In the killing of Abdul Rahiman, we don’t just witness hate – we confront the moral collapse of an educated, silent society.
– Mohammed Talha Siddi Bapa
In Kolattamajalu, a serene village in Karnataka’s Dakshina Kannada district, a murder took place that should shake the conscience of any decent society. Abdul Rahiman, a young Muslim man known for his humility and compassion, was brutally hacked to death – not by a stranger, but by someone he had once gone out of his way to help.
This wasn’t a crime of passion or personal revenge. It was a killing soaked in ideological hatred – a hatred not born from experience, but carefully planted by those who thrive on dividing communities.
The man who murdered Abdul Rahiman was Deepak, a youth from the same village. When Deepak’s father was electrocuted and lay in the ICU, it was Rahiman who rushed to donate blood. When that wasn’t enough, Rahiman gathered his Muslim friends from the town to donate more. Despite their efforts, Deepak’s father sadly did not survive. Yet Rahiman’s act stood as a testament to his humanity.
That was not the only help. When Deepak started building a house, Rahiman gave him two free truckloads of construction sand. On the day he was murdered – which happened to be his birthday – Rahiman was lured to Deepak’s house on the pretext of an “urgent sand delivery.” He even brought the sand that was meant for his own house.
As he unloaded it, Deepak and a group of youth – allegedly indoctrinated and pre-armed – attacked him in front of Deepak’s own mother and siblings. Rahiman’s assistant was injured as he tried to help. With his last breath, Rahiman told him, “My story ends here. You run.”
What transformed a neighbour into a butcher? The answer lies in the slow but deliberate poisoning of minds by Hindutva organisations that have been aggressively expanding their ideological reach in Karnataka’s coastal belt.
According to eyewitness accounts and police FIRs, Bajrang Dal leader Bharat Kumdellu, who had publicly vowed “revenge” for the murder of another youth in Bajpe, visited Kolattamajalu the day before Rahiman’s killing and allegedly held a meeting with Deepak and others (The Hindu, March 23, 2025, “Bajrang Dal leader booked for inflammatory remarks over Bajpe murder”). The result: a man indoctrinated into believing that killing a Muslim – even one who once donated blood to save a life – is a service to faith!
This was not an isolated act of violence. It is the outcome of a larger ideological machinery that continues to radicalise minds under the radar.
According to the National Crime Records Bureau (NCRB) 2022 Report, incidents of communal violence have been rising steadily, with over 378 reported cases in India that year, and Karnataka among the top five states recording religious tensions. Independent watchdogs like the People’s Union for Civil Liberties (PUCL) and Citizens for Justice and Peace (CJP) have also raised alarms over Karnataka’s coastal belt becoming a testing ground for hate-driven vigilantism.
Not the First – And Worryingly, Not the Last
Abdul Rahiman’s murder is not an isolated incident but part of a disturbing pattern of communal killings in coastal Karnataka. In July 2022, Praveen Nettaru, a BJP Yuva Morcha leader, was hacked to death in Bellare, triggering widespread protests. Just days later, Mohammed Fazil, a 23-year-old Muslim youth, was brutally murdered in Surathkal, reportedly in retaliation. A few months later, Ashraf Kalayi, another Muslim man, was also killed under suspicious circumstances.
In May 2025, Suhas Shetty, a former Bajrang Dal member and prime accused in Fazil’s murder, was himself killed in Bajpe. Investigations revealed that Shetty’s murder was a meticulously planned act of revenge, allegedly orchestrated by Fazil’s brother, Adil Mehroof, who reportedly financed the operation (OpIndia, May 2025).
These incidents are not spontaneous outbursts of violence but appear to be part of a calculated cycle of retaliatory killings, each feeding into the next, and often exploited by extremist elements to further their agendas. Abdul Rahiman’s death, heartbreakingly, is the latest in this spiral – and perhaps the most gut-wrenching, for it involved the betrayal of compassion by someone he had helped repeatedly.
A Tale of Two Silences: North India Speaks, Coastal Karnataka Sleeps
Ironically, it is in North India – where lynchings in the name of religion, bulldozing of minority homes by state authorities, and the normalisation of communal violence are disturbingly common – that voices of moral resistance still endure. Despite facing threats, arrests, and smear campaigns, courageous individuals like Apoorvanand, Harsh Mander, Kavita Krishnan, Manisha Sethi, Rajeev Yadav, and Zafarul-Islam Khan continue to raise their voices against hatred and injustice.
Now contrast this with coastal Karnataka – a region not lacking in intellect or infrastructure. Udupi, Dakshina Kannada, and their adjacent city Manipal are home to numerous educational and medical institutions that attract students from across India and abroad. Mangaluru alone boasts a vibrant academic ecosystem with engineering, medical, and law colleges of repute. And yet, when Abdul Rahiman – a peace-loving, service-minded citizen – is brutally murdered in a hate crime, not one prominent academic, legal scholar, or human rights voice from this region speaks out. No campus debate. No public condemnation. No open letter.
This silence from Karnataka’s educated elite is not just disappointing – it is damning. In a region rich in knowledge, the absence of moral clarity is the most painful failure of all.
The Silence of the Powerful
Equally disturbing is the response – or lack thereof – from elected representatives. The local MLA, Rajesh Naik, who had once stood shoulder to shoulder with the grieving family of a Hindu victim in another case, did not even offer condolences to Rahiman’s family. There was no visit, no statement, not even a tweet. When political silence follows communal murder, it sends a message louder than words: some lives simply do not count.
“Can We Afford This?” A Sister’s Cry for Safety
As Abdul Rahiman’s grieving sister wept, she asked a question that should haunt every policymaker, educator, and citizen of conscience:
“Can we afford this? The butchers are roaming the streets with swords – how can we send our children to school? Can we step outside and come back alive? Where is the security for ordinary people?”
These are not rhetorical questions. They are cries from the heart of a family whose world was shattered in broad daylight – not by foreign enemies, but by neighbours radicalised in the name of religion. If such acts of terror can happen in a peaceful village, against a man known for his kindness, what safety can any citizen truly claim?
This is not just about law and order – it’s about the psychological siege imposed on entire communities. It’s about children growing up in fear, parents burying sons, and streets that once echoed with greetings now falling silent under suspicion.
More Than Justice – We Need Redemption
Of course, the killers must face justice. The investigation must not stop at those who wielded the weapons but must extend to those who incited, planned, and justified the act. But even justice, when delivered, cannot undo the rot that has taken root.
The deeper battle is not legal but moral – and it must be fought by civil society, educators, writers, religious leaders, and rights advocates. Silence cannot be the answer. If we fail to speak, we leave the field open to hate.
Because Abdul Rahiman’s death is not just about a man who gave blood and was repaid in murder. It’s about a society where humanity is no longer enough to guarantee survival.
A Call to Conscience
Abdul Rahiman was not an activist. He was not a politician. He was a working man, a family man, a man who gave more than he took. He offered cool drinks during Hindu processions, served as a mosque secretary, and believed in coexistence. And for that – and only that – he was targeted and killed.
Let’s not bury his story along with his body.
Let’s speak, write, teach, and resist – before the next Rahiman is lured, before the next village is poisoned, before our conscience becomes irretrievably numb.
Because in a nation where a man who donates blood can be murdered by the family he helped, the question is no longer “What went wrong?”
It is: “Will we allow it to keep happening?”
[Mohammed Talha Siddi Bapa is a journalist and opinion writer based in Karnataka, focusing on human rights, interfaith relations, and social justice.]
