November 13th, 1839, is a day in Baloch history that marks not just the fall of a state, but the moral ascendance of a nation. On the soil of Kalat, Mehrab Khan fulfilled the final duty of loyalty with his sword, but another man also fell on that same land: Diwan Bachomal, a court minister. He did not belong to the majority religion of the Baloch, but he considered dying for the land his duty. He died alongside Mehrab Khan and thus became immortal — yet he gradually faded from the collective Baloch memory. Why did he fade? Because after Bachomal, we do not see non-Muslim Baloch in roles of resistance. Two hundred years have passed. Today, when we remember Mehrab Khan, the memory of Bachomal sinks into silence, as if we remembered not his sacrifice but only his religion.
The Baloch take pride in their secularism. They do not call non-Muslims “minorities” but consider them Baloch. In all major cities of Balochistan, Hindus still live in significant numbers. There is not a single recorded example of forced religious conversion. But the question remains: if the number of non-Muslim Baloch—especially Hindu Baloch—is likely in the hundreds of thousands, why do we, after Diwan Bachomal, not find even one non-Muslim Baloch referenced in the history of Baloch resistance? What are the reasons that Hindu Baloch have never developed such rootedness with the land that they could become an active part of the resistance? Is a Hindu, compared to a Muslim Baloch, (forgive the harsh words) less brave or less honourable?
Seth Hola Ram’s Shop and the One-Rupee Roasted Chickpeas
In the early 1990s, when I was in 6th or 7th grade at Sirij Greshah Middle School, during recess, we would run to Seth Hola Ram’s shop, buy roasted chickpeas for one rupee, and that would genuinely make our day. In childhood, we could not distinguish between a Hindu and a Muslim Baloch. Greshah was a remote area, yet even there, two major shops belonged to Hindus — in fact, they were practically the only proper shops in the region. They had been shopkeepers for centuries. Later, for matriculation, I moved to Naal. Naal has a significant Hindu Baloch population. Until 1993–94, there were perhaps only two or three Muslim-owned shops in Naal Bazaar; Hindu traders ran the rest. They supplied provisions to Naal, Gurok, Greshah, Kodah, Kodask, and the surrounding areas. Cash was scarce; buyers often paid with grain or wool. Gold was commonly pledged for loans. This system had existed for centuries. To this day, no one can point to a single instance where Hindus tampered with accounts — bargaining is a separate matter.
In 1994–95, when I was in Government High School Naal, some Hindu students were also my classmates. I did not see discrimination on religious grounds anywhere. Years passed; after the era of Musharraf’s regime, a flood of money entered Balochistan. Prices of agricultural goods increased. Muslim Baloch traders moved into Naal Bazaar, and within a few years, the small market expanded drastically. But Hindu businesses were well-established; they were not significantly affected. Life went on.
The Kidnapping of Seth Jowari Lal
In 2009, news suddenly came that Seth Jowari Lal had been kidnapped. Jowari Lal was the elder brother of my classmate Santosh Kumar and the son of Seth Aso Mal. He was an exceptionally handsome young man — he reminded me of an Indian film hero. Who abducted him? Muslim Baloch. Mir Barkat Muhammad Hasni. This incident even strained the relations between Mir Barkat and Naal’s powerful chieftain, Sardar Aslam Bizenjo. Later, they reconciled, but Jowari Lal remains missing to this day. His mother and sister still weep for him.
The Status of Hindus in the Baloch Resistance Circle
In 2013, I was in the Sorger militant base when I suddenly remembered the forcibly disappeared Jowari Lal. I asked the local commander present there:
“Yara, did anything come out about Jowari Lal? A great injustice was done to him.”
The commander responded with hostility and indifference:
“اَمئے شہزادگیں سنگت جنگ بووگا انت، من گُم کرتہ بَقّال ءَ را۔”
Translation: “Every day our prince-like comrades are being killed, and you worry about a Hindu?”
Seeing the attitude and mindset of such an important officer in the war made me shiver inwardly. I thought, “A Hindu Baloch is a third- or fourth-rank citizen—why did I even mention his name in the Baloch war council?” From the behavior of the other comrades as well, I got the impression that I should feel embarrassed about asking my question.
The summary is this: when a Muslim Baloch is killed or abducted, he is a “prince,” but if the same enemy (Mir Barkat was the right-hand man of Shafiq Mengal and a state mercenary) kills or abducts a Hindu, the statement becomes: “I am worrying about a Hindu.”
This raised a question in my mind — a question later lost in the dust of time: On 13 November 1839, among the loyal companions of the Khan of Kalat, we find a non-Muslim Baloch minister, Diwan Bachomal. Why has no other Hindu since then earned a place in the resistance? In Khuzdar, there was a man named Gopal who claimed to have worked with Babu Noroz, but even if true, his contribution seems limited to delivering supplies or medicines, nothing more. In Dera Bugti, around seventy Hindu Baloch were killed, yet they too were victims of attacks, not participants in battle.
