Sambhal: A City’s Transformation Amidst India’s Rising Hindu Right

Before Sambhal’s dramatic shift, a pivotal scene unfolded: a lawyer, clad in his black barrister’s robe and simple slippers, emerged from a mosque’s narrow alleyway, flanked by security and supporters chanting praises to the Hindu deity Ram. Surrounding them, chaos reigned.

In late 2024, an enraged Muslim crowd had converged to protect the mosque, one of India’s oldest, fearing it was jeopardized by a court order initiated by the lawyer. Police, led by a former Olympic wrestler known for his Instagram muscle-flexing, confronted the growing tensions with clubs. Stones were thrown by many in the crowd, and officers responded with tear gas and gunfire. Residents reported at least five fatalities.

For the Muslim community in northern India, the historic Shahi Jama Masjid and its surrounding city represent a vital pillar of their identity. Conversely, the Hindu right views the 16th-century mosque as an unwelcome remnant of past foreign invasions that introduced Islam to the region and reshaped its ancient demographics. Hindu nationalists have pursued legal avenues to dismantle the mosque, asserting it was constructed on a sacred Hindu site and using archaeological claims to advance the broader surge of Hindu nationalism across India.

The rapid subjugation of Sambhal in the subsequent year highlights the relentless rise of the Hindu Right as India’s primary political power, effectively utilizing local government, law enforcement, and the judicial system.

Following the unrest, authorities swiftly imposed an internet blackout, sealed Sambhal from external access, and suppressed any opposition. Leveraging mobile location data, dozens of individuals present during the clashes were apprehended. Police filed criminal complaints against 2,750 “unnamed” persons, a move many Muslims perceived as a veiled threat, allowing authorities to implicate anyone later. Families of victims who died or were injured reported coercion to refrain from filing complaints against the police. The mosque’s lawyer, who held law enforcement responsible for the fatalities, was himself arrested and jailed on charges of inciting violence.

“The system, this hatred they are sowing, took my son,” lamented Nafisa, whose 17-year-old son, Ayaan, died in the violence.

While religious violence is not unprecedented in India, the events in Sambhal—corroborated by interviews and legal records—underscore a stark new reality. State institutions, historically tasked with impartiality, are now increasingly acting as enforcers for the movement transforming India’s secular democracy into a Hindu-first nation.

“India’s drift toward Hindu majoritarianism has received the support of large swaths of the population as Indian society moves from transactional communalism to institutionalized bigotry,” observed prominent India experts Devesh Kapur and Arvind Subramanian in their recent book, “A Sixth of Humanity.” Despite Muslims constituting three-quarters of Sambhal’s estimated 300,000 residents, they report being compelled to restrict religious expression to private settings, silenced by the city’s increasingly overt embrace of a Hindu identity.

“Our community’s peace has been replaced with harassment,” stated Zia ur Rahman Barq, an opposition lawmaker from Sambhal, noting that “Their work, the education of their children, is affected.” Locally, the embodiment of this new Hindu-dominant reality was police chief Anuj Chaudhary, who maintained his officers were merely upholding the law. (Police officials have consistently denied involvement in the killings or any harassment.) Chaudhary, whose wrestling career ended due to injury, once sought Bollywood fame but found celebrity instead as a stern officer, sharing social media videos set to energetic music. The overarching directive comes from Yogi Adityanath, the saffron-robed chief minister of Uttar Pradesh, India’s most populous state with 240 million people. He dictates the parameters of this new societal landscape, where overt Hindu religious displays are normalized, while vigilante groups, often unhindered by police, frequently suppress other public religious expression.

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Mr. Adityanath, whose office did not respond to inquiries, has strategically used Sambhal to reinforce his strongman persona. This image, bolstered by his promotion of major development projects, has garnered him national popularity and positioned him as a potential successor to Prime Minister Narendra Modi, according to a senior state official speaking anonymously due to lack of authorization.

The Mosque Under Siege

Vishnu Shankar Jain asserted he was merely executing a court order he secured to investigate the historical origins of the Shahi Jama Masjid site. However, he was also continuing his father’s legacy as a legal champion for Hindu causes. His father was instrumental in the legal battle surrounding the Babri Mosque, another 16th-century mosque in Ayodhya, Uttar Pradesh, which was demolished in 1992, sparking widespread violence. That event began to erode the delicate foundation of understanding that had sustained India’s secular republic: a vision of a tolerant, forward-looking nation unburdened by historical grievances. While new legislation was enacted to safeguard the religious status of sites as they existed in 1947, legal experts argue that India’s Supreme Court has recently weakened this protection by sanctioning archaeological surveys of mosques. Mr. Jain, 39, identifies as a “destination lawyer,” available to litigate on behalf of Hindus. “This is about reclaiming our cultural heritage,” he stated in an interview.

