Punjab has heard this story before. Only the names have changed. From folk memory to freeze-frame moments of modern media, its outlaws have rarely remained mere criminals. They are recast as symbols of defiance, shaped as much by storytelling as by history. Figures like Rai Abdullah Khan Bhatti, popularly known as Dulla Bhatti, passed into legend as rebels against Mughal authority, celebrated for redistributing wealth and resisting power. Fictional icons such as Arjan Vailly and Maula Jatt carried that defiance into popular culture, blurring the line between justice and vengeance.

The anti-colonial struggle later gave rebellion a moral clarity, embodied by Bhagat Singh. That clarity fractured during the Khadku Lehar—the insurgency of the 1980s and 1990s—which produced more contested icons shaped by ideology, violence, and state repression.

Today, another figure circulates through these same circuits: the gangster—less ideological, more networked, yet similarly mythologised.

“Imagine, there used to be a culture wherein Bhagat Singh was a hero. Today, people like Lawrence Bishnoi are.” The line from the trailer of Lawrence of Punjab lands less as provocation than as diagnosis—of a society still negotiating who its heroes are, and why. From folklore to digital platforms, Punjab has long mythologised its outlaws. The new docuseries shows how that tradition is being repurposed in the age of organised crime.

The trailer cuts between past and present. Gunmen linked to the Bishnoi gang firing outside Salman Khan’s Galaxy Apartments in 2024, and Lawrence Bishnoi’s journey through India’s prison system, including his transfer to Sabarmati Central Jail in 2023 after he gave TV interviews from inside Punjab’s Bathinda jail.

Since his first arrest in 2011 for arson and student violence in Chandigarh, Bishnoi has moved from campus politics to being at the helm of an alleged transnational crime network. A 2014 shootout-linked arrest was followed by years in high-security prisons, where investigators say he forged alliances that expanded his reach. Despite near-continuous incarceration, his network grew—its name linked to the killing of Punjabi singer Sidhu Moosewala and threats against film actor Salman Khan. He now faces dozens of cases ranging from extortion and murder to alleged links with organised crime gangs under anti-terror laws.

Yet the story does not end with the accumulation of charges. It extends into how the accused chooses to narrate himself within that very system. In a plea before a special NIA court in 2023, Bishnoi objected to being described as a “gangster” or “terrorist”, arguing that he has not been convicted in any case so far. He also said he was being treated like a convicted prisoner, citing restrictions such as being barred from wearing a T-shirt bearing Bhagat Singh’s image during court appearances. Framing it as a question of due process, he asserted his patriotism, saying he “deeply loves” his country and would “live and die for Bharat”, before ending with “Vande Mataram” and “Jai Hind”. Even as the state casts him as a figure of organised crime, he seeks to recast himself in the language of nationalism and martyrdom.

Directed by Raghav Dar, Lawrence of Punjab seemingly traces this rise, offering a stylised account of organised crime in Punjab where local rivalries intersect with global networks. It was all set to premiere on OTT platform Zee5 on April 27 until it was halted by an advisory issued by the Centre and a plea by the gangster himself challenging its release in the Delhi High Court last week following a hue and cry in Punjab.

Even before its release, the series ran into a political and institutional wall. Punjab Congress chief Amarinder Singh Raja Warring urged that it be halted, arguing it risks glorifying a gangster and harming victims’ families. His petition before the Punjab and Haryana High Court framed the issue as one of public order.

The state went further. Punjab Police’s cybercrime division recommended blocking the series under Section 69A of the IT Act, warning that its mix of dramatisation and real events could normalise organised crime, particularly among young viewers.

On April 24, the Punjab and Haryana High Court commended the state’s move to block thousands of links allegedly glorifying Bishnoi. Around the same time, the Union government advised ZEE5 against releasing the series, citing concerns over public order and the romanticisation of crime.

Across party lines, the response has been uniform in Punjab. BJP leader Fatehjung Singh Bajwa framed it as a moral choice: whether Punjab’s youth should look to Bhagat Singh or to contemporary gangsters. Others warned such portrayals risk reducing Punjab’s identity to crime.

Others highlight the distinction between Bishnoi’s Rajasthani origin and his operational area Punjab, stressing the docuseries was a deliberate attempt to portray him as a Punjabi.

Influence beyond prison walls

Even as the legal challenge grew, the controversy took a more ominous turn. Police sources say threatening messages allegedly linked to Bishnoi were sent via WhatsApp to senior Punjab leaders, including former Deputy Chief Minister Sukhjinder Singh Randhawa, Warring, and Shiromani Akali Dal leader Bikram Singh Majithia, as well as late singer Sidhu Moosewala’s father Balkaur Singh. (Satinderjeet Singh, alias Goldy Brar, a Canada-based gangster and key associate of the Bishnoi gang, claimed responsibility for the murder of Moosewala in 2022. Brar reportedly killed Moosewala for he believed the latter was supporting his rivals, the Bambiha gang.)

The messages reportedly warned of “serious consequences” over attempts to halt the series, turning the issue into a live security concern. Security agencies are on alert, with Punjab Police tracing the origin of the messages. Officials say the episode underscores a familiar reality: incarcerated networks can project influence far beyond prison walls. For Balkaur Singh, the question remains blunt: “Bishnoi is not a hero. If he were, why would he be in jail?”

Political commentator Shiv Inder Singh offers a sharper reading. “Of course, Bishnoi is not seen as a hero in Punjab. He is being projected that way.” He links the rise of gangster culture to shifts in political economy—the real estate boom of the early 2000s and years of political patronage that allowed criminal networks to expand and seep into music and cinema. “But Punjab cannot be reduced to gang wars,” he adds.

The ambiguity is familiar: when does documentation become myth-making? Punjab today sits at the intersection of unresolved memories of militancy, the rise of organised crime, and a powerful cultural economy of music and digital media. That churn has been accompanied by a harder state response. Allegations of “encounter killings”—framed as necessary—raise concerns about due process. These anxieties draw from a longer past. The insurgency years saw enforced disappearances and custodial killings, leaving a legacy that still shapes public trust.

At the same time, newer figures complicate the landscape. The rise of Amritpal Singh—a preacher-turned-politician who won Lok Sabha seat while incarcerated and remains lodged in Dibrugarh Central Jail—suggests that influence is increasingly forged through symbolism, media amplification, and public sentiment.

Gang rivalries continue to spill across borders, linking local disputes to transnational networks of extortion, contract killings, and digital intimidation. The killing of Moosewala exposed both their reach and their entanglement with popular culture. Between the memory of Bhagat Singh and the mythology of Amritpal Singh, and now figures like Bishnoi, lies a contested cultural space shaped not just by history, but by the stories a society chooses or refuses to amplify.

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