By G.P.S.Mann-The Punjab government is set to unveil a dangerous sacrilege law in the Vidhan Sabha on
July 10 and 11, 2025, with punishments so severe they could include the death penalty.
Aimed at shielding religious scriptures and symbols from desecration, this law raises a
haunting question: Who defines sacrilege? Fueled by raw emotion and political
pressures—like Gurjeet Singh Khalsa’s 270-day protest atop a Samana tower—this
legislation threatens to gut free speech, fracture Punjab’s pluralistic heart, and hand a legal
baton to mob lynchers. Can anyone climb a tower and blackmail the government into passing
a law?
Punjab has walked this treacherous path before. In 2016, the SAD-BJP government tried
amending the Indian Penal Code with Section 295AA, pushing life imprisonment for
sacrilege, narrowly focused on the Guru Granth Sahib. In 2018, the Congress government
broadened it to cover the Bhagavad Gita, Quran, and Bible, but the President of India rejected both attempts for being vague, unconstitutional, and excessive. Now, the AAP-led
The government is charging ahead with the “Punjab Prevention of Offences Against Holy
Scripture(s) Act, 2025,” wielding penalties from 10 years to life—or even death. This isn’t
progress; it’s a reckless leap backwards.
Sacrilege: A Word Too Vague to Wield
What is sacrilege? Who defines it? A policeman? A vigilante? A politician? A jealous
neighbour? For one, it’s ripping a sacred “Ang” (not merely a page) of the Guru Granth Sahib;
for another, it’s quoting scripture in a song, critiquing it in a classroom, or sketching a
provocative cartoon. This ambiguity isn’t just a flaw—it’s a fuse waiting to ignite. A loosely
worded law could be twisted to snare anyone: Journalists, poets, professors, or everyday
folks caught in a misunderstanding. In a state where emotions run high, fanatism and
radicalisation is high, such vagueness invites vendettas, turning personal grudges or political
rivalries into legal traps. The boundary between protecting faith and crushing expression isn’t
just blurred—it’s obliterated. Beware: this law is ripe for misuse.
Punjab’s Mosaic, Shattered by One Law
Punjab’s soul lies in its diversity—Sikhs, Hindus, Muslims, Christians, Jains, and Buddhists,
each with distinct rituals and reverence. A gurdwara demands a covered head; a temple
doesn’t. Eating beef is sacred to some, sinful to others. In 2023, a woman was barred from
the Golden Temple for having the Indian flag painted on her face, sparking a firestorm.
Would this law brand her—or an unaware tourist ignorant of local customs—a criminal? A
blanket sacrilege law risks imposing one faith’s rules on all, sidelining minorities and
emboldening vigilantes to play moral police. In a land of many beliefs, this approach doesn’t
unite—it divides.
Free Speech on the Gallows
This law’s draconian penalties, including death, are a brazen attack on free speech, enshrined
in Article 19(1)(a) of India’s Constitution. If every daring idea, artwork, or critique can be
slapped with a sacrilege charge, what’s left of democracy’s lifeblood? Journalism wilts,
debate dies, dissent vanishes. The Supreme Court’s 2015 Shreya Singhal vs. Union of India
ruling struck down a vague law for strangling expression, and this proposal is on the same
collision course. By criminalizing thought, it risks turning Punjab into a graveyard for ideas.
Mobs Emboldened, Justice Betrayed
The stakes are grim. Since 2015, at least 14 lives have been snuffed out in Punjab over
alleged sacrilege—lynched, burned, or gunned down in savage mob attacks. The 2021
lynchings at the Golden Temple and Kapurthala, often stoked by political agendas, are scars
on the state’s conscience. These weren’t legal judgments but vigilante fury. This law doesn’t
curb that bloodshed; it pours fuel on it, giving mobs a legal pretext to act as executioners.
Legitimizing such mayhem isn’t justice—it’s anarchy cloaked in piety.
A Warning from Pakistan’s Playbook
Pakistan’s blasphemy laws are a stark cautionary tale. Designed to protect religious
sentiments, they’ve unleashed a nightmare of false accusations, mob lynchings, and brutal
punishments, often targeting minorities without evidence. Historically, Islamic law prescribed
harsh penalties for offenses like theft (amputation) or blasphemy (death, sometimes with
public display of the body for three days), deemed haqq Allah (divine rights). These required
strict legal conditions—witnesses, confessions, or judicial oversight—but in practice,
accusations often sparked mob violence before courts could act. Punjab’s proposed law risks
a similar fate, where a neighbor’s spite or a politician’s ploy could trigger a legal witch hunt,
unraveling trust and harmony.
A Blueprint for Harmony, Not Harm
Punjab’s leaders must pause and reflect: Is this law about safeguarding faith or chasing votes?
Faith flourishes through dialogue, not dread. Existing laws, like IPC Section 295A, already
punish deliberate religious insults. The answer lies in rigorous enforcement, community
bridge-building, and education, not a sledgehammer statute. If a new law is needed, it must
be surgical:
Define sacrilege narrowly—deliberate, physical desecration with proven intent.
Explicitly exempt scholarly, journalistic, and artistic expression.
Require court oversight before arrests to prevent misuse.
Strongly penalize false or frivolous claims to deter weaponization.
Fast-track investigations and trials for religiously charged cases.
Strengthen community outreach to build trust and reduce polarization.
Without these guardrails, the law becomes a noose around Punjab’s neck. The state deserves
a future where faith and freedom stand shoulder to shoulder, not one where belief fuels
division and mobs rule with impunity. Faith should lift us up, not tear us apart. This law isn’t
Punjab’s salvation—it’s a betrayal of its spirit.