoon. The river is slow, almost grey under the cold light. Snow is still visible along the edges of the ground, and the air feels sharp. Near a Jehlum bank, an old horse stands alone. He is red with faint white markings, but what stands out more is his condition thin body, uneven stance, and a badly injured leg that forces him to shift his weight painfully each time he tries to move.

A few meters away, a stray black dog moves through a municipal dustbin, pulling out scraps of food. The sound of plastic and metal is constant. The surroundings feel indifferent. The horse slowly lowers his head and moves toward the same waste. The dog reacts immediately, stepping in front of him, protective of what little he has found. For a moment, they stand like those two animals, both hungry, both uncertain. Then the horse begins to cry.

It is not loud. It is not dramatic. It is a broken sound that changes the moment. The dog pauses. He looks at the horse for a few seconds longer than before, then slowly steps aside. They eat together discarded vegetables, soft and spoiled, mixed with waste that no one else wanted to look at twice. The scene is quiet except for distant water and wind.

After a while, the dog notices the horse’s leg again. He moves ahead carefully, turning back as if checking whether the horse is following. The horse struggles, but he follows. Each step looks heavy, forced.

They reach a small park nearby. The ground is uneven. The horse finally lowers himself onto the grass, almost collapsing as he sits. His breathing is slow and uneven. His body trembles. Then, something changes again. The horse begins to vocalize in a way that feels like memory surfacing. It is not just pain. It feels layered like something he has carried for a long time is breaking open. I stay at a distance, watching, unable to intervene.

I begin to think of him as Sultan, and the dog as Jimmy.

Sultan’s condition reflects long-term neglect. In parts of Kashmir, working animals such as horses are commonly used for transport and labor. They carry goods through difficult terrain, through narrow roads, and across harsh weather conditions. But when winter arrives fully, the landscape changes completely.

Snow covers paths. Movement slows. Food becomes scarce. In such conditions, injured or ageing animals are often left behind. Some are abandoned when they can no longer work. Others are simply not found again. Sultan appears to be one of them. His body suggests a life of use followed by abandonment. The injury to his leg seems old, untreated, and worsening. His survival now depends entirely on waste, on whatever the streets provide. But there is something else he seems to carry.

Through his reactions, it feels as though he is recalling loss. His mate, he seems to indicate, went through a pregnancy during severe winter conditions. It is a period in Kashmir when cold becomes extreme, movement becomes restricted, and survival becomes uncertain even for humans.

In that snow, far from shelter, she gave birth. There was no protection. No food. No help. The newborn and the mother both did not survive. As this is “spoken” through his behavior and distress, I am left observing, trying to make sense of what I am seeing rather than what I am hearing.

A line by Saadat Hasan Manto comes to mind:

“Duniya mein jitni laantein hain, bhook unki maan hai.”

The moment sits heavily. Then suddenly, Sultan’s body changes. He begins to vomit. The movement is violent, involuntary. What comes out is not food, but plastic polythene, rope-like waste, fragments of garbage. It continues for several moments, his body weakening each time.

The park feels still around him, as if everything else has stepped back. Then he collapses. Sultan dies there. Jimmy remains beside him for a while. He does not move. He does not leave. When other stray dogs approach, he reacts immediately, trying to block them, protect the body. But he is pushed away in conflict and forced to retreat.

In the following days, I hear that Jimmy changes. He becomes restless, agitated, unpredictable. Something in him has shifted. He begins attacking people, including children. The response is fear, then force, and eventually violence.

Jimmy is killed. What remains is the same riverbank, the same park, and the same silence.

On World Veterinary Day, the world continues to speak about care and responsibility. But this memory raises a quieter question 

What happens when care arrives too late to matter?

 (The author serves as a Communication Officer with the IUCN SSC CSS Asian Elephant )