At the heart of the ruling lies an unsettling reality: the State, through its own agencies, presented two mutually destructive accounts of the same crime. One narrative, constructed by the Maharashtra Anti-Terrorism Squad (ATS) and later endorsed by the Central Bureau of Investigation (CBI), attributed the blasts to one set of accused. The second, advanced years later by the NIA, not only displaced that version but implicated an entirely different group. Faced with these “diagonally opposite” stories, the Court concluded that the prosecution had effectively reached a point where it “leads nowhere”—a finding that goes to the very legitimacy of continuing criminal proceedings.

“The diagonally opposite stories in the charge-sheet filed by the ATS and the NIA lead nowhere. The witnesses proposed by the NIA are mostly hearsay witnesses. The materials collected by the NIA regarding purchase of bicycles etc. even if found truthful and admissible, cannot be considered as incriminating material against the appellants. A further investigation does not start with recording the statement of the accused person in a case. The further investigation is carried for the purposes of recording the evidence of a few more witnesses and for collection of additional materials to add other offences or another accused person. This is a mystery why the NIA did not collect fresh materials and started recording the retracted statement of the accused persons A1 to A3 and A5 to A8. The retracted statements of a few witnesses on which the NIA seeks to lay a case against the appellants can also not be admissible evidence. A witness who gives two versions of a story and retracts his previous statement becomes an unreliable witness and his testimony is liable to be discarded.” (Para 20)

“For the foregoing reasons, we hold that there is no sufficient material on record to proceed against the appellants.” (Para 21)

 The Appellate Framework: A duty to scrutinise, not endorse

Exercising its jurisdiction under Section 21 of the National Investigation Agency Act, 2008, the High Court undertook a substantive review of the order framing charges passed by the Special NIA Court. The judgment underscores that appellate scrutiny under this provision is not a limited or deferential exercise; rather, it requires a rigorous re-evaluation of both facts and law, particularly where the liberty of the accused is at stake.

The Court carefully located its inquiry within the framework of Section 227 of the CrPC, emphasising that the threshold for proceeding to trial is not a mere formality. The judge is required to sift the material on record and determine whether there exists sufficient ground to proceed. In doing so, the Court reaffirmed that a criminal court cannot act as a passive conduit for the prosecution’s claims. It must actively interrogate the evidentiary foundation before allowing the machinery of trial to be set in motion. This insistence on judicial application of mind becomes especially critical in cases involving serious offences carrying grave penal consequences.

“Unlike other statutory provisions, section 21 makes a statutory requirement to be followed by the High Court in an appeal under section 21 that the appeal so laid by the aggrieved party must be examined on facts collected by the NIA having regard to the applicable law on the subject. In the matters of discharge from the criminal liability, the High Court shall be entitled to scrutinize and assess the materials collected by the NIA to find out whether there is sufficient material to proceed against the accused person. In doing so, the High Court shall keep in mind the principles governing a discharge application under section 227 Cr.P.C. which provides that if the Judge forms an opinion upon consideration of the record of the case including the documents and after hearing the submissions of the accused and the prosecution that there is not sufficient ground for proceeding against the accused, he shall discharge the accused and record his reasons for so doing. The expression “not sufficient ground for proceeding against the accused” enjoins upon the Judge to apply his mind and not to act as mere Post Office before framing the charge against the accused person at the behest of the prosecution.” (Para 4)

The Evolution of the Case: From ATS narrative to NIA reconstruction

The judgment meticulously traces the evolution of the prosecution across three investigative regimes. The initial investigation conducted by the ATS, subsequently affirmed by the CBI, constructed a detailed narrative implicating members of the Students Islamic Movement of India. This version was not merely speculative; it was supported by confessional statements recorded under special statutes, forensic evidence indicating the presence of RDX, intercepted communications, and corroborative witness testimony. The prosecution case, at that stage, possessed a certain internal coherence, even if its ultimate veracity was later questioned.

The turning point came when the NIA assumed control of the investigation in 2011. Rather than supplementing the existing record with additional evidence, the NIA fundamentally reoriented the case. Relying heavily on a confessional statement attributed to Swami Aseemanand, as well as retracted statements of earlier accused and witnesses, the agency advanced a completely new theory of the crime. This new narrative alleged that the blasts were the result of a conspiracy involving a different set of individuals, including the present appellants, who were said to have undergone training and participated in the planning and execution of the attack.

“This is an admitted case that no person has come forward to make a statement before the NIA that he has seen any one of the appellants engaged in the bomb blasts. The case of the NIA solely rests on circumstantial evidence which is primarily in the nature of confessional statements by the appellants and Assemanand and the retracted statements of the witnesses and the first set of accused persons sent up for trial by the ATS and CBI. This is also a matter of record that on receiving the information about disclosure statement made by Assemanand the Central Government passed the orders dated 22nd March 2011 and 4th April 2011 directing the NIA to take over Crime No.07 of 2026. There seems to be considerable force in the argument that the NIA conducted a fresh and de-novo investigation inasmuch as it has relied on the retracted confessional statements of the accused persons who were sent-up for trial by the ATS and CBI.” (Para 15)

What troubled the Court was not merely the existence of an alternative theory, but the manner in which it was constructed. The NIA’s case was not built on fresh, independent evidence; instead, it drew heavily from the retraction of earlier statements and the reinterpretation of existing material. In doing so, it effectively displaced the earlier investigation without legally displacing its evidentiary record.

Contradictions at the Core: A prosecution that cannot stand together

The Court’s most forceful reasoning emerges in its analysis of the contradictions between the two investigative narratives. These were not minor discrepancies or peripheral inconsistencies; they went to the root of the prosecution’s case. The ATS and CBI had identified specific individuals as perpetrators, supported by forensic and testimonial evidence. The NIA, however, not only excluded those individuals but placed them at entirely different locations at the time of the crime. In one striking instance, an accused identified by the ATS as a key participant was described by the NIA as being nearly 400 kilometres away from the blast site.

Similarly, the question of procurement of bicycles used in the blasts was attributed to one set of accused by the earlier investigation, while the NIA assigned the same role to the appellants. These are not differences that can be reconciled through evidentiary evaluation at trial; they represent fundamentally incompatible versions of reality. The Court was categorical in observing that such “diagonally opposite stories” cannot coexist within a single prosecution, nor can they form the basis of a legally sustainable trial.

This finding has profound implications. It suggests that where the State itself advances mutually exclusive narratives, the burden cannot be shifted onto the accused to face trial and resolve those contradictions. The law does not permit a prosecution to proceed in the hope that clarity might emerge through the process of trial.

“The NIA has projected an entirely different story and states that the investigation of the case is still continuing and further evidence is being collected against the accused persons and requested the Special Court to permit it to continue further investigation of the case as per the provisions of section 173(8) Cr.P.C. The NIA completely ignored the charge-sheet laid by the ATS which gives a vivid narration of the entire planning by A1 to A13. The ATS collected incriminating materials from the place of incident and those materials were sent for forensic examination. This is the report of the Forensic Science Laboratory (FSL) that there were traces of RDX in the soil samples collected from the place of occurrence and the godown of A2 Shabbir Ahmed Masiullah and both the samples were found to be the same. There is another FSL report which confirmed the presence of RDX and Ammonium Nitrate, charcoal, fuel oil etc. in the samples.” (Para 18)

“The Special Judge overlooked the inherent contradiction and intrinsic improbability in the prosecution story as put forth by the NIA. There is no explanation coming forth as to how the voice samples and FSL reports collected by the ATS and CBI can be ignored by the trial Court. The things as stand today give two contradictory versions of the incident and both stories as floated by the ATS and NIA cannot be reconciled by any stretch of imagination. The evidence collected by the ATS in course of the investigation is not wiped out from the record and have to be considered by the trial Court even if the appellants are required to face the trial. There seems to be no answer in law as to how the trial Judge can deal with the materials collected by the ATS which implicates another set of accused persons. The case seems to have reached a dead end.” (Para 19)

The Evidentiary Collapse: Confessions, retractions, and hearsay

A central pillar of the NIA’s case was the reliance on confessional and disclosure statements. The Court subjected this material to close scrutiny under the Indian Evidence Act, 1872, reaffirming the long-settled principle that confessions made to police officers are inadmissible, and that statements made in custody are barred unless recorded in the presence of a Magistrate. The limited exception under Section 27, which permits the use of information leading to discovery, was also found inapplicable in the present case. The alleged recoveries were made years after the incident and from locations accessible to the public, thereby severing the necessary nexus between the statement and the discovery.

The Court was equally critical of the reliance on retracted statements. It emphasised that a witness who offers inconsistent versions of events, and subsequently retracts earlier statements, cannot be considered reliable. The evidentiary value of such testimony is not merely diminished; it is fundamentally compromised. In the present case, the NIA’s narrative was constructed substantially on the basis of such retractions, rendering the entire evidentiary edifice unstable.

The same reasoning extended to the use of Test Identification Parade (TIP) evidence. The Court reiterated that TIP is not substantive evidence but only a tool of investigation. When conducted after an inordinate delay—as in this case, where it occurred several years after the incident—it loses whatever limited probative value it might otherwise have had. The Court also noted the absence of any prior description of the accused by witnesses, further weakening the reliability of identification.

In sum, the Court found that the NIA’s case rested on a combination of inadmissible confessions, unreliable retractions, delayed identification, and hearsay evidence. Such a combination, it held, cannot sustain even the threshold requirement for framing charges.

The Limits of “Further Investigation”: A veiled reinvestigation

One of the most significant doctrinal contributions of the judgment lies in its treatment of “further investigation” under Section 173(8) CrPC. The Court drew a clear distinction between permissible further investigation and impermissible reinvestigation. While the former allows an agency to collect additional evidence in support of an existing case, the latter involves a wholesale replacement of the earlier narrative—a course that is not sanctioned by law.

The NIA’s approach, in the Court’s view, amounted to precisely such a reinvestigation. By constructing an entirely new theory based on retracted statements and by ignoring the evidentiary material collected by the ATS and CBI, the agency effectively attempted to rewrite the case. The Court found this approach to be legally untenable, particularly in the absence of fresh, credible material that could justify such a departure.

Judicial Failure at the Trial Stage: Framing charges without scrutiny

The High Court also delivered a pointed critique of the Special NIA Court’s order framing charges. It held that the trial court had failed to apply its judicial mind to the material on record and had relied on evidence that was either inadmissible or inherently unreliable. The Court emphasised that the stage of framing charges is not a mechanical exercise; it requires a careful evaluation of whether the material discloses a prima facie case involving grave suspicion.

In the present case, the trial court overlooked the fundamental contradictions between the two investigative narratives and failed to address the legal infirmities in the evidence relied upon by the NIA. This, the High Court held, constituted a serious error warranting appellate intervention.

Reaffirming the Standard for Discharge: Suspicion is not enough

Drawing upon established jurisprudence, the Court reiterated that while a detailed appreciation of evidence is not required at the stage of framing charges, the material must nevertheless disclose more than mere suspicion. The distinction between “suspicion” and “grave suspicion” is not semantic; it is doctrinally significant. Where the material on record gives rise only to conjecture or weak inference, the accused cannot be compelled to undergo the rigours of a criminal trial.

Applying this standard, the Court found that the evidence against the appellants did not meet even the minimal threshold required to proceed. The absence of direct evidence, coupled with the unreliability of circumstantial material, rendered the prosecution’s case untenable.

Conclusion: A case that reaches a legal dead end

The judgment ultimately concludes that there is no sufficient material to proceed against the appellants, and accordingly sets aside the order framing charges. In doing so, it characterises the case as having reached a “dead end”—a rare but telling acknowledgment of investigative failure.

This ruling is significant not only for its immediate outcome but for the principles it reinforces. It underscores that criminal prosecution must be grounded in coherent, admissible, and credible evidence. It affirms that investigative agencies cannot construct shifting narratives without legal consequence. And most importantly, it reiterates that the criminal process cannot be used as a substitute for proof.

In dismantling the NIA’s case, the Bombay High Court has sent a clear message: when the State’s own versions of a crime are irreconcilable, the law cannot sustain a prosecution built on such contradictions.

The complete judgment may be read here:

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The post Malegaon 2006 Blast Case: Bombay High Court rejects NIA’s ‘alternate narrative’, holds prosecution built on contradictions and inadmissible evidence appeared first on SabrangIndia.

Yet, almost as quickly as the legal process began, the case moved beyond its evidentiary foundations. Across television debates, digital media platforms, and social media networks, it was reframed as something far more expansive: a coordinated religious conspiracy, a conversion racket, even what some political figures and commentators began calling “corporate jihad.” These framings did not emerge from the FIRs, nor from confirmed findings of the investigation. Instead, they were constructed through a mix of speculation, political rhetoric, and amplified media narratives.

Media coverage and television debates across channels began invoking terms like “corporate jihad” and “love jihad” shortly after the first FIR was filed on March 26, 2026, even as the investigation was still in its initial stages. The first FIR centred on a complaint filed by a 23-year-old employee at Tata Consultancy Services’ Nashik unit, who alleged that a colleague, Danish Shaikh, had induced her into a relationship on the false promise of marriage, engaged in a physical relationship with her, made derogatory remarks about Hindu deities, and spoke in praise of Islam. According to Newslaundry. she further alleged that she later discovered he was already married with two children. These framings, which did not appear in the FIRs themselves, played a key role in shifting the narrative from specific allegations to a broader, and as yet unsubstantiated, claim of organised conspiracy.

This trajectory is not without precedent. The murder of Shraddha Walkar—a case that was, at its core, one of intimate partner violence and extreme gender-based brutality—was similarly pulled into a communal frame in sections of media and public discourse. What should have remained a conversation about violence against women, coercive relationships, and systemic failures was, in many instances, recast as evidence of a larger religious conspiracy. The language of “love jihad,” which had circulated in political discourse earlier, found renewed force in Maharashtra in the aftermath of that case. It was no longer invoked as an abstract claim; it was anchored to a specific, widely publicised crime.

Detailed report may be read here.

The consequences of that shift were not merely rhetorical. The communal framing of the Walkar case fed into mobilisation on the ground, with far-right groups organising rallies and demonstrations that explicitly linked individual acts of violence to broader claims of religious targeting. These mobilisations, in turn, contributed to a political climate in which the idea of regulating interfaith relationships—particularly those involving conversion—gained renewed traction. Over time, this discourse fed into legislative developments, including the push for and eventual passage of strict anti-conversion frameworks in Maharashtra. What began as a criminal case involving one victim and one accused thus became part of a larger ideological and policy arc.

Detailed reports may be read here and here.

The pattern is instructive. Individual acts of violence or alleged wrongdoing are lifted out of their specific contexts and embedded within broader narratives about community, identity, and threat. In the process, the nature of the case itself changes. What begins as a question of individual accountability and institutional responsibility is transformed into a story about collective identity and civilisational conflict. The focus shifts away from the victim, the evidence, and the mechanisms of justice, and towards questions of community, intent, and imagined networks.

The TCS Nashik case now sits within this pattern. Its rapid reframing as a case of organised religious conspiracy echoes earlier moments where gender-based violence or criminal allegations were communalised to serve broader political narratives. To understand it fully, it must be read along two tracks—what the FIRs and investigation actually establish, and what the public narrative has turned it into. The distance between these two is not incidental; it is the story itself.

The Genesis of the FIRs: Intervention, mobilisation, and legal framing

What remains crucial—but often underexplored—in the public telling of the case is the genesis of the FIRs themselves. The trajectory from an individual complaint to the registration of nine FIRs within days raises important questions not only about the allegations, but also about how the case entered the criminal justice system.

According to statements made to Newslaundry, Nitin Gaikwad, a local leader affiliated with the Shiv Sena, acknowledged that he and members of Hindutva groups were involved from the very beginning. He stated that they met the complainant and “counselled her for at least two to three days,” after which they accompanied her to the police station to register the FIR. He further claimed that “all Hindu organisations” had come together in this process under the banner of a united “Sakal Hindu Samaj,” though he did not name specific groups.

Gaikwad also indicated that this involvement did not end with the filing of the first complaint. He stated that they continued to assist the police by identifying other individuals and sharing information, following which further action was taken. This account suggests that the case evolved not solely through institutional mechanisms, but through a combination of community mobilisation, political involvement, and police action.

The first FIR reportedly named three individuals. In the span of the following week, eight additional FIRs were registered, all at the same police station, with some filed in rapid succession, including multiple complaints in a single night. The pattern and pace of these filings point to a case that quickly expanded in scope, moving from a single complaint to a cluster of allegations involving multiple accused.

Instead, several FIRs invoke Section 3(5) of the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita (BNS)—the provision relating to acts done in furtherance of common intention. This suggests that the police are, at least in part, examining the allegations through the lens of possible coordinated conduct among individuals, rather than as evidence of a broader, ideologically driven conversion network.

This brings the focus back to a critical question: do allegations of workplace sexual harassment—undoubtedly grave and demanding institutional accountability—necessarily require immediate criminalisation through police intervention, particularly when workplace redressal mechanisms exist? Or does the route through which these complaints were mobilised and formalised reflect a more complex interplay of legal process, social intervention, and political framing?

Data from the Maharashtra State Commission for Women for 2023–24 provides important context for understanding how workplace-related complaints are typically registered and addressed. Out of a total of 12,019 complaints handled during the year, the overwhelming majority relate to marital disputes (4059 cases) and broader social issues, including rape (2940 cases). In comparison, complaints specifically categorised as sexual harassment at the workplace number just 69, with 44 disposed of during the same period. This indicates that while such cases are serious, they form a relatively small proportion of the overall complaints landscape.

A broader category of “harassment at the workplace” records 667 complaints, suggesting that workplace grievances are more frequently framed in terms of general harassment, hostility, or discrimination rather than strictly sexual misconduct. At the same time, the disposal rate across categories remains relatively high, with over 10,000 complaints resolved. However, sexual harassment cases show a comparatively slower rate of disposal, pointing to the complexity and sensitivity often involved in such matters, including evidentiary challenges and institutional processes.

This data also offers insight into how such complaints are usually processed. Workplace harassment cases are, in most instances, expected to be addressed through internal mechanisms such as POSH committees and institutional grievance systems, with criminal law typically invoked in more escalated or severe circumstances. The relatively low number of cases reaching the Commission under the category of sexual harassment suggests either under-reporting, reliance on internal processes, or both.

Against this backdrop, the TCS Nashik case—marked by the rapid filing of multiple FIRs within a short span—appears unusual in its trajectory. The scale and speed of criminalisation stand in contrast to broader trends, raising questions not about the seriousness of the allegations themselves, but about the process through which workplace complaints move from internal grievance to criminal prosecution, and whether that transition, in this instance, followed the typical institutional path.

The answer to that question does not diminish the seriousness of the allegations. But it does underscore that the making of the case—how it was initiated, expanded, and framed—is as important to examine as the allegations themselves.

The Legal Core: What the FIRs actually establish

The legal foundation of the case rests on nine FIRs registered between March 26 and April 3, 2026, across Deolali Camp and Mumbai Naka police stations. These FIRs, taken together, form the only formal basis on which the case currently stands, and any assessment of the matter must begin with them.

The first FIR, registered at Deolali Camp Police Station, outlines a relationship between the complainant and the primary accused that allegedly evolved from a prior acquaintance into a personal and intimate association. According to the complaint, the accused established sexual relations with the complainant under the promise of marriage, a promise that she later discovered to be deceptive when she was informed by another woman that the accused was already married and had children. The FIR further records that during the course of their interactions, discussions relating to religion took place, and certain remarks were perceived by the complainant as derogatory towards Hindu beliefs. It also alleges that the complainant faced pressure and intimidation in connection with both the relationship and its possible disclosure.

As with all FIRs, these allegations represent the complainant’s version of events. They initiate a legal process but do not constitute proof. Their veracity must be tested through investigation and, ultimately, adjudication.

In the days that followed, eight additional FIRs were registered. These complaints describe a range of alleged misconduct within the workplace, including unwanted physical contact, inappropriate remarks, coercion, and the misuse of authority by senior employees. Some FIRs also refer to behaviour perceived as affecting religious sentiments, and in at least one instance, a male complainant alleged that he was pressured in relation to religious practices. The FIR compilation indicates that these allegations span a period from 2022 to 2026 and involve multiple accused individuals, some of whom are named across more than one complaint.

The sections invoked under the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita include provisions relating to sexual harassment, outraging modesty, criminal intimidation, and acts affecting religious sentiments. Taken together, the FIRs suggest the possibility of a pattern of alleged misconduct within the workplace. At the same time, they do not establish guilt, nor do they conclusively demonstrate the existence of any organised conspiracy. This distinction remains central, even as it is frequently blurred in public discourse.

The Investigation: Scope, Method, and Limits

The Nashik Police constituted a Special Investigation Team to examine the allegations. As part of the investigation, several accused individuals were arrested, statements were recorded before magistrates, and digital and documentary evidence began to be scrutinised.

