By Dr. Asif Nazir
Jaswant Singh Khalra revealed the covert killings of Sikh youth in Indian Punjab. The state ultimately took his life. Now, three decades later, a film highlighting his efforts to document the Sikh cleansing has also been suppressed.
Some label this as censorship ethics, while others view it as a mere publicity stunt. Nevertheless, the details of the case warrant scrutiny, irrespective of the film’s outcome. “There is a Punjabi saying that after 12 years, even a pile of manure gets to be heard.” Mohinder Singh expressed these sentiments regarding his missing son. These words reflect not only a father’s sorrow but also serve as an indictment—one that has resonated throughout Punjab for thirty years and shows no signs of diminishing. In September 1995, Jaswant Singh Khalra, a human rights advocate from Amritsar, was abducted from outside his residence by armed individuals, the state agency. He was never seen again. An investigation by a Central Bureau of Investigation team later revealed that a unit of the Punjab police had detained Khalra without any charges, subjected him to torture, murdered him in October 1995, and disposed of his body in the Sutlej River near the Harike Bridge. His remains have yet to be found. Khalra’s mission was both straightforward and perilous. By utilizing records from municipal cremation grounds, he began to document clandestine cremations and custodial killings of young Sikhs in Punjab during the 1980s and early 1990s. He asserted that as many as 25,000 innocent youths had been killed in fabricated encounters by police during the so-called counterinsurgency era. What he revealed was not merely the actions of a few wayward officers; it was a systematic practice linked to what the state referred to as “counterinsurgency operations.” Currently, a film depicting his narrative has encountered a similar fate.
Film Satluj, directed by Honey Trehan and featuring Diljit Dosanjh, debuted on the ZEE5 streaming platform on Friday, July 3, 2026. However, by Sunday evening, it disappeared. ZEE5 released a statement indicating that the film would be “unavailable in India until further notice” due to “current developments,” without elaborating on what those developments entailed. A spokesperson from RSVP Movies, the production company, informed The Indian Express that the film’s removal was in compliance with government directives — although the government has not publicly commented on the issue. The struggle against censorship has a history that extends well before the film’s removal. Completed in 2022, the film — initially named Panjab 95 — never made it to theaters because the Central Board of Film Certification required 127 cuts and a title change. This led to over three years of negotiations. When the film finally became available on ZEE5, it was the original, unedited version, which had received approval from Khalra’s family. His wife, Paramjit Kaur Khalra, expressed her satisfaction and relief in a statement, noting that the film had “finally seen the light of day after years of political hurdles and numerous challenges”. Unfortunately, that sense of relief was short-lived, lasting less than 48 hours. Diljit Dosanjh reacted to the takedown with a post that made a direct comparison: “Satluj experienced the same fate as Jaswant Singh Khalra.” This comparison was striking. An individual who uncovered state killings was made to vanish. Likewise, a film about those killings was also made to disappear. Although the methods differ, the driving force does not.
What Khalra Found?
Khalra’s investigation indicated that during the peak of the insurgency, security forces in Punjab had executed and clandestinely cremated thousands of young men. He pinpointed cremation sites in the Amritsar district where he suspected that over 2,000 bodies had been disposed of without any identification or documentation. His approach was thorough: he meticulously cross-referenced police records, logs from cremation grounds, and reports of missing persons. He engaged with families to gather information. He established a comprehensive paper trail that implicated not only individual officers but also an entire system — one that incentivized killings, protected offenders, and obliterated evidence. For this endeavour, he ultimately sacrificed his life. In 2005, a CBI court in Patiala found six Punjab police officials guilty of Khalra’s abduction and murder. DSP Jaspal Singh and ASI Amarjit Singh were sentenced to life imprisonment for murder. Sub-inspectors Satnam Singh, Surinderpal Singh, Jasbir Singh, and head constable Pritpal Singh received seven-year sentences for abduction and conspiracy. Subsequently, the Punjab and Haryana High Court increased those sentences to life imprisonment. The Supreme Court confirmed the convictions in 2011.
The main defendant, SSP Ajit Singh Sandhu, passed away during the trial proceedings. Senior officials who managed the system — including the notorious (former) Director General of Punjab Police, KPS Gill — did not face any repercussions. Khalra’s extensive findings gradually yielded results. To date, nearly 135 police officers have been convicted and sentenced in Punjab in relation to the cases of fabricated encounters and clandestine cremations that he highlighted. The approval for prosecution was ultimately granted in 2020 following intervention by the Supreme Court, resulting in a surge of convictions. Out of 70 FIRs filed, 64 cases have been resolved, with only one acquittal; six cases are still pending. However, there is a significant issue: the majority of the convicted officers were from the lower ranks. The command structure that established and perpetuated the system remains unscathed. How does a democracy find itself at this stage? Upon reviewing the Khalra case, three explanations consistently surface — and these are not particular to Punjab.
The first is the pressure to produce results. Counterinsurgency policing emphasized numerical results. Officers received promotions, accolades, and political protection based on visible and rapid outcomes. When one’s career hinges on body counts, the allure of bypassing legal protections becomes insurmountable. Extrajudicial practices are not an anomaly within this framework; they are an integral aspect.
