By SCM Correspondent
SRINAGAR, India — Inside the dimly lit halls of a Sikh temple (gurdwara) in Srinagar, the soft murmur of prayer was replaced by the low hum of a projector. Dozens of congregants sat cross-legged on the floor, their eyes fixed on a makeshift screen, watching the India banned film, Satluj.
They were gathered not just for worship, but for an act of quiet defiance: watching a movie the Indian government desperately does not want them to see.
The film, titled Satluj, stars international Punjabi music and cinema icon Diljit Dosanjh. It chronicles one of the darkest and most sensitive chapters of modern Indian history.
Just 48 hours after its quiet debut on the streaming service ZEE5 on July 3, 2026, the movie vanished from the platform. Streaming users in India were met with an abrupt error message, the result of an emergency takedown order issued by India’s Ministry of Information under the country’s sweeping Information Technology Act.
But instead of erasing the film, the digital ban has triggered an underground cultural movement. From the volatile Kashmir valley to the agricultural heartland of Punjab, Sikh community leaders are organizing secret, community-led screenings in temples, schools, and open fields to bypass federal censors.
Directed by Honey Trehan, Satluj (originally titled Punjab ’95) tells the biographical story of Jaswant Singh Khalra, a revered Punjabi human rights activist.
During the late 1980s and early 1990s, Punjab was gripped by a violent, armed separatist insurgency demanding an independent Sikh state, known as Khalistan.
The government’s counter-insurgency response was brutal. Khalra meticulously uncovered evidence that Punjab police had extrajudicially executed thousands of young Sikh men, secretly cremating them as “unidentified” bodies to cover up the killings.
In 1995, Khalra himself was abducted by police officers, tortured, and murdered. His body was thrown into a canal and never recovered.
The Indian government defended its ban, claiming Satluj lacked historical “balance,” “whitewashed” the violence of separatist militants, and carried the potential to spark modern national security issues. Before its short-lived streaming release, India’s Central Board of Film Certification (CBFC) demanded an astonishing 127 cuts to the film.
Censors demanded the removal of the words “Punjab police,” any depiction of police stations, references to historic dates, and even the name of Jaswant Singh Khalra himself.
Background: Shrinking Space for Dissent
The sudden pulling of Satluj highlights a broader, troubling trend under Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s government: the tightening noose around digital media and artistic expression.
Historically, streaming platforms (Over-The-Top or OTT services) in India enjoyed a loophole, operating free from the rigid theatrical censorship board. This allowed filmmakers to tackle systemic issues like caste discrimination, religious friction, and state overreach.
However, recent digital regulations have effectively closed this gap, granting the federal government immense power to unilaterally purge online content under the banner of national security.
While nationalist films that align with the ruling party’s narrative are frequently tax-exempted and heavily promoted, films capturing minorities or state atrocities face swift suppression.
”The goal is to create an atmosphere of fear and encourage self-censorship,” said Anna MM Vetticad, a prominent Indian film journalist. “If you criticize, suddenly a police case could be filed against you.”
A ‘Revolutionary Act’
The government is currently mulling legal action against the unauthorized temple screenings, warning local state authorities to halt any exhibition of the uncertified film. Yet, the ban appears to have backfired, turning an unpublicized indie film into a viral emblem of cultural memory.
For the families of those who disappeared during the insurgency, watching the film has taken on a spiritual and political gravity.
”This film is, for me, an archive of him—of the injustices he bore on his body,” said Ranjit Singh, 38, whose father was killed by police during the insurgency era. “It may be the only archive that all this happened.”
As the credits rolled in the Srinagar temple, the crowd sat in heavy, emotional silence. By trying to erase the memory of Jaswant Singh Khalra from the internet, the state has instead forced his story out onto the streets, into the villages, and directly into the sanctuaries of his people.