What makes the trajectory of this investigation particularly unusual is its point of origin. As reported in Hindustan Times through its article dated April 13, the case did not begin with a formal workplace complaint or even an immediate allegation of harassment filed with the police. Instead, it appears to have been triggered by a complaint from a political party worker regarding a woman employee’s religious practices. In the report of Times of India dated April 16, it was provided that according to Nashik City Police, the complaint alleged that a Hindu woman in her early 20s had begun following Islamic practices under workplace influence. This led to a covert police operation, during which personnel were reportedly deployed undercover within the workplace. It was only after this phase that the first FIR was registered on March 26, followed by additional complaints.

As the investigation progressed, the SIT examined not only the allegations in the FIRs but also the functioning of internal workplace mechanisms, particularly the Prevention of Sexual Harassment (POSH) framework. The role of supervisory personnel, including HR officials, came under scrutiny in light of allegations that complaints may have been discouraged or ignored.

Crucially, police statements reported indicate that, at this stage, there is no confirmed evidence of any organised or externally funded conversion network linked to the case. While inputs have been sought from agencies such as the Anti-Terrorism Squad (ATS) and the National Investigation Agency (NIA), this appears to be a response to claims circulating in the public domain rather than confirmation of those claims.

This distinction—between investigating allegations and endorsing narratives—remains one of the most important, yet least emphasised, aspects of the case.

The Company Response: Institutional responsibility under scrutiny

TCS, in its official communications, has stated that it has taken the matter seriously, suspending or terminating employees named in the FIRs and cooperating fully with law enforcement authorities. The company has reiterated its commitment to a zero-tolerance policy towards harassment and has initiated an internal inquiry.

Public statement by Mr. K. Krithivasan, Chief Executive Officer and Managing Director, related to the recent matter in Nashik. All details here: https://t.co/sOEGI7jmtV pic.twitter.com/iTfu1yeCuz

— Tata Consultancy Services (@TCS) April 17, 2026

At the same time, the case raises deeper questions about institutional responsibility. Several accounts since April 14, including those reported by outlets such as NDTV, suggested that employees who experienced harassment may not have found effective redress through internal mechanisms. If complaints were indeed raised and not acted upon—or if employees felt unable to use formal channels—it would point to significant gaps in the implementation of POSH guidelines.

The role of HR personnel is particularly significant in this context, especially because one of the most widely circulated claims in the case—that Nida Khan was the HR head—has been explicitly contradicted by both company statements and subsequent reporting. In the early days of the controversy, several media reports and television debates repeatedly described Nida Khan as an “HR manager” or even the central authority responsible for handling complaints. 

A detailed report by AltNews dated April 18 showed that since April 14, 2026, NDTV reporters claimed that Nida Khan was an HR official at TCS Nashik. The same claim was made in multiple bulletins on the channel by Shiv Aroor.  

However, a report by Times of India as well as the statement of TCS of April 17 clarified that she held no leadership responsibilities, was not part of the HR structure, and had no role in recruitment or institutional decision-making. Instead, as per Hindustan Times dated April 17, she was employed as a process associate/telecaller at the BPO unit, not a senior managerial figure.

Godi Media Anchor @anjanaomkashyap says Nida Khan is the main Mastermind and was a HR Manager. But Nida Khan was an employee and not HR Manager. HR manager was Ashwini Chainani, the HR head and operations manager of the company who was arrested recently. Ashwini Chainani is… pic.twitter.com/Y3M7tHzJtf

— Mohammed Zubair (@zoo_bear) April 17, 2026

In the #Nashik #TCS case, not only Arnab Goswami’s Republic made Nida Khan a “terrorist,” even Vijeta Dahiya, script writer for Dhruv Rathee, went a step further and called her and other accused “Islamist terrorists,” dragging an entire religion into it.

From prime-time TV to… pic.twitter.com/iDBTP4pFeW

— Meer Faisal (@meerfaisal001) April 17, 2026

‘दबंग मैम’ निदा खान ऑफिस में सबको सिखाती थी बुर्का पहनना, बड़ा ही खूंखार था TCS एचआर हेड का प्लान

नासिक के TCS बीपीओ में ‘दबंग मैम’ कही जाने वाली HR मैनेजर निदा खान की तलाश तेज हो गई है. उस पर धर्मांतरण और यौन उत्पीड़न के गंभीर आरोप लगे हैं. FIR में दावा है कि वह कर्मचारियों को… pic.twitter.com/xDARj2rURy

— AajTak (@aajtak) April 16, 2026

TCS में घर्मांतरण के खुलासे का पार्ट-2
TCS में HR मैनेजर निदा खान के कारनामों की पूरी रिपोर्ट#BlackAndWhiteOnAajTak #TCS #CorporateControversy #HRManager | @anjanaomkashyap pic.twitter.com/8jZLVLSvvn

— AajTak (@aajtak) April 16, 2026

This distinction is crucial because the investigation has, in fact, identified actual HR officials—including a senior HR functionary linked to the POSH Internal Committee—whose roles are under scrutiny for allegedly ignoring or failing to act on complaints. Yet, in public discourse, the focus disproportionately shifted to Nida Khan as the “face” or even “mastermind” of the case, often accompanied by an inflated portrayal of her authority.

The result is a telling gap between institutional responsibility and narrative construction. While those with formal power within the workplace structure—particularly within HR—are central to questions of accountability, public attention has instead been redirected toward an individual whose organisational role was misrepresented, reinforcing a narrative that is not fully aligned with the evidentiary record.

Victim Narratives: Allegations of control, coercion, and silence

Accounts from complainants and witnesses, as reported in media interviews including those aired by NDTV, describe a workplace environment marked by control, coercion, and silence. One employee recounted being isolated from colleagues and made to work separately, while others described a culture in which younger employees were allegedly targeted and subjected to inappropriate behaviour.

These narratives also suggest that attempts to raise concerns internally did not lead to meaningful intervention. In some accounts, employees described a sense that even HR mechanisms were ineffective or inaccessible. Such descriptions, if borne out by investigation, would indicate not only individual misconduct but a systemic environment in which alleged abuse could persist.

These accounts are serious and must be treated as such. At the same time, they remain part of an ongoing investigation and must be evaluated through due process rather than selectively amplified or reframed to fit broader narratives.

The Narrative Shift: From workplace crime to communal conspiracy

As the case unfolded, a significant shift occurred in how it was publicly framed. What began as allegations against specific individuals was rapidly transformed into a narrative about an entire community.

Television debates, including those hosted on prominent channels such as played a significant role in shaping the public narrative around the case. Primetime discussions on these platforms frequently moved beyond the contents of the FIRs and the scope of the police investigation, framing the allegations within broader themes of religious targeting and organised conspiracy. In several instances, the language used in these debates echoed terms such as “conversion racket” and “corporate jihad,” often without clear attribution to verified investigative findings.

Grooming Syndicate Busted

The Hindu women employees in TCS were allegedly groomed systematically through a WhatsApp group formed by their team leads. They approached TCS authorities, including the HR manager, multiple times—raising complaints of rape, forced conversion, being… pic.twitter.com/IbZxUUkEfl

— TIMES NOW (@TimesNow) April 14, 2026

This mode of coverage did not merely report on the case; it actively contributed to its reframing. By foregrounding speculative links and emphasising identity over individual conduct, these debates helped shift the focus away from the specifics of the allegations and towards a generalised communal narrative, shaping public perception in ways that extended far beyond the evidentiary record.

Political figures played a visible role in this shift. On April 17, Maharashtra Chief Minister Devendra Fadnavis publicly framed the case in broader ideological terms while responding to media queries. While noting that Tata Consultancy Services had taken the allegations seriously, he described the matter as a cause for concern, suggesting it pointed to what he termed “corporate jihad.” In his remarks to NDTV, Fadnavis linked the case to earlier narratives such as “love jihad” and “land jihad,” arguing that the present allegations reflected a new and serious manifestation of a similar pattern.

Political responses to the case extended beyond formal statements of concern and moved into broader ideological framing. Devendra Fadnavis’s spouse, Amruta Fadnavis, in remarks reported by The New Indian Express on April 18, linked the allegations to wider claims of “forceful conversion” and “love jihad,” urging women to remain vigilant and framing the issue in terms of cultural awareness and the need to reinforce traditional values among youth.

Maharashtra minister and Bharatiya Janata Party leader Nitesh Rane, speaking to the press in comments reported by Press Trust of India on April 16, described the case as indicative of a growing phenomenon he termed “corporate jihad.” He further suggested that employment spaces were being misused for religious conversion and argued that prioritising Hindus in hiring had become “the need of the hour” to counter such alleged activities.

Taken together, these statements illustrate how the case was not only treated as a matter of criminal investigation but also embedded within a larger political narrative—one that framed the allegations as part of a broader pattern of religious targeting, despite the absence of conclusive findings to that effect in the investigation at the time. These statements were subsequently amplified across television and digital platforms, contributing to the rapid communalisation of the case.

Amid the controversy surrounding the allegations at the TCS Nashik unit, The Print report dated April 21 provided that that the Vishwa Hindu Parishad (VHP), affiliated with the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh, escalated the issue beyond the immediate case by reaching out to major industry bodies. Its general secretary, Bajrang Bagda, wrote to organisations such as FICCI, CII, ASSOCHAM, NASSCOM and others, urging immediate steps to address women’s safety in corporate workplaces. 

While referring to the ongoing SIT probe into multiple FIRs alleging harassment, coercion, and other offences, Bagda framed the issue as one that had eroded public trust in corporate environments. Significantly, he argued that the allegations should not be seen as isolated acts by individuals, but as part of a “collective conspiracy”, a claim that extends beyond what has been established in the investigation so far.

This transformation did not merely add a layer of interpretation; it altered the nature of the story itself, shifting the focus from individual accountability to communal identity. Even the highest court in the country was not left out of this, with Advocate Ashwini Kumar Upadhyay filing a plea in the Supreme Court on April 16, 2026, requesting that deceitful religious conversions be classified as “terrorism” and “organized crime,” following reports of forced conversions and sexual harassment of female employees at a TCS facility in Nashik. The plea calls for stringent central action, special courts, and to treat the issue as a threat to national security. Ashwini Upadhyay has formerly also been spokesperson for the Delhi unit of the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP). 

You may find CJP’s Hate Busters on four of Upadhyaya’s claims here, here, here, and here.  

The Making of a “Mastermind”: The case of Nida Khan

No aspect of this transformation is more illustrative than the portrayal of Nida Khan. In the FIRs, she is named as one among several accused, with allegations that relate primarily to interactions and remarks perceived as religiously offensive. There is no clear indication in the FIRs that she held a position of authority within the organisation or that she exercised control over institutional processes.

However, in media coverage and public discourse, she has frequently been described as the “mastermind” of the case. Television debates and social media commentary, as evident from the links attached above, have at times portrayed her as an HR manager or a central figure orchestrating a larger conspiracy. This portrayal stands in contrast to clarifications issued by the company, which state that she was a process associate and did not hold a managerial or HR role.

TCS Nashik case ‘mastermind’ Nida Khan’s bail hearing likely today pic.twitter.com/1bDo4yQgae

— NDTV (@ndtv) April 20, 2026

Nashik BPO Case | Who Is Nida Khan? Mastermind Behind Harassment Cover-Up Under Police Lens

Watch video: https://t.co/qWRbVPjzqc#NidaKhan #Nashik #TCS

— News18 (@CNNnews18) April 17, 2026

Nashik ‘Conversion’ Row | First picture: Nida Khan alleged mastermind of the gang is cureently absconding@sujata_dwivedi shares details with @ankit_tyagi01 pic.twitter.com/xVOINfq5Hu

— NDTV (@ndtv) April 14, 2026

In a further development, reports indicated that Nida Khan was in Mumbai and was pregnant with her first child. Even as the Nashik Police’s Special Investigation Team continued its probe and the National Commission for Women took cognisance of the matter, sections of the media continued to describe her as the “mastermind” of the case.

This characterisation, however, has been contested by her legal counsel. Advocate Baba Sayyad pointed out that her name appears in only one complaint and that the FIRs do not substantiate claims of a larger conspiracy. He further clarified that she was not part of the HR structure but worked as a process associate/telecaller, a position also reflected in company records. According to him, the primary allegation against her relates to remarks affecting religious sentiments, raising questions about the disproportionate portrayal of her role in public discourse.

According to the report by Hindustan Times dated April 17  Nida Khan is not absconding in the conventional sense being portrayed in some media narratives. She is reported to be in Mumbai, at her residence with her husband, where she had moved earlier this year after her marriage. Her family and lawyer have also claimed that police had not visited their residence looking for her at the time of reporting. This re-framing or ‘clarification’ on Nida Khan’s position in the company came several days after reports in news channels and newspapers, often showing her photographs and name, framed her as the ‘mastermind.’ The damage then, in a sense, had been done.

This discrepancy highlights how narratives can elevate certain individuals into symbolic figures, often in ways that are not supported by the evidentiary record. At the same time, individuals who may have held actual institutional authority—such as HR officials with decision-making power—have received comparatively less attention in public discourse.

It is essential to note here that on April 20, Nida Khan was denied interim relief by a Nashik court.

Media Conduct: Language, framing, and responsibility

The role of the media in shaping the trajectory of this case has been central. One of the most concerning aspects of coverage has been the frequent collapse of the distinction between allegation and fact. Reports and debates have often presented claims as established truths, omitting qualifiers such as “alleged” and thereby pre-empting the outcome of the investigation.

Equally significant has been the shift in framing from individual conduct to communal identity. Instead of focusing on specific allegations against named individuals, many narratives have generalised the case into a broader story about Muslim men targeting Hindu women. This framing transforms a legal case into a communal narrative, with implications that extend far beyond the facts of the case itself.

The amplification of unverified claims has further contributed to this distortion. Assertions about international links, funding networks, and organised conversion efforts have circulated widely across television and social media platforms, despite the absence of corroborating evidence. In some cases, even routine investigative steps—such as seeking inputs from central agencies—have been interpreted as confirmation of these claims.

This pattern reflects not just a failure of verification but a broader shift in how stories are framed and consumed.

The APCR Findings: A critical intervention in a distorted narrative

The fact-finding report by the Association for Protection of Civil Rights (APCR) stands out as one of the most detailed attempts to bring the TCS Nashik case back to its evidentiary core. Based on field visits, court observations, interactions with lawyers and families, and a close reading of FIRs alongside media coverage, the report maps a widening gap between what is formally on record and what has come to dominate public discourse.

At its heart, the report makes a crucial clarification: the case, as reflected in the nine FIRs, concerns serious allegations of workplace misconduct—including sexual harassment, coercion, intimidation, and conduct perceived as affecting religious sentiments. These allegations, spanning multiple complainants and a period of several years, are undeniably grave and warrant thorough investigation. At the same time, the report underscores that FIRs represent claims to be tested, not conclusions, and must be evaluated through due process.

What the report does not find, however, is equally significant. It notes that there is, at present, no conclusive material establishing the existence of any organised or systematic religious conversion network—a claim that has nevertheless come to dominate media and political narratives. Terms such as “corporate jihad,” widely used in television debates and public commentary, are identified as originating not from the FIRs or the investigation, but from interpretation and amplification.

The report also documents the trajectory of the investigation itself. A Special Investigation Team has been constituted, multiple arrests have been made, and police have examined each complaint individually. Even the involvement of agencies such as the ATS or NIA, it notes, has been framed as precautionary rather than confirmatory. Crucially, authorities have not, at this stage, substantiated claims of a coordinated or externally funded operation, despite the prominence of such assertions in public discourse.

At the same time, the report does not minimise the allegations made by complainants. It records accounts that point to a hostile work environment, possible targeting of employees, and a lack of effective institutional response. This is juxtaposed with the company’s position that no formal complaints were received through internal POSH mechanisms prior to the FIRs, highlighting a potential gap between lived experiences and formal reporting structures. Whether this reflects under-reporting, institutional failure, or both remains a key question.

A particularly striking aspect of the report is its focus on how individuals have been portrayed in the public sphere. It notes that Nida Khan has repeatedly been described as the “mastermind” of the case and as an HR official with significant authority—claims that are not consistently supported by the FIRs or company records. In fact, available information indicates that she held a non-managerial role, raising concerns about how her position and involvement have been reshaped to fit a broader narrative.

More broadly, the report highlights the role of media ecosystems—particularly television debates and social media—in amplifying unverified claims, including assertions of international links, funding networks, and coordinated targeting. It identifies a dual media landscape, where factual reporting based on police statements coexists with speculative and often hyperbolic commentary, creating confusion and polarisation.

The report ultimately calls for a return to evidence-based investigation and responsible public discourse. It urges authorities to clearly distinguish between criminal allegations and unverified labels, recommends closer scrutiny of workplace grievance mechanisms, and cautions political and media actors against communalising the issue. Its core message is straightforward but significant: that the integrity of the investigation—and the possibility of justice—depends on maintaining a clear boundary between what is being investigated and what is being imagined.

Voices of Dissent and Solidarity: A counter-current emerges

Amid the dominant narrative that has framed the case in sharply communal terms, a quieter but significant counter-current has begun to emerge—one that calls for restraint, due process, and a return to facts. Across social media platforms, independent commentators, academics, and civil society voices have expressed concern not only about the allegations themselves, but about the manner in which the case has been publicly framed.

One such intervention came from Sumathi, whose widely circulated post reflected a tone markedly different from the prevailing discourse. Addressing Nida Khan directly, she wrote from the standpoint of shared humanity rather than communal identity, expressing remorse for the suffering faced and emphasising that fear and isolation are not burdens any individual should be made to carry. The post underscored a key point often missing in louder debates—that regardless of the outcome of the investigation, the dignity and rights of individuals must remain central.

Dear Nida Khan,

As an Indian Hindu woman, I lower my head in deep remorse for the suffering you have faced. Such pain cannot be confined to one faith; it resonates within the shared conscience of us all. When a woman is forced to carry fear along with the life she nurtures, it… https://t.co/j8cMhy4Pmz

— Prof Sumathi (@ProfSumathi) April 19, 2026

Similar sentiments have been echoed by other users and commentators who have questioned the speed with which the case was communalised. Some have pointed out inconsistencies in media reporting, others have highlighted the lack of verified evidence for sweeping claims, and many have simply urged that the investigation be allowed to proceed without prejudice. These voices do not deny the seriousness of the allegations; rather, they resist their transformation into a broader indictment of an entire community.

Nida Khan, 26, is pregnant, is in Mumbai, as per her family.

She has been witch hunted as mastermind of running religious conversion racket at TCS bpo in Nashik by many media houses.

TCS clarified she was working as a tellecaller n not in any leadership role to have influence…

— Varsha Torgalkar (@varshasuman) April 18, 2026

This emerging strand of solidarity is important for what it represents. It signals that even within a highly polarised media environment, there remains space—however limited—for empathetic engagement, critical questioning, and a refusal to collapse individual cases into communal narratives.

What Is at Stake: Justice, truth, and public harm

The stakes in this case are both immediate and far-reaching. If the allegations are substantiated, the victims are entitled to justice, and the accused must be held accountable in accordance with the law. Institutions must also answer for any failures that allowed such conduct to occur.

At the same time, the communalisation of the case carries its own risks. When narratives outpace evidence, investigations can be distorted by public pressure, due process may be compromised, and entire communities may be subjected to collective suspicion.

Perhaps most importantly, the pursuit of justice itself may be undermined. When cases are reframed through communal lenses, the focus shifts away from evidence and accountability and towards identity and ideology.

Conclusion: The danger of stories that outrun evidence

The TCS Nashik case remains under investigation. The facts are still being established, and the outcome is yet to be determined. Yet, in the public sphere, a conclusion has already been constructed—one that extends far beyond the evidence currently available.

This is the central danger. When allegations are transformed into narratives, and narratives into communal truths, the space for careful, evidence-based inquiry begins to shrink. In such an environment, justice is no longer the outcome of a process; it becomes collateral damage.

There is no contradiction in insisting that serious allegations be investigated thoroughly while also rejecting their communalisation. On the contrary, both are necessary.

Because without accuracy, there can be no accountability. And without accountability, there can be no justice.

Related:

Allahabad High Court flags surge in “false” conversion firs, seeks accountability from UP government

Censorship and the Drumbeats of Hate: Mapping the state of free speech ahead of the 2026 polls

Maharashtra’s Anti-Conversion Bill: Legislating suspicion in the name of “love jihad”

The post From FIRs to “Corporate Jihad”: How the TCS Nashik case was transformed from an investigation into a communal narrative appeared first on SabrangIndia.

These are not isolated disruptions. When read alongside official data placed before the Odisha Legislative Assembly in March 2026—where Chief Minister Mohan Charan Majhi acknowledged 54 communal riots and 7 mob lynching incidents since June 2024—and a recent audit by the Comptroller and Auditor General of India exposing the exclusion of over 160,000 Particularly Vulnerable Tribal Group (PVTG) members from welfare schemes, a more systemic pattern begins to emerge.

Across districts and contexts, the incidents point to a convergence of communal polarisation, administrative inaction, coercive responses to dissent, and gaps in welfare delivery.

