ON A humid Sunday morning in Dhariwal, in the Gurdaspur district of Punjab, India, a red-and-white house across from paddy fields begins to fill with people. The house belongs to Pastor Rangila. By weekday, it is a residence; by weekend, it is a church. Dozens arrive to pray, sing, and hear gospel messages. They are mostly from Dalit backgrounds — some Sikh on paper, some Hindu by family history. But here, they describe themselves as followers of Christ.
Over the past few years, gatherings such as this have become increasingly common across Punjab’s northern belt. In districts including Gurdaspur, Amritsar, Tarn Taran, and Jalandhar there has been a sharp increase in informal Christian congregations. By some estimates, more than 300,500 people have begun attending church regularly in Punjab since 2021. In Tarn Taran district, census data shows that the Christian population more than doubled in ten years, from just over 6000 in 2011 to more than 12,000 in 2021.
The rise is not just numerical. It signals a shift in how many Dalits in Punjab navigate caste, access public services, and their place in rural society.
Punjab’s Dalit population, at nearly 32 per cent, is the highest proportion of any Indian state. Although Sikhism was founded on the rejection of caste, caste-based divisions persist, especially in rural areas. Dalit Sikhs often maintain separate gurdwaras, are allocated different seats at village functions, and report feeling unwelcome in spaces dominated by land-owning Jat Sikhs. Hindu Dalits report similar patterns in their communities.
For many, conversion to Christianity offers not only religious freedom, but a break from caste identity. It also brings access to services — education, health care, and vocational training — that have long bypassed remote villages. Mission-run institutions and faith-based outreach programmes have filled this gap, drawing thousands into their fold.
“Earlier, I was a Mazhabi Sikh,” said Ramesh*, who converted seven years ago in Hargobindpur. “There are many gurdwaras here, but caste still divides them. In church, nobody asks me about caste.”
Dalit Christians often remain legally registered as Sikhs or Hindus to retain eligibility for government reservations (measures to address historic inequalities). Since Christianity does not qualify under India’s current Scheduled Caste policies, many converts avoid formal documentation of their change in faith.
The practice is widespread, according to George Soni, who heads a coalition of Christian groups in Punjab. “Actual numbers are much higher than census records suggest,” he said. “We estimate that at least 15 per cent of Punjab’s population regularly attends church.”
This fluidity has caused friction.
Tensions between Sikh groups and Christian converts have led to clashes. In August last year, masked men vandalised a church in Tarn Taran, and torched a pastor’s car. A few days earlier, a prayer meeting was disrupted by Nihang Sikhs. Christian groups allege that these incidents are part of a growing campaign of hostility.
Christian leaders also say that the police rarely act on complaints. “Attacks happen, FIRs [first information reports] are filed, and then the accused are released,” Hamid Masih, of the Punjab Christian Movement, said.
Meanwhile, Sikh authorities have launched counter-efforts. The Shiromani Gurdwara Parbandhak Committee (SGPC) now runs regular rural outreach programmes both to spread Sikh teachings and to respond to conversions. “If one person converts, they influence many,” Kiranjot Kaur, an SGPC member, said. “We want to address this with preaching, not confrontation.”
Religious leaders have voiced concern about missionary tactics. Some say that converts are lured by miracle healings or foreign-funded welfare. Others warn of a gradual cultural shift. The head of the Akal Takht, Giani Harpreet Singh, has called for legislation to limit what he calls forced conversions.
Christian leaders reject these claims. “We do not force anyone,” Pastor Sarafeen Sabharwal, from Dhariwal, said. “People come seeking community, healing, and support. Most don’t even change their religion officially.”
One such worshipper is Jaspy Singh, a daily visitor to a large ministry in Jalandhar. “I was raised a Sikh. On paper I still am. But, every Sunday, I am Christian,” he said. “We come for the sermons, for the music. My children like it, too.”
Online, Punjabi gospel music is booming. The Khambra-based church led by Ankur Narula draws thousands in weekly attendance, and broadcasts 24/7 online. Their YouTube channel has more than a million followers. Most followers are informal converts — not baptised, not married or buried by Christian rites, but part of the growing digital flock.
This visibility has rattled some. With Punjab’s declining population growth, and migration to foreign countries, identity concerns have taken political shape. Parties across the spectrum, including BJP and AAP, have called for stricter regulation of religious conversions.
But, beneath the political noise, a quiet shift continues.
In Jalandhar, 22-year-old Happy Kaur attends church every week with ten family members. They still identify as Scheduled Caste to retain benefits. “We’ve never missed a Sunday,” she said. Her father, once told he had a year to live because of heart disease, began attending a church out of desperation. Eight years later, he still walks to the Sunday service.
Pastor Rana believes that stories like this speak louder than doctrine. “People see change in their lives,” he said. “We don’t ask them to convert. They just keep coming.”
In Majha and Doaba, the divide between official records and lived religion is now wide. Home churches multiply. More rural families make Sunday their day of worship. And, in villages once dominated by a single gurdwara, a growing number of rooftops now echo with hymns sung in Punjabi.
What began as scattered conversions has evolved into a parallel faith culture — rooted in old identities, but reaching for a new kind of belonging.
* Names have been changed on request, to protect identity.