The 2008 incident should be seen merely as a metaphor, a symbol of the ongoing adversities faced by Muslims as there has been an unbroken chain of conspiracies against them
A COUPLE of days back, I received a call from my good friend Afroz Alam Sahil reminding me that it has been 17 years since the infamous Batla House encounter (19 September, 2008) and that I had written a series of articles on the tragedy in Delhi. Sadly, the incident that shook the entire nation, especially the country’s Muslim community, has largely been forgotten. It was one of the most shameful episodes using which sinister attempts were made to malign Muslims by linking them with terrorism. My friend urged me to write about how the tragedy has been forgotten.
The truth is that it was Afroz Alam only whose extensive coverage exposed the drama behind the incident in which two Muslim youths from Azamgarh, studying at Jamia Millia Islamia, were shot dead. Afroz Alam’s reports conclusively bared the truth that the entire exercise was aimed at defaming the entire Muslim community. I told him that, being the key figure who had uncovered the nefarious plot behind the incident, he should be the one to write about it. “He replied, “Of course I will, but I want you to write something too.” After hanging up the phone, I began to ponder what exactly I could write. One by one, old, frightening memories started flashing back as scenes from a film.
It was 19 September 2008, during the sacred month of Ramadan, an ordinary morning with a slight chill in the air. Perhaps it was this coolness that made even the sun rise lazily that day. In Okhla, people had begun their daily routines as usual, while we, the young migrants living far from our native places, had already set out, or were preparing to set out, for our workplaces and educational institutions. Then, all of a sudden, a series of gunshots rang out in quick succession, shattering the calm and sending tremors through the air. Panic and bewilderment spread instantly. On everyone’s lips was just one question: What is happening?
Within moments, the news broke, a report that was sorrowful, shocking, distressing, and filled with fear and anxiety. Two young men, who had travelled hundreds of miles from their home in Sanjarpur in Azamgarh district of Uttar Pradesh to study at Jamia Millia Islamia, were branded as terrorists by their supposed protectors, the police, and were brazenly and mercilessly shot dead.
After that incident, the witch of terror made Okhla her permanent abode. From that day onwards, the people of the area have never been able to sleep in peace. I still remember the day the incident took place; my phone would not stop ringing. Parents, friends, and acquaintances were all worried; everyone was desperate to know about my safety and ask if I was safe and to know what had happened. This was the state of all those living in Okhla for the sake of education or employment. Each one was anxious and restless about the safety of their loved ones.
Batla House and Zakir Nagar areas were full of media vans and police vehicles. Never before had I seen such a swarm of media personnel and police vehicles in this area. By evening, an eerie silence had spread over the whole locality. After the incident, an atmosphere of fear and panic engulfed Muslim youths, especially the students of Jamia Millia Islamia.
During the holy month of Ramadan, when Batla House would usually remain lively and awake throughout the night, one could only see stray dogs barking or police personnel to maintain law and order. After this incident, mothers, out of sheer fear, would not let their children step out of the house. Every day, from Shaheen Bagh, Abul Fazal Enclave, Zakir Nagar, or Ghaffar Manzil, Muslim youths would be picked up by the police, branded as terrorists. Because of this, Muslim students were not only forced to live in an environment of mistrust but also began to feel alienated and estranged in their own country. (Unfortunately, this continues even today, and instead of decreasing, the intensity of this has only increased.)
All landlords — both Hindus and Muslims — in Okhla, Sarai Jullena, Sarita Vihar, Ashram, Maharani Bagh, and nearby areas, evicted Jamia students from their homes, fearing that they also may be branded as terrorists and arrested. Everyone looked at each other with suspicion.