Church Vandalism in Keonjhar: Crime, silence, and communal retaliation

On April 6, 2026, a church in Murgagoth village under Anandpur police station in Keonjhar district was vandalised by a mob, as reported by The Hindu. The attack was triggered by allegations that a visually impaired minor girl had become pregnant after being sexually assaulted months earlier by a man from the same village—identified as her distant uncle.

Police officials confirmed that the alleged assault had not been reported prior to the incident. It was only when villagers recently became aware of the pregnancy that tensions escalated. In the early hours of April 6, when the church was unoccupied, a group of miscreants removed furniture, including chairs and an almirah, and set them on fire.

The accused was reportedly working in Tamil Nadu at the time. The delay in reporting the alleged sexual assault raises serious concerns about access to justice, barriers to reporting, and the vulnerability of the victim, particularly given her visual impairment. At the same time, the targeting of a place of worship reflects how criminal allegations were swiftly reframed through a communal lens.

The village itself, consisting of around 85 households, is almost evenly divided between Hindu and Christian residents. Police described the area as communally sensitive and deployed forces to prevent escalation. A complaint has now been filed regarding the alleged rape, but the sequence of events underscores a troubling dynamic—where due process is bypassed, and collective punishment is enacted before legal accountability is even initiated.

A State Under Strain: Rising communal violence and incomplete accountability

The Keonjhar incident is not an aberration. Data shared by Chief Minister Mohan Charan Majhi in the Odisha Legislative Assembly in March 2026 indicates that 54 communal riots and 7 mob lynching incidents have been recorded in the state between June 2024 and February 2026, according to Hindustan Times.

Nearly 300 individuals were arrested in connection with communal riots, and 61 people in lynching cases. However, the fact that chargesheets were filed in less than 50% of riot cases raises concerns about the effectiveness of investigations and the likelihood of convictions.

District-level data reveals concentrations of violence:

• Balasore: 24 riot cases
• Khurda (including Bhubaneswar): 16 cases
• Additional incidents in Koraput, Malkangiri, and Bhadrak

A government White Paper further recorded 122 communal incidents in 2025, including 16 involving Hindu-Christian tensions.

Yet, significant incidents appear underrepresented in official accounts. The October 2025 communal violence in Cuttack, which led to a three-day curfew following clashes during Durga Puja immersion, was not explicitly acknowledged in the Chief Minister’s reply. The violence reportedly escalated into arson and clashes involving members of right-wing organisations.

Over the past 20 months, multiple towns have experienced curfews, internet shutdowns, and mob violence, including incidents targeting Bengali-speaking Muslims. Officials have conceded that some cases may go unreported, particularly when victims are daily-wage earners reluctant to approach the police.

While the state has pointed to measures such as peace committees and strengthened intelligence gathering, the persistence of incidents and gaps in prosecution suggest a deeper issue of accountability and deterrence.

Rayagada Erupts: Tribal resistance, mining, and militarised policing

Tensions over land, resources, and consent erupted violently in Rayagada district in April 2026, where clashes broke out between tribal communities and security forces over a road construction project linked to the proposed Sijimali bauxite mine, as reported by Hindustan Times.

At least 70 people were injured, including 58 security personnel, after villagers allegedly resisted police with stones, axes, and other weapons. Police responded with tear gas, and prohibitory orders were imposed in the area.

The confrontation occurred in the context of long-standing opposition to the mining project led by Vedanta Limited, which secured rights to the Sijimali reserve in 2023. The project spans approximately 1,500 hectares, including over 700 hectares of forestland, and is expected to produce 9 million tonnes of bauxite annually.

For local tribal communities, however, the issue is existential. Residents have consistently argued that the project threatens their forests, water sources, livelihoods, and sacred landscapes. Central to the dispute is the requirement under the Forest Rights Act, 2006 that Gram Sabha consent must be obtained before forestland diversion.

Authorities have claimed that such consent was secured in 2023. However, multiple villages have since passed resolutions denying that these Gram Sabha meetings ever took place, alleging that approvals were fabricated.

The situation has been further aggravated by allegations of heavy-handed policing. Civil society groups and local organisations have reported:

• Night raids in villages
• Mass detentions, including women
• Use of tear gas and force in residential areas
• Deployment of drones and armed patrols restricting daily life

An open letter by the “Concerned Citizens Forum” described the police response as “barbaric” and called for withdrawal of forces, release of detained individuals, and cancellation of the mining project.

#Vedanta_Go_Back …..
Tribal people of Rayagada district #Odisha hv taken an oath to fight against corporate loot. pic.twitter.com/j0UJcTHSoB

— Amiya_Pandav ଅମିୟ ପାଣ୍ଡଵ Write n Fight (@AmiyaPandav) April 8, 2026

The clash is thus not merely a law-and-order issue, but part of a prolonged conflict over development, legality, and tribal autonomy.

Exclusion by design? CAG flags systemic welfare failures

Parallel to these conflicts, a structural crisis in governance emerges from the findings of the Comptroller and Auditor General of India. In an audit conducted between July 2024 and January 2025, the CAG found that 54% of Odisha’s PVTG population—around 160,000 people—remained excluded from welfare schemes.

Despite the Odisha PVTG Empowerment and Livelihood Improvement Programme (OPELIP), only 134,000 out of 294,000 individuals were covered as of March 2024. The exclusion was particularly stark in 1,138 newly identified villages, which were not integrated into the programme even years after recognition.

Key findings include:

• Three Micro Project Agencies (MPAs) created in 2020 remain non-functional, lacking both staff and funding
• Entire communities, such as the Birhor tribe (341 individuals), remain completely excluded
• ₹20.20 crore in funds remained unspent for over three years
• Basic data on infrastructure and services in tribal areas is missing or unavailable

The audit also flagged serious shortcomings in the Late Marriage Incentive Scheme, which reached only 58% of its target beneficiaries and covered just 43% of villages.

These findings reveal not just administrative inefficiency, but a pattern of systemic neglect, where even targeted interventions fail to reach the most vulnerable populations.

The complete CAG report may be viewed below:

Law, Power, and Impunity: MLA firing incident in Balangir

Questions of accountability were further sharpened by an incident in Balangir district in April 2026, where BJP MLA Naveen Jain was booked for allegedly firing blank rounds during a Ram Navami procession.

The firing, which took place in a crowded public setting, caused panic among attendees. Police registered a case under provisions of the Arms Act and the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita, seized the weapon, and suspended the MLA’s Personal Security Officer.

Despite video evidence, the MLA claimed the weapon was a toy gun—a claim contradicted by police findings. Opposition leaders have argued that the incident reflects a broader pattern of political impunity, particularly given allegations of prior misconduct.

Conclusion

Taken together, the events across Odisha reveal a pattern that cannot be dismissed as episodic unrest. The Keonjhar church vandalism underscores how quickly allegations—particularly involving vulnerable victims—can be communalised in the absence of timely legal intervention. The Rayagada clashes expose the deep faultlines between state-led development and tribal rights, where questions of consent under the Forest Rights Act, 2006 remain unresolved and contested on the ground. The CAG’s findings on PVTG exclusion highlight a parallel reality of administrative neglect, where even designated welfare mechanisms fail to reach those most in need. Meanwhile, incidents like the Balangir firing case involving a sitting MLA raise troubling concerns about accountability and the uneven application of the law.

What binds these developments is not merely their occurrence within a short timeframe, but the institutional responses that follow—or fail to follow. Delayed complaints, incomplete investigations, underutilised funds, disputed consent processes, and selective enforcement together point to a governance framework struggling to maintain both legitimacy and trust.

In this context, the question is no longer limited to law and order. It is about whether state institutions can uphold due process, protect vulnerable communities, and mediate conflict without deepening it. The trajectory suggested by these incidents indicates that without structural course correction, Odisha risks moving further towards a landscape marked by normalised violence, contested authority, and systemic exclusion.

Related:

An Adivasi woman once in bonded labour now serves her village as a Sarpanch

Odisha: 18 months, 54 incidents of communal hate crimes, 7 mob lynchings

Odisha: Man forced to chant religious slogan, lynched by cow vigilantes

Publicly Tortured, Forced to Eat Cow Dung: No arrests in Odisha Pastor assault case

MP, Odisha, Delhi, Rajasthan: Right-wing outfits barge into 2 churches ahead of Christmas, attack vendors selling X’mas goodies, tensions run high

The post Fractured Fault lines: Violence, governance gaps, and rising tensions across Odisha appeared first on SabrangIndia.

Combining detailed regional overviews with independent commentaries by Anjuman Ara Begum and N P Chekutty, along with insights from academics and activists on Puducherry, the report offers a layered account of how dissent, media, and electoral processes intersect in contemporary India. It locates the upcoming elections within a broader pattern of shrinking civic space, contested electoral practices, and increasingly polarised public narratives—raising fundamental concerns about the conditions necessary for free and fair democratic participation.

The report situates the 2026 elections within a larger context: a shrinking space for dissent, increasing use of censorship, and the growing normalisation of hate speech. Across all three regions, it identifies a pattern where free expression is not only challenged through formal legal mechanisms, but also through intimidation, institutional pressure, and political messaging that reshapes public discourse.

It also highlights the controversy surrounding the Special Intensive Revision (SIR) of electoral rolls, which has raised concerns about exclusion, transparency, and voter confidence—placing the very foundation of electoral participation under scrutiny.

Assam: Systemic curtailment and the centrality of hate speech

The report’s coverage of Assam is extensive and sharply critical, documenting a sustained pattern of restrictions on free speech alongside the institutionalisation of polarising rhetoric.

It details how journalists and media workers faced criminal cases, arrests, and direct intimidation. A prominent editor was charged with sedition in 2025, while earlier instances included the detention of journalists for reporting on communal violence and the arrest of reporters investigating corruption. Physical attacks and coercion—such as forcing journalists to delete recorded material—further reinforced an environment of fear.

The report also points to more subtle forms of suppression, including the discontinuation of critical columns addressing human rights violations, indicating a climate where self-censorship becomes necessary for survival.

A significant episode cited is the complaint by the CPI(M) alleging that state broadcasters censored portions of its election speech critical of the government, raising concerns about electoral fairness and the misuse of public broadcasting platforms.

At the centre of the report’s Assam analysis is the pervasive use of hate speech. Political rhetoric targeting Bengali-speaking Muslims—particularly the “Miya” community—is described as sustained, deliberate, and electorally mobilising. Statements invoking economic boycotts, branding individuals as “traitors,” and linking communities to national security threats are documented as part of a broader narrative strategy.

The report further highlights the role of technology and disinformation, especially the circulation of AI-generated videos depicting violent and dehumanising imagery aimed at Muslims. These instances are presented as evidence of how digital tools are being deployed to intensify polarisation.

Legal responses, including petitions before courts, are noted—but the report underscores that such interventions have not significantly curbed the continuation of hate speech.

Additionally, it records attacks on media institutions, including the burning of newspaper bundles, and raises concerns about attempts to influence journalists through state-sponsored distributions, such as the gifting of smartphones.

Taken together, the report presents Assam as a case where free speech is constrained both structurally and atmospherically, with fear, lawfare, and polarisation reinforcing each other.

Kerala: Contestation, censorship, and civil society pushback

In contrast, the report’s examination of Kerala presents a more layered and contested environment. It acknowledges that free speech conditions in the state remain comparatively stronger, supported by a vibrant media ecosystem and an active civil society. However, this relative openness coexists with increasing instances of censorship and legal pressure.

The report documents the use of legal mechanisms, including FIRs and defamation case, against journalists, activists, and protestors. It also recounts the ban on a Malayalam news channel by the Union government, later overturned by the Supreme Court, as a key example of institutional censorship.

Cinema emerges as a major site of conflict. The report details:

• Judicial interventions affecting film reviews
• Controversies around propaganda films released in the run-up to elections
• Attempts to block screenings at international film festivals

These developments are framed as indicative of a broader struggle over narrative control in a state where cinema plays a central cultural role.

The report also examines the delayed and redacted release of the Justice Hema Committee report on the film industry, highlighting how even institutional inquiries into gender justice faced forms of informational control.

On the electoral front, it notes the emergence of communal rhetoric—traditionally less dominant in Kerala politics—and the legal challenges that followed, including court scrutiny of campaign speeches. At the same time, the report emphasises the role of public resistance. Civil society interventions, media plurality, and a politically aware citizenry have consistently pushed back against attempts to curb free expression.

However, it also flags emerging concerns: increasing corporate influence over media, declining investigative scrutiny, and growing public dissatisfaction—particularly among younger populations.

Kerala, therefore, is portrayed as a space of ongoing struggle, where democratic safeguards remain active but are under pressure.

Puducherry: Suppression of dissent and structural pressures

The report’s coverage of Puducherry highlights a different but equally significant pattern—where free speech is shaped by administrative control, campus politics, and broader structural inequalities.

A central focus is the curtailment of student expression. The report documents:

• Disciplinary action against students protesting fee hikes
• Disruption and criminalisation of cultural performances
• A controversial university code of conduct that triggered widespread protests

It further records police intervention in student movements, including lathi-charges, detentions, and arrests—underscoring the use of state force in response to dissent.

Journalists in the region also faced violence and intimidation, including physical attacks and verbal abuse during reporting.

Electoral processes come under scrutiny through the report’s discussion of the SIR exercise, which led to significant deletions of voters before partial corrections were made, raising concerns about disenfranchisement.

Beyond censorship, the report situates free speech within a broader political economy. It highlights:

• High levels of youth unemployment
• The dominance of wealthy candidates in elections
• The prevalence of candidates with criminal cases

These factors, it argues, shape the environment in which speech and dissent occur, often limiting meaningful participation in democratic processes.

The report also draws attention to the influence of centralised political power in the Union Territory, suggesting that local democratic autonomy is constrained.

Conclusion: A fragmented but converging crisis

Across Assam, Kerala, and Puducherry, the report does not present a uniform decline—but rather distinct trajectories of constraint.

• In Assam, free speech is undermined by criminalisation, intimidation, and the centrality of hate speech in political discourse.
• In Kerala, it is shaped by institutional pressures and censorship, countered by strong civil society resistance.
• In Puducherry, it is limited through administrative control, suppression of student activism, and structural inequalities.

Yet, despite these differences, the report identifies a common concern: the erosion of the conditions necessary for meaningful democratic participation. Free and fair elections, it argues, depend not only on the act of voting, but on the ability of citizens to speak, question, and dissent without fear. The persistence of censorship, the spread of hate speech, and the controversies surrounding electoral processes together signal a deeper challenge—one that extends beyond any single state or election cycle.

The complete report may be read below:

Related:

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No Hearing, No Notice, Just Deletion: How Bengal’s SIR Erased a Decorated IAF Officer

Rights group files complaint over electoral roll purges in North 24 Parganas

Alleged Pattern of Denigration: High Court seeks response from Himanta Biswa Sarma on PIL against his alleged hate speeches

The post Censorship and the Drumbeats of Hate: Mapping the state of free speech ahead of the 2026 polls appeared first on SabrangIndia.

The incidents documented across India in 2025, when read collectively, mark a decisive shift in the nature of anti-Christian hostility. What was once episodic violence or localised discrimination has now hardened into a pattern of systemic persecution—socially legitimised, politically emboldened, and administratively enabled. Christians were not merely attacked as individuals or congregations; they were recast as a civilisational problem, a demographic threat, and a suspect population whose very presence required surveillance, regulation, and punishment.

This article undertakes a deep, incident-driven analysis of the violence, intimidation, discrimination, and institutional harassment faced by Christians throughout 2025. Drawing exclusively from the documented incidents provided, it traces how hate speech translated into physical violence, how law was repurposed as a tool of repression, and how everyday Christian life—worship, burial, marriage, education, and celebration—was progressively criminalised. The focus is not merely on what happened, but on how these events collectively reveal an architecture of otherisation that corrodes constitutional guarantees and reshapes citizenship itself. 

Manufacturing the Enemy: Christians as ‘foreign’, ‘anti-national’, and ‘dangerous’

A central pillar of anti-Christian mobilisation in 2025 was the persistent portrayal of Christians as outsiders to the Indian nation. Speakers across states repeatedly asserted that Christianity is inherently foreign—linked to the Vatican, Western powers, or colonial rule—and therefore incompatible with Indian culture. This rhetoric erased the long history of Indian Christianity, including indigenous traditions dating back centuries, and reframed faith as a marker of disloyalty.

The “holy land” disqualification: In Maharashtra and beyond, influential voices like Dhananjay Desai propagated a dangerous geopolitical argument: that because the “holy places” of Christians (the Vatican) and Muslims (Arabia) lie outside India, their loyalty to the Indian state is fundamentally compromised. This narrative effectively created a “Permanent Outsider” status, suggesting that a Christian can never be a “true” Indian.[1]

Public rallies and religious gatherings consistently advanced the idea that “true Indians” cannot be Christian. By redefining national belonging through religious identity, these narratives transformed Christians into conditional citizens—present but perpetually suspect. This framing proved crucial in legitimising subsequent acts of exclusion: if Christians are not truly Indian, then denying them burial rights, worship spaces, or legal protection can be portrayed as acts of cultural defence rather than discrimination.

The ‘foreign religion’ trope also intersected with anxieties about land, resources, and sovereignty. Christians—particularly among Adivasi communities—were accused of acting as agents of foreign interests, allegedly facilitating land grabs or undermining tribal traditions. These claims, devoid of evidence, circulated freely at public events, often in the presence of political leaders, lending them a veneer of legitimacy. 

The ideological framework – language as a weapon

Before the first stone was cast thrown in 2025, the groundwork was laid through a sophisticated linguistic campaign of dehumanisation. The “Otherisation” process relied on specific tropes designed to make the Christian community appear “un-Indian.”

The year 2025 saw the mainstreaming of derogatory slurs:

• “Rice bag” Christians: A trope used by figures like Kajal Hindustani to suggest that faith is a transaction and that converts are “purchasable” and thus lack integrity. (Also read CJP’s Hate Buster on this perennial slur against Indian Christians here.)
• “Chaddar and Father”: A rhyming slur used by Raju Das and Gautam Khattar to group Muslims and Christians into a single “alien threat,” often referred to as a “demonic illness” or a “cancer” that needs to be “cured” through violence.
• The “shoe” metaphor: In Haryana, Mahant Shukrai Nath Yogi explicitly stated he began wearing shoes specifically to “confront” missionaries, a metaphor for crushing and humiliating the “Other.” This was later echoed in Jhabua with slogans like “Isai ke dalalo ko, joote maaro saalo ko” (Beat the agents of Christianity with shoes). 

Conspiracy theories as political technology

Throughout 2025, conspiracy theories functioned as a key technology of mobilisation. The discourse of “love jihad,” initially directed at Muslims, was increasingly redeployed against Christians. Hindu nationalist leaders warned that Christian men were luring Hindu women into relationships to facilitate conversion, framing intimacy and marriage as weapons of religious warfare.

Equally pervasive was the narrative of “rice-bag conversions,” which cast Christian converts—especially Dalits and Adivasis—as morally weak, economically desperate, and incapable of exercising genuine choice. Conversion was framed not as conscience but as corruption. This discourse carried a deeply casteist subtext: it denied marginalised communities’ agency while reinforcing upper-caste paternalism.

Other conspiracies— “land jihad,” “drug jihad,” demographic replacement—were invoked to suggest that Christians operate through hidden networks aimed at destabilising Hindu society. The repetition of these narratives across regions points to ideological coordination rather than spontaneous fear.

Hate speech as infrastructure for violence

Hate speech in 2025 did not merely express prejudice; it actively prepared the ground for violence. Speeches openly called for social boycotts, forced reconversion, and the physical elimination of Christian presence. Chants advocating the destruction of missionaries crossed into explicit incitement.

Speakers frequently invoked mythological violence, comparing Christians to demons or invaders whose defeat was framed as a sacred duty. References to weapons, martial training, and vigilantism were common, signalling a shift from symbolic hostility to endorsement of physical force.

The impunity enjoyed by hate speakers is critical. Despite the public nature of these speeches, legal consequences were rare. The absence of state intervention functioned as tacit sanction, emboldening followers and normalising extremist rhetoric.

 Policing Worship: Raids, surveillance, and the criminalisation of Christian prayer

Throughout 2025, Christian worship—particularly prayer meetings held in private homes—became one of the most visible and repeatedly targeted sites of persecution. The incident record shows a consistent, cross-state pattern: Hindu nationalist groups would accuse Christians of engaging in forced or fraudulent conversions; mobs would arrive at prayer meetings, disrupt worship, and summon the police; law enforcement would then detain pastors or hosts, seize Bibles and religious material, and register cases under anti-conversion or public order laws.

These raids occurred across Uttar Pradesh, Madhya Pradesh, Bihar, Rajasthan, Maharashtra, Odisha, and Chhattisgarh. In Uttar Pradesh alone, multiple prayer meetings were raided following complaints by Bajrang Dal or VHP activists, even when attendees stated on record that they were participating voluntarily. In several cases, worship was forcibly stopped mid-prayer, with congregants verbally abused, threatened with violence, or compelled to chant Hindu religious slogans.

