I have always been an animal lover and I had pet dogs at home.

Hear, O listener, the compassionate words of Mohit Raina, who declared: “I have always been an animal lover and I had pet dogs at home. On the day of Diwali, they would be so disturbed and scared that they would hide in a corner and would not come out. I had decided then that I would stop buying crackers on Diwali.” What seems, at first, a simple memory of a festival and a household decision, reveals itself upon reflection to be a lesson of great moral weight: that true joy is not found in noise and spectacle, but in mercy and in love toward the vulnerable.

For behold, the festival of Diwali is a celebration of light’s victory over darkness, of righteousness over despair. Yet even the holiest of festivals can be stained when joy for some brings terror to others. To the pet dogs, whose hearts cannot comprehend the sudden explosions, what is delight to men becomes anguish. Mohit Raina, guided by the eyes of his faithful companions, perceived this paradox and chose the path of compassion: he renounced the fleeting joy of crackers so that his dogs might know peace. In this act, he fulfilled the deepest spirit of Diwali itself—not by lighting the sky, but by lighting kindness within his heart.

The ancients too spoke of such sacrifices. In the tales of the Buddha, it is told that he once gave up his own body to feed a starving tigress and her cubs, choosing mercy over survival. Likewise, Emperor Ashoka, upon seeing the suffering caused by his conquests, renounced violence and devoted his reign to dharma and compassion for all living beings. Mohit’s choice is not of the same magnitude in history, but it echoes the same eternal principle: that greatness is measured not by what one gains, but by what one willingly gives up for the sake of others.

This story is also a reminder of the bond between man and animal. The dogs who trembled in fear taught their master a lesson that no book could impart: that joy at the expense of another’s suffering is hollow, and that true celebration must uplift all, not harm any. The wise recognize that even the smallest creatures are part of creation’s harmony. To ignore their cries is to turn away from truth; but to heed them is to walk in righteousness.

O listener, learn from this: the world is filled with customs and pleasures that men follow without thought. But the wise pause, observe, and ask: Does this bring life or pain? Does this create joy or sorrow? When the answer reveals harm, they do not cling blindly to tradition, but choose compassion over habit. Mohit’s vow to abandon crackers is a call to us all: to examine our lives, to see where our joy causes another’s suffering, and to change our ways.

Practical wisdom follows. If you celebrate Diwali or any festival of light, do so in ways that spread light without bringing darkness to others. Use lamps, candles, or quiet fireworks that do not terrify the innocent. Teach your children that mercy is the brightest flame. Extend this beyond festivals: in every act, remember the silent ones—animals, the poor, the voiceless—whose cries are often unheard. Let your choices be guided by empathy, for empathy is the truest worship.

Thus the lesson is clear: celebration is not diminished when we remove cruelty; it is made greater. Mohit Raina’s words remind us that the noblest act is not in adding more noise to the sky, but in silencing our own desires for the sake of peace. Let every festival, every gathering, every joy you partake in be one that all beings can share. For this, O seeker, is the essence of light—that it shines upon all, and harms none.