The year is 1971. As war erupts between the Pakistan Army and resistance fighters in East Pakistan, Taher Azmi is a man on a mission. Two years back, alongside two of his fellow comrades, he had taken a blood vow. At the home of Siraj Sikder, the infamous leftist revolutionary, Azmi swore an oath of loyalty — pledging to remain committed until death in the pursuit of revolution — the dream of an independent socialist Bangladesh (the then East Pakistan).
Now an insurgent with a bounty on his head, devoted completely to the cause, Azmi is on a mission. Under party orders, he is tasked with negotiating an important agreement between Sikder’s guerrilla force and the Mukti Bahini, the main resistance movement fighting against Pakistan. As Azmi reaches Savar for the talks, representatives of Mukti Bahini unexpectedly ambush the young guerilla, killing him in the process.
Apart from being a Maoist, Azmi’s great crime was that he was a Bihari.
Exodus
Winter in Bihar, the year 1946. Decades of hostile relations between Hindus and Muslims are reaching an irreversible climax — a chaotic time of unprecedented violence. Riots have erupted in Noakhali, Bengal, where hundreds of Hindus have been massacred, sending shockwaves across the subcontinent. As news of the carnage spreads to Bihar, the already fragile relations between Hindus and Muslims in the province collapse.
Mobs of Hindus launch brutal attacks on Muslim communities and establishments, shaking the province to its core. As the provincial government, along with both the Muslim League and the Indian National Congress, scrambles to restore order, an estimated 5,000 to 10,000 Muslims are slaughtered. Thousands more are abducted, and countless women subjected to unspeakable atrocities. The message is unmistakable — Muslims are no longer welcome in Bihar.
So they flee — flee from their ancestral homelands, leaving behind a culture that had flourished for millennia. Along the way, they are joined by Muslims from Uttar Pradesh, as thousands of people escape the brutal waves of persecution. Haunted by memories, scarred for life, they eventually reach the Muslim-majority East Bengal. Biharis, the Bengalis call the Urdu speakers, even those from Uttar Pradesh. And thus, the Bihari story begins.
The Promised Land
East Pakistan, 1947. The vast Indian subcontinent is divided, with East and West Pakistan flanking India. Fleeing turmoil in their former homeland, scores of Biharis seek refuge in East Pakistan. As one chapter of history closes, a new political reality begins to emerge.
Pakistan is a nation divided from its inception — the west, one of the most diverse regions in the planet, and the homogenous east, overlooked from the start. And here in the homogenous Bengali majority east the Biharis find themselves, in the gradual political rupture between the two wings.
The new migrants took on relatively privileged positions in East Pakistan, with many joining industries or the civil administration, creating a growing sense of resentment among the Bengali majority. While the Biharis integrated well into the West Pakistan-dominated establishment, Bengalis felt increasingly alienated from the new state.
In this context, Pakistan enters the Language Movement, the first act of political rebellion in erstwhile East Pakistan. As the West Pakistani establishment remains fixated on making Urdu the sole state language, grievances deepen among Bengalis, the country’s largest ethnic group, comprising 56% of the population. On the other side, Biharis, as native Urdu speakers, strongly support Urdu as the sole state language, viewing it as a unifying force for Pakistan’s Muslims and fearing that recognizing Bangla would weaken that unity. As the movement culminates in the deaths of protesters in 1952, the die is cast, and the neighbors find themselves on opposite sides of an escalating political divide.
As Bengali nationalism becomes the dominant political force in East Pakistan, the Biharis find themselves increasingly alienated and, in turn, cling more tightly to the West Pakistani establishment, further fueling Bengali resentment and deepening their isolation. On various political issues, Biharis and Bengalis stand on opposing sides, widening the divide between the communities. By the late 1960s, as tensions between the Pakistani establishment and Bengalis approached their inevitable climax, the Biharis once again found themselves as strangers in their own homeland.
Merely a generation later, they stand on the brink of another wave of pogroms — this time for an entirely different cause.
Armageddon
Spring, 1971 — East Pakistan. The Bengali nationalist Awami League has won a landslide victory in Pakistan’s first-ever general election. But the ruling establishment in the West, backed by Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto, refuses to cede power to the Bengalis. Tensions boil over. The stage is set. The time for negotiations is over. Now is the time for monsters.
As Bengalis lose their remaining faith in the establishment, the Biharis cling to it even more, feeling increasingly alienated from the Bengali nationalist currents in East Pakistani politics — further fueling hostility between the two communities. All hell breaks loose in March 1971. From the beginning of the month, riots erupted in Dhaka, Chattogram, and other major East Pakistani cities. The Biharis, outnumbered, face brutal massacres in some areas while committing atrocities in others
As war finally breaks out on March 26, weeks after Sheikh Mujibur Rahman’s historic speech on March 7, the Biharis swiftly take refuge in the Pakistani camp, distancing themselves from the Bengali secessionists. They form a significant presence in armed paramilitary groups such as Al-Shams, Al-Badr, and the Razakars.
