Guns, gangs and games: Why Punjab’s law and order is failing; & why weapons are so easy to get?
A society that cannot protect its players cannot protect its people. The warning signs are written clearly; in blood, not ink
PTC Web Desk: Punjab has long prided itself on its culture of courage, community and competitive sport. Yet today, that very identity is under siege. Kabaddi grounds, once symbols of rural pride and youthful energy, are increasingly turning into crime scenes. The repeated killings of kabaddi players and organisers are no longer shocking exceptions, they have become grim markers of a collapsing law-and-order ecosystem.
Over the past several months, Punjab has seen a disturbing sequence of targeted shootings linked to the kabaddi circuit. Players and promoters have been murdered in public spaces, near police offices, during live tournaments and in front of spectators who came to cheer, not to witness executions. These killings, carried out with chilling confidence, expose not just criminal audacity but institutional paralysis.
What is particularly troubling is that these murders are not random. A growing number of victims have alleged or reported links, real or perceived, to organised crime networks. Gang rivalries, extortion rackets and turf wars have seeped into sport, turning athletes into soft targets and kabaddi into collateral damage. When gangsters begin dictating who plays, who lives and who dies, the state’s authority stands dangerously eroded.
Punjab drowning in guns
Punjab’s violence problem cannot be examined without addressing the elephant in the room: the effortless availability of illegal firearms. From sophisticated weapons to crude country-made pistols, guns appear to be just another commodity in circulation. Police recoveries, often publicised with urgency, only underline a harsher truth, for every weapon seized, many more remain in the shadows.
The questions, therefore, demand blunt answers. Why is it so easy to acquire weapons in Punjab? Why do audits of arms licences and ammunition inventories remain sporadic or superficial? Why are records not rigorously verified, updated and cross-checked?
When weapon registers gather dust and accountability dissolves into paperwork, the message is unmistakable: the system is watching, but not acting.
Murder over minor disputes
Perhaps the most frightening shift is how casually violence has entered daily life. Minor arguments, a road incident, a personal slight, a local rivalry, now risk spiralling into murder. The threshold for pulling the trigger appears alarmingly low. When killings take place close to police offices or in crowded public events, it is not merely lawlessness on display; it is the visible absence of deterrence.
Fear has quietly replaced trust. Parents worry about sending their children to sporting events. Players step onto the field unsure if they will return home. Public spaces, once safe by default, now feel negotiable.
The cost of administrative apathy
Law and order does not collapse overnight. It erodes slowly, through neglected audits, outdated records, weak enforcement and a tolerance for procedural delay. Arms licensing, weapon storage, ammunition tracking and inter-district intelligence coordination are not clerical formalities; they are frontline safeguards.
When audits are skipped, when licence violations go unchecked and when data remains fragmented, violence finds room to grow. The price of such neglect is paid not in files, but in funerals.
Time for leadership, not lip service
Punjab stands at a decisive moment. Cosmetic policing and reactive statements will no longer suffice. What the state requires is firm political will and visible action: strict weapon audits, sustained crackdowns on organised crime, credible witness protection, and swift prosecution that signals consequences , not convenience.
Law and order is not restored through announcements, but through consistency. Until that happens, Punjab risks losing more than lives. It risks normalising fear, surrendering public spaces and watching its cultural symbols fall one by one.
A society that cannot protect its players cannot protect its people. The warning signs are written clearly; in blood, not ink.