Nagpur Burns, Modi Watches: How the BJP’s Politics of Hate Fuels Communal Violence

The violence in Nagpur is not an accident, nor is it an isolated incident. It is part of a broader, insidious pattern of communal strife that has been actively fueled and manipulated by the ruling Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) for political gain. The blood spilled on these streets, the homes that now stand charred, and the families cowering in fear are not just collateral damage in an inevitable historical reckoning; they are the consequences of a regime that has chosen hatred as its primary currency. The government, through its policies, its rhetoric, and its complicity, has set the stage for this carnage, and it is now feigning ignorance as the embers of division continue to burn.

Nagpur’s descent into sectarian violence, centered around the tomb of Aurangzeb, is symptomatic of the BJP’s relentless campaign to reconfigure Indian history to suit its Hindu nationalist agenda. Aurangzeb, a 17th-century Mughal emperor, has long been a figure of political expediency for the Hindu right, weaponized to construct a narrative of perpetual Muslim villainy. While historians debate the nuances of his reign, the BJP and its ideological mothership, the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS), have no interest in complexity. For them, Aurangzeb is a symbol, an enemy, a ghost from the past that must be vanquished again and again to justify the relentless marginalization of Muslims in the present. This is not about history; it is about power. The BJP understands that communal violence is a tool—an old, effective one—that keeps their voter base engaged, their ideological machinery well-oiled, and their hold on power unchallenged.

Nagpur is not just another city—it is the headquarters of the RSS, the breeding ground of the Hindu nationalist project that has shaped the BJP’s vision for India. The Prime Minister’s visit, scheduled for March 30, is not a coincidence; it is a calculated move. Modi’s presence in Nagpur, amidst the curfew, the arrests, and the fear, sends a chilling message: that this government not only tolerates such violence but thrives on it. This is the same script we have seen before—in Delhi in 2020, in Uttar Pradesh time and again, in Gujarat in 2002. Violence erupts, Muslims are disproportionately arrested, the state clamps down in the name of law and order while allowing Hindu nationalist elements to operate with impunity, and the BJP reaps the electoral benefits.

The arrest of over 50 people, mostly Muslims, is not law enforcement; it is a warning. It tells the Muslim community that they are guilty by default, that their very existence is cause for suspicion. Aslam’s words—“their eyes seek our blood”—are not hyperbole but an expression of lived reality. In BJP’s India, to be Muslim is to be perpetually on trial, to be forever seen as an invader, an outsider, a threat. The police, meant to be neutral enforcers of the law, have been transformed into foot soldiers of the state’s majoritarian ambitions. This is not a failure of governance; it is governance by design.

The BJP’s strategy is brutally simple: keep the Hindu majority in a constant state of siege mentality. If there is no immediate enemy, manufacture one. If there is no cause for conflict, create one. The controversy over Aurangzeb’s tomb is part of this larger blueprint. Why is the resting place of a centuries-old ruler suddenly a flashpoint for violence? Why, at this precise moment, has it become a cause for BJP leaders and Hindu right-wing organizations to mobilize their cadres? The answer is obvious. The BJP is staring at electoral battles in Maharashtra and beyond, and it needs an issue that can inflame passions, shift attention away from unemployment, inflation, and corruption, and reinforce its core narrative of Hindu victimhood. The specter of Aurangzeb is a convenient distraction, and Nagpur is paying the price.

The tragedy here is that this pattern will repeat itself. Today it is Nagpur, tomorrow it could be any other city. The targets remain the same: Muslims, who must constantly prove their loyalty; dissenters, who must be silenced; history itself, which must be rewritten. The BJP’s governance model is not about development or progress—it is about creating a permanent state of communal unrest, ensuring that the nation remains divided along religious lines while the real issues facing the people are buried under the debris of riots and arson.

The silence of the Prime Minister in the wake of this violence is not surprising. Modi does not speak when Muslims are lynched, when homes are bulldozed, when entire communities are terrorized. His silence is not apathy; it is complicity. When he does speak, it is often in dog whistles and veiled threats, reinforcing the very divisions that fuel such violence. The BJP’s ecosystem—from television anchors to social media propagandists—will do its part, spinning the narrative, portraying the victims as aggressors, and ensuring that the cycle continues.

The real question is: How long will India allow itself to be held hostage to this manufactured chaos? How many more cities must burn before we acknowledge that this government is not interested in peace, that its very survival depends on ensuring that there is always an “other” to hate? Nagpur is not just about Aurangzeb, nor is it just about Hindu-Muslim clashes. It is about a government that has normalized communal hatred to the point where violence is no longer shocking—it is expected.

The fight against this state-sponsored divisiveness cannot be waged by silence or passive outrage. The opposition, the media, civil society—everyone who still believes in the idea of a secular, democratic India—must call this out for what it is: a deliberate, orchestrated strategy to keep the country in perpetual unrest. The BJP’s politics of hate must be resisted at every level, because if we do not, Nagpur will not be the last city to burn. It will just be another name on a growing list of places where history was distorted, where lives were shattered, and where the government watched in silence—because that silence was always the plan.