Even friends and companions who, before the tragedy, would sit together in the campus canteen and other cafeterias, sipping tea and sharing endless laughter, began to drift away from their own mates as if a shadow had fallen between them. Those few who mustered the courage to rent out rooms or flats did so with a harshness that bordered on hostility, even rudeness. Landlords would cast a suspicious gaze upon every student who came to visit a friend, as though the young visitor might be a lurking terrorist. Often, they would turn away visiting guests altogether, or subject them to such relentless questioning that any honourable person would rather stay away than endure such humiliation.
The incident had taken place only a few days before Eid, and several Jamia students who went home for the festival never returned, possibly due to the incident’s impact. The dreams they had cherished before coming to Jamia lay shattered, scattered like broken glass. Countless Muslim youths were thus cut off from the path of higher education. At that time, the Vice Chancellor of Jamia, Mushirul Hasan, had urged the students not to be afraid, assuring them of every form of protection and legal support. Yet, many young men were taken away under the pretext of interrogation, and to this day, several of them remain unaccounted for, their voices silenced by fear. Such was the climate of dread that people began to avoid even speaking to students from Azamgarh, as though mere association could bring peril upon them.
A suffocating haze of suspicion and doubt had settled over everything, and such an air of mistrust had been created that even years of friendship and camaraderie began to crumble. Certain sections of the Hindi and English media played an insidious role in fostering this climate. I still remember how a reputed journalist from a well-known television news channel went so far as to declare Khalilullah Mosque, located just a short distance from where the incident had occurred, to be a supposed haven for terrorists. The land of Shibli Nomani, Hamiduddin Farahi, and Kaifi Azmi, Azamgarh, was overnight branded as “Atankgarh,” the land of terror.
It was not just in Delhi or Azamgarh; Muslims across the country were left saddened and disheartened by the prejudiced conduct of the police, the administration, and the media. That year, what kind of Eid could be celebrated? The Muslims of Delhi and Azamgarh marked the day by tying black bands on their heads and arms, observing Eid as a day of mourning rather than joy.
Even today, the horrifying scenes remain etched in my mind, the sight of the policemen mercilessly tossing the lifeless bodies of Atif Amin and Mohammad Sajid into a vehicle, while reporters from the electronic media, cameras in hand, chased the van like hunting hounds, breathlessly declaring, “This is the very vehicle carrying the terrorists… you can see the shoe of the terrorist through the tinted glass,” and so on.
For several nights, sleep would not come to me. Even while I was eating, sitting, or walking, that dreadful image would haunt me. I was working for the Hindustan Express then, and the shock of the incident weighed upon me so heavily that, try as I might, I could not write a single word that day. The report that appeared in Hindustan Express the next morning carried the headline:
“Encounter in Jamia Nagar, Genuine or Fake?”
Several people objected to the report, but in the days that followed, numerous revelations, including those from the National Human Rights Commission (NHRC) and the post-mortem reports, proved it to be accurate, word for word.
Seventeen years have now passed since that tragic incident, yet whenever I recall those days, a wave of unease grips me and a cold shiver runs through my spine. The so-called police “encounter” has long been deemed fake, not only by the families of Atif Amin and Mohammad Sajid but also by many prominent national leaders, human rights activists, lawyers, journalists, and a scores of residents. From the very first day, these voices questioned the police version, dismissing it as baseless and demanding a judicial inquiry. Yet despite the passage of so many years, the questions raised about the police operation and the fabricated tales woven around it remain unanswered to this day.
There had been noise, uproar, protests, and demonstrations, and yet, as the saying goes, “Who listens to a sparrow’s cry in the marketplace of drums?” Over time, numerous concealed truths about this so-called encounter have surfaced from various sources, and even the opinion once shaped by the so-called national press has begun to shift. Yet, in practice, nothing has truly changed on the ground. On the contrary, without ever conducting an independent investigation into the incident, the slain inspector Mohan Chand Sharma was posthumously awarded the Ashoka Chakra, effectively strangling justice, while, on the other side, the eyes of the mothers of the martyred students dried up from crying over their lost sons, and not a single government official ever came forward to wipe their tears.
