Blaming ‘Love Jihad,’ Muslim Workers Are Ousted From Indian Market
DELHI — On a warm October afternoon, the usually bustling Sheetla Mata Cloth Market at Indore in Central India’s Madhya Pradesh carries an uneasy silence. Stretches of shops line the alleys, where business once thrived with the festive season approaching.
Behind the locked doors lies a story of coercion, fear, and livelihoods cut short, not because of poor trade or mismanagement, but because of a religion.
For more than a decade, Hindu businessman Balwant Rathore and his Muslim partner Mohammad Harun have run their shop together. They invested jointly, worked shoulder-to-shoulder, and built not just a business but also a bond that Rathore describes as brotherhood. Then, without warning, they were told to vacate their shop. The reason? The order that Muslims should no longer be part of the market’s fabric, allegedly justified on the grounds of “love jihad.”
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“We know each other for 10 years and have been good friends,” Rathore said. “We thought like brothers — let’s open a shop together. I invested ₹51 lakh Indian Rupees [$58,000], even took a loan of ₹10 lakh Rupees [$11,000]. Business was good, then suddenly we were told to leave because my partner is Muslim. I was asked to continue alone, but why should I? My business runs with my partner. There has never been a problem between us. Don’t drag religion into politics.”
His defiance stands out in a market where fear has silenced many.
The trouble began when the son of a local government official reportedly ordered shopkeepers to remove Muslim employees from the market. Within days, the impact was visible. Over 120 Muslim salesmen were shown the door, and scores of shops shut down. In some cases, owners were told they could continue only if they sacked their Muslim partners or employees.
It was just the latest anti-Muslim incident that has occurred in recent years, following the rise of Prime Minister Narendra Modi's Hindu nationalist Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), which came into power in 2014.
Groups waving saffron flags, representing the party, were paraded through the lanes as the order was enforced, and the market’s atmosphere became charged.
“Now there are no Muslim employees in the market,” admitted Hema Bhai Panjwani, a member of the Sitlamata Market Business Association.
Asked if the decision was justifiable, Panjwani was blunt: “The directions of the BJP leader have been followed. The issue has been implemented before the festival season. There’s nothing more to add.”
The ‘Love Jihad’ conspiracy
Proponents justified the order by invoking the term “Love Jihad.” The phrase itself is part of a conspiracy theory promoted by Hindu nationalist groups, which falsely claim that Muslim men deliberately lure Hindu women into relationships to convert them to Islam. It frames interfaith marriages as part of an organized demographic “war.”
The phrase has become a political weapon, used to stigmatize Muslims and justify social boycotts, harassment, and even violence. In Indore, it served as a convenient justification to target partnerships like Rathore and Harun’s, reshaping a thriving market along communal lines.
For the Muslim workers, the fallout has been devastating. Farman, a salesman in the market for 15 years, was asked to leave despite his loyalty. He had been working at his current shop for a year, and his Hindu colleagues were his closest friends.
“We used to eat from the same plate,” Farhan recalled. “There was never discrimination before. Then suddenly, I was told I must go. The shopkeeper said they were under pressure. I am the sole earner in my family of seven. I have two children. Now I’m unemployed.”
He had approached the police, filing a complaint. But the response has been tepid: no documents have been filed to launch an investigation. “The police told us they will see what can be done,” Farhan said. “But what has changed in my life? Only more problems. We voted for this government, expecting support. Now we are left to survive on our own.”
Brothers in business become targets
For Rathore and Harun, the decision was more than just business. It was about the principle of coexistence.
“Right now, it’s about a shop,” Rathore said. “Tomorrow, it can be about land or homes. Where will it stop? Hindus and Muslims have lived like brothers for centuries. If this begins with business, it will spread everywhere. That is why I stood by my Muslim partner. We cannot allow these lines to be drawn.”
Many shopkeepers, both Hindu and Muslim, privately agree with him. But most admit they are powerless to defy the order. The risk is too high, the backlash too certain.
What makes the timing even harsher is that the order came just before the festive season, traditionally the most lucrative months for cloth and garment markets. Families stock up on saris, wedding dresses, and festive wear, generating business that sustains shops through leaner times.
For those thrown out of work, the irony is cruel. “I should be earning the most right now,” Farhan said. “Instead, I’m sitting at home. My children ask me why I don’t go to the market. What should I tell them? That I lost my job not because I failed at work but because I was born a Muslim?”
Observers say what happened in Indore is not an isolated incident but part of a broader pattern where commerce is being reshaped by politics. By linking livelihoods to religion, spaces that once encouraged daily interaction between communities are being turned into battlegrounds of identity.
The Sheetla Mata Cloth Market is not just a business; it is part of Indore’s cultural history. Its narrow lanes, once buzzing with the chatter of Hindu and Muslim traders alike, embodied a certain kind of pluralism. That pluralism is now under strain.
For Muslims and their allies, the Sheetla Mata Cloth Market controversy raises urgent questions about the rule of law, minority rights, and the future of shared spaces in India.
For Rathore and Harun, their fight continues, not just for their shop but for the idea that business partnerships should be free of religious fault lines. For displaced workers like Farhan, the daily struggle is more immediate: finding work, feeding families, keeping despair at bay.
Zaffar Iqbal is a journalist based in Kashmir, India. He has reported on armed encounters, environmental issues, crime, politics, culture and human rights. He’s formerly the bureau chief of Jammu-Kashmir for NDTV.