What unfolded in the Rakhial area of Ahmedabad last Friday was not just a local scuffle. It was a warning. A Hindu wedding procession playing Ram Bhajans on loudspeakers — a common cultural expression during a baraat — was allegedly attacked after objections from members of the local Muslim community citing Ramzan observance. The verbal spat spiralled into stone-pelting, vandalism, and a baraat forced to retreat in humiliation. Police from Shaherkotda intervened, arrests were made, and cases registered against both sides.
But let us be honest: symmetry in FIRs does not always mean symmetry in provocation.
India’s Constitution — our Samvidhan — guarantees equal rights to all faiths. It does not create veto powers for one community over another’s cultural practices. If a Hindu wedding cannot play devotional songs in a Hindu-majority locality without fear of violence, what message does that send? Accommodation cannot be a one-way street.
This is not about demonising an entire community. It is about confronting a pattern of provocative brinkmanship that surfaces too frequently to be dismissed as a coincidence.
Take the controversy involving singer Sonu Nigam. When he publicly questioned the use of loudspeakers for early morning azaan disturbing sleep, he was met not with dialogue, but with threats and a bounty announced by a cleric. The debate should have been about noise pollution norms applicable to all religions. Instead, it became a spectacle of intimidation.
Or consider repeated flashpoints during Hindu festivals in various towns across India, where objections are raised to traditional routes of processions passing near mosques — even when those routes predate modern disputes. In several states, Ram Navami and Ganesh immersion processions have seen stone-pelting incidents after “objections” over music volume or route alignment. Law enforcement often ends up imposing restrictions on the procession rather than firmly punishing the aggressors. The optics matter.
Then there are cases of public spaces informally converted into prayer zones on Fridays, leading to civic friction. Courts have repeatedly had to clarify that public order and traffic cannot be held hostage to any religious practice. When enforcement is attempted, it is painted as victimisation.
Across the border in Pakistan and Bangladesh, religious minorities face systemic discrimination and, at times, outright persecution. Temples vandalised. Forced conversions reported. Blasphemy laws weaponised. India, by contrast, constitutionally protects all faiths — sometimes to the point of excessive appeasement. That contrast should inspire gratitude and responsibility, not competitive assertion.
The Rakhial incident reportedly occurred near the Vande Mataram Party Plot in Shaherkotda. Members of the groom’s party were dancing to DJ music, including Ram Bhajans. Residents objected, citing Ramzan. A disagreement escalated into violence, vehicles were damaged, and the wedding was disrupted. Seven arrests followed.
Here is the fundamental question: Does observance of one religion’s holy month nullify another citizen’s right to celebrate a wedding in accordance with their tradition?
If noise norms were violated, the police have the authority to enforce decibel limits uniformly. If permissions were required, they must be obtained. But street veto backed by stone-pelting cannot become an accepted instrument of negotiation.
India’s history during Partition was soaked in blood. Millions crossed borders amid unimaginable horror after leaders like Muhammad Ali Jinnah chose separation. Many Muslims consciously chose to remain in India — a secular republic — rather than migrate. That choice deserves respect. But it also carries reciprocal responsibility: to accept plural coexistence without testing its limits.
Equally, Hindus must resist the temptation to generalise or retaliate collectively. The answer to provocation is not majoritarian muscle on the street. It is an uncompromising rule of law.
“Iron fist” does not mean communal targeting. It means zero tolerance for violence, whoever initiates it. Swift arrests. Fast-track trials. Visible consequences. No political hedging. No selective outrage.
If India is to remain a civilisational state where temples, mosques, churches, and gurdwaras coexist, then the ground rule must be simple: your freedom of faith ends where violence begins.
A wedding procession playing devotional music cannot become a law-and-order crisis. Nor can religious sensitivity be weaponised to dominate shared civic space.
The state must act firmly, fairly, and fast. Not to intimidate minorities. Not to appease majorities. But to assert one unshakeable principle:
In India, the law is supreme — not the loudest mob.
