Two shocking cases of honour killing in the past week from different states have received far less media attention than they deserve.
In Gujarat, a young woman who had qualified for NEET and aspired to become a doctor was allegedly killed by her own father for being in a live-in relationship. Disturbingly, she had sent messages to her partner warning of the possibility of being murdered. Her partner, however, was in jail at the time and could not respond. He later filed a habeas corpus petition in court, but by then she was already dead. Investigations revealed that her parents had allegedly laced her milk with sleeping pills and killed her once she became unconscious. Such brutality reflects a deep-rooted obsession with notions of “purity” that sustain caste hierarchies.
While some reports suggested there was no caste angle, others indicated that her family disapproved of her relationship with a man from the Chaudhary community, who was already married. Media coverage downplayed the caste question and shifted the narrative towards morality or family disputes. This silence reflects how uncomfortable our media has become in addressing caste when it is at the heart of such crimes.
Another case from Bihar highlights this pattern. Rahul Mandal, a young man, was murdered by his father-in-law Prem Shankar Jha because he disapproved of his daughter’s marriage. Again, the caste angle—Mandals are backward castes and Jhas are Brahmins—was brushed aside. Media portrayed it as a simple “domestic” dispute. This deliberate avoidance of caste realities sanitises the brutality and sustains the illusion that India is moving towards a “casteless” society.
The truth is that in the past decade, large sections of the media have become complicit in obscuring caste crimes. The names of accused are often withheld—except when the accused are Dalits, Adivasis, or Muslims, in which case they are highlighted to reinforce stereotypes. Even among activists and intellectuals, hypocrisy abounds. Many who call out Brahminical dominance often remain silent when their own communities commit caste crimes. The killing of Radhika Yadav in Gurugram, allegedly by her own father for being in a relationship with a Muslim man, was not taken up by Yadav or Bahujan leaders. Selective outrage only perpetuates graded inequality.
Across communities, women’s choices remain the battleground. Whether Hindu, Muslim, OBC, Dalit, or upper-caste, patriarchal norms dictate that women must conform to the “honour” of the family. A daughter who dares to marry across caste or religious lines is treated as a traitor. Families prefer to eliminate her rather than allow her autonomy. And when individuals like Kausalya Shankar, who fought courageously after her Dalit husband was murdered, try to rebuild their lives, society punishes them again—criticising remarriage or independence.
The issue at stake is not only caste, but also the denial of individual freedom. Babasaheb Ambedkar repeatedly emphasised that true equality comes when individuals are free to choose their partners without fear of violence or social boycott. Yet in today’s India, inter-caste and inter-faith marriages are stigmatised, politicised, or criminalised under the garb of “love jihad” propaganda.
What is needed is clear: India must enact a strong anti-honour killing law, recognising such crimes as hate crimes rooted in caste, community, and patriarchal control. Media and civil society must stop depoliticising these killings as “family disputes.” The state must protect the rights of consenting adults who choose to marry or live together across caste and religious boundaries.
Once upon a time, India’s constitutional forefathers imagined inter-caste and inter-faith unions as a foundation for a more equal, modern nation. Today, such unions are treated as a threat to “tradition.” Unless we legislate and protect individual choice, India will continue to betray that constitutional promise.
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*Human rights defender
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