The Question of Hindu Absence
My wounded soul could not answer this question, nor did I have the courage to ask anyone further. The question of Jowari Lal’s disappearance and the non-participation of thousands of Hindu Baloch died in the cremation ground of the mind. But strangely, the question still lives — demanding an answer.
My Answer
I will attempt to give my share of the answer and leave the rest to you — what does your heart tell you? Balochistan does not belong only to Muslim Baloch. It also belongs to Hindu, Sikh, Christian, and to some extent Parsi Baloch. Why then is the Baloch national movement religiously unilateral despite its secular claims?
Even today, Hindu Baloch remain practically deprived of Baloch identity. For example: “Hindu trader Jowari Lal kidnapped from Naal,” “Hindu trader Chandar Lal extorted in Khuzdar,” but when it is a Muslim Baloch, it becomes “Rafiq Baloch kidnapped” or “Seth Shakeel extorted.” The incidents may be identical, but in terms of identity, the word “Hindu” is always prefixed to their names, whereas the Muslim Baloch is automatically accepted as Baloch.
Hindu Baloch or Inhabitants of Balochistan?
The Baloch nation has for centuries prided itself on being secular, tolerant, and just. It is true that Hindus, Sikhs and others live without fear in Baloch towns. Forced conversions or forced marriages are not part of our history. But the question remains: if the Baloch are truly unbiased, why does no other non-Muslim Baloch appear in the history of resistance after Diwan Bachomal?
Did non-Muslim Baloch keep themselves separate, or did we unknowingly push them behind an invisible wall? Are they part of the Baloch nation or merely inhabitants of Balochistan? Did our tolerance give them protection or confine them to silent disengagement? If we remember Diwan Bachomal merely as a “non-Muslim minister,” not as a Baloch, then we have lost half the meaning of Mehrab Khan’s sacrifice.
Pakistani Crimes Against Hindus
When Pakistan began crushing the Baloch movement, Khuzdar was a prime target. Muslim Baloch faced devastation, and Hindu Baloch were no exception. Shafiq Mengal’s gang was active, and so was Sardar Sanaullah Zehri. I cannot comment on Shafiq’s gang regarding the abduction of Hindu girls, but the sons and nephews of Sardar Sanaullah not only extorted large sums from Hindu Baloch, they also abducted Hindu girls, raped them for days, and then dumped them half-dead in Hindu neighbourhoods.
Seth Jani Ram in Sardar Sanaullah’s Court
Humiliated by this cruelty, Hindu Baloch Seth Jani Ram led a delegation to Sardar Sanaullah’s manor in Anjeera Zehri.
He said, “We have something to discuss.”
Sanaullah asked everyone to leave so he could speak privately with the Hindus, but Seth Jani Ram replied:
“No, Sardar. Our matters are ordinary. They will be discussed in front of everyone.”
Sanaullah asked: “Tell me, what is your problem?”
Seth Jani Ram said:
“We have lived on this land with you and your ancestors for centuries. We have borne the expenses of your ancestors, and even today, your election expenses are paid by us Hindus. We are honourable people like you. Before today, no one harmed our honour, dignity, or property. But now your sons and deputies abduct our women and girls, rape them, and throw them away half-dead.”
A truly honourable Baloch chieftain should have been enraged and declared that such crimes were not committed by his people and that he would hold the perpetrators accountable. But Sanaullah’s reaction was different. He became angry and said:
“These are not acts of my people; these are done by Baloch Student Organization (BSO-Azad). You are unjustly blaming my deputies. Shame on you.”
Seth Jani Ram calmly replied:
“Sardar Sahib, please swallow your anger. The boys of BSO are our children. They grew up before our eyes. We know each one of them. They call for strikes, paste posters on doors, and occasionally collect donations. They have never damaged even a box of our biscuits.’’
He then listed each name involved in the crimes — sons, nephews, and associates of the Sardar.
A Baloch National Movement (BNM) member present there later said Sanaullah was overwhelmed with shame and speechless. According to him, the delegation continued:
“We have not come to complain. We have come so that you may kill us along with our families and then do whatever you want with our honour. We cannot endure this humiliation.”
The Sardar still had nothing to say. The delegation left and later repeated the same account at a press conference in front of the DC office.
Baloch Norms and Non-Muslim Baloch
Traditional Baloch norms offer non-Baloch or non-Muslims less “equality” and more “guest” or “protected outsider” status. Rarely equal partners. At Partition, Muslims in the areas that became Pakistan looted non-Muslim property and attacked them, sparking riots that killed millions. But across the vast expanse of Balochistan, not a single recorded incident exists of Hindus being harassed. Because in the Baloch social fabric, protecting non-Muslims was considered a moral duty beyond creed.
