Bombs in West Bengal: Children Killed and Maimed, Often Mistaking Devices for Toys

An investigation by BBC Eye has revealed that at least 565 children in India’s West Bengal state have been either injured or killed by homemade bombs over the past three decades. This raises questions about the nature of these lethal devices, their connection to political violence in West Bengal, and why so many Bengali children are suffering the consequences. In May 1996, on a bright summer morning, six boys from a Kolkata slum, the capital of India’s West Bengal state, went to play cricket in a narrow alley. Their shantytown, situated within the middle-class Jodhpur Park neighborhood, was bustling with activity. It was a general election voting day, a public holiday. Nine-year-old Puchu Sardar, one of the boys, quietly took a cricket bat and slipped past his sleeping father. Soon, the sound of bat hitting ball echoed through the alley. A ball hit beyond the makeshift pitch boundaries led the boys to search for it in a nearby small garden. There, inside a black plastic bag, they discovered six spherical objects. They appeared to be cricket balls that someone had left behind, and the boys returned to their game with their find. One of the “balls” from the bag was bowled to Puchu, who struck it with his bat. A deafening explosion ripped through the alley. It was a bomb. As the smoke cleared and neighbors rushed out, they found Puchu and five of his friends lying on the street, their skin blackened, clothes scorched, and bodies torn. Screams pierced the chaotic scene. Seven-year-old Raju Das, an orphan raised by his aunt, and seven-year-old Gopal Biswas succumbed to their injuries. Four other boys were wounded. Puchu narrowly survived, having sustained severe burns and shrapnel wounds to his chest, face, and abdomen. He remained hospitalized for over a month. Upon returning home, his family, having exhausted funds for further medical care, had to use kitchen tongs to extract shrapnel still embedded in his body. Puchu and his companions are among a lengthy, tragic list of children who have been killed or maimed by crude bombs, which have been utilized for decades in West Bengal’s violent political landscape in a brutal struggle for state dominance. There are no publicly available statistics on the total number of casualties in West Bengal. Consequently, the BBC World Service meticulously reviewed every edition of two prominent state newspapers—Anandabazar Patrika and Bartaman Patrika—from 1996 to 2024, searching for reports of children injured or killed by these devices. As of 10 November, the investigation identified at least 565 child casualties, comprising 94 deaths and 471 injuries. This indicates that, on average, a child has become a victim of bomb violence every 18 days. However, the BBC has also uncovered incidents where children were wounded by these bombs but were not reported by the two newspapers, suggesting the actual number of casualties is likely higher. Over 60% of these incidents occurred when children were playing outdoors—in gardens, on streets, on farms, and even near schools—where bombs, typically deployed during elections to terrorize opponents, had been concealed. Most victims interviewed by the BBC were impoverished, being the children of domestic workers, casual laborers, or farm workers. West Bengal, India’s fourth-largest state with a population exceeding 100 million, has a long history of political violence. Since India gained independence in 1947, the state has experienced various ruling parties: the Congress party for two decades, the Communist-led Left Front for three decades, and the current Trinamool Congress since 2011. In the late 1960s, the state was engulfed in armed conflict between Maoist rebels, also known as Naxalites, and government forces. A consistent pattern across all subsequent governments and rebel conflicts has been the use of bombs as tools of intimidation by political parties to silence adversaries, particularly during election periods. “Bombs have been [used to settle scores]. This has been happening in Bengal for a long time, more than 100 years,” Pankaj Dutta, a former Inspector General of West Bengal police, stated. The practice of bomb-making in Bengal originated during the rebellion against British rule in the early 1900s. Initial attempts were rudimentary, and accidents were frequent: one rebel lost a hand, and another died while testing a bomb. Subsequently, a rebel returned from France, equipped with bomb-making expertise. His “book bomb”—a legal tome containing explosives hidden in a Cadbury cocoa tin—would have killed its intended target, a British magistrate, had he opened it. The first explosion occurred in Midnapore district in 1907, when revolutionaries derailed a train carrying a senior British official by planting a bomb on the tracks. Several months later, a failed attempt to assassinate a magistrate in Muzaffarpur with a bomb thrown into a horse-drawn carriage resulted in the deaths of two Englishwomen. This act, described by a newspaper as a “tremendous explosion that startled the town,” transformed a teenage rebel named Khudiram Bose into a martyr and