In Maharashtra, women attending Bible study gatherings were filmed and interrogated by Hindu vigilantes, accused of illegal religious activity, and pressured to disclose personal information. In Bihar and Rajasthan, elderly worshippers and women were forced to disperse while pastors were taken to police stations for questioning. In Odisha, prayer gatherings were followed by police violence against worshippers, including physical assaults documented by fact-finding teams.

These incidents collectively establish that Christian worship itself was treated as presumptively illegal. The home—constitutionally protected as a private sphere—was transformed into a surveilled space where religious expression invited state intervention. The cumulative effect of these raids was not merely disruption but deterrence: Christians learned that gathering to pray could lead to public humiliation, arrest, and long-term harassment.

Instances:

1. Location: Mayapur, Sidhi, Madhya Pradesh

Date: January 17

Bajrang Dal members, led by Rishi Shukla, raided a Christian prayer meeting held at a household. They harassed the attendees, accused them of engaging in religious conversions, and called the police.

2. Location: Fatehpur, Uttar Pradesh

Date: January 27

Members of Bajrang Dal, along with the police, raided a Christian family’s house accusing them of engaging in religious conversion. They presented the Bibles in the house as evidence and arrested the couple.

3. Location: Khargapur, Lucknow, Uttar Pradesh

Date: February 9

Members of the Akhil Bharatiya Hindu Mahasabha attempted to raid a Christian Sunday prayer meeting held in a church at a residence, accusing the attendees of religious conversion. The police confirmed that the church is registered and holds regular prayer meetings but directed them to suspend gatherings until the investigation is complete.

4. Location: Bargarh, Odisha

Date: February 9

Members of Bajrang Dal raided a Christian prayer meeting, alleging forced religious conversions and demanding it be stopped. The attendees pushed back, questioning their authority. https://t.me/hindutvawatchin/1444

5. Location: Bikaner, Rajasthan

Date: February 16

Members of Bajrang Dal and Hindu Jagran Manch raided a Christian prayer meeting at a private residence, assaulting attendees and vandalising the property while accusing them of indulging in religious conversion. During the attack, they chanted slogans of “Jai Shree Ram” and “Narendra Modi Zindabad” as part of their protest. The police detained 6-7 individuals on accusations of religious conversion.

6. Location: Bilaspur, Chhattisgarh

Date: March 20

Members of Hindu nationalist organisations, led by Thakur Ram Singh and backed by the police, raided a Christian prayer meeting at a conference hall. They alleged that attendees were being trained to brainwash and convert Hindus. The police arrested three individuals acting on their complaint.

Anti-Conversion Laws: Legal architecture of suspicion and control

Anti-conversion laws operated throughout 2025 as the primary legal framework through which Christian life was criminalised. While framed as safeguards against coercion, the documented incidents show that these laws were overwhelmingly used against Christians on the basis of unverified complaints by Hindu nationalist groups rather than testimonies of affected individuals.

Across Uttar Pradesh, Madhya Pradesh, Chhattisgarh, and Odisha, pastors, prayer leaders, and ordinary believers were arrested during or after prayer meetings. FIRs were registered even when alleged converts explicitly denied any force, inducement, or deception. In several Uttar Pradesh cases, police booked Christian couples or pastors under the state’s anti-conversion law solely because prayer was taking place in a domestic setting.

The first reported convictions of Christians under certain state anti-conversion laws marked a critical escalation. These convictions sent a chilling message beyond the individuals involved: Christian worship and evangelism—even when peaceful and consensual—could result in imprisonment. In Madhya Pradesh and Chhattisgarh, anti-conversion provisions were frequently combined with charges of unlawful assembly or public nuisance, enabling prolonged detention and heightened intimidation.

Rather than preventing coercion, these laws functioned as instruments of surveillance and discipline. They legitimised mob vigilance, emboldened police intervention, and transformed religious belief into a legally suspect activity.

Instances:

1. Location: Gokarna, Karnataka

Date: June 22

Far-right Hindu nationalists barged into a private Christian prayer meeting; instead of acting against the attackers, police filed an FIR against the worshippers over false conversion claims.

2. Location: Burhanpur, Madhya Pradesh

Date: June 25

Far-right Hindu nationalists brutally stripped, beat, and interrogated Adivasi Christians, falsely accusing them of religious conversions. Police filed an FIR against six Christians, while the attackers faced no action. As the video went viral, demands grew to prosecute the assailants, who, according to the victims, are upper-caste men affiliated with the Bajrang Dal.

Police complicity and administrative alignment

The role of the police across the documented incidents reveals a systemic collapse of institutional neutrality. In numerous cases, police arrived at prayer meetings alongside Hindu nationalist mobs or acted directly on their complaints without independent verification. Christians were detained, questioned, or arrested, while aggressors were rarely booked.

In Uttar Pradesh, there were repeated instances where pastors were detained while the individuals who disrupted worship faced no consequences. In one incident, a pastor’s wife was arrested following an attack on their prayer meeting, while those who assaulted the congregation went uncharged. In Odisha, fact-finding reports documented police assaulting Christian worshippers—including children and priests—during raids on church premises.

Administrative authorities also played a role in reinforcing exclusion. In Chhattisgarh villages where Christian families were denied burial rights, sarpanches and local officials justified the exclusion as adherence to “local custom.” Police were present during several burial denials yet failed to intervene, effectively endorsing the discrimination.

This alignment between police, administration, and vigilante groups produced a regime of structural impunity. Christians were left without effective legal recourse, trapped between mob violence and state hostility.

Institutional response and media coverage

Despite the violence, high-level official response was muted. Occasionally courts intervened (e.g. Supreme Court rebuked Chhattisgarh in the tribal burial case), but on the whole, police and governments largely upheld anti-conversion crackdowns. In regions where BJP governments held power, anti-Christian laws were zealously enforced (e.g. first UP conviction). BJP leaders voiced no regret over extremists’ speeches, and sometimes echoed the fear rhetoric themselves.

Mainstream media coverage of anti-Christian incidents in 2025 frequently diluted their communal character. Raids on prayer meetings were framed as routine law-and-order actions; burial denials were described as village disputes; arrests under anti-conversion laws were reported without scrutiny of evidentiary basis.

By contrast, independent media outlets and civil society organisations documented patterns across states, tracking hate speeches, arrests, and coordinated attacks. Their reporting reveals the scale, consistency, and ideological coherence of the persecution that mainstream narratives often obscured.

This narrative dilution played a crucial role in normalisation. When violence is fragmented into isolated events and stripped of its structural context, it becomes easier for society and institutions to accept persecution as ordinary governance rather than constitutional breakdown.

In summary, the institutional picture is one of complicity or wilful negligence. Police frequently treated Christian worship as a crime, and only rarely held Hindu attackers accountable. For example, after mobs raided an Odisha village burning Bibles, local police were slow to file charges; journalists had to push coverage for any action. Even when arrests were made, they were usually of Christians under anti-conversion laws (not the mobs). Several incident reports note explicitly that police either joined the persecutors (as at Bilaspur, CG) or simply failed to prevent ongoing intimidation.

Denial of Dignity: Burials, death, and civil exclusion

One of the most severe and symbolically devastating forms of persecution documented in 2025 was the repeated denial of burial rights to Christians. In multiple villages in Chhattisgarh and Madhya Pradesh, Christian families—often Dalit or Adivasi—were prevented from burying their dead in common burial grounds.

In several incidents, families were forced to transport bodies over long distances to find a place for burial, sometimes under police escort. In one prominent case, the denial of burial to an elderly Christian man in a tribal area prompted judicial intervention, with higher courts reprimanding the state for failing to protect basic dignity.

Other incidents reveal even harsher coercion: local leaders demanded that families undergo reconversion to Hinduism as a condition for allowing burial. These acts were not spontaneous expressions of social prejudice but organised practices of exclusion, enforced through threats and administrative inaction.

Denial of burial constitutes a form of civil death. It communicates that Christians are excluded from the moral and social community—not only in life, but even in death. These practices closely mirror historical caste-based exclusions, revealing how religious persecution in 2025 intersected with entrenched hierarchies of purity and pollution. The denial of burial is the ultimate expression of “Otherisation.” It suggests that the Christian body is so “alien” that it cannot even be permitted to decompose in the soil of its own homeland.

Instances:

1. Location: Surat, Gujarat

Date: February 1

Hindu nationalists, led by Narendra Choudhary, forced out a group of Christian individuals who had come to collect a man’s body for burial. The Christian group claimed that the man was Christian and the family called them. However, the goons accused them of forcefully converting Hindus, and made them leave along with the coffin.

2. Location: Sanaud, Durg, Chhattisgarh

Date: May 26

During the burial of a Christian woman, villagers—pressured by Hindu nationalists and a village sarpanch sympathetic to Hindu nationalist ideology—refused to allow her burial at the public Muktidham, claiming the land was reserved for Adivasi tribals. Despite the presence of police and the SDM, officials did not intervene. The family buried her 30 km away in Dhamtari.

3. Location: Parsoda, Durg, Chhattisgarh

Date: December 8

Members of VHP-Bajrang Dal, along with other villagers, staged a protest opposing the burial of an 85-year-old Dalit Christian man in the public cremation ground. Tension escalated as both sides refused to back down. Police intervened to control the situation. Authorities later directed the family to bury the body on their privately owned land instead of the public cremation ground.

Cultural Erasure: Festivals, symbols, institutions, and public space

Beyond physical violence and legal harassment, 2025 witnessed sustained attempts to erase Christian presence from public and cultural life. Christmas celebrations were repeatedly targeted. In Gujarat, shopkeepers were threatened and pressured to remove Christmas decorations and religious items. In other states, public displays associated with Christian festivals were portrayed as cultural provocation.

Educational institutions also came under pressure. Universities and colleges cancelled lectures or academic events following objections by Hindu nationalist groups alleging religious propaganda. These cancellations extended the logic of persecution into intellectual and cultural spaces, framing even discussion of Christianity as suspect.

Church structures and prayer halls were demolished or sealed in parts of Chhattisgarh and Madhya Pradesh, often with administrative backing. These actions were justified on technical or zoning grounds, masking their communal intent. The cumulative effect was the shrinking of public space available to Christians for worship, celebration, and community life.

Cultural erasure complemented physical violence by rendering Christianity increasingly invisible, reinforcing the message that Christian identity must remain private, silent, and subordinate.

A detailed report may be read here.

Territorial Warfare – Schools and the battle for the mind

In 2025, the “Otherisation” project moved into the classroom. Christian missionary schools—long respected for their contribution to Indian education—were reframed as “conversion factories.”

Forcible ritualism: In Hojai, Assam (Feb 14), the Rashtriya Bajrang Dal staged a Saraswati Puja at the gates of a Christian school. This was an act of “territorial marking,” asserting that the majority’s rituals must supersede the school’s private character.

Iconoclasm and dress codes: In Burhanpur, MP, the removal of a plaque with a quote from Jesus Christ illustrated a desire to scrub the public landscape of Christian thought. Furthermore, leaders like Suresh Chavhanke attacked the very attire of Christian teachers, labeling “Isai dress” as a psychological threat to children. By attacking the symbols and clothes of the community, the movement sought to make the Christian presence invisible.

Intersectionality: Caste, tribe, gender, and the differential impact of persecution

The incidents recorded in 2025 demonstrate that anti-Christian persecution operated through intersecting axes of vulnerability. Dalit and Adivasi Christians were disproportionately affected. In tribal regions of Chhattisgarh and Madhya Pradesh, Christian families faced threats of eviction, social boycott, denial of burial, and forced reconversion.

Conversion among marginalised communities was framed as betrayal—both of Hindu religion and of caste order. This framing justified intensified punishment and surveillance. The language used against Dalit and Adivasi Christians often echoed older casteist tropes of impurity and contamination.

Intersectionality magnified vulnerability: faith, caste, tribe, and gender converged to produce heightened exposure to violence and exclusion. Analysis of the data shows that Hindu militants often targeted socially vulnerable Christians. Tribal and Dalit Christians were singled out in multiple incidents. For example, in Durg (Chhattisgarh) villagers blocked the burial of an 85-year-old Dalit Christian man at the public ground, explicitly citing tribal land rights to exclude him. Similarly, a tribal Christian woman in Sanaud was denied a resting place at the village cremation ground. In Assam, Hindutva leaders accused Christian missionaries of undermining tribal society, part of a broader narrative of “protecting Adivasi culture” from conversion. In Madhya Pradesh and Jharkhand, Christian converts from local tribes or Dalit castes were especially vulnerable to accusations of “stealing” tribals from Hindu fold (for example the Khapabhat raid).

Gender was another axis. Women were often the direct targets of conversion gossip and social pressure. Incidents in Mumbai and West Bengal show women being publicly humiliated for their faith. Even when men were attacked, their Christian daughters and wives were threatened – e.g. a Kanker (Chhattisgarh) case where girls were shouted at to renounce Christianity under threat of eviction. The logic of “protecting Hindu women” underpinned many hate speeches and attacks. The intersection of gender and religion thus magnified the harassment of female Christians, who were portrayed as spoils of conversion conspiracies.

Caste bias intersected: several persecuted Christian families belonged to lower castes. In several villages, families were pressured to sign documents renouncing Christianity or face ostracism. A MaktoobMedia report notes tribal families in one Chhattisgarh village were forced to sign a “pact” to convert back within days. Even police actions showed caste dimensions: often the accused Christians were Tribals or Dalits, while the accusers were higher-caste Hindus. These layers of caste and gender made it harder for Christian victims to seek redress, as local power structures favoured the Hindu aggressors.

Geography and Escalation: From local attacks to a national pattern

The incidents span much of India, but some states saw particularly high frequency. Uttar Pradesh (37 incidents in the list) and Madhya Pradesh (35) were the worst-hit, reflecting both active VHP-Bajrang Dal chapters and strict anti-conversion laws. These states witnessed many police raids on pastors and prayer meetings, as well as major hate rallies. Chhattisgarh (26 incidents) was also notable, partly due to its large tribal Christian population and local Hindu chauvinist cells (Chhattisgarh saw everything from villages denying burials to BJP-minister-led hate speeches). In the West, Maharashtra (17 incidents) had frequent church raids (e.g. Mumbai and Nashik) and provocative temple ceremonies near Christian schools. Gujarat (9 incidents) saw actions like forcing shopkeepers to curb Christmas sales and at least one case of Bajrang Dal harassment of a Christian family. Eastern and southern states were not immune: Odisha and Bengal had mob attacks on Christians (Odisha families were violently threatened in June; a Bengal mob forcibly imposed a tulsi shrine on a Christian home). Even Nepal’s Terai region saw hate speeches against Christians in January, showing the cross-border spread of these narratives.

Temporally, incidents clustered around Hindu religious or national events. January (just after Ram Mandir consecration) saw several hate-speech gatherings (e.g. Garhwa, Jharkhand) and anti-Christmas actions. February–March featured VHP-sponsored school pujas and rallies (e.g. Saraswati Puja disruptions, several raids by Bajrang Dal). Notably, the highest count was in September (26 incidents) – a period when state elections (e.g. Chhattisgarh MP, Mizoram) and Hindu festivals like Ganesh Chaturthi took place, possibly spurring extremist visibility. Another spike came in December (19 incidents), reflecting year-end polarization (for example, arrests after Republic Day protests).

Overall, the pattern is escalatory and sustained: incidents continued each month with shifting focus (speech rallies give way to mob actions and police crackdowns). No period saw a complete lull. The unbroken string of events from January to December suggests a systemic campaign rather than isolated flare-ups.

Role of Hindu nationalist (read supremacist) organisations

A clear pattern emerges in the perpetrators: the vast majority are linked to Hindu nationalist groups. Bajrang Dal and VHP feature in almost every state account. Bajrang Dal cadres raided prayer meetings in UP, Bihar, MP and Maharashtra, often accompanied by police. The VHP sponsored large events preaching anti-Christian rhetoric (e.g. press conferences in MP, strategy meetings in Balaghat). RSS-affiliated outfits also took part: for example, at an Adivasi conference in Alirajpur (MP), BJP minister Nagarsingh Chauhan warned that Christian conversions among tribals would ignite conflict. The Ayodhya and Kumbh events were spurred by RSS leaders advocating armed “self-defense.”

Smaller groups like Hindu Jagran Manch (HJM) and Hindu Mahasabha were also active. In Mumbai and Assam, HJM members disrupted prayer services and harassed congregants. The Akhil Bharatiya Hindu Mahasabha attempted to storm a Lucknow church on February 9. These fringe groups often coordinate with VHP-Bajrang Dal outings (e.g. marking Trishul Deeksha ceremonies), using religion to justify street aggression.

Major BJP politicians and influencers lent indirect support. BJP MPs like Bhojraj Nag (Chhattisgarh) equated tribals converting to Christianity with “anti-national activities,” even misquoting the Supreme Court to forbid Christian cremations in Fifth Schedule areas. Some state BJP leaders shared or did not repudiate extremist podium speeches – in Maharashtra a BJP adviser sanctioned Dhananjay Desai’s hate speech on “holy places in Arabia and Vatican”. More subtly, no major party figure vigorously condemned these attacks; indeed, BJP-run state administrations have often defended anti-conversion laws or appealed for Hindu unity in the name of nationalism, tacitly encouraging extremists. Even government-published Hindu religious calendars made headlines by warning Hindus to avoid Christian places (e.g. Andhra Pradesh’s 2025 calendar, though not in our incidents list, followed this trend).

Outside activists have noted this complicity. Christian organisations have written to top officials (including Prime Minister’s office and Human Rights Commission), highlighting that “even the dead aren’t spared” – as one film-maker put it of Pastor Baghel’s burial case. These groups point out that ultra-right vigilantes enjoy de facto impunity in many regions, and allege that local administrations either support or ignore anti-Christian mobs.

Summary of patterns

The 2025 incidents demonstrate systematic persecution of Christians driven by organized hate ideology. Key patterns include:

• Recurring hate narratives: Leaders regularly invoked conspiracies (“love jihad,” “conversion rackets,” foreign backing) that framed Christianity as a national danger. These narratives guided the actions of mobs and organizers.
• Coordinated militant actions: Groups like Bajrang Dal, VHP, RSS-affiliates, and vigilante outfits colluded in raids on homes and churches across multiple states.
• State-sanctioned harassment: Many raids and arrests were carried out jointly by Bajrang Dal activists and police or by police on Hindutva complaints. This shows institutional bias in enforcing anti-conversion laws.
• Geographic hotspots: While nearly every region saw incidents, UP, MP, Chhattisgarh and Maharashtra stand out as epicenters of legal and physical assaults. Eastern states saw new forms of intimidation (e.g. forced religious homicides in Odisha and West Bengal).
• Cultural marginalisation: Attacks extended beyond physical violence to cultural exclusion: Christian festivals and symbols were suppressed (Christmas items banned), burials were obstructed, and Christian education was targeted.
• Intersectional targeting: Marginalised-caste and tribal Christians, as well as women, bore the brunt of violence. Social prejudices overlapped – e.g. Dalit Christians faced casteist burial bans, and women were singled out in conversion narratives.

In all, the compiled data from 2025 indicates an organised campaign of persecution rather than sporadic incidents. The interplay of hate speech (spread at public events and online), legal tools (anti-conversion laws, biased policing) and communal violence paints a picture of institutionalized harassment. Right-wing groups exploited narratives of national security and cultural purity to justify attacks. Without accountability or countervailing political will, Christians remained vulnerable to both mob violence and state repression throughout the year.

Conclusion: 2025 as a year of systemic otherisation and constitutional breakdown

The year 2025 was not just a year of “attacks”; it was a year of “erasure.” The data shows a community being systematically pushed out of the public square, the classroom, the legal system, and the graveyard.

The “Otherisation” of Christians in 2025 was achieved by:

1. Stripping Agency: Treating all conversion as “bribed” or “forced.”
2. Stripping Dignity: Using slurs and physical humiliation (shoes, sticks).
3. Stripping Territory: Removing Christian symbols from schools and bodies from villages.

The incidents of 2025 serve as a stark warning. When the state and the mob align to define who is a “true” citizen based on faith, the very concept of a secular, democratic India is under existential threat. The Christian community in 2025 became the “canary in the coal mine,” signalling a broader collapse of constitutional values and the rise of a majoritarian order that seeks to define India not by its diversity, but by its exclusions.

The incidents documented across 2025 do not describe a series of unfortunate excesses or isolated communal flare-ups. Taken together, they reveal a systematic process of otherisation in which Christians were progressively stripped of constitutional protection, civic dignity, and social legitimacy. What emerges is not episodic violence, but a patterned regime of control.

Christian worship was transformed into an object of suspicion; prayer became a trigger for police action. Anti-conversion laws supplied the legal vocabulary through which belief itself was criminalised, while vigilante accusations were absorbed seamlessly into state action. Policing practices collapsed the distinction between complainant and accused, allowing mobs to function as de facto extensions of law enforcement. Even death did not interrupt exclusion: burial denials marked the most extreme assertion that Christians could be expelled from the moral community altogether.

