There comes a moment when neutrality stops being a virtue and begins to resemble complicity. Indian cricket—and by extension the Indian Premier League—has reached that moment with Bangladesh.
The growing demand by Hindu religious leaders and civil society groups to bar Bangladeshi cricketers from IPL 2026 is not an eruption of irrational anger, as some would like to portray it. It is a reaction born of repeated provocation, sustained injustice, and a deep sense that India’s cultural, moral, and institutional empathy is being exploited—while Hindus across the border continue to face violence, intimidation, and death.
Recent lynching incidents in Bangladesh, allegedly triggered by blasphemy accusations, are not aberrations. They are grim reminders of a pattern that has persisted for years: Hindu homes attacked, temples vandalised, livelihoods destroyed, and lives lost—often with little accountability. Governments in Dhaka change, but the vulnerability of Hindus remains constant.
Against this backdrop, the spectacle of Bangladeshi cricketers being celebrated, auctioned for crores, and cheered in Indian stadiums feels deeply jarring to many Indians. It raises a blunt but legitimate question: what message does India send when it continues sporting engagement as usual while its civilisational kin are hunted across the border?
Cricket, we are told, must remain apolitical. But this argument collapses under its own weight. Sport has never been insulated from geopolitics—least of all in the subcontinent. India has already drawn a clear precedent by barring Pakistani players from the IPL. That decision was not taken lightly, nor was it driven by hatred of individuals. It was a sober recognition that national sentiment, security concerns, and moral boundaries matter more than sporting optics.
The IPL did not suffer. Indian cricket did not weaken. If anything, it emerged more confident about where it stands.
So why should Bangladesh be an exception?
Those demanding a ban are not asking for a diplomatic rupture. They are asking for consequences. Consequence for a state that has repeatedly failed to protect its Hindu minority. Consequence for a system that expects India’s markets, money, and platforms, but shrugs when Hindus are lynched over rumours and religious slurs.
The controversy intensified after Kolkata Knight Riders acquired Mustafizur Rahman for ₹9.20 crore—the only Bangladeshi player picked in the auction. The reaction was swift and emotional. Social media outrage, boycott calls, and protests followed. Some of the language used was excessive and must be rejected. Threats to disrupt matches or damage pitches are unacceptable and counterproductive. Protest loses legitimacy the moment it abandons constitutional limits.
But to dismiss the entire sentiment because of the excesses of a few is intellectually dishonest.
What is being expressed—however imperfectly—is a feeling that Indian institutions are tone-deaf to Hindu suffering unless it occurs within India’s borders. That pain does not disappear at the Radcliffe Line. Civilisational memory does not stop at visa checkpoints.
This is precisely why the BCCI cannot hide behind contractual obligations or franchise autonomy. The IPL is not a purely private enterprise. It operates with state clearances, security arrangements, diplomatic sensitivities, and massive public participation. Every foreign player who steps onto an IPL field does so with the implicit approval of the Indian state.
If the BCCI could act decisively in the case of Pakistan, it can do so again—provided it has the will.
The Union Home Ministry, too, must shed its studied silence. This is not merely a sporting issue; it is a public order and national sentiment issue. With the IPL only months away, clarity is essential. Ambiguity will only deepen resentment and risk avoidable unrest. A firm, reasoned advisory—temporary and conditional—would restore balance and authority.
Equally uncomfortable, but unavoidable, is the scrutiny of public figures who straddle sport, cinema, and influence. Shah Rukh Khan, as owner of KKR and a global icon, enjoys unparalleled goodwill from Indian audiences—overwhelmingly Hindu—who elevated him to superstardom. With that stature comes responsibility. Moral concern cannot be selectively global and locally evasive. Indians are not asking for declarations of faith; they are asking for sensitivity and balance.
None of this is about demonising Bangladeshi players as individuals. They are professionals doing their job. The issue is about state behaviour and national self-respect. Engagement without accountability emboldens indifference. Silence sends the wrong signal—not just to Dhaka, but to every persecuted Hindu watching from across the border.
If Bangladesh wishes to see its players welcomed in India’s most prestigious sporting league, the path is simple: ensure the safety, dignity, and rights of its Hindu citizens. Until then, restraint is not hostility—it is principle.
The heavens will not fall if Bangladeshi players are excluded from IPL 2026. Indian cricket will endure. But India’s moral standing will erode if it continues to celebrate sporting ties while ignoring the bloodstains that accompany them.
Sometimes, drawing a line is not an act of hate. It is an act of self-respect.