In Punjab, security forces operated under legislation that granted them exceptional powers — including the authority to detain individuals for prolonged periods without formal charges. The legal framework was crafted to complicate prosecution efforts. Coupled with a reward system that evaluated success based on encounters and arrests, the outcome was inevitable: young men vanished, corpses appeared at cremation sites, and accountability was non-existent.
The second is the legal shield. Security forces were granted extensive powers, and the initiation of prosecution frequently necessitated political endorsement. When the individuals responsible for deciding on prosecutions are the same ones dependent on security forces, accountability becomes a matter of choice. The legal framework transforms into a barrier that the state can open or close at its discretion. Occasionally, lower-ranking officers may face disciplinary actions. However, senior officials are rarely held accountable. The Khalra case exemplifies this situation: the officers found guilty of his murder were primarily mid-level and lower-ranking. The politicians and high-ranking officials who established and managed the system faced no repercussions. The prolonged delays in obtaining prosecution approvals — sometimes spanning decades — represent a form of obstruction in itself.
The third is compensation without change. Commissions and human rights organizations occasionally provide financial compensation to the families of victims. This is significant — it can be both compassionate and essential. However, when such compensation is granted without accompanying prosecutions or institutional reforms, it serves merely as a pressure release. Public outrage diminishes. The system that generated the violence remains unchanged. Families receive financial support. Justice is not served.
Governance Through Erasure
Political theory provides insight into the non-accidental nature of these patterns. Achille Mbembe, a philosopher from Cameroon, articulated that “the ultimate expression of sovereignty resides… in the power and the capacity to dictate who may live and who must die.” His notion of necropolitics elucidates how governments classify certain populations as disposable, subsequently employing terror, murder, and enforced disappearances as mechanisms of control. In Punjab, the state’s actions extended beyond mere killings. It engaged in the manipulation of evidence, the concealment of documentation, and rendered the act of remembrance politically hazardous. Human rights advocates such as Khalra were perceived not as whistleblowers but as threats to the nation’s morale. Witnesses faced intimidation, and records mysteriously vanished. The quest for truth became both an expensive and dangerous endeavour. Now, three decades later, a film addressing this quest has been removed from a streaming service within 48 hours of its debut. The censorship of Satluj is intrinsically linked to the violence that Khalra chronicled; it represents a continuation of that violence. The state did not merely erase individuals — it also obliterated the evidence of their existence. When such evidence manifests as a film, that film too must be eradicated. This exemplifies governance through both erasure and coercive force.
The lesson is clear yet disconcerting. A nation may possess courts, commissions, and electoral processes while still permitting systematic violations of rights — provided that the incentives and legal structures facilitate such occurrences. India boasts all the hallmarks of a democracy, including a free press, an independent judiciary, and a constitution that enshrines fundamental rights. However, none of these safeguards prevented the events that transpired in Punjab. None of them offered protection to Khalra. None of them shielded Satluj. Merely symbolic actions are insufficient. Covering up the flaws with compensation payments and sporadic convictions will not rectify a system that is inherently designed to yield the results it has produced. A structural response is imperative.
The Test Khalra Left Behind
True justice connects reparations to meaningful change. This entails holding accountable not only the foot soldiers but also the decision-makers. It requires the release of records whenever feasible. It necessitates reforming the regulations that allow security forces to operate without accountability. It also involves safeguarding those who document abuses rather than viewing them as threats. Khalra was aware of the dangers. In one of his final public addresses, given in Canada shortly before his abduction, he informed the audience that he understood his work could cost him his life. Nevertheless, he persevered. He believed that maintaining the evidence of past events was, in itself, a form of justice — that the record held significance even if the courts did not deliver. He was correct. The record is indeed significant. The cremation ground logs he gathered, the families he interviewed, the documentation he created — all of it endures as testimony. It cannot be erased in the same manner as the individuals were. Likewise, the film that narrates his story continues to circulate beyond India’s borders, even as it faces suppression within them. Khalra’s disappearance serves as a litmus test for the value of democracy. Punishing a handful of low-ranking officers while leaving the command structures, legal protections, and missing archives unaddressed does not constitute justice. It is merely a tactic for survival. It reflects what systems do when they wish to project accountability without genuinely being accountable. Prohibiting a film about the case represents the same instinct in a different form: controlling the narrative, suppressing the evidence, and waiting for public outrage to subside. If democracies are to be considered legitimate, they must address the systems that reduce human lives to mere statistics and transform silence into policy. They are compelled to respond to the inquiry raised by Khalra’s work: when the state takes the lives of its own citizens and conceals the evidence, what fundamentally distinguishes it from the very forces it purports to protect the populace from?
Mohinder Singh’s remarks regarding the heap of manure transcended mere sorrow; they served as a cautionary message. If truth is suppressed for an extended period, it does not simply vanish. Instead, it festers. It lies in wait. Ultimately, it will be acknowledged. The pressing question remains: is anyone in a position of authority truly listening?
Dr. Asif Nazir is an Independent Researcher and historian. He is an expert on governance in Colonial Punjab. Currently, he is studying at the University of Gloucestershire, UK.
Disclaimer:
The views and opinions expressed in this article/opinion/comment are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the DND Thought Center and Dispatch News Desk (DND). Assumptions made within the analysis are not reflective of the position of the DND Thought Center and Dispatch News Desk.