Equally significant was the attempt to erase Christianity from public and cultural space. Festivals were suppressed, symbols removed, institutions pressured into silence. This shrinking of visibility worked alongside physical violence to communicate a single message: Christian identity was permissible only if invisible, silent, and politically irrelevant.

The media’s fragmentation of these events into localised disputes completed the architecture of persecution. By denying structural context, public discourse neutralised outrage and normalised exclusion. Violence became governance; discrimination became administration.

The persecution of Christians in 2025 must therefore be understood as a constitutional failure. When freedom of religion is subordinated to majoritarian ideology, equality before law becomes illusory. When police and administration align with prejudice, citizenship fractures along religious lines. The question raised by 2025 is not merely about the safety of one minority, but about the survivability of secular democracy itself.

2025 stands as a warning year — a record of how swiftly constitutional guarantees can be hollowed out when law, institutions, and public narratives are mobilised against a community. Ignoring this record risks accepting a future in which belonging is conditional, rights are selective, and democracy itself becomes exclusionary by design.

The analysis above is based entirely on incidents documented in the provided compilation.

References:

The article also lists the following external references, which corroborate and expand on these events:

• https://maktoobmedia.com/india/sc-slams-chhattisgarh-govt-as-tribal-christian-man-unable-to-bury-father/
• https://www.livelaw.in/top-stories/were-pained-supreme-court-on-plea-of-christian-man-unable-to-bury-father-in-native-village-in-chhattisgarh-281453
• https://maktoobmedia.com/india/christian-collective-reports-245-incidents-of-violence-against-christians-within-the-last-3-months-in-india/
• https://thewire.in/communalism/chhattisgarh-christian-family-hounded-by-hindutva-mob-forced-into-hiding-police-refuses-fir#:~:text=Zeeshan%20Kaskar,church%20service%20was%20in%20progress.
•  https://persecution.org/2025/01/27/christian-husband-wife-first-to-be-convicted-under-anti-conversion-law/
• https://www.ucanews.com/news/police-arrest-7-indian-christians-for-conversion-on-republic-day/107706
• https://www.newindianexpress.com/states/tamil-nadu/2025/Mar/10/university-of-madras-cancels-lecture-on-christianity-after-social-media-backlash
• https://www.thehindu.com/news/national/kerala/pc-george-stirs-another-controversy-calls-for-early-marriage-of-christian-girls-citing-love-jihad/article69313391.ece
• https://sabrangindia.in/from-protectors-to-perpetrators-police-assaulted-women-children-christian-priests-in-odisha-fact-finding-report/    
• https://www.genocidewatch.com/single-post/hindu-extremists-threaten-genocide-against-christians
• https://persecution.org/2025/06/30/hindu-nationalist-mob-attacks-20-christian-families-in-odisha/
• https://www.thehindu.com/news/national/kerala/church-mouthpiece-slams-bjps-double-standards-amid-push-to-woo-christians-in-kerala/article69809988.ece
• https://indianexpress.com/article/cities/pune/christian-groups-protest-mla-padalkars-religious-leaders-10114467/
• https://muslimmirror.com/tamil-nadu-dalit-christians-allege-denial-of-entry-from-church-rituals-stage-protest-demanding-swift-action/ 
• https://cjp.org.in/no-rest-even-in-death-christians-in-india-and-the-growing-targeted-violence-in-chhattisgarh/
• https://www.christiandaily.com/news/church-members-in-india-afraid-to-attend-worship-after-assault

[1] This is a propaganda outcome of the original hardline far right argument for a ‘Hindu nation’originally conceived by Vinayak Damodar Savarkar in his book, written in the Cellular Jail under the title “Essentials pf Hindutva” in 1923. Characterising the ‘Hindu’ through Religion, Faith, Nationality and Belonging he coined the phrashes ‘Pitrabhoomi’ (Land of the Ancestors, Fatherland) and ‘Punyabhoomi’ (Holy Land). By extension of this exclusivist definition, the loyalty and belonging of ‘others’ like Christians and Muslims is forever in question because their points of worship and faith lie outside the geographical boundaries of the nation.

The post The Siege of Faith: A year-long analysis of the persecution and otherisation of Christians in India appeared first on SabrangIndia.

Between 1983 and 2012, over 3,03,000 Sri Lankan Tamils entered India in four distinct waves, as documented in the 2023 report After 40 Years, Sri Lankan Tamil Refugees in India Need Durable Solutions. Today, according to the Ministry of Home Affairs’ Annual Report (2023–24), more than 57,000 remain in refugee camps in Tamil Nadu and Odisha, while nearly 33,000 reside outside camps in Tamil Nadu.

These figures represent not a transient population but a settled community spanning generations. Many arrived as children in the 1980s. Many more were born in India. Among them are nearly 29,500 Indian-origin Tamils — descendants of plantation workers taken to Ceylon under British rule — whose citizenship questions were supposedly addressed under the 1964 Sirimavo-Shastri Pact. Yet decades later, many remain effectively stateless.

The humanitarian emergency of 1983 has become a structural condition of rightlessness.

From solidarity to suspicion

In the early years, Sri Lankan Tamil refugees were received with empathy in Tamil Nadu. Shared language, culture, and ethnicity fostered a sense of kinship. Refuge was extended not merely as policy but as solidarity.

That political climate shifted dramatically after the assassination of former Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi in 1991 by LTTE operatives. Public sentiment hardened. Administrative vigilance intensified.

Non-camp refugees were moved into camps. Surveillance mechanisms were strengthened. Identity checks became routine. Refugees report periodic inspections requiring them to be physically present in camps for verification. The implicit message is clear: their presence remains conditional.

Although the Tamil Nadu government provides monthly financial assistance, the support is subsistence-level. Refugees are permitted to work outside camps, yet their formal classification as “foreigners” bars them from property ownership, government employment, political participation, and long-term financial security. Many educated refugees are confined to informal or precarious labour.

The camps are not detention centres — but neither are they spaces of dignity. They are administrative enclosures sustained by indefinite temporariness.

Repatriation as a hollow promise

The end of Sri Lanka’s civil war in 2009 theoretically opened the door to voluntary repatriation. In practice, it has not functioned as a meaningful solution.

The 2023 refugee report notes that despite the Sri Lankan government forming a committee in 2022 to facilitate returns, only a negligible number of refugees had repatriated by early 2023. UNHCR data similarly reflect extremely low return rates.

The reasons are layered. Economic instability in Sri Lanka persists. Many refugees lost land, documentation, and livelihoods. War trauma remains unresolved. For second-generation refugees born in India, Sri Lanka is not a lived homeland but a distant inheritance.

Media interviews in The Hindu and other national outlets consistently indicate that an overwhelming majority prefer integration in India over repatriation. After forty years, return is no longer a practical aspiration for most. It is a formal option detached from social reality.

Legal Limbo: Protection without belonging

For decades, Sri Lankan Tamil refugees were technically classified as “illegal migrants” under India’s foreigner laws because they entered without valid passports or visas. This label carried the theoretical risk of detention or deportation.

The Immigration & Foreigners (Exemption) Order, 2025, issued under the Immigration and Foreigners Act, 2025, removed penal liability for registered Sri Lankan Tamils who entered on or before January 9, 2015. This administrative step eliminated criminal exposure and softened the “illegal migrant” stigma.

However, the Order did not recognize them as refugees. It did not confer residency rights. It did not open a pathway to citizenship. They remain legally classified as foreigners — without nationality, without passports, without full civil identity.

The relief is procedural, not transformative.

The CAA and the politics of exclusion

The 2019 Citizenship Amendment Act (CAA) fast-tracked Indian citizenship for persecuted non-Muslim minorities from Afghanistan, Pakistan, and Bangladesh. Sri Lankan Tamils were excluded from its scope.

This exclusion has drawn sustained criticism. The Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam (DMK), in an affidavit before the Supreme Court, argued that the CAA is discriminatory in limiting its protection to three countries and six religions while excluding Tamil refugees who fled ethnic persecution. Reporting by The Hindu has highlighted these constitutional objections.

The Union Government has defended the CAA as a narrowly tailored law addressing specific historical circumstances. Yet the omission of Sri Lankan Tamils raises uncomfortable questions. If the moral justification of the CAA is protection of persecuted minorities, why exclude those who fled one of the longest ethnic conflicts in South Asia?

The selective humanitarianism embedded in the CAA exposes a deeper inconsistency in India’s refugee governance.

Naturalization blocked in practice

In theory, the Citizenship Act, 1955 allows naturalization after eleven years of residence. In practice, Sri Lankan Tamil refugees have faced administrative barriers.

A 1986 Ministry of Home Affairs communication reportedly instructed state authorities not to process naturalization applications of Sri Lankan refugees who arrived after July 1983. Though rarely debated publicly, this directive has effectively frozen citizenship claims for decades.

Thus, while the statute appears neutral, policy implementation has been exclusionary. Refugees who have lived in India for thirty or forty years remain without a viable path to citizenship.

Judicial Interventions: Islands of relief

The Madras High Court has periodically disrupted this inertia. In February 2023, Justice G. R. Swaminathan delivered a notable judgment directing the issuance of passports to individuals born in India under Section 3 of the Citizenship Act, which grants citizenship by birth for those born between 1950 and 1987 irrespective of parental nationality.

In other case, in October 2022, the High Court bench of Justice G. R. Swaminathan recommended that principles underlying the CAA could logically extend to Sri Lankan Hindu Tamils, describing them as victims of racism.

These interventions offer relief to individual petitioners and expose bureaucratic rigidity. Yet they remain case-specific. They cannot substitute for systemic reform.

Security concerns and collective suspicion

Authorities often cite concerns about residual LTTE ideology among sections of the refugee population. Over the years, some arrests have been made in connection with alleged smuggling or revivalist activity.

Security considerations are legitimate. However, collective exclusion based on historic militancy is disproportionate. Democratic governance requires distinguishing between individual criminal conduct and community identity.

Other countries with large Sri Lankan Tamil diasporas — including Canada and the United Kingdom — have managed security screening while still granting citizenship. Security vetting and integration are not mutually exclusive.

To indefinitely withhold rights from an entire refugee population due to past insurgency risks converting precaution into discrimination.

The stateless generation

Perhaps the most compelling dimension of this crisis is generational. Thousands of Sri Lankan Tamils in Tamil Nadu were born in India. They studied in Indian schools, speak with local accents, and participate in local economies.

Yet they cannot vote. They cannot hold secure title to property. They cannot access the full range of civil and political rights guaranteed to citizens.

They are not transient outsiders. They are socially embedded but legally excluded. Their condition is neither classic refugeehood nor voluntary migration. It is structural statelessness.

Matua identity cards, CAA camps and the politics of assurance in Bengal

In Thakurnagar in North 24 Parganas — the spiritual headquarters of the Matua community — the year of 2025 witnessed scenes that resemble a political mobilisation drive as much as a religious gathering. Loudspeakers make repeated announcements, volunteers sit behind rows of wooden desks scrutinising Aadhaar cards and voter IDs, and long queues of men and women wait under plastic sheets clutching old refugee papers. What is being distributed is not merely a card, but a promise — or at least the suggestion — of protection.

Ground reports, including detailed coverage by The Wire, describe how camps run by factions of the All India Matua Mahasangha are issuing “Matua eligibility cards” and “Hindu identity cards.” Applicants pay ₹50 or ₹100, submit photographs and identification documents, and are told that possession of these cards will make it easier to apply under the Citizenship Amendment Act (CAA).

The camps are associated with leaders aligned with the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), including Union Minister of State for Ports, Shipping and Waterways Shantanu Thakur and his brother Subrata Thakur — descendants of the Matua founding family tracing back to reformer Harichand Thakur. As reported by The Wire, differently coloured cards (pink and yellow) are being issued by rival factions, each presented as proof of Matua and Hindu identity.

Legally, these cards are not citizenship documents. They do not confer nationality, voting rights, or statutory recognition under the Citizenship Act. Yet thousands are lining up to obtain them.

Electoral anxiety and the promise of protection

The surge in applications is unfolding against the backdrop of the Election Commission’s Special Intensive Revision (SIR) of electoral rolls in West Bengal. The revision exercise has triggered widespread anxiety among refugee-origin communities who lack older documentation or whose names were missing in previous electoral revisions.

In this climate of uncertainty, the BJP has framed the CAA as a shield. In December 2025, Union Home Minister Amit Shah, speaking in Kolkata, publicly assured the Matua community that individuals who have applied for citizenship under the CAA would retain their voting rights and need not fear disenfranchisement. Media reports quoted him as reiterating that refugees from religious persecution would be protected and treated as citizens.

These assurances carry considerable political weight. The Matuas — largely Namasudra Hindus who migrated from East Pakistan and Bangladesh — constitute one of Bengal’s most influential Scheduled Caste communities. Concentrated in districts such as Nadia and North 24 Parganas, they play a decisive role in dozens of assembly constituencies. The BJP’s gains in the 2019 Lok Sabha elections in Matua-dominated belts were widely attributed to its citizenship plank. However, subsequent state and panchayat elections indicated shifting loyalties, making continued consolidation electorally significant as fresh polls approach.

The visible intensity of the certificate drives — the public messaging, digitisation desks, and symbolic use of religious space — suggests that citizenship outreach is not occurring in a vacuum. It is unfolding in synchrony with electoral timing.

Symbolism, documentation and political strategy

For many Matua families, citizenship documentation has remained incomplete for decades. Some possess Aadhaar cards but lack legacy electoral roll entries. Others lost birth certificates long ago. The New Indian Express report highlighted cases such as that of Laturam Sikdar and Padma Sikdar in Nadia district, who reportedly received citizenship certificates after applying under the CAA framework following anxiety triggered by electoral roll revision announcements.

Such cases are cited by BJP leaders as proof that the CAA delivers security. At the same time, leaders of the Trinamool Congress (TMC) have questioned the legality of issuing religious certificates through private camps. As reported by The Wire, TMC MP Mamata Bala Thakur has argued that the Citizenship Act does not require any religious certificate issued by a socio-religious body and accused the BJP of collecting documents from vulnerable communities under misleading assurances.

The fees collected, the absence of statutory backing for the cards, and the overlap between religious identity and electoral messaging have intensified scrutiny. Yet for many in the queues, legal nuance is secondary. In an environment where documentation determines belonging, even unofficial paper can feel like insurance.

Selective urgency and the Sri Lankan Tamil contrast

The developments in Thakurnagar acquire deeper significance when viewed alongside another long-standing refugee question in India — that of Sri Lankan Tamils in Tamil Nadu.

For over four decades, Sri Lankan Tamil refugees — many of whom fled ethnic persecution during the civil war involving the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam — have lived in camps in Tamil Nadu. As discussed earlier, over 57,000 remain in camps and tens of thousands more reside outside camps. Despite decades of residence, generations born in India, and repeated appeals by Tamil Nadu’s political leadership, they remain without a clear pathway to citizenship.

Notably, the 2019 Citizenship Amendment Act excluded Sri Lankan Tamils from its fast-track naturalisation framework, even while extending protection to Hindu, Sikh, Buddhist, Jain, Parsi and Christian migrants from Bangladesh, Pakistan and Afghanistan. The contrast is stark: while Matua Hindus from Bangladesh are being publicly assured that citizenship applications will safeguard their voting rights, Sri Lankan Tamil refugees — who have lived in India for up to forty years — continue to exist in legal limbo.

In West Bengal, citizenship drives are visible, vocal, and politically foregrounded as elections approach. In Tamil Nadu, long-settled refugee communities await structural reform without comparable urgency from the Union government.

This divergence raises uncomfortable questions about selective prioritisation. When citizenship becomes electorally salient, administrative energy appears to intensify. When communities lack equivalent electoral leverage at the national level, reform stagnates.

Citizenship as electoral currency

The Matua certificate camps in Thakurnagar reveal how citizenship, documentation, religion, and electoral politics intersect in contemporary India. For the community, the card represents reassurance against bureaucratic erasure. For the ruling party at the Centre, it consolidates a key voter base before polls. For opposition parties, it exemplifies the politicisation of identity and documentation.

But when placed alongside the unresolved plight of Sri Lankan Tamil refugees in Tamil Nadu, the contrast exposes a broader pattern: citizenship policy is not merely a humanitarian instrument — it is also an electoral strategy.

In one state, camps distribute identity cards amid public assurances of voting rights.
In another, refugees of forty years remain without statutory belonging.

Between these two realities lies a central question: Is India’s citizenship policy guided by uniform principles of protection and integration — or by political calculus shaped by the electoral map?

As state elections draw closer in Bengal, the queues in Thakurnagar are not just about paperwork. They are about power, protection, and the politics of belonging — a politics that appears far more urgent in some regions than in others.

A question of constitutional integrity

After forty years, the issue is no longer about temporary asylum. It is about justice, equality, and constitutional coherence.

The Immigration & Foreigners (Exemption) Order, 2025 removed criminal liability but not exclusion. The CAA fast-tracks citizenship — selectively. Naturalization exists in theory but is obstructed in practice. Political resolutions by Tamil Nadu’s government, led by M. K. Stalin, remain subject to Union discretion.

Protection without integration becomes containment. Containment without timeline becomes neglect.

Sri Lankan Tamils in India are no longer merely refugees seeking safety. They are a community woven into the social fabric of Tamil Nadu, awaiting formal recognition of what has long been a lived reality.

Forty years is not temporary protection. It is a generation denied belonging.

Related:

MHA says data on CAA citizenship applicants not maintained, cites lack of record -keeping provisions to RTI

First set of citizenship certificates issued to over 300 under CAA: MHA

Kolkata man commits suicide, family claims CAA rules led him to it

CAA: An attempt to legitimise expansionist nationalism

CAA discriminatory against Tamil refugees from Sri Lanka: DMK

The post From Permanent Refuge to Perpetual Limbo: Why Sri Lankan Tamil refugees remain without citizenship even as electoral assurances reshape belonging in Bengal appeared first on SabrangIndia.

What followed has only deepened that concern. Across campuses, students protesting the Supreme Court stay on UGC (Promotion of Equity in Higher Education Institutions) Regulations, 2026 have faced intimidation, surveillance, violence, and criminal process. Instead of debate, there has been policing. Instead of institutional introspection, securitisation. And instead of engagement with the substance of caste discrimination, there has been an aggressive narrowing of what may even be spoken.

Together, these developments mark a dangerous convergence: the criminalisation of speech, the judicial suspension of equity safeguards, and the shrinking of democratic space within institutions meant to nurture critical thought.

देशभर में यूजीसी एक्ट के समर्थन में बहुजन छात्रों के प्रदर्शन हो रहे हैं, लेकिन मुख्यधारा का मीडिया चुप है। pic.twitter.com/Nqdq8CpJhd

— Hansraj Meena (@HansrajMeena) February 4, 2026

A judicial stay that did not calm campuses—but exposed a fault line

The immediate trigger for nationwide student mobilisation was the Supreme Court’s decision to stay the UGC Equity Regulations 2026, observing that the framework appeared “too sweeping” and required closer scrutiny. The stay was framed as a neutral act of caution. On campuses, it was experienced as something else entirely: a sudden withdrawal of long-awaited recognition.

As reported by India Today, students argued that the regulations were halted before they could even be tested. No implementation, no data, no demonstrated misuse—only a speculative fear that accountability mechanisms might be abused. The contrast was striking. In a legal system where far-reaching executive actions are often allowed to operate while constitutional challenges remain pending for years, a framework designed to protect marginalised students was frozen at inception.

The context matters. The 2026 regulations did not emerge in a vacuum. They were the product of years of litigation, including the long-pending petition filed by the mothers of Rohith Vemula and Payal Tadvi, both of whom died by suicide after alleged caste-based harassment. Over time, the Supreme Court itself sought reports, monitored compliance, and pressed for reform. A Parliamentary Standing Committee reviewed the draft regulations in late 2025, recommending substantive changes—many of which were incorporated.

Yet, at the very first hearing after notification, the framework was stayed.

For students already navigating hostile campuses, the implication was stark: caste discrimination may be acknowledged rhetorically, but meaningful institutional safeguards remain deeply contested.

Campuses Respond: Different languages, the same demand for justice

The response to the stay has varied across universities, shaped by institutional histories and student politics. But taken together, protests at JNU, BHU, and Delhi University reveal a shared insistence that equity cannot remain a matter of administrative goodwill.

JNU: The defence of ideological space

At Jawaharlal Nehru University, students organised torchlight processions demanding immediate implementation of the regulations and renewed calls for a statutory Rohith Act—a central anti-discrimination law for higher education.

Placards and slogans opposing Brahmanism and Manusmriti dominated the march. Defending the language used, JNUSU representatives told PTI that the slogans were ideological critiques, not attacks on any caste group—an important distinction grounded in established free-speech jurisprudence. Political critique, even when sharp or unsettling, lies at the heart of constitutional democracy.

Student leaders also raised a pointed question: why was extraordinary urgency shown in staying these regulations when countless cases involving civil liberties remain pending for years? The warning from the campus was clear—if justice is indefinitely deferred within universities, it will not remain confined there.

