At our next stop on this trip to the Taj Mahal, was a small roadside bazaar. The cab driver apparently had an arrangement with some of the ceramic and leather shops to bring in tourists. In addition to the shops, also present were fakirs, snake charmers, and animal trainers. One turban-crowned Indian had what he called a "dancing bear." A worn, leather leash was tightened around the bear's neck, causing him to choke and gag. It was stifling hot, and this poor creature’s heavy coat contributed to his severe skin infections that scarred his body and had removed large patches of fur.

This bear was so emaciated that he had an eerie appearance, for as he would stand and perform his tortured dance, he resembled a man. When the trainer whipped the bear with his stiff cane pole, the animal placed its paws over its head to protect itself from the blows. Streaks of red blood colored his digits.

I moved through the crowd with my fists clenched. It would have been so easy to wrench that pole from that puny little torturer and give him a dose of the pain he was inflicting on the pitiful bear. One more strike at that bear and I will have at him, I thought. Then I felt a tug on my arm and heard the calm, evenly modulated voice of the Englishman whispering that he felt exactly the same way I did, but then looked directly into my eyes and said, "What are you going to do, David — go to war against the whole Indian nation?"

I stumbled back to the cab, wondering how many times in a man's life he must turn his head when justice demands he act. Regardless of how much pity I have for the people of India, it is true that every people ultimately have responsibility for its own condition, for its general health and well-being. After gazing on the poor, mistreated animal that had no control over its destiny, a profound sadness came over me.

On both sides of the highway to Agra were cattle — thousands of them. The driver explained that they were sacred. As he told us about their religious sanctification and protection, I thought about the great cattle industry the nation could have. Later, in the shops of Agra, I saw rats and birds scampering around the food in the bins and not receiving a second glance from the proprietors or their skinny customers. In some areas of India, not only the cattle but even the rats are sacred.