On certain winter mornings in Kotdwar, Uttarakhand, mist drapes the bazaar like gauze, softening the clang of shutters and blurring painted signboards. For decades, these lanes carried the easy rhythm of shared life – schoolchildren in uniform, temple bells, the azaan drifting from a nearby mosque. Today, they can feel like a testing ground where names are inspected, loyalties demanded, and silence preferred.
And yet, in this atmosphere of suspicion, something stubborn refuses to yield. Despite alleged patronage and indulgence from sections of the police and local administration, Hindutva vigilante groups are encountering an unexpected barrier: resistance from the silent majority. It is not always loud and organised. But it is real, and it may signal a shift in a communal environment muddied by rhetoric and fear.
The Day “Mohammad” Spoke
The spark was a small nameboard. For more than three decades, a frail 70-year-old Muslim tailor ran a modest shop called “Baba School Dress.” In north India, “Baba” is an affectionate honorific. No one had objected until one January afternoon, when men affiliated with Bajrang Dal marched in, demanding to know how a Muslim could use what they claimed was a “Hindu” name.
Their tone was not curious; it was accusatory. The tailor, who suffers from Parkinson’s disease, trembled as voices rose around him.
Watching from a few steps away was Deepak Kumar Kashyap, a 38-year-old gym owner whose Hulk Gym operates down the lane. He was not a political organiser. His world revolved around repetitions and routines. But the sight of an ailing man cornered over a word crossed a line.
When the crowd demanded Deepak’s name, as if to sort him into a category before deciding his fate, he replied calmly: “Mohammad Deepak.”
The declaration was instinctive, a signal of solidarity. The confrontation escalated. Police arrived. FIRs were filed – not only against unnamed aggressors, but against Deepak and a friend. To many observers, it appeared that instead of shielding the vulnerable, authorities had cast a wide net that blurred the distinction between intimidator and intervener. If the intention was deterrence, it misfired.
A Bountyand a Backlash
Soon, threats multiplied. Lalit Sharma, associated with Hindu Raksha Dal, released a video abusing Deepak and announced a cash reward for anyone who would slit his throat. The clip spread rapidly, igniting outrage.
Police registered a case against Sharma. Critics questioned the urgency and consistency of enforcement, arguing that fringe actors often appear emboldened by perceived political proximity. Yet the bigger story lay elsewhere.
Deepak’s gym membership plunged from 150 to barely 15. Fear travels fast in small towns. For a small entrepreneur, the message was stark: step out of line, and you may stand alone.Meanwhile, a group of senior Supreme Court advocates quietly purchased year-long memberships at his struggling gym. They were not there to lift weights; they were there to lift morale. Their gesture transformed a local dispute into a national conversation about fraternity and constitutional values.
Leader of Opposition Rahul Gandhi described Deepak as running a “shop of love in the marketplace of hate.” The phrase resonated because it captured a deeper truth: ordinary decency, when threatened, can become quietly radical.
Despite alleged patronage shielding aggressive elements, the backlash revealed a countercurrent. Lawyers, journalists, and citizens signalled that intimidation would not go uncontested. The silent majority had begun to clear its throat.
Jaipur’s Valentine’s Day Reversal
Weeks later, on Feb. 14, a park in Jaipur became another stage. Valentine’s Day has long drawn the ire of self-appointed guardians of culture. This year, men allegedly linked to Bajrang Dal entered a public park dressed in saffron, some carrying sticks, demanding identification from young couples.
Couples and bystanders stood their ground. Cameras switched on. Voices grew steady.
“Show us your ID,” one citizen demanded. Others asked for names and addresses, warning of legal consequences. The vigilantes, accustomed to unquestioned authority, found themselves scrutinised.
The video went viral, celebrated online as an “UNO reverse.” But beneath the humour lay something serious: a reclaiming of civic space. The park did not descend into chaos. It became a lesson in collective courage.
Again, despite perceptions that aggressive moral policing enjoys tacit support, resistance surfaced – not from rival mobs, but from everyday people unwilling to surrender public life to fear.
Jammu’s Five Marlas
In Jammu, resistance took a different form.Arfaz Ahmad Daing, a journalist who runs a news portal, watched bulldozers raze his family home during what authorities dubbed an anti-encroachment drive. Daing argued it was retaliation for critical reporting. Videos showed heavy police deployment as the structure collapsed into rubble.Observers asked why enforcement so often appeared to fall hardest on the marginal.
Then came an unexpected gesture. A Hindu family in Jammu publicly offered Daing a five-marla plot of land, larger than the three marlas his demolished house had occupied.The offer did not settle legal disputes. It did something subtler. It disrupted the narrative of inevitability – that one community’s loss must be another’s satisfaction.
In a region routinely framed through division, neighbours chose solidarity. Their act suggested that while institutions may falter, social bonds can still assert themselves.
Earlier, during the violence in Nuh in 2023, members of the Jat community had similarly stepped forward to resist communal elements seeking to set the Mewat region ablaze.
Shrines, Swords, and Scrutiny
Across north India, incidents have multiplied: shrines vandalised, vendors questioned over signboards, conspiracy theories amplified. In Mussoorie, a shrine associated with the Sufi poet Bulleh Shah was reportedly damaged. In Assam, controversial remarks targeting Bengali-speaking Muslims by Chief Minister HimantaBiswaSarma have drawn legal challenges from activists, including Harsh Mander.
The cumulative effect of such rhetoric is corrosive. It normalises suspicion and shrinks shared spaces.Yet resistance persists.
Passers-by film confrontations, denying aggressors anonymity. Lawyers move courts. Journalists document intimidation despite threats. Sometimes, under public scrutiny, police act against those attempting to inflame tensions.The pushback is uneven and incomplete. But it is widening.
For years, critics have argued that Hindutva groups operate with confidence born of political alignment and administrative leniency. The perception, fair or exaggerated, has been that enforcement is selective and dissent risky.What recent episodes reveal is a subtle shift.
The backlash against threats to Deepak. The collective firmness in Jaipur. The land offered in Jammu. These are not coordinated campaigns. They are reflexes – civic antibodies responding to provocation.
They suggest that a broad swathe of citizens, uncomfortable with rising hostility, is no longer content to watch silently. Shopkeepers, professionals, students, neighbours – people without party posts or ideological manifestos – are drawing modest but visible lines.
A Fragile but Real Hope
Deepak Kumar did not quote the Constitution when he called himself “Mohammad.” He acted on instinct – on the conviction that humiliation should not go unanswered. In doing so, he tapped into a quieter India, one where identities overlap and coexist.His gym still struggles. Threats have not entirely vanished. The broader rhetoric has not softened.But the treadmills hum again.
India’s communal climate remains fraught. Allegations of administrative indulgence toward aggressive groups continue to shadow headlines. Yet the emerging resistance of the silent majority offers a counterpoint.