UGC गाइडलाइन के समर्थन में जेएनयू स्टूडेंट्स का मार्च#JNU #UGCRegulations2026 pic.twitter.com/S9tlsULus0

— Dalit Dastak | दलित दस्तक (@DalitDastak) February 4, 2026

BHU: Evidence, reports, and institutional failure

At Banaras Hindu University, the protest took a different form. Hundreds of SC, ST, and OBC students marched carrying letters, official reports, and citations, demanding Equal Opportunity Centres, Equity Committees, transparency in grievance redressal, and public disclosure of compliance.

As reported by India Today, students cited the Thorat Committee Report (2007) and the IIT Delhi study (2019), both of which document systemic discrimination and its links to mental health crises, dropouts, and suicides. The emphasis here was not symbolic resistance but institutional accountability.

A heavy police presence and alert proctorial boards accompanied the march—an unsettling reminder of how quickly claims of discrimination are met with securitisation rather than reform.

Delhi University: From regulation to law

At Delhi University, Left-backed student groups led an “Equity March” through North Campus, framing the issue as a legislative and constitutional question. According to The Times of India, speakers argued that without statutory backing, grievance mechanisms remain fragile, easily diluted, and subject to withdrawal.

The demand for the Rohith Act surfaced repeatedly—reflecting a growing consensus that enforceable rights, not discretionary guidelines, are essential to address structural caste discrimination.

Violence, policing, and the price of naming caste

Even as students mobilised, reports of violence and intimidation surfaced from multiple campuses. As per reports, a BHU student allegedly being beaten by upper-caste peers for sharing a poster supporting the UGC protests in a WhatsApp group. At Allahabad University, students discussing equity regulations were reportedly attacked, with allegations pointing to ABVP-linked groups.

Most chilling was the Allahabad University episode itself: students allegedly assaulted, and one student arrested or warned for speech alone. If the use of the word “Brahminism”—a staple of academic critique—can invite police action, the boundary between maintaining order and enforcing ideological conformity has all but vanished.

For many protesters, these incidents crystallised the argument for equity regulations: without enforceable safeguards, marginalised students are left vulnerable not just to bureaucratic neglect, but to physical and legal harm.

चप्पा चप्पा गूंज उठेगा , जय भीम के नारों से pic.twitter.com/5eb3H59nXr

— Dr. Om Sudha (@dromsudhaa) February 4, 2026

This is shocking and absolutely unacceptable in university campuses. Students who were peacefully discussing equity regulations in University of Allahabad were reportedly beaten up by Brahmanical forces of ABVP. This is exactly why we need equity regulations. The safety of… pic.twitter.com/beFHX0xoSh

— Rehna Raveendran (@Rehna_AntiCaste) February 4, 2026

A BHU student was brutally beaten by upper-caste students simply for sharing a poster about the UGC protest in a WhatsApp group.

To stop this kind of hooliganism and violence on campuses, strong and enforceable UGC regulations are absolutely necessary.
pic.twitter.com/vUKPXjAjm1

— Harshita Narayani (@DearAspirant) February 4, 2026

Faculty Unease and the Limits of the Framework

Faculty responses have complicated the picture rather than resolved it. The JNUTA noted that the regulations fail to address the deep-rooted and systemic nature of discrimination. At protest gatherings, faculty speakers acknowledged these limitations—pointing to the absence of punitive provisions, excessive power vested in principals, and the exclusion of elite institutions like IITs and IIMs.

Yet the consensus among many educators was striking: even an imperfect framework represented a rare institutional acknowledgment that caste discrimination exists on campuses. To halt it before implementation was not correction—it was erasure.

Media silence, political quiet, and democratic erosion

A recurring concern across protests has been the muted response of large sections of the mainstream media and the conspicuous absence of sustained parliamentary debate. Students questioned how a nationwide mobilisation demanding discrimination-free campuses could unfold without political engagement at the highest levels.

When speech is criminalised, safeguards are stayed, and violence is normalised or ignored, trust in democratic institutions begins to fracture—not through apathy, but through lived experience.

देशभर में यूजीसी एक्ट के समर्थन में बहुजन छात्रों के प्रदर्शन हो रहे हैं, लेकिन मुख्यधारा का मीडिया चुप है। pic.twitter.com/Nqdq8CpJhd

— Hansraj Meena (@HansrajMeena) February 4, 2026

More Than a Regulation: A test of university democracy

As highlighted by the incidents above, the battle over the UGC Equity Regulations has outgrown the regulations themselves. It has become a test of whether universities will remain spaces of critique or instruments of control; whether caste can be named without punishment; and whether equality will be treated as a constitutional obligation or an administrative inconvenience.

When students are arrested for words, protections are suspended before they are tried, and dissent is met with force rather than reason, the crisis is no longer confined to campuses. It speaks to the health of the republic itself.

The question now confronting India’s universities is no longer about guidelines or committees. It is about whether democracy—messy, uncomfortable, and argumentative—still has a place in the classroom.

.Related:

Hate Speech Before the Supreme Court: From judicial activism to institutional closure

When Protest becomes a “Threat”: Inside the Supreme Court hearing on Sonam Wangchuk’s NSA detention

Another Campus, Another Death: Student suicides continue unabated across India

My birth is my fatal accident, remembering Rohith Vemula’s last letter

‘Diluted Existing Rules’: Rohith Vemula, Payal Tadvi’s Mothers Slam UGC’s Draft Equity Regulations

The stay of UGC Equity Regulations, 2026: The interim order, the proceedings, and the constitutional questions raised

The post Campuses in Revolt: How the UGC Equity Stay and Criminalised Dissent Have Ignited Student Protests Across India appeared first on SabrangIndia.

A Bench of Justice Vikram Nath and Justice Sandeep Mehta indicated that all matters in the batch would be closed, while explicitly preserving the liberty of parties to pursue other remedies under law. One case alone—Kazeem Ahmad Sherwani v. State of Uttar Pradesh and Ors.—was kept pending, limited to monitoring the progress of trial and allied proceedings arising out of a 2021 alleged hate crime against a Muslim cleric in Noida.

The January 20 hearing was not merely procedural. It functioned as a consolidated reckoning—bringing together nearly every strand of hate-speech litigation that has occupied the Court since 2020, and laying bare the Court’s evolving understanding of its own role, the limits of judicial supervision, and the persistent failures of enforcement.

The Beginning: 2020 and the turn to the Supreme Court

The present batch of cases originated in 2020, at a moment when hate speech entered the Supreme Court not as a marginal criminal issue, but as a structural constitutional concern.

The immediate triggers were:

• The “Corona Jihad” campaign during the COVID-19 pandemic, which communalised disease and cast Muslims as biological and civic threats; and
• Sudarshan TV’s “UPSC Jihad” programme, which alleged a conspiracy by Muslim candidates to infiltrate the civil services.

Petitioners argued that these narratives violated equality, dignity, and fraternity, and that State authorities had either failed to act or were complicit through inaction.

In 2020, the Supreme Court intervened to restrain the telecast of the “UPSC Jihad” programme, marking an early acknowledgment that certain forms of hate speech—especially when amplified through mass media—implicate constitutional values beyond ordinary criminal law.

This was the Court’s first decisive signal that hate speech would not be treated merely as offensive expression, but as conduct capable of restructuring social hierarchies and legitimising exclusion.

Expansion of the Docket: Dharam Sansads and genocidal speech (2021–2022)

The hate-speech docket expanded dramatically in 2021–22, following Dharam Sansad events and religious gatherings where speakers openly called for:

• Violence against Muslims,
• Economic boycotts,
• Armed mobilisation, and
• Genocide.

Petitions by Qurban Ali, Major General S.G. Vombatkere, journalists, civil liberties organisations, and religious bodies highlighted a disturbing pattern:

• Hate speech events were openly announced,
• Police often granted permission or remained passive, and
• FIRs, if registered at all, rarely resulted in arrests or prosecutions.

This phase forced the Court to confront not isolated speeches, but a systemic failure of enforcement.

October 2022: The Court steps in

In October 2022, the Supreme Court issued what remains its most consequential intervention on hate speech.

The Court directed that police authorities must register FIRs suo moto in cases involving:

• Promotion of communal hatred, or
• Offending religious sentiments,

without waiting for a formal complaint. Failure to act, the Court warned, would invite contempt proceedings.

The reasoning was explicit: Hate speech strikes at fraternity, corrodes secularism, and threatens constitutional morality. It cannot be left to the discretion of local authorities who may be unwilling to act.

This order marked the Court’s shift from reactive adjudication to supervisory constitutional enforcement.

2023: Nationwide application and preventive policing

In April 2023, the Supreme Court extended its October 2022 directions to all States and Union Territories, making clear that:

• The obligation to act was nationwide;
• Enforcement must be religion-neutral; and
• Police must act proactively, not defensively.

Throughout 2023, the Court:

• Passed preventive orders ahead of announced rallies,
• Directed videography of events,
• Required status reports on FIRs and investigations,
• Entertained contempt petitions alleging non-compliance.

The Court also began drawing upon its Tehseen Poonawalla (2018) jurisprudence on mob lynching, exploring whether similar preventive, remedial, and punitive frameworks could be adapted to hate speech.

Yet even as directions multiplied, enforcement remained uneven—setting the stage for judicial introspection. Across these six years, the Court was not operating in an evidentiary vacuum. Ground-level documentation repeatedly entered the record, including through material placed by Citizens for Justice and Peace (CJP) under its Hate Watch (HW) programme. These compilations drew from verified complaints filed by CJP across multiple States before police authorities, district administrations, minority commissions, and other statutory bodies. The same may be accessed here.

During various hearings, this data—reflecting patterns of non-registration of FIRs, selective enforcement, delayed action, and repeat offending by the same speakers—was intermittently brought to the Court’s attention. The material served a dual function: it both corroborated petitioners’ claims of systemic enforcement failure and demonstrated that hate speech was not episodic, but embedded in everyday administrative practice. While the Court acknowledged these inputs at different stages, their presence underscored a recurring tension in the proceedings: between empirical evidence of ground-level inertia and the Court’s increasing reluctance to continue long-term supervisory engagement.

Recalibration: “We cannot monitor the entire country” (2024–2025)

By late 2024 and 2025, a notable shift occurred.

Benches—including Justice Vikram Nath and Justice Sandeep Mehta—began articulating concern that the Supreme Court:

• Could not act as a permanent national monitoring authority;
• Could not substitute itself for police stations, magistrates, and High Courts; and
• Would not legislate from the bench in the absence of parliamentary action.

This was not a repudiation of earlier orders, but a recognition of institutional limits: judicial directions had reached their ceiling without corresponding executive will. The trajectory of this batch of litigation—from its inception as a broad constitutional intervention to its present narrowing—mirrors a discernible shift in the Supreme Court’s jurisprudence when confronted with complex societal harms. What began as a wide-ranging judicial attempt to frame hate speech as a threat to fraternity, secularism, and constitutional morality gradually contracted into a posture of institutional restraint, marked by repeated assertions of jurisdictional and functional limits.

Over time, the Court’s role evolved from norm-setting and preventive oversight to a more confined emphasis on statutory remedies, executive responsibility, and case-specific adjudication. The impending closure of most petitions reflects not a denial of the harm caused by hate speech, but a judicial recalibration—signalling that the enforcement deficit cannot indefinitely be remedied through continuing mandamus. This recalibration forms the immediate backdrop to the January 20 hearing.

January 20 Hearing: A comprehensive closing of the docket

The January 20 hearing brought together every unresolved dimension of the hate-speech litigation. At the outset, the Bench indicated that it was inclined to:

• Close all connected matters, and
• Leave parties free to pursue statutory and constitutional remedies elsewhere.

The sole exception would be Kazeem Ahmad Sherwani, which involved a concrete hate crime and an ongoing criminal process.

Arguments of the petitioners

1. The problem is enforcement, not law: Advocate Nizam Pasha, appearing for Qurban Ali, made a central submission:

The crisis is not legal inadequacy, but institutional reluctance—especially when alleged offenders are linked to the ruling establishment.

He argued that:

• Hate speech events are often advertised in advance;
• When the Court previously intervened, events were cancelled or toned down, proving the effectiveness of oversight;
• The same habitual offenders operate across States;
• FIRs are registered but arrests and follow-up are absent, enabling repetition.

Pasha also referred to an application seeking takedown of an AI-generated video, allegedly circulated by the BJP’s Assam unit, portraying Muslims as poised to overtake the State if the party lost elections. He argued that hate speech frequently prefigures hate crime, calling for precisely the acts that later occur.

2. Hate speech as a constitutional tort: Advocate Sharukh Alam, appearing in Kazeem Ahmad Sherwani, urged the Court to reject the framing of hate speech as merely a law-and-order problem.

She argued that:

• Hate speech entrenches discrimination and exclusion;
• It should be understood as a constitutional tort, engaging Articles 14, 15, and 21;
• In the Noida case, the Maulana was stripped and assaulted because of his religious identity.

The State of Uttar Pradesh denied the hate-crime characterisation, stating that:

• A chargesheet had been filed,
• Trial was underway, and
• Departmental action had been taken.

The Bench decided to retain this matter alone, limited to monitoring progress.

3. The sanction question: Senior Advocate Siddharth Aggarwal, appearing for Brinda Karat, raised a distinct legal issue: Whether prior sanction is required at the FIR stage, a view adopted by a Magistrate and upheld by the Delhi High Court.

Aggarwal argued that:

• Sanction is required only at the cognisance stage, not for FIR registration;
• The issue is pending reference in Manju Surana.

Justice Vikram Nath asked him to submit a brief note, recognising the issue’s doctrinal importance.

4. Media, elections, and civil liberties:

• Senior Advocate M.R. Shamshad (Jamiat Ulema-i-Hind) highlighted the growing targeting of religious personalities, with FIRs refused on erroneous sanction grounds.
• Advocate Amit Pai cited failure to register FIRs even in cases of casteist speech by elected officials.
• Senior Advocate Sanjay Parekh (PUCL) recalled the Court’s earlier reliance on Tehseen Poonawalla, while acknowledging the need for adaptation.
• Senior Advocate Sanjay Hegde, as amicus curiae, posed a structural question: Can hate speech be meaningfully curbed when social-media and broadcast platforms profit from virality?

State and institutional responses

• ASG S.V. Raju claimed substantial compliance, stating FIRs were registered in most cited cases.
• NBDA sought to be heard, citing self-regulatory guidelines.
• Election Commission, through Senior Advocate Dama Seshadri Naidu, stated it already had enforcement mechanisms and was open to strengthening them.

The court’s direction

After hearing all parties, the Bench:

• Directed brief written notes within two weeks,
• Reserved orders,
• Ordered closure of all matters except Kazeem Ahmad Sherwani, which will continue on the next date.

Conclusion: What January 20 ultimately signals

From restraining a television programme in 2020, to mandating suo motu FIRs nationwide, to threatening contempt, the Supreme Court spent nearly six years attempting to compel the State to confront hate speech as a constitutional harm.

The January 20 hearing marks an institutional conclusion: the Court has articulated the law; enforcement must now occur elsewhere.

Yet the decision to keep Kazeem Ahmad Sherwani alive—and to seek notes on unresolved legal questions—suggests that the Court has not abandoned the field entirely. It has instead stepped back from continuous supervision, leaving behind a dense jurisprudential trail that future courts, litigants, and lawmakers will have to grapple with.

As matters stand, the Supreme Court has reserved orders, directed the filing of brief notes, and indicated closure of all but one surviving case. Final orders are imminent, and with them, a formal conclusion to one of the Court’s longest-running engagements with hate speech as a constitutional issue. Whether this moment comes to be seen as a principled withdrawal in deference to institutional boundaries—or as a premature retreat from constitutional guardianship—will depend less on the text of the final order, and more on what follows on the ground. Whether this represents constitutional restraint or constitutional retreat is a question that will outlive this batch of cases.

Detailed reports of these matters may be read here and here.

Related:

When Genocide is provoked from the Stage: Raebareli hate speeches, Bhagalpur dog whistles, and a delayed FIR

The Politics of Processions: How the Sanatan Ekta Padyatra amplified hate speech in plain sight

The Orchestrated Extremism: An analysis of communal hate speech in India’s election cycle (2024–2025)

CJP urges NCM action against hate speech campaign vilifying Bengali Muslims as ‘Infiltrators’

The post Hate Speech Before the Supreme Court: From judicial activism to institutional closure appeared first on SabrangIndia.

As per Bar & Bench, the order was passed by a Bench comprising Chief Justice of India Surya Kant and Justice Joymalya Bagchi, while hearing a batch of three writ petitions challenging the 2026 Regulations. Though interim in nature, the order is notable both for the breadth of constitutional concerns flagged by the Court and for the decision to suspend a regulatory framework expressly designed to address caste-based discrimination in higher education.

What follows is not merely a recounting of the proceedings, but a critical examination of why a stay was granted, whether settled principles governing interim interference were adhered to, and how the Court’s reasoning engages—sometimes uneasily—with the constitutional understanding of caste, equality, and structural disadvantage.

Background: From the 2019 PIL to the 2026 Regulations

The 2026 Regulations were framed pursuant to proceedings in a 2019 writ petition filed by Radhika Vemula and Abeda Salim Tadvi, the mothers of Rohit Vemula and Payal Tadvi, both of whom reportedly died by suicide after facing sustained caste-based discrimination within their educational institutions. According to LiveLaw, the PIL sought the creation of a robust institutional mechanism to address caste discrimination on campuses, contending that existing safeguards—particularly the 2012 UGC Regulations—had proved insufficient.

The petition may be read here.

Over the years, the Supreme Court repeatedly emphasised the need for a stronger, more effective framework, even inviting stakeholder suggestions while the draft regulations were under consideration. After this consultative process, the UGC notified the 2026 Regulations in January 2026, expressly superseding the 2012 framework.

A close reading of the orders passed in that matter reveals a judicial trajectory that sits in visible tension with the later decision to place the 2026 Regulations in abeyance.

1. January 3, 2025: Court acknowledges systemic failure and demands data, enforcement, and redesign

In its order dated January 3, 2025, the Court expressly recognised that adjudication could not proceed without assessing how universities had implemented the 2012 Equal Opportunity Cell Regulations, and whether those mechanisms had actually worked in practice.

The order may be read below:

Crucially, the Bench:

• directed the UGC to collate nationwide data on Equal Opportunity Cells,
• sought disclosure of complaints received and Action Taken Reports, and
• required the UGC to place its newly formulated draft regulations on record.

This was not a neutral procedural step. It reflected a judicial acknowledgment that formal regulatory existence had not translated into substantive protection for marginalised students. The Court was, at this stage, explicitly concerned with implementation failure, not over breadth or misuse.

2. April 24, 2025: The Court permits notification — and treats the Regulations as additive, not suspect

By April 24, 2025, the Court went further. While disposing of an application seeking to restrain the notification of the draft regulations, the Bench refused to halt the regulatory process. Instead, it clarified that the UGC was free to notify the regulations and that they would operate in addition to the recommendations of the National Task Force constituted in Amit Kumar v. Union of India.

The order may be read below.

Two aspects of this order matter for present purposes:

First, the Court expressly noted that the steps taken by the UGC pursuant to the Payal Tadvi–Rohith Vemula petition were “in the right direction,” signalling judicial approval of a stronger, institutionalised framework to address discrimination, harassment, and mental health crises in universities.

Second, the Court treated the regulations as iterative and corrigible—open to additions, deletions, and refinement based on stakeholder input and the Task Force’s findings. There was no suggestion that the very idea of a caste-conscious equity framework was constitutionally suspect.

3. September 15, 2025: Court endorses a robust, explicitly caste-conscious regulatory vision

The September 15, 2025 order is perhaps the clearest articulation of what the Court itself considered necessary to remedy caste-based discrimination in higher education.

The order may be read below.

After recording detailed submissions by senior counsel Indira Jaising, the Court flagged — without rejection — a set of far-reaching structural safeguards, including:

• a clear prohibition on all known forms of discrimination,
• an express ban on segregation based on rank or performance,
• grievance redressal bodies with mandatory representation from SC/ST/OBC communities,
• personal liability of institutional heads for negligence,
• caste-sensitive mental health counselling,
• NAAC-linked audits and social data collection, and
• withdrawal of grants for non-compliance.

What is striking is that many of these proposals go well beyond the minimal guarantees under the 2012 framework. The Court did not characterise them as excessive, divisive, or constitutionally dubious. Instead, it treated them as necessary correctives to entrenched structural discrimination.

The contradiction: Seen in this light, the later stay of the 2026 Regulations marks a sharp doctrinal and institutional turn.

In the Payal Tadvi–Rohith Vemula petitiom, the Court:

• acknowledged caste-based discrimination as systemic and institutional,
• accepted that neutrality and general anti-ragging norms were inadequate,
• encouraged regulatory expansion and refinement, and
• emphasised accountability, representation, and enforceability.