The father and brother of Atif Amin, killed in the so-called encounter, are no longer in this world. Only his mother is alive. Likewise, the father of Mohammad Sajid, also known as Chhota Sajid, and killed in the same encounter, passed away in grief. Mohammad Salman’s grandfather, as well as the fathers of Arif Badr, Mohammad Areeb Khan, and Abu Rashid, too, succumbed to sorrow and are no more. Among those still languishing in jail, almost every family has lost someone who could not bear the weight of the tragedy. Meanwhile, Shehzad Ahmad, confined behind prison bars, has also breathed his last.
Most notably, the stance adopted by the government from the very first day of the incident remains unchanged, even after numerous facts coming to light. The demand for a judicial inquiry into this tragedy continues to this day, yet for reasons unknown, the police, the administration, the central government, and even the prime minister have shown no will to intervene or uncover the actual truth behind this encounter. By now, several pieces of evidence have emerged that almost conclusively point to the encounter being staged. Yet the call for an independent investigation into the Batla House encounter is repeatedly dismissed under the pretext that doing so would demoralise the police force.
Our politicians, too, played their part in this tragedy with consummate self-interest. From regional leaders to central authorities, all sought to exploit the situation for their own gains. They shed crocodile tears to achieve political ends, only to flee the stage when the moment of accountability arrived, much like a deceitful trickster exposed. Some attempted to twist and distort the facts to suit their narrative, while others went to Azamgarh simply to offer empty condolences.
Predicting the course that events will take is premature, yet in the near future, prospects of a genuine inquiry into this encounter appear bleak. In India, the rising cost and inaccessibility of justice make this pursuit seem almost impossible, particularly as the majority of the affected families are economically vulnerable. How can we, as Muslims, be expected to accept that true leadership does not emerge in favourable circumstances? Rather, it is the harsh blows of adversity that forge it, not the comfort of a perpetual spring.
Our tragedy lies in the fact that even in the harshest of circumstances, we find no enduring political, social, or religious leadership to guide us. At best, there are a few political or semi-political social figures, yet their standing is as fragile as dust in the wind. Some are used by others, while some willingly become instruments for someone else’s purposes. September 19, 2008, and today, September 19, 2025, how much has changed! Back then, a handful of so-called terrorists in Jamia Nagar were being named, arrested, or allegedly killed in staged encounters, their lives shattered in the process. Today, entire colonies are being labelled illegal, with plans underway to demolish them. These conspiratorial forces are active, and we, perhaps in the slumber of neglect, are waiting for our own destruction and ruin.
Seventeen years after the Batla House encounter its story remains unfinished. In 2023, the Delhi High Court commuted a death sentence to life imprisonment, while still upholding the conviction, whereas other individuals remain behind bars. Human rights organisations, including the Rashtriya Ulama Council, have consistently demanded a judicial inquiry, yet it has been rejected by the central government and the police under the pretext that “it would demoralise the police.”
The Batla House encounter should be seen merely as a metaphor, a symbol of the ongoing adversities faced by Muslims. Since Independence, there has been an unbroken chain of incidents, conspiracies against Muslims, riots, and systemic oppression. If one examines the history of the organisations, parties, and groups formed during these times, it becomes clear that a few individuals remain active for a while, only to forget or abandon their causes later. This tendency to forget, to consign matters to cold storage, has, in fact, cost us dearly. Yet, sadly, we often seize one end of an issue, let go of both ends, and grasp something else entirely, only to end up deprived and powerless. It is a matter that demands reflection: why are these problems left unresolved, and where exactly are we faltering?
___________
Mohammad Alamullah is a UK-based author and journalist. He did his PhD from Dr KR Narayanan Centre for Dalit and Minority Studies, Jamia Millia Islamia, and has written two books, Muslim Majlis Mushawarat: Ek Mukhtasar Tareekh and Kuch Din Iran Mein. The views expressed here are the author’s personal.