This tradition of non-discrimination distinguishes Balochistan from neighbouring regions even today. Yet this is tolerance, not equality.
Hindu traders, Sikh or Parsi artisans lived with relative dignity for centuries. Even today, aside from a few cities, Hindus remain in most parts of Balochistan.
Pakistani State and Religious Polarisation
After Partition, Pakistan imposed “Islamic nationalism” as its state identity. On one hand, democracy claims equal voting rights; on the other, it forbids non-Muslims from being the Head of State. This contradiction fuelled religious polarisation in Punjab and Sindh, though its impact remained lesser in Balochistan because its social structure rested on tribal and national identity. Nationalism, not religion, shaped political consciousness. Hence, we do not see forced conversions, temple-burning, or organised attacks on Christian communities in Balochistan as in other provinces.
A Critical Look
But simply because there is less overt violence or that non-Muslims live with relative dignity (though this too deteriorated after 2005–06), it is not correct to call Balochistan an “ideal society.” A critical examination shows: although direct organised violence against non-Muslims is low, social exclusion remains constant. They were marginalised then; they are marginalised now. Hindu Baloch remain confined largely to trade. Their presence in political, intellectual, or literary spheres is negligible. There is no religious oppression, but silent disengagement is deep-rooted.
Even in narratives of Pakistani state oppression, the experiences of non-Muslim Baloch receive little space, though they suffer the same injustices as Muslim Baloch, only in different forms — kidnappings for ransom, abduction, and rape of Hindu girls.
Fundamental Questions
It is often said — and to some extent rightly — that Baloch society is more tolerant than neighbouring regions. But can this alone make us an “ideal secular society”? Basic questions arise:
- Are Hindu Baloch, other than Diwan Bachomal, less brave or less honourable?
- Do non-Muslim Baloch consider themselves equal participants in Baloch nationhood?
- Do their languages, cultures, and beliefs have space in Baloch political and intellectual circles based on equality, not merely as moral slogans?
- Has the Baloch national movement ever felt the need to consciously include Hindu Baloch as a major and permanent part of Baloch society?
If the answers are negative, then our secularism is still in infancy. We have been protectors of Hindus, not their equals. Just as Baloch men historically protected Baloch women but did not accept them as equal partners, we stand with the Hindu but do not let them stand with us.
Baloch Secularism
Our secularism has not yet crossed the barrier of non-inclusion and silent distance for all social groups, including non-Muslim Baloch. These complexities have deep historical, social, psychological, and structural roots. A land that prides itself on religious harmony still sees non-Muslim Baloch remain spectators rather than participants in resistance.
We may boast of religious tolerance, but Diwan Bachomal remains an exception, not the norm. The absence of deep historical rootedness is real. Though the national movement does not discriminate religiously, social divisions persist. The Hindu Baloch has long been tied to commerce, not warfare. The Baloch society’s pride in its martial tradition has rarely included the trader — especially the Hindu — as a figure of honour. Thus, the Hindu Baloch identity remained tied to economic survival, not political resistance. I have rarely seen people around me honestly reflect on this contradiction.
Non-Participation of Hindus and the Role of Baloch Organisations
BSO, BNM, and earlier organisations, if viewed neutrally, took donations from Hindu Baloch far more often than attempting to make them feel they could be equal partners in resistance. Just as electoral politics slowly pushed Karachi’s Baloch into the political margins, something similar happened to the Hindu Baloch. They remained an economic tool, not political or resistance partners. Balochistan became a place of livelihood and residence for Hindus, not a matter of identity.
This distance was not born out of hatred or deliberate discrimination, but out of a long, silent, bitter evolution of attitudes on both sides. The harsh truth is that the Muslim Baloch accepted the Hindu as harmless, but not as an equal or comrade in resistance.
The Hindu’s Loss
As a result, the Hindu Baloch prioritised “economic stability” over the ideas of “resistance and martyrdom.” This internalised sense of being second-class deprived them of participating in the larger dreams of resistance.
Today, the movement has expanded. Many social segments of the Baloch are represented. Yet despite this expansion, non-Muslim Baloch — especially Hindu Baloch — remain absent from political and resistance narratives. The truth is that despite its growth, the national movement has never seriously included non-Muslim Baloch beyond economic support. Religion may not be a barrier in the movement’s structure, but the Hindu Baloch’s presence — even their voice — is missing.
If the Baloch national movement sincerely seeks to meet the harsh standard of true secularism, then perhaps one day the Hindu Baloch, too, will stand in the same line, where today only the silhouette of Diwan Bachomal remains.