Yet, in staying the 2026 Regulations, the Court shifted focus to concerns of vagueness, misuse, and over breadth—without explaining why these concerns could not be addressed through interpretation, amendment, or guidelines, the very tools it had earlier endorsed.

This creates a deeper constitutional unease: how does one reconcile a jurisprudence that recognises caste as a structural axis of harm with an interim order that treats caste-specific regulation as inherently suspect? The stay order appears to privilege abstract equality concerns over the lived realities that animated the original petition — the deaths of students failed by institutional indifference.

The Payal Tadvi–Rohith Vemula proceedings were premised on the understanding that caste discrimination in universities is not episodic, but embedded in evaluation systems, hostel allocation, disciplinary processes, and grievance mechanisms. The Court’s own directions repeatedly moved towards differentiated, targeted protections.

Against that record, the suspension of the 2026 Regulations risks flattening constitutional analysis into a question of formal symmetry—treating all students as equally situated—precisely the approach that the Court itself had earlier found wanting.

It is against this backdrop—of Court-monitored reform aimed at addressing demonstrable institutional failures—that the interim stay assumes particular significance.

The Present Proceedings: What transpired before the Court

The challenge to the Regulations came by way of three writ petitions, filed by Mritunjay Tiwari, Advocate Vineet Jindal, and Rahul Dewan. The principal target of challenge was Regulation 3(1)(c), which defines “caste-based discrimination” as discrimination on the basis of caste against members of the Scheduled Castes, Scheduled Tribes, and Other Backward Classes.

According to LiveLaw, the petitioners contended that:

• The definition is restrictive and exclusionary, as it does not recognise caste-based discrimination against persons belonging to non-reserved or “general” categories;
• This exclusion renders such persons remediless, even if subjected to caste-linked harassment or institutional bias;
• The provision violates Article 14 by creating an unreasonable classification lacking a rational nexus with the stated objective of promoting equity.

From the outset, the Bench subjected the Regulations to close scrutiny. Three issues dominated the hearing:

1. The dual definitions of “discrimination” (Regulation 3(1)(e)) and “caste-based discrimination” (Regulation 3(1)(c));
2. The omission of ragging from the 2026 Regulations, despite its inclusion in the 2012 framework; and
3. The use of the term “segregation” in Regulation 7(d), particularly in relation to hostels, classrooms, and mentorship groups.

The Court repeatedly remarked that the Regulations appeared vague, capable of misuse, and potentially productive of social division rather than cohesion.

The Interim Order: What the Court did

By its interim order dated January 29, 2026, the Supreme Court:

• Issued notice to the Union of India and the UGC, returnable on March 19, 2026;
• Directed that the 2026 Regulations be kept in abeyance; and
• Exercising powers under Article 142, ordered that the UGC Regulations of 2012 would continue to operate in the meantime.

As per Bar&Bench, the Court framed four substantial questions of law, broadly concerning:

• The rationality and necessity of defining “caste-based discrimination” separately;
• The impact of the Regulations on sub-classifications within backward classes;
• Whether “segregation” envisaged under the Regulations violates constitutional equality and fraternity; and
• Whether the omission of ragging constitutes a regressive and unconstitutional legislative choice.

While these questions undoubtedly merit careful adjudication, the grant of an interim stay itself demands closer scrutiny.

Why was a stay granted — and was it justified?

Ordinarily, courts exercise considerable restraint while staying statutory or delegated legislation, especially when such legislation is aimed at addressing systemic discrimination. The established standard requires a strong prima facie case, demonstrable irreparable harm, and a balance of convenience favouring suspension.

In the present case, the Court relied primarily on:

• Ambiguity in drafting,
• Possibility of misuse, and
• The perceived exclusion of general category individuals from the definition of caste-based discrimination.

However, ambiguity and potential misuse have traditionally been treated as grounds for interpretation, not suspension, particularly in the context of welfare or protective legislation. The order does not demonstrate how the continued operation of the Regulations would cause irreversible harm sufficient to justify a blanket stay. Notably absent is any engagement with the harm caused by suspending a framework designed to respond to caste-based exclusion—an exclusion that is neither hypothetical nor speculative.

The Court’s reliance on the revival of the 2012 Regulations as a safeguard also assumes that the earlier framework was adequate, despite the fact that the 2019 PIL itself was premised on its failure to prevent institutional discrimination.

The Conceptual Problem: What is “caste-based discrimination”?

At the heart of the Court’s concern lies an unresolved conceptual question: is caste-based discrimination symmetrical?

The petitioners — and, to some extent, the Court — appear to approach caste as a neutral identity marker, capable of disadvantaging any individual depending on circumstances. This framing overlooks the constitutional understanding of caste as a structural system of hierarchy, not merely a personal attribute.

Indian constitutional jurisprudence has consistently recognised that caste-based discrimination is not simply discrimination involving caste, but discrimination arising from historical, social, and economic subordination of specific communities. To ask why upper-caste individuals are not explicitly protected under a provision addressing caste-based discrimination is to ignore this asymmetry.

Importantly, the Regulations already define “discrimination” broadly and in caste-neutral terms. Any harassment, humiliation, or unfair treatment faced by individuals from non-reserved categories is squarely covered under this definition. The absence of a separate label of “caste-based discrimination” for such individuals does not render them remediless.

The Court’s concern, therefore, risks collapsing the distinction between structural oppression and interpersonal conflict, treating unequal social realities as constitutionally equivalent.

The Slippery Comparison: “Upper castes” and de-notified or extremely backward communities

As noted by legal scholar Gautam Bhatia, one of the petitioners has argued that the impugned regulation suffers from a constitutional flaw comparable to the presumption underlying the colonial Criminal Tribes Act, 1871, which stigmatised entire communities as inherently criminal and was later repealed for violating principles of equality and constitutional morality. This submission, however, appears to rest on an analogy that implicitly places socially dominant or ‘upper’ caste groups on the same constitutional footing as communities that were historically criminalised and later de-notified.

De-notified tribes, in particular, have faced:

• Colonial-era criminalisation;
• Persistent social stigma;
• Economic exclusion; and
• Institutional invisibility even within reservation frameworks.

To suggest that excluding general category individuals from the definition of caste-based discrimination creates an equal protection problem risk flattening historical injustice into abstract formalism. Constitutional equality does not require identical treatment of groups situated in radically unequal positions. Indeed, such an approach may itself violate the principle of equality by treating unequal’s alike.

The Court’s rhetorical invocation of a “casteless society,” while normatively appealing, sits uneasily with judicial precedent cautioning that claims of castelessness often precede, rather than follow, the dismantling of caste hierarchies.

Vagueness, misuse, and the burden on protective legislation

The Court’s repeated emphasis on the “possibility of misuse” raises a familiar but contested trope in Indian constitutional adjudication. It is well settled that: The possibility of abuse of a law is no ground to strike it down.

This principle assumes even greater importance in the context of protective regulations, which have historically been diluted through misuse arguments advanced by socially dominant groups. The order does not explain why ordinary safeguards—such as inquiry mechanisms, appellate review, and judicial oversight—would be insufficient to address misuse on a case-by-case basis.

By foregrounding speculative misuse over structural exclusion, the order risks imposing a higher justificatory burden on equity-oriented regulations than on other forms of delegated legislation.

Ragging, non-regression, and judicial overcorrection

The Court’s concern regarding the omission of ragging from the 2026 Regulations is doctrinally significant, particularly in light of Justice Bagchi’s invocation of the principle of non-regression, as reported by LiveLaw. However, even assuming the omission is a serious flaw, it is not self-evident that the appropriate response was to stay the entire regulatory framework, rather than:

• Read the Regulations harmoniously with existing anti-ragging norms;
• Issue interpretative directions; or
• Direct limited corrective amendments.

The chosen course reflects a form of judicial overcorrection, where legitimate concerns about incompleteness lead to wholesale suspension.

Article 142 and the revival of the 2012 Regulations

The use of Article 142 to revive the 2012 Regulations raises further questions. While intended to prevent a regulatory vacuum, the move effectively substitutes judicial preference for executive policy, without a finding that the earlier framework better advances constitutional values.

This is particularly striking given that the 2026 Regulations were framed pursuant to Court-monitored proceedings and stakeholder consultations following the 2019 PIL. The revival thus appears less as a neutral stopgap and more as a normative rollback, albeit temporarily.

What the Supreme Court Directed in the Payal Tadvi–Rohith Vemula PIL — and why the stay order sits uneasily with it

The Supreme Court’s interim stay of the UGC (Promotion of Equity in Higher Education Institutions) Regulations, 2026 must be read against the backdrop of the Court’s own continuing supervision in Abeda Salim Tadvi v. Union of India—the petition arising from the institutional failures that culminated in the deaths of Payal Tadvi and Rohith Vemula.

Conclusion: interim caution or substantive retreat?

The Supreme Court’s interim order undoubtedly reflects a desire to prevent social fragmentation and regulatory excess. Yet, in its emphasis on neutrality, symmetry, and speculative misuse, the Court risks diluting the constitutional logic of substantive equality that has long justified differentiated protections for caste-oppressed communities.

The deeper danger lies not merely in staying one set of regulations, but in the judicial reframing of caste-based discrimination as a universally symmetrical phenomenon, detached from history and structure. Whether this framing endures at the final stage will determine whether the Court’s intervention is remembered as a moment of careful constitutional recalibration—or as a cautious but consequential retreat from the promise of transformative equality.

The complete order may be read below:

Related:

A Cultural Burden: The ascending hierarchy of caste warfare and the crisis of the Indian republic

Freedom Deferred: Caste, class and faith in India’s prisons

Everyday Atrocity: How Caste Violence Became India’s New Normal

Two Dalit and Tribal girls brutalised in Andhra Pradesh: Pattern of caste violence exposes deep-rooted injustice

Caste Cloud Over Ambedkar Jayanti: From campus censorship to temple exclusion

CJP Maharashtra: Surge in communal and caste-based violence with six incidents in January 2025

2024: Love Jihad as a socio-political tool: caste, endogamy, and Hindutva’s dominance over gender and social boundaries in India

The post The stay of UGC Equity Regulations, 2026: The interim order, the proceedings, and the constitutional questions raised appeared first on SabrangIndia.

Historical practices underscore the institutional roots of this humiliation, which are alarmingly mirrored and even innovated upon in contemporary India. Accounts from the Peshwa rule describe how untouchables were prevented from using public streets due to the polluting effect of their shadow; in Poona, they were forced to wear a broom attached to their waist to sweep away their footprints. Visuals of such a humiliating practice has been immortalised by Dalit writers and poets (Dalit shahirs)—performers in the late 19^th and 20^th centuries—that created a body of literature and theatre known as Dalit jalse.[1] Such ritual enforcement of segregation persists today in modernised forms of humiliation. This includes incidents where a 12-year-old Dalit boy died by suicide after being locked in a cowshed and shamed for accidentally entering an upper-caste house in Himachal Pradesh (October 2025), or the horrific case of a 14-year-old Dalit child forced to consume his own faeces (July 2020).

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The continuance –in the 21^st century — of these ritualistic forms of violence, seven decades after India’s independence, confirms a profound failure of the constitutional promise of equality. The violence is often preceded by symbolic degradation—the imposition of dominant caste thought and perception—which acts as a necessary pre-condition for the subsequent material and physical violence. This structural denial of humanity maintains the cultural and ritual authority of the caste system, fundamentally resisting constitutional mandates.

In 1950, the Constitution of India promised a radical rupture: the abolition of untouchability (Article 17), equality before the law (Article 14), and a vision of dignity that sought to transcend birth-based hierarchy. Even then, as Indians celebrated a vision of equality and non-discrimination, there was vocal resistance (in the Constituent Assembly) to a complete and total abolition of Caste itself at the time of the Constituent Assembly debates; finally, as a compromise, Article 17 was enacted. Seven decades later, the persistence and intensification of violence against Dalits across regions and institutions suggest that even the limited promise remains incomplete.

In recent years, this crude form of violence and exclusion has acquired new visibility — and new legitimacy. Incidents of caste humiliation no longer remain confined to villages or agrarian conflicts; they permeate public spaces, reflective of the re-legitimisation of this othering by the dominance of the political ideology ruling at the Centre and over a dozen states: Schools, cities, social media, and even the judiciary’s symbolic space have been breached: it is as if a shrill messaging is being broadcast of the casteist majoritarian regime in power; that caste exclusion and hierarchy is not simply justified but will be violently imposed. When an advocate of India’s apex court “dares” flinging a shoe at the present Chief Justice of India (CJI), a Buddhist and this is followed by singular racial abuse online, it shatters the comforting belief that institutional achievement insulates against stigma. Such episodes illuminate a wider social truth: caste not only continues to function as India’s deepest grammar of power, adapting to modern structures rather than disappearing within them. Caste resurgence is the order of the day, being re-imposed, brutally by this dispensation. What India is witnessing is the classic form of counter-revolution.

This article maps this regression. Mostly drawing upon recent incidents documented in 2025 —including those in Thoothukudi, Panvel, Meerut, and Madhya Pradesh—it reconstructs what can be termed the “new architecture of caste attacks.” Major incidents before 2025 have also been included to show a pattern. Violence and exclusion today occur through overlapping arenas: the village, the city, the school, the digital sphere, and the state itself. Each arena reveals how caste’s social logic survives despite constitutional guarantees.

Notably, all the incidents referred to in this piece has been provided in detail in a separate document below:

The Ascending Hierarchy of Attack: From ritual to institutional apex

Dr. B.R. Ambedkar envisioned the Constitution as a path towards both a moral and social revolution. The formal abolition of untouchability was meant not merely to criminalise discrimination but to destroy its social roots. Yet Ambedkar warned in the Constituent Assembly that “political equality” without “social and economic equality” would leave democracy vulnerable to caste hierarchy’s return.

The decades following independence saw significant legislative advances—the Protection of Civil Rights Act (1955), the Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes (Prevention of Atrocities) Act (1989)—but these were accompanied by obdurate police and administrative non-application and followed by a persistent social backlash. Caste privilege adapted: open exclusion gave way to subtler forms of humiliation and violence disguised as defence of “tradition,” “honour,” or “religion.”

The post-2014 political climate added a new layer. In 1999, India had already experienced a glimpse of what was in store to come, when the National Democratic Alliance (in its first form) had the RSS-inspired Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) only as a minority. Yet, following the 2002 Gujarat pogrom, the ghastly lynching of five Dalit men in the village of Dulina, Jhajjar district, Haryana, after being falsely accused of cow slaughter, on October 15, 2002, shook the nation. A spate of such crimes continued and were documented.[2] The complicity of the police and the alleged involvement of far right organisations like the Vishwa Hindu Parishad (VHP) was part of the details recorded.

The ascent of cultural majoritarianism, the mainstreaming of “Sanatani” rhetoric, and the weaponisation of social media have together normalised casteist discourse while weakening institutional checks. The result is not the re-emergence of caste, but its reconfiguration through new technologies, idioms, and legitimations.

The analysis of caste violence must recognise its escalating and diversifying trajectory. The attacks are no longer confined solely to remote rural pockets but have ascended a hierarchy of space and institution, moving from localised ritual control to sophisticated psychological control in urban institutions, and finally culminating in explicit political and ideological confrontation with the nation’s highest constitutional offices.

The sheer volume of reported cases underscores the crisis. According to National Crime Records Bureau (NCRB) data, in 2023, 57,789 cases of crimes against SCs were registered, a slight 0.4% increase from 57,582 cases in 2022. Looking at a wider period reveals a substantial escalation. A study by the Dalit Human Rights Defenders Network noted a 177.6% rise in crimes against SCs between 1991 and 2021.

This violence is not exclusive to villages; urban centres exhibit alarming rates. As per the statistics, Uttar Pradesh (15,130 cases) reported the highest number of crimes against SCs, followed by Rajasthan (8,449), Madhya Pradesh (8,232), and Bihar (7,064). Despite these statistics, the true incidence is severely underreported. Research suggests that only about 5% of assaults are officially recorded, often due to police indifference, bribery demands, or outright dismissal of complaints, particularly rape reports.

The structural progression of violence can be categorised across distinct spheres, illustrating the systemic nature of exclusion in the modern Republic.

Table 1: Typology of Caste Atrocities: The continuum of humiliation

 Ground Zero: Traditional sites of visceral violence (village to street)

Despite rapid urbanisation, the village remains the most enduring theatre of caste violence. In rural Madhya Pradesh, Dalit families were beaten and their seeds confiscated for cultivating common land (July 2025); in Chhatarpur, twenty families faced social boycott for accepting prasad from a Dalit neighbour (January 2025). Similar patterns appear across Uttar Pradesh, Rajasthan, and Bihar.

1. Controlling the Essentials: Land, water, and ritual space

In rural India, the primary mechanisms of caste control revolve around denying access to essential resources and ritual spaces, thereby enforcing physical and ritual segregation. Access to water, a non-negotiable human right, remains violently conditional upon caste status. The case of the 8-year-old Dalit boy in Barmer, Rajasthan, who was severely beaten and hung upside down for touching a water pot intended for upper castes, is a visceral demonstration of this control (September 2025). Similarly, the suicide of the 12-year-old Dalit boy in Himachal Pradesh was a direct consequence of humiliation for trespassing on upper-caste property (October 2025).

Ritual spaces, intended to be public, are often violently guarded to enforce untouchability. Dalits have been barred from offering prayers at a Durga Puja Pandal in Madhya Pradesh (September 2025) and violently assaulted for attempting to enter a temple during a religious procession in Churu, Rajasthan (September 2025). The Madras High Court was recently compelled to intervene and issue instructions to the Tenkasi administration regarding the equitable distribution of water due to persistent caste bias, highlighting how essential services are used as weapons of caste control (July 2025). The requirement for police to guard a Dalit wedding in Gujarat, sometimes using drones, underscores the fragility of civil rights protection when faced with entrenched local hierarchy (May 2025).

2. Policing Dalit Assertion: Rites of passage and mobility

Caste violence is inherently triggered not just by deviation from purity codes but by the assertion of equality and self-respect. This is most vividly manifest in attacks aimed at policing Dalit mobility and rites of passage, particularly wedding processions (baraats).

The act of a Dalit groom riding a horse, traditionally reserved for dominant castes, often leads to violence. Incidents across Uttar Pradesh and Rajasthan involve grooms being pulled off their horses and guests being attacked (February 2025). This violence becomes ideologically intensified when Dalit identity is asserted. In Mathura, a Dalit baraat was attacked with stones and sticks after the Thakur community objected to the playing of songs related to Dr. Ambedkar and the Jatav community (July 2025). This deliberate suppression of public visibility and self-respect confirms that the violence is preventative, aimed at suppressing any public display of Dalit parity, thereby revealing the fundamentally anti-democratic nature of caste control.

Furthermore, intimate choices that threaten the integrity of caste endogamy are met with brutal force. Honor killings and extreme violence against inter-caste relationships are widespread. A Dalit youth in Tamil Nadu was hacked to death over an inter-caste relationship, with his girlfriend implicating her own family. In another incident, a Dalit boy in Tamil Nadu was stripped, beaten, and subjected to caste slurs for meeting a Vanniyar girl. (July 2025) The alleged honour killing of a Dalit man in Pune over his marriage to a Maratha woman, characterised by his family as a caste murder, confirms that this policing of reproductive choices transcends the rural-urban divide (February 2025).

3. The geography of forced servitude and political disobedience

Economic empowerment and political participation by Dalits are routinely met with retributive violence designed to re-establish feudal control. Violence often flares up when Dalits refuse forced labour or assert their rights over agricultural resources. In Madhya Pradesh, a Dalit youth was brutally beaten and his house set ablaze for refusing to work as a labourer (August 2025). Other attacks have involved dominant caste men snatching seeds and assaulting Dalit families cultivating their land (June 2025).

The targeting extends explicitly to Dalit political empowerment. A Dalit woman Sarpanch and her husband in Rajasthan were attacked with an axe over disputes regarding MNREGA road work (June 2025). This illustrates that achieving political mobility through constitutional offices is tolerated only as long as it does not challenge the economic and social dominance of local power structures. When a Dalit woman attempts to administer public projects (MNREGA), the challenge to local caste authority is met with physical terror, fundamentally linking economic development to caste subjugation.

The Modern Crucible: Institutionalised discrimination (city to school)

Cities were once imagined as caste’s antithesis—sites of anonymity and merit. Yet attacks on Dalit wedding processions in Agra and Meerut, and stone-pelting during Ambedkar-Jayanti rallies in Rajasthan, show that urbanity merely relocates caste antagonism.

Public celebrations become battlegrounds for visibility. The sight of a Dalit groom on a horse, or the sound of Ambedkarite songs, is treated as provocation. The violence is performative: it polices who may occupy the street, who may celebrate publicly, and which forms of joy are legitimate. In several districts, local authorities have begun escorting Dalit weddings with police and drones—an image at once tragic and telling.

Urban caste violence underscores how modern citizenship collides with inherited status. It also demonstrates the selective nature of state protection: preventive deployment rather than structural reform, treating equality as an event to be managed, not a norm to be lived.

