Villagers across Punjab are transforming Sikh temple courtyards and community halls into makeshift cinemas to watch "Satluj," a film documenting alleged state killings that Indian officials blocked after pulling it from a streaming platform just two days after release. The grassroots screenings have spread as residents circulate copies online, refusing to let censorship silence a story about one of the darkest chapters in Punjab's history.
The film chronicles the work of human rights activist Jaswant Singh Khalra, who investigated alleged extrajudicial killings during Punjab's insurgency decades ago. That conflict, which pitted Sikh militant groups seeking an independent Khalistan against Indian security forces, claimed thousands of civilian, militant and police lives. Rights groups documented enforced disappearances, custodial killings and secret cremations. Khalra's investigation alleged that thousands of disappeared people were cremated anonymously by police without informing families or keeping records. He was abducted in 1995 and later killed. Several police officers were convicted in connection with his murder.
Three Years of Censorship Battles
The movie, originally titled "Punjab 95," was stalled for three years after India's censor board demanded more than 120 cuts. After failing to secure a theatrical release, it debuted on the ZEE5 streaming platform last week. Two days later, it was removed in India. Officials haven't publicly explained why, though local media were told it was taken down on security grounds. ZEE5 said the film would no longer be available "in light of current developments" and pledged to explore "every appropriate avenue through due process" to restore it.
The official silence hasn't stopped communities from taking matters into their own hands. Residents arrange projectors, audio speakers and power generators while volunteers spread word from household to household. In Gurdaspur district, Inderjeet Singh Bains helps coordinate screenings meant to create spaces where people can watch together and reflect on a period that still resonates across generations. "When we screen the film, we see our elders and mothers, many of them 60 or 70 years old, crying because they have lost their sons," Bains said. "Our people have endured immense suffering."
Grief Across Generations
Gurmukh Singh, who attended a screening, said the film gave voice to stories the young in Punjab had heard only in fragments. "After watching the movie, there is a feeling of the grief our earlier generations had to bear," he said. Balwinder Singh, a Sikh religious leader, added: "Everything happened right before our eyes, so what is there to oppose? The truth is coming to light, and people should be allowed to see it."
Diljit Dosanjh, who plays Khalra, said he was unconcerned about whether the film remained online because once audiences had seen it, "it cannot be erased." Pawan Deep Kaur said, "It made us cry endlessly."
Pattern of Censorship Under Modi
The screenings have reopened debate over artistic freedom in India, where films have increasingly run into censorship battles under Prime Minister Narendra Modi's Hindu nationalist government. Critics say such cases have become more frequent and accuse Modi's government of promoting films that align with its nationalist narrative. The government says movie certification decisions are made independently under the law.
Yet the pattern is clear to those watching: stories that challenge official narratives about state violence face mounting obstacles, while communities determined to preserve their history find ways around the barriers.
Why This Matters:
When governments block films documenting alleged state violence, they don't just suppress art—they deny communities the right to reckon with their own history. The grassroots screenings across Punjab reveal how censorship can backfire, transforming a film into a symbol of resistance and creating spaces where collective memory survives official erasure. For families who lost loved ones during the insurgency, these screenings offer rare public acknowledgment of suffering that authorities would prefer remain hidden. The broader pattern of censorship under Modi's government raises questions about whose stories get told in India's public sphere and whether democratic institutions can protect artistic freedom when political power seeks to control historical narratives. As elder Punjabis weep watching their trauma finally depicted on screen, the human cost of official silence becomes impossible to ignore.