In the Indian state of West Bengal, a disturbing pattern has emerged. Hindus are being brutalised—physically, emotionally, and socially. Temples desecrated, homes torched, communities attacked. Yet, for the most part, there is no national outcry, no candlelight vigils, no trending hashtags. Why? Because it’s only Hindus. And when it’s only Hindus, the world seems to believe there is no real reason to bother.
The recent violence in Murshidabad, West Bengal, has once again highlighted the fragile communal harmony in the region. On April 8, 2025, protests against the Waqf (Amendment) Act escalated into violent clashes, resulting in fatalities, injuries, and significant property damage. Sadly, it is the Hindus who are targeted yet again by a mob of Islamic radicals.
The unrest began with demonstrations opposing the Waqf (Amendment) Act, which introduced changes to the administration of Waqf properties. Critics argued that the amendments infringed upon religious freedoms, leading to widespread protests, particularly among Muslim communities. In Murshidabad, these protests turned violent, with incidents of arson, looting, and attacks on public infrastructure.
In the midst of this turmoil, reports emerged of targeted attacks on Hindu-owned shops and properties in areas like Patikabari Bazar. Videos circulated on social media showed vandalized and burned establishments, raising concerns about the safety of minority communities in the region.
The state government’s response included deploying additional security forces, suspending internet services to curb misinformation, and imposing Section 144 to restrict public gatherings. Despite these measures, the violence underscored the need for proactive strategies to prevent such incidents and protect all communities.
The events in Murshidabad serve as a stark reminder of the importance of maintaining communal harmony and ensuring that all citizens, regardless of their religious affiliations, feel safe and protected. It is imperative for authorities to address the root causes of such unrest and foster an environment of inclusivity and mutual respect.
However, there is something deeply unsettling about the selective outrage that governs modern discourse. A single incident involving a member of a minority community—be it a Muslim or a Christian—rightly draws condemnation and wall-to-wall coverage. But when Hindus are victims, the response is starkly different. Often, there is a deafening silence. Sometimes, even a justification is offered—as if Hindu suffering is somehow less legitimate, less worthy of attention.
This is not an attempt to pit communities against each other. This is a call to recognise a dangerous hypocrisy. No society can thrive on selective justice. Human rights are not the property of one community alone. They must apply equally to all, or they are nothing more than political tools.
What is happening in West Bengal is not an isolated phenomenon—it is part of a broader societal apathy towards Hindu suffering. Political calculations, vote-bank politics, and ideological biases have all contributed to this chilling normalisation of Hindu persecution. And as long as the larger public—especially India’s elite, its influencers, and its international partners—continue to sleep through these atrocities, the message is clear: Hindu lives do not matter as much.
But they should. Every act of brutality, every home set aflame, every temple vandalised, is an assault not just on a community but on the very fabric of India’s pluralism. If the world only wakes up when it suits a narrative, then it is not justice—it is agenda.
The time has come to break the silence. To speak for those who have been conveniently ignored. To say, loud and clear, that the brutalisation of any Indian—regardless of their faith—is unacceptable. And yes, to say without hesitation: Hindu lives matter too.