Pro-Pakistan paramilitary groups, collaborating with the Pakistan Army, have been complicit in numerous war crimes, including but not limited to mass killings, forced disappearances, rapes, and targeted assassinations of intellectuals. We have ample evidence to suggest that the Bihari militia has actively taken part in these crimes, collaborating with both the Pakistan army and Pro-Pakistan Bengalis. A considerable amount of attention and scholarship has been devoted to documenting their crimes, their ideological motivations, and their role in shaping the political and social landscape of post-independence Bangladesh.
However, the other side of the coin, war crimes against Biharis, has remained largely unexamined.
From the beginning of March, before Operation Searchlight formally began the war, riots broke out in Bihari neighborhoods in Dhaka, Chittagong, and other major cities, marked by massacres, forced evictions, disappearances, and other acts of violence. Eyewitness testimonies suggest the death toll reached the thousands, along with reports of widespread systematic rape. As Ezaz Ahmed Chowdhury, a Bihari community leader, put it:
Everyone talks about the killings of Bengalis (by the Pakistani army) in 1971. But none dares to mention the pogroms that were carried out against Biharis, We estimate that hundreds of thousands of Biharis were killed.
After Operation Searchlight, the Bihari community faced retaliatory attacks, with neighborhoods across the country looted and burned, thousands evicted or massacred, and women and children subjected to systematic rape. The immediate death toll is estimated to be in the thousands. An infamous such incident is the Santahar Massacre.
Santahar
A spring morning in Bogra, East Pakistan. The date is March 26. News of the previous night’s carnage in Dhaka has reached the railroad town of Santahar. The Bengalis recoiled in horror as thousands were said to have been killed. Meanwhile, the Bihari community in the town prepared in silence for what would become one of the most infamous massacres in their collective memory.
Clashes erupt spontaneously in the Bihari neighborhoods of Santahar. Outnumbered by the Bengalis, the Biharis bear the full force of their wrath. The next day, a contingent of East Pakistan Rifles arrived from Naogaon Cantonment, ordering the Biharis to surrender their weapons. Later, it is revealed that these soldiers are deserters who have joined the Mukti Bahini. Now unarmed, the Biharis seek refuge wherever they can.
By afternoon, a group of around 60 Biharis takes shelter in the Jama Masjid of Chaibagan, fleeing for their lives. But the sanctity of the mosque offers no protection. The thought of inciting divine anger does not deter the Bengalis. One by one, the Biharis are dragged out and slaughtered in the open courtyard — one of the most heinous episodes of the Santahar massacre.
By April 17, Santahar, once home to nearly 15,000 Biharis, had been cleansed, by massacre or forced eviction.
Chittagong
As news of Operation Searchlight reaches Chittagong, independence is declared in Swadhin Bangla Betar Kendra, the radio broadcasting center of Bengali nationalist forces. Even before that, Biharis begin facing hostilities from Bengali nationalist groups — their homes looted and burned, men killed, and reports of systematic rape emerge. All hell breaks loose on March 26.
The bloodbath in Chittagong is one of the worst atrocities committed against the Biharis throughout the war. After Operation Searchlight, Biharis are plagued by retaliatory attacks, despite having little to no involvement in the crackdown.
The Chittagong Massacre is an exceptionally important piece of history, with accusations of involvement directed at multiple significant figures, including Major Ziaur Rahman, who later became the sixth President of Bangladesh. Mascarenhas writes,
My informant, who for the present does not wish to be identified, looked at me for a long time. Then almost in a whisper he said: ‘Zia was a man who could kill with one hand and eat with the other.’ ‘Look here,’ I told him angrily. ‘That’s a terrible thing to say about anyone. You had better stand it up.
The man then recalled an incident at Kalurghat transmitter station that was scarred in his memory. It happened on the evening of the 28th March, 1971, when the Pakistan army was battling to control Chittagong against stiff resistance from the East Pakistan Rifles under Major Rafiq and others. Zia was at Kalurghat providing military cover for the Shadin Bangla Betar Kendra broadcasts. At about sunset, my informant said, a group of Biharis, some 18 men and 12 women, were caught on the road while trying to slip into the city and the safety of the Pakistan army. These Urdu-speaking people were brought to Zia at the radio station since he was the senior Bengali military person in the area. ‘Take the men out and shoot them,’ Zia ordered. Then, pointing to the women he told his troops: ‘You can do what you like with them.’
— Anthony Mascarenhas, Bangladesh: A Legacy of Blood
The factuality of these accusations has never been proven, as no independent tribunal has ever been set up, and the Bangladesh government dismisses them as isolated incidents at best and baseless slander at worst.
Regardless, several thousand Biharis lost their lives in Chittagong throughout March and April, while thousands more were displaced, tortured, and raped. Despite the severity of this atrocity, it remains one of the least discussed incidents of 1971.
Forgotten Victims
“In war, the body of a woman becomes a battlefield — conquered, humiliated, and discarded.” — Slavenka Drakulić
Every war comes with its silent victims, women.
Since early March, even before Operation Searchlight, reports of widespread riots between Bengalis and Biharis had emerged. After Operation Searchlight, the Biharis were left to face the wrath of Bengalis for crimes they had not committed.