1. The Cost of Merit: Caste in elite academia

Caste discrimination has infiltrated the highest echelons of Indian society, shifting the site of exclusion from the village field to the university lecture hall, resulting in a disturbing incidence of student suicides. Elite educational institutions, far from being meritocratic safe spaces, operate under a constant atmosphere of systemic, psychological violence against marginalised students. This structural violence is enacted through ridicule, ostracism, administrative bias, and academic sabotage.

Between November and December 2025 itself, three deaths of Dalit students across India underscored the lethal intersection of caste discrimination, institutional neglect, and structural exclusion in educational spaces. On November 6, a 19-year-old Dalit student of Deshbandhu College, Delhi University, and sister of JNUSU presidential candidate Raj Ratan Rajoriya, was found dead in her Govindpuri rented flat, with BAPSA alleging grave procedural lapses by the police, absence of medical personnel and female officers, and broader “institutional apathy” by Delhi University, including its failure to provide adequate hostel accommodation for marginalised students, forcing them into unsafe and isolating housing conditions. On November 20, an 18-year-old Dalit student, S Gajini, from Government Arignar Anna Arts College in Villupuram, succumbed to injuries ten days after attempting suicide, allegedly driven by caste-based abuse and assault by men from a dominant caste following a road altercation; despite an FIR under the SC/ST Act, the accused remain unidentified. On December 12, a 17-year-old Dalit student at a DIET institute in Kurnool died by suicide after prolonged distress linked to her struggle with English-medium coursework, highlighting how language barriers, caste location, and lack of institutional academic support continue to disproportionately burden first-generation and marginalised learners.

The environment becomes hostile because of the active weaponisation of meritocracy. Dalit students are frequently taunted as “non-meritorious” or “quota products”. This psychological assault on their intellect and dignity constitutes epistemic violence, a modernised replacement for ritual pollution, turning academic spaces into sites of structural harassment.

Case studies vividly illustrate this pattern:

• Rohith Vemula, 2016 (Hyderabad University)[3]: Vemula’s administrative exclusion, which forced him and four others to sleep in a makeshift “Dalit ghetto,” was recognised by his peers as a modern form of villevarda. While his death sparked a national political movement, the later police closure report attempted to undermine the caste-based motivation by questioning his Scheduled Caste status, thereby reinforcing the pernicious stigma of “fake merit”.
• Darshan Solanki, 2023 (IIT Bombay)[4]: Solanki died by suicide after allegedly facing ostracisation and ridicule from peers for asking basic questions in technical subjects. The institutional response from IIT Bombay, which prematurely denied any caste discrimination before a full inquiry was completed, exemplified institutional denial and refusal to confront endemic caste bias.

This environment of toxic exclusion is responsible for widespread trauma, with reports indicating that 80% of suicides in seven IITs were committed by Dalit students. Furthermore, the bias extends beyond performance, affecting administrative representation. Ten Dalit professors at Bangalore University resigned from their administrative roles, citing discrimination. The perpetuation of this violence reveals a fundamental rigidity: caste acts as a boundary that professional success cannot breach.

Table 2: Manifestations of exclusion in educational institutions

2. Invisible Barriers: Urban exclusion and professional glass ceilings

For Dalits who successfully navigate the hostile academic environment and achieve high professional status, the violence persists, though it adopts subtler, institutionalised forms. This reality demonstrates that economic independence does not translate into the annihilation of caste.

The suicide of Dalit IPS officer Puran Kumar, who questioned unfair promotions and postings, tragically illustrated that rank and wealth do not grant immunity; caste prejudice penetrates the highest echelons of bureaucracy (October 2025). Similarly, a Dalit Assistant Professor at SV Veterinary University was subjected to public humiliation when his chair was allegedly removed, forcing him to perform his duties while sitting on the floor (June 2025).

Discrimination is also structural in the dynamic urban private sector. Research indicates that job applicants with a Dalit name face significant discrimination, having approximately two-thirds the odds of receiving an interview compared to dominant-caste Hindu applicants with equivalent qualifications. This demonstrates that social exclusion is not a rural remnant but is actively practiced in the most modern sectors of the economy. This systemic sabotage of upward mobility means that educational and professional achievements merely shift the form of violence from physical assault to debilitating psychological and institutional harassment.

3. The digitalisation of hate and incitement

The rise of digital media has provided a new, pervasive medium for the normalisation and amplification of caste hatred. Based on a 2019 report by the human rights organisation Equality Labs, caste-based hate speech was found to make up 13% of the hate content reviewed on Facebook India. This digital sphere has facilitated the de facto normalisation of caste-hate speech and is recognised as a medium for oppressing and humiliating Dalits.

This toxic online envionment is actively utilized by right-wing extremist organisations, which have grown in prominence, sometimes using platforms like Instagram to promote hateful content and even fundraising. Major digital platforms demonstrated a historical disregard for addressing this issue, taking years to incorporate “caste” as a protected characteristic in their hate speech policies, and often failing to list it as an option in their reporting forms.

This digital rhetoric creates a climate of ideological validation that can incite physical violence. Harassment campaigns against high-profile Dalit figures, such as the Chief Justice of India, function as a coordinated form of symbolic violence intended to normalise the rejection of constitutional equality and test the boundaries of legal impunity.

The Politicalisation of Caste Warfare: The current regime context

Beyond violence lies symbolic appropriation. Dalit culture—its festivals, songs, and icons—is increasingly commodified or sanitised within a homogenised “Sanatani” narrative. The exclusion of India’s tribal President from the Ram Mandir inauguration exemplifies this politics of selective inclusion: representation without recognition.

In West Bengal, the “vegetarianisation” of Durga Puja since 2019 reflects a subtler transformation. Non-Sanatani groups, including many Dalit and Bahujan communities, are labelled “non-sattvic,” their rituals cast as impure. This recoding of religiosity transforms caste into cultural hierarchy.

At the same time, Ambedkar’s image is everywhere—on posters, statues, and government programmes—yet his emancipatory thought is domesticated. The appropriation of Ambedkar without the politics of equality amounts to symbolic capture: a neutralised memory that conceals continuing oppression.

Cultural exclusion thus performs two contradictory gestures—erasure and incorporation—both of which depoliticise Dalit assertion while reaffirming upper-caste control over meaning.

1. The Rise of Neo-Traditionalism: Sanatana dharma and exclusion

The period following 2014 has been marked by a significant ideological shift, where the ruling party’s emphasis on Hindu nationalism has provided an explicit political and cultural sanction for traditional caste principles. The concept of Sanatana Dharma has become a central ideological tool. Critics argue that this philosophy inherently justifies and maintains the rigid caste hierarchy, contrasting sharply with the constitutional ideals of liberty and equality. Any critique of caste discrimination, such as those made by Udhayanidhi Stalin regarding the system prevalent in Sanatana Dharma, is immediately framed by the dominant political ecosystem as an attack on Hinduism, aimed at polarising the electorate.

This ideological polarisation was directly responsible for the attempted shoe attack on Chief Justice B.R. Gavai (October 2025). The attacker, Rakesh Kishore, specifically shouted, “Sanatan ka apmaan nahi sahenge” (We will not tolerate the insult of Sanatan Dharma). This action linked a perceived anti-Hindu judicial stance (related to the Khajuraho deity ruling) directly to the caste identity of the judge. The incident functioned as an ideological declaration: constitutional morality, when used by a Dalit judge to challenge majoritarian religious claims, is deemed an “insult” that must be violently resisted, placing religious tradition above constitutional law.

2. Selective appropriation of Ambedkar and Hindutva strategy

The Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS) and its political affiliates have engaged in a sustained and deliberate political strategy to appropriate the legacy of Dr. B.R. Ambedkar, primarily to secure electoral gains and neutralise the profound ideological threat his philosophy poses to the foundational principles of Hindutva.

This strategy involves selectively invoking aspects of Ambedkar’s life, such as his conversion to Buddhism, while simultaneously minimising or ignoring his radical denunciation of Hinduism as being incompatible with democratic values. The attempt is to portray Ambedkar as a “Hindu social reformer” rather than a foundational critic of the caste system, thereby drawing Dalit politics into a unified, but hierarchical, “Hindu” fold. This co-option strategy is further highlighted by political attempts to link Ambedkar to RSS founders, despite historical evidence to the contrary.

The tactical use of Ambedkar’s image is often contradicted by ground realities. For instance, symbolic gestures are performed alongside reported policy failures, such as the denial of scholarships to 3,500 Dalit students in Uttar Pradesh, forcing public condemnation from Dalit leaders (June 2025). This gap between rhetoric and action confirms that the strategy is one of symbolic integration designed to neutralise dissent, rather than a genuine commitment to substantive social justice.

3. Symbolic constitutional exclusion

The pattern of exclusion extends to high constitutional functionaries from marginalised communities. The noticeable absence of President Droupadi Murmu, an Adivasi (Scheduled Tribe) and the constitutional head of state, from the inauguration of the highly politicised Ram Mandir in Ayodhya was widely criticised by opposition leaders, who connected it to her earlier exclusion from the Parliament building inauguration.

Although President Murmu belongs to the Adivasi community, the incident forms part of a larger pattern of ritual exclusion of marginalised constitutional authorities from highly faith-based state functions. The event, serving as a defining moment for the new majoritarian ideology, suggests a reordering of constitutional hierarchy. The exclusion of the head of state, particularly one from a marginalised background, implies that ritual purity and majoritarian religious identity are positioned to supersede constitutional hierarchy and the democratic principle of representation.

The Assault on the Constitutional Apex: Targeting the judiciary

1. The CJI Incident: From judicial remark to caste attack

The attempted shoe attack on Chief Justice of India B.R. Gavai stands as the most explicit act of caste-based political defiance directed at the core institutions of the Republic. The violence was ideologically motivated, following the CJI’s remarks during a hearing about a Vishnu idol in Khajuraho.

The caste dimension was immediately clear. The ideological defence of the attacker, Rakesh Kishore, who invoked Sanatan Dharma, and the support of influential right-wing figures like YouTuber Ajeet Bharti, who called Gavai a “lousy, undeserving judge” and accused him of “anti-Hindu sentiments”, establishes a crucial political point. The attack was not aimed at judicial competence but at the perceived “anti-Sanatan” judicial decision, rooted in the judge’s Dalit identity. This confrontation establishes that challenging ritual caste authority through constitutional interpretation is now publicly deemed an act of ideological treason.

2. Impunity and state response

The response of the state apparatus to the assault and subsequent incitement has set a dangerous precedent of selective justice. The attacker, Rakesh Kishore, was released shortly after questioning because the CJI declined to press charges. Kishore subsequently expressed no remorse for his actions.

Crucially, those who digitally incited further violence were also handled with remarkable leniency. YouTuber Ajeet Bharti, who made provocative remarks about the CJI and allegedly suggested actions such as spitting on the judge, was briefly taken in for questioning by Noida Police but was not arrested and was later released.

This lenient approach towards both the physical attacker and the digital instigator demonstrates a deep political hesitation to punish ideologically driven attacks rooted in majoritarian caste sentiment, even when directed at the highest judicial authority. This establishes a political environment that minimises the gravity of such threats, potentially intimidating the judiciary and compromising its ability to enforce social justice laws without fear of retribution.

Gendered Violence and Custodial Deaths: The deepest layer of impunity

Caste and gender intersect to produce some of India’s most brutal crimes. Dalit women continue to face disproportionate sexual violence, often as retribution for asserting dignity or property rights. Cases from Uttar Pradesh’s Sitapur district (2023) and Madhya Pradesh’s Sidhi forest region (2024) illustrate patterns where rape is both punishment and warning.

Custodial deaths compound the pattern. Dalit men arrested on minor charges have died in custody under suspicious circumstances, their families alleging torture. Investigations are often perfunctory, medical reports delayed, and officers reinstated. Such cases demonstrate how state power fuses with social prejudice, converting constitutional guardians into instruments of caste discipline.

The intersection of caste and gender is absent from mainstream criminal jurisprudence. The law individualises crime; caste violence is collective. Without recognising this collective dimension, justice remains procedural rather than transformative.

Regional Patterns: The southern paradox

Contrary to common perception, official data and recent reportage show high incidence of atrocities in southern states—Tamil Nadu, Andhra Pradesh, Karnataka, and Kerala—regions long celebrated for social reform. The Thoothukudi incident (2023) and the string of attacks in Tirunelveli district (over 1,000 cases in five years) reveal both persistence and visibility.

This “southern paradox” has sociological roots: assertive Dalit movements and higher reporting rates coexist with dominant-caste backlash. Greater literacy and media presence ensure documentation but not necessarily deterrence. The violence is thus both a measure of progress (assertion) and of resistance (repression).

The Post-2014 Inflection: Normalisation and silence

The last decade marks a qualitative shift. Three developments stand out:

1. Cultural majoritarianism: The language of “Sanatan Dharma” has become a political grammar through which caste is re-inscribed as divine order. Public discourse valorises hierarchy as heritage.
2. Digital propagation: Organised online ecosystems amplify caste-coded slurs and mobilise outrage with unprecedented speed.
3. Institutional silence: From police stations to ministries, selective inertia signals tacit endorsement. Silence becomes policy.

This triad—rhetoric, technology, and silence—has rendered caste violence socially negotiable. The constitutional ethos of equality competes with a cultural ethos of graded dignity.

The Constitutional Abyss: Implications for the Indian republic

1. The Failure of the SC/ST (PoA) Act: Legal protections as fiction

The rampant escalation of violence highlights the systemic failure of the Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes (Prevention of Atrocities) Act, 1989 (PoA Act). Designed as a potent legal shield, the Act is continually undermined by institutional resistance and poor enforcement, leading to low conviction rates.[5]

Police inaction is endemic; research documents the prevalent practice of police failing to register FIRs or prematurely closing cases through “Final Reports”. Despite the Supreme Court’s, clear directive that FIR registration is mandatory for cognizable offenses, police show a “differential stance” on enforcing the PoA Act compared to other statutes, demonstrating systemic bias in justice delivery.

Moreover, the state apparatus frequently operates as an agent of caste oppression. Incidents include police custody deaths of Dalit individuals, police brutality against a Dalit woman in Haryana, and officers being booked for assaulting a retired Dalit official. This pattern demonstrates that the constitutional mandate to protect Dalits is often betrayed by the very instruments of state power, rendering legal protections fictional.

The SC/ST (Prevention of Atrocities) Act 1989 and its 2015 Amendment remain India’s most potent instruments against caste violence, yet enforcement deficits persist. The act mandates immediate FIR registration, establishment of special courts, and protection of victims. Ground reports show chronic under-registration, downgrading of charges, and police bias.

Judicial interpretation oscillates between protection and dilution. The Supreme Court’s 2018 Subhash Kashinath Mahajan judgment introduced safeguards against “false cases,” effectively softening arrest provisions until partially reversed by Parliament. This episode revealed how institutional anxiety about misuse can overshadow concern for victims’ safety.

At stake is not merely criminal justice but constitutional morality—Ambedkar’s phrase for the ethical framework that must animate state action. When police or courts treat caste violence as routine, they erode that morality. The Republic then survives in form but not in substance.

2. The conceptual meaning of exclusion and humiliation

The pervasive violence is structurally maintained through exclusion, which is the combined outcome of deliberate deprivation and systemic discrimination, preventing Dalits from exercising full economic, social, and political rights.

Humiliation serves as a continuous psychological weapon, seeking to deny the basic humanity of the Dalit individual and enforce ritual hierarchy. Whether through being stripped and beaten, forced into humiliating acts, or subjected to taunts questioning their merit, the goal remains the denial of constitutional dignity. Dr. Ambedkar’s formulation established that democracy requires the foundational principles of liberty, equality, and fraternity. The evidence suggests that when Dalits attempt to live a democratic life—by asserting social equality (riding a horse), achieving academic merit (joining an elite institution), or claiming high constitutional office (CJI)—they are met with structural violence and, frequently, death. This structural opposition confirms that the traditional social order fundamentally rejects the core ethical commitments of the Indian Constitutional Republic.

Conclusion: Safeguarding constitutional morality

Philosophers from Avishai Margalit to Axel Honneth define humiliation as the denial of recognition essential to personhood. Caste violence operates precisely through such denial. Its power lies not only in inflicting pain but in publicly authorising inequality. When a Dalit child is beaten for entering a temple, or when a Chief Justice is abused online, the message is continuous: certain bodies remain conditional citizens. Humiliation thus functions as pedagogy—teaching both victim and perpetrator the limits of equality. To counter it requires more than punishment; it requires re-socialisation—a transformation of cultural consciousness that law alone cannot produce.

The investigation into the hierarchy of attacks against Dalits, tracing the violence from ritual control in the village to ideological confrontation at the highest constitutional levels, confirms a severe crisis of constitutional morality in India. The nature of caste warfare has transitioned from covert rural brutality to overt, high-profile ideological confrontations in the urban and judicial spheres. This escalation is profoundly enabled by a political climate that prioritises majoritarian traditionalism over the egalitarian principles of the Constitution. The targeting of a Dalit Chief Justice, sanctioned by ideological rhetoric and met with institutional leniency, signifies that the foundational democratic tenet of equality is now under explicit, active threat.

To address this existential challenge, a set of structural and policy reforms is necessary to transform nominal guarantees into substantive equality:

1. Mandatory and independent police accountability: Legislation must be introduced to mandate the immediate and unconditional registration of FIRs under the SC/ST (Prevention of Atrocities) Act for all cognizable offenses, coupled with the establishment of independent police accountability commissions with the authority to prosecute officers who violate or fail to enforce the Act.
2. Criminalising institutional caste bias: Stringent anti-discrimination laws, backed by criminal penalties, must be implemented across all educational, corporate, and governmental institutions to address structural and psychological harassment, ending the systemic institutional denial of caste discrimination.
3. Digital accountability for incitement: Robust legal and regulatory measures are necessary to hold social media platforms accountable for the unchecked proliferation of caste-based hate speech and the incitement of violence, recognising it as a direct threat to public order and democratic principles.

The escalation of caste violence against Dalits—from the exclusion of a child from water access to the political assault on the Chief Justice—is a gauge of the Republic’s health. If the judiciary cannot be protected from attacks based on the caste identity of its leader, the entire legal and democratic framework built to secure social justice stands compromised.

More than seventy-five years after independence, the Indian Republic stands at a moral crossroads. Formally, it is a constitutional democracy; substantively, it remains stratified by caste. The incidents chronicled in 2025 itsef—stretching from rural Madhya Pradesh to the Supreme Court’s digital corridors—suggest not an aberration but a continuum.

The question is therefore not whether caste survives, but how the state and society have adapted to its survival. The new architecture of attacks—spanning villages, cities, institutions, and cyberspace—reveals that violence and exclusion now coexist comfortably with democratic form.

Ambedkar warned that “Democracy in India is only a top-dressing on an Indian soil which is essentially undemocratic.” The task ahead is to deepen the soil—to cultivate a culture where dignity is not negotiable, where equality is not episodic, and where the law’s promise finally becomes social reality. Until then, every assault on a Dalit body, image, or word remains an assault on the Constitution itself.

References

Indian colleges are hotbeds of casteism. How can they do better? – The News Minute https://www.thenewsminute.com/news/indian-colleges-are-hotbeds-casteism-how-can-they-do-better-176683

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View of Hate Speech against Dalits on Social Media: Would a Penny Sparrow be Prosecuted in India for Online Hate Speech? https://journals.library.brandeis.edu/index.php/caste/article/view/260/61

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Atrocities on Dalits in Contemporary India Even After 75 Years of Indian Independence https://ijfans.org/uploads/paper/5af7bf7ae1851636fe726333533b1c8b.pdf

Dalit scholar’s protest exposes casteism in India’s higher education – FairPlanet https://www.fairplanet.org/story/dalit-scholars-protest-exposes-casteism-in-indias-higher-education/

IIT-Bombay Dalit student death | Senior says Darshan Solanki felt alienated by roommate, https://www.thehindu.com/news/national/iit-bombay-dalit-student-death-senior-says-darshan-solanki-felt-alienated-by-roommate/article66611752.ece

Attack on CJI: Union MoS Athawale seeks SC/ST Act charges as BJP does a tightrope walk https://indianexpress.com/article/political-pulse/shoe-attack-cji-mos-athawale-sc-st-act-bjp-10298249/

Ram Mandir Invitation: NCP Leader Raises Concerns about Draupadi Murmu’s Exclusion,

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[1] This body of work is also a major source for stories and protest songs (Qawwali) that focus on anti-caste movements and give voice to Dalit struggles wherein the broom and pot would be consistent imagery for this protest tradition.

[2] https://www.hrw.org/reports/2007/india0207/6.htm; https://frontline.thehindu.com/social-issues/article30193600.ece#:~:text=IN%20one%20of%20the%20most,presence%20of%20scores%20of%20onlookers.

[3] https://indianexpress.com/article/opinion/columns/we-all-failed-rohith/

[4] https://cjp.org.in/iit-mumbai-report-on-darshan-solanki-death-crucial-evidence-overlooked/

[5] https://sabrang.com/cc/archive/2005/mar05/cover.html

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