The Man Who Defies Silence: How Nikhil Chandwani Is Rescuing Pakistan's Forgotten Hindus, One Family at a Time

Hans India

3 days ago

In a world that moves on from tragedy with a swipe, Nikhil Chandwani chose to stay. Not to sympathize from a distance, not to tweet his outrage, but to fight. Quietly, relentlessly, and often alone.
He's not a politician. He doesn't run an NGO. And he has never begged for headlines. Yet, since 2017, he's rescued over 2,000 Hindu and Sikh families from the religious hellscape that Pakistan has become for minorities.
It began with one desperate message—from a Hindu shopkeeper in Sindh, Pakistan. His daughter was being stalked by local extremists. A forced conversion was imminent. When he went to the police, they laughed. His village turned its back. But Nikhil didn't.
He arranged shelter. Paid for passports. Helped them legally cross borders. And in that moment, a movement was born.
'Pakistan Is a Graveyard for Hindus'
For the past decade, Chandwani has built a rescue network that runs without press releases or photo ops. And it operates in places most governments wouldn't even acknowledge.
'Pakistan is not a country. For Hindus and Sikhs, it's a rogue land,' he says. 'Girls as young as nine are kidnapped, raped, forcibly converted, and married off to men four times their age. Parents are left with nothing but grief—and silence.'
In Sindh's interiors, Hindu children are denied education. Temples are desecrated. Police officers participate in abductions. Those who speak out disappear. This is not a dystopian script. This is daily life for Hindus in Pakistan.
And yet, international bodies stay mute. Global newsrooms don't blink. They wait for buzzwords like 'Israel' or 'Gaza' to appear in the headline before they care.
A Parallel System of Hope
What Nikhil has done in response is extraordinary. He's created a quiet resistance—a parallel support system made up of doctors, lawyers, landlords, and teachers who work on trust, not contracts.
They've helped girls heal from rape trauma, guided children back to school, secured Long-Term Visas for families, and found homes where none existed. Every life he rescues is a civilizational victory against erasure.
In one case, a father in Sindh had to bury his daughters underground at night to protect them from abductors. That family now lives safely in Punjab, India. The girls chant the Hanuman Chalisa every Saturday—something they were never allowed to do in Pakistan.
Funded by Firewood and Dharma
Unlike big-budget charities, this movement runs on grit. Almost 90% of the rescue funds come from Chandwani's own business—a biomass pellet factory in Nagpur. The rest comes from small, quiet contributions. No corporate grants. No government subsidies. Just raw belief.
His company, Santerra Industries, converts agricultural waste into clean-burning bio coal. The profits? Used to rescue Hindus from across the border.
'We turn farm waste into energy. I use that energy to bring our people back from hell,' Nikhil says.
A Dream of a Home, Not a Shelter
The rescues are just the beginning. Nikhil's long-term vision is a dedicated settlement for rescued Hindu families—complete with homes, schools, clinics, community halls, and temples.
'A safe place where no one knocks on your door in the middle of the night to take your daughter away. Where your children aren't punished for praying to Ram. That's the dream.'
He's already in talks to acquire land for this project. Until then, he continues—one girl, one boy, one family at a time.
No Medals, No Megaphones. Just Action.
He's faced threats, online hate campaigns, and even fatwas. Pakistan-based accounts often try to discredit his work. Some Indian liberals call it 'politically motivated.'
But he doesn't care.
'I don't need awards. I need more people. A teacher for one child. A lawyer for one case. A landlord for one month. Just one. That's all I ever ask.'
Look Away, and You Become the Problem
What's happening to Hindus in Pakistan is not just persecution. It's cultural annihilation—slow, systematic, and ignored by the same international institutions that scream for every other cause.
And yet, in the middle of that silence stands a man—unfunded, uncelebrated, unstoppable.
In the end, Nikhil Chandwani's story is not about heroism. It's about responsibility.
Because when governments fail, it is people like him who carry civilization forward—with empty pockets, heavy hearts, and an unbreakable spine.