Back in April 2025, a devastating attack in India-administered Kashmir left 26 Hindu tourists dead, sending shockwaves across the country and prompting a fierce response from authorities. While India laid the blame squarely on Pakistan—a charge Islamabad has firmly denied—the aftermath has seen a very different group bearing the brunt: working-class Muslims, many of them Indian citizens, who speak Bangla. As reported by NPR, the government has forcibly expelled more than 1,500 people to neighboring Bangladesh and Myanmar since the attack, with human rights advocates raising the alarm about the sweeping impact on vulnerable communities.
Take the case of Mustafa Kamal, a Mumbai resident whose story has come to symbolize the experience of many. For a decade, Kamal parked his bike opposite a police station in Mumbai and sold jhalmuri—a spicy, puffed rice snack beloved by locals. His life was upended one evening in June 2025, when two police constables approached his modest stall and demanded his identification. Kamal, ever prepared, produced four forms of ID, including his voter card. But according to Kamal, the officers accused him of forgery and detained him on the spot.
"They said my documents were fake," Kamal recounted, as reported by NPR's Omkar Khandekar. What followed was a harrowing ordeal: five days in custody, then a forced journey more than a thousand miles to the border between India and Bangladesh. Kamal was part of a group of several dozen people, all seized from Mumbai under similar circumstances. At the border, an Indian guard delivered a chilling ultimatum: "Get out of India or we will shoot you." Kamal and the others were left stranded, bewildered and frightened, on unfamiliar ground.
But fate—and a viral video—intervened. A Bangladeshi villager filmed Kamal and two other men sobbing near the border, the footage quickly spreading across Indian social media platforms. The public outcry was swift and loud, and within two days, Kamal was allowed to return to India. The Maharashtra state police, who had allegedly detained him, declined NPR's requests for comment.
Kamal's story, while shocking, is far from unique. According to a July 2025 human rights report, the Indian government has forcibly expelled over 1,500 people since the April attack, targeting working-class Muslims who speak Bangla. This community shares linguistic ties with both the Indian state of West Bengal and neighboring Bangladesh. Teesta Setalvad, of the nonprofit Citizens for Justice and Peace, told NPR that these actions are not random. "A terror attack of this kind creates a certain national outrage. And unfortunately, the present political leadership chooses to use this as an occasion not to answer questions about failure of intelligence, etc., but by saying that you had this very, very sinister planned infiltration to change the demography of India," Setalvad said.
The term "infiltration" has become a political flashpoint. During the 2025 Independence Day celebrations, Prime Minister Narendra Modi, representing the ruling Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), doubled down on the rhetoric. He accused so-called infiltrators of "stealing jobs, targeting women and occupying land." These claims, delivered in a nationally televised address, resonated with certain segments of the population but left others deeply unsettled.
For Ziya Us Salam, author of "Being Muslim In Hindu India," the language is unmistakable. "The idea is to cater to Hindutva lobby and generate hate towards average Indian Muslims and capitalize on it at the time of elections," Salam explained to NPR. Salam sees the use of the term "infiltrators" as a dog whistle, intended to stoke fears and divisions ahead of crucial state elections. With three battleground states set to vote within the next year, the stakes could hardly be higher.
"Be it employment, be it better roads, jobs, controlling inflation, constructing better schools, providing hospitals—when the BJP fails on all these fronts, they indulge in this divisive rhetoric," Salam added. The implication is clear: by focusing public attention on supposed threats from within, the government can sidestep uncomfortable questions about governance and economic challenges.
Meanwhile, the human cost of these policies continues to mount. Most of those expelled are working-class Muslims who speak Bangla, many of whom have lived in India for years—some, like Kamal, for decades. They have built lives, families, and communities, only to find themselves suddenly cast as outsiders in the country they call home.
The expulsions have not gone unnoticed by rights groups, who argue that the government’s actions violate both domestic and international legal standards. The July 2025 report cited by NPR highlighted not only the scale of the expulsions but also their arbitrary and often brutal nature. Detainees were frequently denied due process, and many, like Kamal, were left in limbo at the border, with little recourse and no clear path forward.
India’s home ministry, when asked about these allegations, did not respond to NPR’s inquiries. The silence has only fueled further speculation and concern among activists and observers, who fear that the expulsions are part of a broader pattern of targeting minorities for political gain.
For those affected, the consequences are deeply personal. Mustafa Kamal now lives in his mother's village in eastern India, far from the bustling streets of Mumbai where he once plied his trade. Despite everything, Kamal remains remarkably philosophical. He told NPR that he hopes to return to Mumbai and resume selling jhalmuri. If the police come to him again, Kamal said, "I will feed them, too." He added, "Because when you live in the sea, you don't make enemies out of crocodiles."
This sentiment—equal parts resilience and resignation—captures the predicament faced by many Indian Muslims today. They find themselves caught between political maneuvering and public suspicion, their futures uncertain and their rights precarious. As India approaches a pivotal election season, the question remains: will the rhetoric of infiltration and division continue to shape the national conversation, or will stories like Kamal’s prompt a reckoning with the true costs of exclusion?
The coming months will test not only the resolve of those affected but also the broader fabric of Indian democracy. As the world watches, the fate of thousands hangs in the balance, their voices echoing far beyond the borders where they were left to weep.