Throughout the war, Pakistani, Indian and Bengali Nationalist forces committed unspeakable atrocities against women on a massive scale. The atrocities against Bengali women are deeply embedded in the collective national memory of Bangladesh, with significant academic and public discourse.
Bihari women, however, received no such recognition.
Yasmin Saikia, a professor of South Asian history at Arizona State University, in her book Women, War, and the Making of Bangladesh: Remembering 1971, extensively explores the atrocities committed against women from all sides during the Bangladesh Liberation War. She argues that war narratives are often written by men, for men, and about men, while women’s experiences — especially of sexual violence — are either erased or reduced to political symbolism rather than acknowledged in their full human complexity.
Her research highlights how Bihari women frequently became targets of revenge by Bengali nationalist forces. As Bangladesh emerged victorious and gained independence, these memories were largely forgotten by the new state — and remained unrecognized in Pakistan as well.
Nationalist history-building often chooses certain truths while erasing others, and Biharis bear testimony to this selective memory. While Bengali women were given the title Birangona (intended as an honor but often leading to further victim-blaming and social exclusion), Bihari women were largely ignored.
Thousands of horror stories hide behind the shadow of the liberation war, from all sides. The human cost of this war, like many others, is largely ignored, or used as political pawns. The uncomfortable truth is, we may never truly comprehend the full magnitude of 1971.
Aftermath
As the war ended, the Biharis lost the minimal protection they had under the Pakistan Army. A sizable portion — if not the majority — had supported the Pakistani cause, and many were involved in crimes against humanity.
But when the tide turned, Bengalis did not discriminate. Guilty or not, the Biharis faced collective punishment. Hell descended upon them. Reports of killings, looting, and forced displacement spread across the country. The message was clear: Biharis were not welcome in Bangladesh.
Once the initial carnage subsided, the Bangladesh government, under Presidential Order 149, offered citizenship to the Biharis. Around 600,000 accepted, integrating into Bengali society. But 540,000 rejected it, still identifying with Pakistan.
For them, fate was harsher. Hundreds of thousands were forcibly relocated to refugee camps, where they remain in inhumane conditions to this day. Pakistan took in over a hundred thousand, but, considering Bangladesh the successor to East Pakistan, refused to accept the rest.
Bangladesh, in turn, denied them citizenship and failed to protect them from retaliatory violence. Stateless and abandoned, they became permanent exiles in a land that no longer wanted them.
For decades, this is how they remained.
Present Day
In a landmark 2008 ruling, the Dhaka High Court granted citizenship to Biharis who were minors during Bangladesh’s 1971 War of Independence or were born after it. Yet, little changed in their daily lives. More than 300,000 Biharis still live in the 116 refugee camps established in 1972.
In The Plight of Bihari Camps’ Residents in Bangladesh, authors Akter, Mahbub, and Afroz highlight the multifaceted struggles Biharis face — social, health, political, and economic hardships.
Many still endure inhumane conditions, crammed into tiny living spaces, with some camps having just one bathroom for every 65 people. A language barrier further isolates them, while Bihari culture and identity remain stigmatized in mainstream Bengali society.
The camps are severely overcrowded, with little attention to hygiene or habitability. Contagious diseases are widespread, and access to quality healthcare is scarce.
Discrimination is a persistent reality — Biharis face barriers in public services, employment, and legal aid. Education is another challenge, as many Bihari children report bullying and harassment upon revealing their identity and camp address.
Biharis are also prone to sectarian violence as a portion of them adhere to the Shia Muslim faith.
Economically, the condition of the Biharis is dire, as a majority of them live in deplorable living quarters. The condition has further exacerbated after the pandemic. Many still live in extreme poverty with little opportunity for advancement.
Fifty-four years after Bangladesh’s independence, the Bihari minority continues to bear the burden of their ancestors — discriminated against, exploited, and forced to either assimilate or remain segregated. Their cultural identity is neither respected nor accepted, leaving them in a state of perpetual marginalization.
It has been fifty-four years — fifty-four long years since ’71. The wounds may have healed, but the scars will forever remain. The story of the Biharis in Bangladesh is deeply intertwined with two of the most defining events in the region’s recent history, the Partition of ’47 and the Liberation War of ’71.
History has not been kind to the Biharis. The horrors have endured but so have they. The story of the Biharis is one of survival against relentless exclusion, a tragic yet awe-inspiring testament to resilience. But how much longer must they wait for their basic rights? How many more years before Bangladesh accepts them as its own, rather than leaving them as permanent exiles in a land that has been theirs for generations? Perhaps it is time for history to finally be kinder to the Biharis. The cycle of suffering must end.
Biharis have come a long way, but their journey is far from over. Perhaps it is now Bangladesh’s turn to take the mature step in history — to tend to the scars of 1971 from its side.
As a new wave of political upheaval sweeps across the country, this time driven by the spirit of anti-discrimination, will that spirit finally extend to the Biharis? Or will it once again be a story of merciless exclusion?
Only time will tell. May all old wounds find healing at last.
Akiful Islam is an independent columnist and a student at the Bangladesh University of Engineering and Technology.