Just hours after Mr. Jain secured court approval on November 19, 2024, a survey officer was appointed. Numerous government agencies quickly arrived at the site, long after standard working hours, searching for evidence that the mosque might have once been a Hindu temple. This uncharacteristic swiftness, in a usually slow bureaucracy, ignited Muslim suspicions that authorities were moving to seize and demolish the mosque.

“What was the need for such haste?” questioned lawmaker Mr. Barq. “Surveys don’t happen at night; they happen during office hours.”

The initial survey proceeded without incident. However, when the survey team, backed by a substantial security force, returned early on November 24 for a second inspection, an agitated crowd of Muslims gathered outside the mosque. The situation escalated when water began to gush from a mosque tank down a slope, further unsettling the crowd, according to Zafar Ali, the mosque’s lawyer. Rumors quickly spread that the site was being excavated.

The crowd surged forward, some throwing stones. Police responded with a forceful charge, firing bullets that resulted in deaths and injuries, as reported by victims’ families in interviews and court documents.

Mohammad Roman Khan, a 45-year-old garment seller who used a bicycle for his trade, was among those who died. He sustained two bullet wounds—one in his chest and another in the back of his head, his son, Mohamad Adnan Khan, confirmed. The family chose not to file a formal complaint.

“If the killer is the same police, what can we do?” his son expressed.

Lawyers for four deceased families reported that their clients, despite filing police complaints, faced harassment from authorities to alter their testimonies. One lawyer recounted that some individuals slated to provide evidence to an inquiry committee in July were arrested from their homes by police just days prior. According to Qamar Hussain, a local baker who reported being shot and witnessing police firing directly at him, was subsequently charged in connection with the violence. “If you look for witnesses, they end up as accused in jail,” Hussain remarked.

Police characterized the violence as a local group’s “conspiracy to establish their might” through orchestrated riots, while other officials labeled it a gang conflict between rival Muslim factions.

Mr. Barq, the local parliamentarian, was identified by police as an instigator. His residence was subsequently raided by hundreds of security personnel, accompanied by television crews, under what he described as fabricated charges of “electricity theft” (ironically, his name loosely translates to electricity). “Those killed are our people,” Mr. Barq stated, “and we are accused of the killings.”

The Rise of a Police ‘Hero’

With increasing Hindu influence in Sambhal, police chief Mr. Chaudhary’s public profile surged. He became a sought-after guest at events and frequently posted Instagram videos showing himself performing Hindu religious rituals while in uniform. (This stands in stark contrast to the transfer of a Muslim police officer in the same state after right-wing backlash to his mention of Prophet Muhammad at a school, deemed “indoctrination.”) During the tense period following the violence, when the Hindu festival of Holi overlapped with Islamic Friday Prayers, Mr. Chaudhary controversially advised Muslims to remain indoors if they were unhappy with the celebrations.

An imposing new police station now stands beside the mosque, equipped with numerous surveillance cameras. Its prominent wall features murals depicting battle scenes from the Mahabharata, a central Hindu epic. The station’s spring inauguration included a complete religious ceremony celebrating the birth of the Hindu deity Ram, where attendees eagerly took selfies with Mr. Chaudhary.

Since these events, Mr. Chaudhary has been promoted and reassigned to another town. Last month, a judicial magistrate’s order for a police inquiry into complaints linking Mr. Chaudhary and other officers to the shootings was defied by Sambhal police. Days later, the magistrate himself was transferred.

In an interview, Mr. Chaudhary asserted he was merely engaged in “maintaining law and order,” consistently referring to Sambhal’s Muslims as “the other side.” He remarked, “They have not seen this kind of policing. It used to be appeasement — the mollycoddling kind of policing, where the officers touched someone’s chin and pleaded them not to do something.”

Sambhal’s new social order has now solidified. During the Hindu festival of Kanwar Yatra in July, police maintained a vigil near the mosque as young men paraded through Muslim neighborhoods, their trucks blaring loud music. Kantikrant Tiwary, a local Hindu leader, overseeing a food stall set up by a temple, noted the change. He recalled that in the past, such processions would move through Muslim-majority areas quietly and under significant police escort. “Now we can pass like this,” he declared, gesturing toward a DJ playing loud rave music nearby.

Correction: An earlier version of this article incorrectly cited the title of a book by Devesh Kapur and Arvind Subramanian. The correct title is “A Sixth of Humanity,” not “One Sixth of Humanity.”

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