The lament of Bengali poet Satyendranath Dutta still echoes in our ears today:
“Where lies the dust of our forefathers’ feet?
That is our Bangladesh, that is our Bengal!” (Translated by Author from original Bengali poem)
Will these lines remain nothing more than nostalgic poetry? In the land of Chandidas and Ramprasad, once synonymous with devotion, humanism, and tolerance; the very existence of Bengali Hindus now stands questioned. With every passing year, the situation grows grimmer. The wounds we once read about in history books are no longer historical memories; they have become a living, burning reality. While writing about the Noakhali riots of 1946, historian Ramesh Chandra Majumdar described them as a ‘Hindu holocaust’ . That phrase no longer belongs to the past alone. What is unfolding today in Bangladesh through relentless attacks, persecution, displacement, and targeted killings of Hindus can scarcely be described by any other term. This is not exaggeration; it is the repetition of history, unfolding before our eyes, while we remain largely indifferent spectators.
Statistics themselves testify to this truth. In 1947, Hindus constituted nearly 22–23 percent of East Bengal’s population. Today, that figure has fallen to single digits. Is this decline the result of natural demographic change, or the outcome of sustained fear, land-grabbing, forced conversions, violence, and killings? We all know the answer. Yet evasion of this question has become the norm, both at the National level and in international forums.
The recent death of Osman Hadi, a popular student leader and convenor of the Inquilab Mancha, has triggered widespread violence across Bangladesh. As always, the primary targets have been Hindu minorities. The brutal killing of Dipu Das, a Hindu youth from Mymensingh and an Awami League supporter, who was tied to a tree and burned alive is enough to shake the conscience of any civilized society. After killing him, his body was hung and set ablaze. This is not merely cruelty; it is medieval barbarism. Asking what the administration was doing at the time may be futile, but one fact stands out clearly: in the land of Masterda Surya Sen and Pritilata Waddedar, this is how a Bengali Hindu lives today.
Equally painful is another reality. When Hindus are murdered in a neighbouring country, a certain section on this side of the border maintains a deafening silence. They proudly identify as intellectuals and preach humanism. Their compassion overflows when deaths occur in Gaza, yet they remain unmoved by unspeakable atrocities against Hindus next door. During the Left era, they chose not to see Bantala, Birati, or Kaliachak like horrifying incidents. Today, Sandeshkhali and Murshidabad also escape their vision. This silence is not neutrality; it is selective morality in its most naked form. Strikingly, the same voices detect ‘communalism’ instantly when the Ram Temple is rebuilt or when Hindus participate in religious observances. This double standard is no longer subtle; it is glaringly obvious.
Recent events in Bangladesh have also underscored how films like The Kashmir Files or The Bengal Files are rooted in lived realities. Those who dismissed these works as “propaganda” now find reality itself delivering the rebuttal. The same reality answers those who question why the Citizenship Amendment Act (CAA) extends refuge specifically to persecuted Hindus from Bangladesh. When a state fails to protect the lives and dignity of its minorities, offering refuge is not charity; it is a moral obligation.
Notably, the wave of violence has now engulfed the media as well. Offices of leading newspapers like Prothom Alo and The Daily Star have been vandalized and set on fire. Reports have emerged of a journalist being shot dead in Khulna. Those who once mocked Indian media by citing press freedom rankings must now ask themselves: how real are these indices? Events on the ground have exposed how hollow and detached such rankings can be.
A question must also be posed to those who wax lyrical about Mughal architecture and music, claiming that without the Mughals we would have known nothing. Why were harmoniums and musical instruments burned? Why are cultural symbols among the first targets? Because culture is identity and destroying identity is the surest way to render a society spineless. The events in Bangladesh brutally demonstrate the gap between chanting secular slogans in air-conditioned rooms and confronting the fire of reality.
The question, therefore, is simple: will we once again merely recite poetry and sigh, or will we transform Satyendranath Dutta’s lament into political, social, and moral consciousness? More importantly, will Hindu Bengalis in this country (specially West Bengal) learn anything from the existential crisis of Hindus in the neighbouring country? Or will they continue, trapped in pseudo-secular illusions, to strike at their own roots? History suggests that the cost of repeated neglect is ultimately paid with existence itself.
None of this is new. Dr. B. R. Ambedkar wrote with remarkable clarity in Pakistan or the Partition of India: “The brotherhood of Islam is not the universal brotherhood of man. It is the brotherhood of Muslims for Muslims only.” This was not born of hatred, but of a dispassionate analysis of the subcontinent’s political and social realities. Observing the condition of Hindu minorities in present-day Bangladesh, one cannot help but acknowledge the enduring relevance of Ambedkar’s words.
Rabindranath Tagore, too, issued a stark warning in his Bengali essay Kalantar: “There are two religious communities in the world whose hostility toward all other faiths is extreme—Christianity and Islam. They are not content merely with observing their own religion; they are intent on destroying others. Therefore, apart from accepting their religion, there is no other way to coexist with them.” (Translated by Author from original Bengali essay)
For decades, these words were dismissed as ‘uncomfortable truths’. Today’s events have dragged their relevance back into the open. When temples are demolished, Hindu idols desecrated, musical instruments burned, and Hindus lynched or burned alive solely for their religious identity, these can no longer be dismissed as isolated incidents. What we are witnessing is a systematic mindset, aimed not merely at suppression, but at erasure. The time has come to tear away the veil of pseudo-secularism cultivated by the Leftists and confront reality as it is. Secularism does not mean denying one’s existence or surrendering the right to self-defence. Humanism does not mean one-eyed morality. History, statistics, and the blood-soaked present demand only one thing: acknowledgment of the truth. Otherwise, someday someone may once again ask— “Where lies the dust of our forefathers’ feet?” But by then, there may be no one left to answer.
