Murshidabad district in the state of West Bengal was in the eye of a storm in April 2025 as a wave of unrest swept across the area, gaining countrywide and even global attention soon enough. Spurred by the just-enacted Waqf (Amendment) Act, 2025, peaceful protests turned violent soon enough. There were claims of deaths, injuries, and large-scale property damage. Roads and rail tracks were obstructed, political party offices were attacked, and scores of inhabitants were left homeless. Though this unrest appeared localized, its waves were felt far beyond West Bengal's borders. The incident highlighted the tenuous nature of communal harmony in India, especially in areas of high minority concentrations. It also brought a new twist to India-Bangladesh relations, already strained by recent political developments and increasing concern about minority treatment in both countries.
The trigger for the violence was the central government's Waqf (Amendment) Act, which made far-reaching changes in the management of Waqf properties—charitable assets under Islamic law employed for religious and community benefit. The legislation was seen by critics, and especially within Muslim circles, as a covert measure to undermine control over their religious holdings and compromise community institutions. On April 8, 2025, Murshidabad, which houses one of the largest Muslim populations of West Bengal, burst into flames. Although the first set of protests was said to have been peaceful, tensions got out of hand. Fights broke out between the demonstrators and security personnel, with three individuals killed and more than ten injured. Protesters obstructed National Highway 12, hijacked train operations at Nimtita railway station, and even vandalized an MP's office. More than 400 locals, threatened by retaliation or renewed violence, fled to the safety of Malda district.
These images served as a bitter reminder of how quickly civil strife can spread once underlying fears over religious identity and marginalization have been unleashed.
The political reaction was quick and polarized. Chief Minister Mamata Banerjee denounced the violence and firmly opposed applying the revised Waqf Act in West Bengal, claiming the state's constitutional right to object to central policies. She asked the public to remain calm, saying the protests were avoidable as the state government did not intend to enact the Act in the state.
The other side saw leaders from the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), such as Suvendu Adhikari, pointing a finger at the ruling Trinamool Congress (TMC) for appeasement politics. They complained that extremist forces had taken advantage of the situation and called for arrests and tighter enforcement of law and order. The event was politicized instantly, with both parties accusing each other of creating the rift in communal harmony. Meanwhile, the police increased their deployment within the district, issued temporary curfews, and started arresting people who were accused of inciting violence. But the broader questions of community trust, religious freedom, and political accountability were left largely untouched.
Interestingly, the period of Murshidabad turmoil coincided with a political turn in Bangladesh, lending an unusual foreign policy twist to the cause. In August 2024, following weeks of pro-democracy movements and civil defiance, Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina had resigned and sought political refuge in India. It was perceived by Bangladesh's temporary leadership as an interference in domestic affairs by India. The new caretaker administration, led by Muhammad Yunus, was under increasing pressure to stabilize the nation, safeguard democratic freedoms, and provide security to religious minorities, primarily Hindus, who constitute about 8% of the population in Bangladesh. News of Hindu homes and temples being attacked emerged in the period after the Transition, and criticism came from religious groups and human rights organizations in India.
India's refusal to extradite Hasina strained things further. In an apparent defensive move, the government of India created a committee to oversee the well-being of minorities in Bangladesh and Indian border states, such as West Bengal. Although this could have been made with a view to protecting minority groups, Bangladesh perceived it as a politically driven effort to establish a regional hegemony in the name of human rights.
India and Bangladesh enjoy a long, conflicted history based on partition, migration, and contested borders. The Indo-Bangladesh border, one of the planet's longest, has seen sporadic skirmishes, human rights violations, and communal outbursts over the years. In 2001, a fatal shoot-out between Indian and Bangladeshi border troops resulted in several fatalities. Likewise, in 2019, there was tension in the Murshidabad district in response to illegal immigration and allegations of sheltering militants. And perhaps most notoriously, in 2011, Felani Khatun, a 15-year-old Bangladeshi, who was shot and left draped across a barbed wire fence by India's Border Security Force (BSF), became a global human rights turning point. It was symbolic of how border issues are largely focused on the security and politics aspect rather than overall human rights concerns. The recent violence in Murshidabad, while domestic in cause, rekindled this tenuous history, with both countries growing increasingly attuned to the treatment of minorities on either side.
At the center of this conflict—both inside India and outside—is the precarious status of minorities. In Bangladesh, Hindus have long complained of being marginalized, particularly during times of political change. Hindu-owned properties have been confiscated or attacked, temples desecrated, and worshippers intimidated. These attacks usually spike around elections or times of turmoil.
In India, particularly in Assam and West Bengal, Muslims have been targeted under the National Register of Citizens (NRC) and Citizenship Amendment Act (CAA). While the Indian government asserts that these actions are intended to stem illegal immigration, critics contend that they disproportionately affect Muslim communities, potentially leaving thousands without citizenship. These concerns were revived during the Murshidabad protests, which were viewed as part of a larger trend of exclusion. Therefore, although both nations blame each other for not protecting minorities, neither has succeeded in doing so to the full extent.
Murshidabad violence is more than a local law and order matter—it is a reflection of larger fault lines within Indian and Bangladeshi societies. It illustrates how insecurities rooted deeply, religious identity, and political opportunism come together to fan unrest. It also illustrates how domestic disturbances affect bilateral relations when both nations are already struggling with issues of democracy, governance, and human rights. For lasting peace and regional stability, both India and Bangladesh need to be committed to safeguarding all communities irrespective of religion. Legal reforms need to be inclusive and explained openly. Political leaders need to desist from using identity for political mileage. And above all, cross-border dialogue needs to prioritize human dignity over strategic competition.