By Sujit Bhar
In a disturbing development that has drawn criticism from human rights activists and legal scholars alike, a number of Bengali-speaking migrant workers (over 400, according to some reports) from West Bengal have been detained by the Odisha Police, allegedly on suspicions of being undocumented Bangladeshi immigrants. The move, initiated after a special identification drive by Odisha authorities under the new BJP-led state government, has sparked tensions between the two neighbouring states and raises troubling questions about federalism, constitutional liberties, and the politicisation of identity.
The Calcutta High Court has now intervened. A Division Bench of Justices Tapabrata Chakraborty and Reetobroto Mitra has directed the West Bengal chief secretary to appoint a nodal officer to liaise with Odisha officials and take all necessary steps to secure the release of detained migrant workers. The Court has demanded answers from the authorities in Odisha: Why were these Bengali-speaking workers detained? Were any First Information Reports (FIRs) lodged? Were the detainees produced before a magistrate, as required by law? What action has been taken since their detention—and where are they now?
These are basic, fundamental questions. Yet the very fact that a High Court has had to ask them indicates a serious failure of administrative transparency and a possible breach of constitutional guarantees.
The petitioner, Razzak Sheikh from Hariharpara in Murshidabad, West Bengal, stated that his son, Samiur Islam, had travelled to Odisha in search of a livelihood—an entirely legal and common practice for millions of Indians. He was arrested by Odisha Police during a special drive on June 30, 2025, and has not been produced in court since. According to the counsel, there was no arrest memo, and the family was not informed—a clear violation of DK Basu guidelines laid down by the Supreme Court regarding lawful arrest and detention procedures. In legal terms, this amounts to illegal detention.
More importantly, the suspicion that Islam is a Bangladeshi appears to be based purely on language and regional appearance. This is not just arbitrary—it is discriminatory.
This is not an isolated case. In fact, it follows a disturbing pattern observed in several BJP-ruled states, especially those bordering Bangladesh. In Assam, the National Register of Citizens (NRC) exercise, while ostensibly meant to detect illegal immigrants, disproportionately affected Bengali-speaking Muslims and Hindus alike—many of whom have been in the region for generations. The fear of being declared stateless has haunted lakhs of residents, many of whom possess Aadhaar cards, voter IDs, ration cards, and other government-issued documents. These documents, it seems, are now not valid to prove citizenship of Indians, though the central government has yet to clarify what exactly are the documents that can conclusively prove the citizenship of a person.
Now, with a change of regime in Odisha, similar tactics appear to be surfacing. What began as an identification drive under the banner of national security has rapidly taken on communal and linguistic overtones. The weaponisation of “identification”—when used to racially or linguistically profile poor migrant labourers—must be seen for what it is: a violation of fundamental rights.
What makes this episode particularly unfortunate is the historical camaraderie shared by Bengal and Odisha. The two states have enjoyed centuries of social, cultural, economic, and spiritual exchange. Odia labourers have for long travelled to Bengal to work in rice mills, construction, and domestic services. Simultaneously, Bengali tourists, businesspeople, and workers have frequented Odisha’s coasts, towns, and temples.
Despite poverty and hardship, labour migration between these states has rarely been marred by political hostility. In fact, Odia-speaking workers living in Bengal have been treated with dignity and fairness. There have been no reported cases of large-scale arbitrary detentions or identity-based profiling. The state of West Bengal, irrespective of the ruling party, has largely preserved the Indian ethos of coexistence and mobility.
In contrast, the current episode in Odisha signals a dangerous shift—an attempt to rewrite this shared legacy through the lens of suspicion and exclusion.
At the heart of this issue lies a constitutional crisis. Article 19(1)(d) and (e) of the Constitution guarantees to every citizen the right to move freely throughout the territory of India and to reside and settle in any part of the country. Article 21 guarantees the right to life and personal liberty. Article 14 promises equality before the law. By detaining Bengali-speaking citizens purely based on language and region, Odisha’s authorities may have violated all three.
The use of identification drives, if not tempered by due process, can easily morph into instruments of persecution. A migrant worker from Bengal does not—and should not—have to carry a passport to work in another Indian state. The moment state governments start treating fellow Indians as foreigners based on language or religion, the federal fabric of India starts to unravel.
In the face of such crises, state governments have several legal and diplomatic options within the Indian federal system:
Nodal officers and interstate coordination: The Calcutta High Court’s direction to appoint a nodal officer is crucial. Such officers can act as liaison points, verify identities, track detentions, and ensure that workers’ rights are not violated.
Interstate legal frameworks: While India does not currently have a robust federal mechanism for protecting inter-state migrant workers (beyond the InterState Migrant Workmen Act, 1979, which is poorly enforced), such incidents can serve as a wake-up call. States must cooperate to create common protocols for checking identity without harassment.
Digital identity verification: With Aadhaar, voter ID, and mobile-linked bank accounts, most workers have digital footprints that can be easily verified. Police forces must be trained to use such tools rather than rely on profiling by language or appearance.
Human rights commissions and legal aid: Both state and national human rights bodies must take suo motu cognisance of such detentions. Legal aid must be immediately provided to detained workers, including access to family and counsel.
Judicial monitoring: As in this case, courts must demand accountability from police forces and governments when such constitutional overreach occurs. Directions for time-bound reporting and follow-up must be made standard practice.
Legislative oversight: Members of Parliament and state legislatures must raise such cases in the House to ensure transparency and deter political misuse of immigration rhetoric.
The weaponisation of identity in India has taken various forms—caste, religion, region, and now, language. While the national narrative often centres around Hindu-Muslim polarisation, intra-Hindu schisms like the Bengali-Odia divide are becoming politically expedient in states where the BJP seeks to assert control.
Pitting locals against “outsiders” is a time-tested strategy, and in states with porous borders, linguistic minorities often become easy scapegoats.
However, there is a deeper danger here. When one state starts profiling citizens from another state, the precedent it sets is hazardous for national unity. Tomorrow, a Marathi speaker in Tamil Nadu, a Bihari in Punjab, or a Manipuri in Delhi could be treated as a suspect merely for speaking a different tongue. This isn’t just unconstitutional. It is un-Indian.
The case of Bengali migrant workers in Odisha is more than a legal skirmish between two states. It is a test of India’s commitment to its founding ideals—unity in diversity, federal cooperation, and the right of every citizen to live with dignity anywhere in the country.
If states begin to view each other’s citizens as “foreigners” based on politics, the constitutional glue that binds India will begin to wear thin. It is the duty of the courts, civil society, and state institutions to prevent such erosion.
The hope now lies with the judiciary, and with active engagement from both the governments of West Bengal and Odisha. More than that, though, India as a nation must introspect: are Indians becoming a union of competing ethnicities and suspicious regions? Or will we reaffirm the constitutional promise of liberty, dignity, and fraternity for all Indians—no matter which language they speak, or where they travel in search of hope?