In a country that proudly proclaims secularism as one of its foundational principles, incidents like what unfolded in Lalmonirhat stand in stark contradiction to the spirit of the constitution. Bangladesh, in its fifty-plus years of independence, has witnessed both progress and peril—but for its religious minorities, especially the Hindu community, the peril often overshadows the promise. The recent mob violence and subsequent arrest of two Hindu barbers—a father and son—over an alleged insult to religion during a petty payment dispute is not just a local anomaly. It is a chilling reminder of the deepening fault lines between communities, the collapse of basic law enforcement, and the dangerous normalization of mob justice under the veneer of religious outrage.
The silence of the state in the face of such injustice, and worse, its active participation in punishing the victims instead of protecting them, is a matter of national shame. This incident did not arise from some deep-seated communal conflict; it began with ten taka—a sum so small that it should never have left the walls of a barbershop, let alone become the reason for jail, violence, and widespread fear. Yet it did, because of a larger problem: a society primed to take offense, a police force conditioned to appease the crowd, and a political system more concerned with surviving than upholding justice.
The Lalmonirhat incident is not an isolated case but part of a troubling pattern of scapegoating minorities and neglecting fundamental rights. It raises pressing questions about the direction Bangladesh is taking and the uncertain future facing those on the fringes of its national identity. What could have been a simple misunderstanding spiraled into a nightmare—exposing alarming flaws in the country’s law and order system and highlighting the enduring vulnerability of its minority communities.
A Small Dispute, A Big Consequence
The story begins at a small salon shop in Goshala Bazar run by 69-year-old Paresh Chandra Shil and his son, Bishna Chandra Shil, aged 35. On a calm Sunday afternoon, a young Muslim man came in for a haircut. During the service, a conversation turned into a light argument involving religious remarks. According to accounts, the disagreement was brief and appeared resolved, and the customer proceeded with the haircut. However, after the work was done, he paid ten taka less than the agreed amount. When reminded to settle the dues, instead of resolving the issue, the young man became hostile. (bdnews24/June 22)
Within moments, he allegedly incited others by falsely claiming that the barbers had insulted Islam. Fueled by this allegation, some locals gathered and violently assaulted both father and son. The violence didn’t end there. The matter reached the ears of participants at a nearby public meeting led by the Nayeb-e-Amir of the Islamic Shasthantantra Bangladesh. This crowd, driven by religious outrage, organized a procession and surrounded the local police station demanding justice for the so-called religious insult. Eventually, the already injured barbers were handed over to police and jailed.
When the Mob Decides and the State Obeys
What followed is not just tragic—it is a glaring example of how state mechanisms fail the very citizens they are meant to protect. Instead of arresting those who incited or engaged in the mob attack, the police arrested the father and son. No proper investigation was initiated into the violence against them. A case was filed against them under the charge of hurting religious sentiments.
The wife of Bishna Chandra Shil, Deepti Rani Roy, later revealed to the media that the entire dispute stemmed from the unpaid ten taka. She said that the accusation of religious insult was a lie, fabricated to divert attention and manipulate communal emotions. A video of her demand for justice quickly went viral on social media, but this did not move the authorities to reconsider their actions.
The Officer-in-Charge of Sadar Police Station, when contacted, confirmed the case but refused to comment further on the mob attack. The Superintendent of Police, Tariqul Islam, dismissed the wife’s account and labeled her claims as propaganda aimed at saving her husband and father-in-law. This attitude, from senior police officials, demonstrates how deeply ingrained bias and indifference can be when minorities are involved.
A Government in Power, But Out of Control
This incident is unfolding just ten months into the term of the current government—an administration that claims to be functioning as an interim authority. Despite promises of political neutrality and commitment to law and order, what we see in Lalmonirhat is the exact opposite. The state is not neutral, not fair, and certainly not just. When mobs take over justice, and when police take the side of the aggressors without any investigation, the foundations of governance collapse.
What kind of message does this send to the minority Hindu community? That they can be assaulted and imprisoned on the basis of a rumor? That their pain, their version of events, their rights—mean nothing? This kind of governance does not ensure peace; it legitimizes persecution. And when institutions begin to serve majoritarian emotions over evidence, the very idea of democracy is thrown into question.
A Pattern of Persecution
The Lalmonirhat incident is not an exception. It fits a well-known and disturbing pattern of events in Bangladesh. Over the past decade, attacks against Hindu communities have frequently followed a similar script. A rumor spreads—sometimes about a Facebook post, a misunderstood comment, or even a joke—and soon after, mobs burn homes, attack temples, and destroy lives. From Ramu to Bhola, from Comilla to Nasirnagar, the scenes repeat themselves. Each time, the accused are often innocent, the victims are almost always minorities, and the actual instigators walk free.
Laws intended to protect religious harmony are being weaponized to silence and punish the weak. Blasphemy-related sections of the penal code are increasingly being used not to prevent incitement, but to suppress minority voices and settle personal grudges.
What is most tragic is that the victims of these laws are rarely the ones causing real communal tension. Instead, they are the easiest to target, with the fewest means of defending themselves—often poor, often isolated, often Hindu.
What did Paresh and Bishna Chandra Shil do wrong? They provided a service. They requested full payment. For this, they were labeled as blasphemers, beaten, arrested, and sent to jail. Now they sit behind bars while their attackers roam free. Their family, particularly Deepti Rani Roy, is left to fight for justice in a system that doesn’t listen to her voice.
This is not just an injustice—it is a human tragedy. Two lives have been crushed under the weight of communal prejudice and a legal system that bends to majority pressure. The trauma inflicted on their family will not be easily healed. Their reputation, their livelihood, and their sense of safety have all been taken away.
Bangladesh stands at a crucial point. After the fall of Sheikh Hasina govt, 10 months are going on under the leadership of Dr Yunus. In this situation, either we uphold the principles of justice, equality, and secularism, or we continue down this dangerous path of mob-driven persecution. The silence of the intellectuals, the inaction of political leaders, and the complacency of civil society all add to the problem. Every time we ignore an incident like Lalmonirhat, we allow the injustice to grow stronger and the hate to become normalized.
The authorities must immediately launch an impartial investigation into this incident. The mob that attacked Paresh and Bishna must be identified and brought to justice. The false accuser must be held accountable. Police officials who failed in their duty should face departmental action. Moreover, laws that allow such abuse must be reconsidered. It is not enough to file reports and issue statements. Justice must be seen to be done.
Lalmonirhat Must Not Be Forgotten
This incident should serve as a wake-up call not just for the government but for the conscience of the entire nation. A state that prides itself on democracy, secularism, and constitutional rights cannot allow its minority citizens to live in constant fear of persecution. When individuals can be jailed or beaten simply based on unverified allegations—especially over something as trivial as a ten taka payment—then it is not justice that governs us, but prejudice. In such a society, the law does not protect the innocent; it punishes the vulnerable.
Let us not forget Paresh Chandra Shil and Bishna Chandra Shil. Let us not forget that they were not only brutally attacked and imprisoned, but were also denied fairness, dignity, and protection by the very institutions meant to serve them. Their story reflects a deeper rot—of a justice system that listens to mobs, a police force that acts out of fear or bias, and a political environment where silence in the face of communal violence is considered strategy.
If we remain silent today, we must understand that tomorrow it may not be a Hindu barber. It could be a teacher, a student, a rickshaw puller, a journalist—anyone, from any community. Mob justice does not discriminate once it becomes normalized. Bangladesh must now choose: will it be a country governed by the rule of law, where all citizens are treated equally? Or will it descend into a state where fear, rumor, and mob violence dictate the fate of its people? The future depends on that choice.
