Mahabharata 12.165.56 and Agni Purana 169.25–32: kill the untouchable for sitting or for wearing footwear in front of a non-Dalit.

O Hindu,

You mark us by our labour.
Hindu scriptures call us
We were born
From feet,
From dirt,
From sin.

Qanoon-e-Shariat
Barely speaks our names,
But in practice,
Our status is clear:
We are beheaded
For being an infidel.

Total Dehumanisation
Is not just the beating of a Dalit
In the street.

It is the way
A glass of water
Is handed to us,
Like a transaction with a disease.

It is the extra soap
Left out
After we use the public tap.

It is the way
Our children learn
To hide their father's job,
To mumble
Over the word: "manual scavenger,"
To laugh along
When classmates perform
Our humiliation as a joke.

It is the wedding
Where we cook the feast,
Wash the plates,
Haul away the garbage,
But never sit at the table.

It is the grave
We dig
The Hindu pyre
We build and light,
The smoke that enters
Our lungs
From the Hindu corpse
And still our own dead
Are buried on the edge of town,
Waterlogged fields,
Flood-prone areas,
As if even our ghosts
Might contaminate the Hindu soil.

They tell us: "In our religion,
All souls are equal
Before god."

But in every caste lane,
There is a separate cup,
A separate well,
A separate Dalit line,
A separate slur,
Waiting to be used.

We live with atrocities
Stitched into daily details:
The Dalit boy
Beaten
For riding a horse,
For wearing footwear,
For wearing white clothes,
For smiling,
For clean cloths,
In his own wedding.
The Dalit woman,
Raped,
For attending school,
For her beauty,
For her smile,
For her education,
For her voice.
The Dalit men
Stripped and tied
To a pole
For touching a bucket
Meant for "non-Dalit" hands.
The Dalit men
Lynched
For daring to sit
On a plastic chair
In the tea stall.
The Dalit girl,
Kicked out of class
For bringing food
In a steel tiffin
Someone decided
Was too pure
For her.

And when the
Hindu/Muslim mob comes,
It rarely asks
Which god do we pray to?
It only asks our caste.

Hindus with saffron flags,
Muslims with green flags:
In their fists,
The same stick,
On their tongues,
The same contempt
In their hearts,
The same fear:
That if we stand upright,
Their world
Will tilt.

Our every breath
Is monitored
By Hindus and Muslims.

If we walk too close
To their homes:
It is insolence.
If we walk too far :
It is ingratitude.
If we convert to Christianity:
It is betrayal.
If we stay and resist:
It is rebellion.

You say
"This is our culture,"
"This is our deen,"
"This is how it has always been,"
As if history
Was a prison sentence
We signed ourselves.

The dehumanisation
Enters so deep
That some of us
Start to believe it:
Stand back voluntarily,
Avoid the temple,
Bow extra low,
Choose silence
Over survival.

Even our dreams
Are policed.