When faith fights back: Durg nuns and Sangh’s broken script

By C. M. Paul

Siliguri, August 2, 2025 — The events at Durg Railway Station on July 25 were meant to be just another act in the long-running political theatre of intimidation orchestrated by the Bajrang Dal—another “conversion racket” bust to feed the Hindutva narrative. But what unfolded instead is something the Sangh Parivar never saw coming: the hunted turned around and began to fight back.

Two Catholic nuns from Kerala, Sisters Preethi Mary and Vandana Francis, were forcibly detained while escorting tribal girls from Narayanpur to Bhopal for job opportunities. The charge? Human trafficking and forced religious conversion—a tired and malicious script that’s been replayed across tribal India. This time, the complaint was filed by a known Hindutva foot soldier, Jyoti Sharma, allegedly acting on the orders of regional Sangh handlers.

But within hours, the script began to unravel.

One of the so-called “victims,” Kamaleshwari Pradhan, gave a public statement exposing the lie: she was never trafficked, never converted, never coerced. She willingly accompanied the nuns in search of a better livelihood. But the arrest had already made headlines. The nuns were humiliated. The police acted more like Sangh collaborators than protectors of the law.

At Durg station, Bajrang Dal activists surrounded the nuns, shouting “Jai Shri Ram.” But what followed wasn’t silence or surrender. A group of Christian women, many from tribal backgrounds, erupted with chants of “Hallelujah.” It wasn’t a prayer—it was a battle cry.

That moment shook the foundations of fear the Sangh has spent decades building in these regions.

The outrage has spread like wildfire—from Bastar to Kandhamal, from Simdega to Vizianagaram. What used to be isolated voices of protest are now turning into a collective roar from the Adivasi belt. Christian communities, long under siege, are rising up—not just in prayer halls but on highways, railway stations, and public squares.

In Jharkhand, youth groups have called for a statewide shutdown to protest the weaponization of anti-conversion laws. In Odisha, civil society groups are pushing for an independent judicial probe into religious hate crimes. In Andhra Pradesh, Christian Dalit groups are demanding protection under SC/ST Atrocities laws—not as a favor, but as a constitutional right.

This is not an isolated backlash—it is an ideological revolt.

If there is one state where the Sangh plays its most duplicitous game, it is Kerala. While BJP leaders there flaunt Christmas greetings, cut cakes with bishops, and parade token Christian leaders, the reality elsewhere tells another story.

Behind closed doors, the same Kerala BJP and RSS leadership reportedly green-lit a crackdown in Chhattisgarh, instructing their counterparts to “send a message.” What they didn’t expect was that message to boomerang!

While BJP Kerala state president Rajeev Chandrasekhar rushed to meet Archbishop Andrews Thazhath of Thrissur in a photo-op damage control stunt, his party remained complicit in the ground-level persecution of nuns and tribal Christians. “This is not some clerical error,” said investigative journalist Mathew Samuel, who broke several national scams. “It’s a betrayal by design—smile for cameras in Kerala, strike with venom in Chhattisgarh.”

Even BJP insiders now admit the party’s contradictory posturing may backfire among Kerala’s politically aware Christian electorate.

The use of anti-conversion laws as political weapons is not new—but now, they’re being deployed with surgical malice. The aim isn’t justice. It’s optics. It’s dominance. It’s to scare Christians back into the shadows.

Arun Pannalal, president of the Chhattisgarh Christian Forum, was blunt: “This is not law enforcement. It is targeted religious warfare.” He accused Bajrang Dal of acting as judge, jury, and executioner—with the police offering them full cover.

“If this continues, we’ll stop waiting for justice. We’ll bring our protests to the streets. We will blockade if needed,” he warned. The message is clear: if the state won’t protect the people, the people will protect each other.

The Sangh Parivar has always thrived on the myth that fear keeps minorities silent. But in this case, the very act of targeting two nuns has triggered something far more powerful than anticipated: an awakening across oppressed communities who are realizing that silence offers no safety.

From Kerala’s bishops to Adivasi Christians in Raigarh, from civil rights lawyers in Delhi to mothers in Bastar—there is now a shared rage, and a shared resistance.

The Bajrang Dal, long drunk on impunity, now sees its own tactics turned against it—not through violence, but through defiance.

This is no longer just a fight over two nuns on a train. It’s a fight over who gets to define faith, identity, and citizenship in India. And this time, the Church is not retreating. It’s standing up. And it’s speaking back.

The Sangh may still command mobs and manipulate law enforcement. But it no longer commands obedience. That died the moment Christian women raised their voices in chorus at Durg Station.

The hunted are done running. Now, they resist.

And for the first time in a long while, the Sangh Parivar has reason to be afraid. END