the first “freedom fighter” in the pantheon of Indian revolutionaries. Bal Gangadhar Tilak, a nationalist leader, wrote in 1908 that bombs were not merely weapons but a new form of “magical lore,” a “witchcraft” spreading from Bengal throughout India. Currently, Bengal’s crude bombs are locally referred to as peto. They are wrapped with jute strings and packed with shrapnel-like items such as nails, nuts, and glass. Variations include explosives contained within steel containers or glass bottles. Their primary use is in violent confrontations between opposing political parties. Political activists, especially in rural regions, employ these bombs to intimidate opponents, disrupt polling stations, or retaliate against perceived adversaries. They are frequently deployed during elections to sabotage voting booths or to assert control over specific areas. Children like Poulami Halder bear the severe impact of such violence. In April 2018, on a morning when she was seven years old, Poulami was gathering flowers for morning prayers in Gopalpur, a village in the North 24 Parganas district characterized by ponds, paddy fields, and coconut trees. Village council elections were less than a month away. Poulami noticed a ball lying near a neighbor’s water pump. “I picked it up and brought it home,” she recounted. As she entered her house, her grandfather, who was sipping tea, froze upon seeing the object in her hand. “He said, ‘It’s not a ball – it’s a bomb! Throw it away!’ Before I could react, it exploded in my hand.” The blast shattered the village’s tranquility. Poulami was hit in the “eyes, face, and hands” and lost consciousness as pandemonium erupted around her. “I remember people running towards me, but I could see very little. I was hit everywhere.” Villagers quickly transported her to the hospital. Her injuries were catastrophic—her left hand required amputation, and she spent nearly a month in the hospital. A routine morning activity had transformed into a nightmare, irrevocably altering Poulami’s life in a single, devastating moment. Poulami’s experience is not isolated. Sabina Khatun was 10 years old in April 2020 when a crude bomb detonated in her hand in Jitpur, a village in Murshidabad district bordered by rice and jute fields. She had been taking her goat out to graze when she stumbled upon the bomb in the grass. Out of curiosity, she picked it up and began playing with it. Moments later, it exploded in her hands. “The moment I heard the explosion, I thought, who’s going to be disabled this time? Has Sabina been maimed?,” her mother, Ameena Bibi, stated, her voice heavy with anguish. “When I stepped outside, I saw people carrying Sabina in their arms. The flesh was visible from her hand.” Doctors were compelled to amputate Sabina’s hand. Since returning home, she has struggled to reconstruct her life, while her parents are consumed by despair over an uncertain future. Their concerns are valid: in India, women with disabilities frequently encounter social stigma that complicates their prospects for marriage and employment. “My daughter kept crying, saying she would never get her hand back,” Ameena said. “I kept consoling her, telling her, ‘your hand will grow back, your fingers will grow back.'” Now, Sabina contends with the loss of her hand and the difficulty of performing simple daily tasks. “I struggle with drinking water, eating, showering, getting dressed, going to the toilet.” In India’s West Bengal state, children are regularly maimed, blinded, or killed by homemade bombs. BBC Eye is investigating the political violence underlying this tragedy and questioning why the devastation is permitted to persist. These children, maimed by bombs yet fortunate to survive, have had their lives permanently altered. Poulami, now 13, received an artificial hand but found it unusable due to its weight and rapid outgrowing. Sabina, 14, is experiencing deteriorating eyesight. Her family reports she requires another operation to remove bomb debris from her eyes, but they lack the financial means. Puchu, now 37, was withdrawn from school by his fearful parents and spent years avoiding going outside, often hiding under his bed at the slightest noise. He never again picked up a cricket bat. His childhood stolen, he now earns a meager living through odd construction jobs and carries the physical and emotional scars of his past. Despite this, hope remains. Poulami and Sabina have both learned to ride a bicycle with one hand and continue their schooling. Both aspire to become teachers. Puchu envisions a brighter future for his five-year-old son, Rudra—a future in uniform as a policeman. Despite the severe toll it exacts, there is no indication that crude bomb violence in West Bengal will cease. None of the political parties acknowledge using bombs for political advantage. When the BBC inquired with the four main political parties in West Bengal about their involvement, directly or through intermediaries, in manufacturing or using crude bombs, the ruling Trinamool Congress (TMC) and the opposition Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) did not respond. The Communist Party of India (Marxist) (CPI-M) vehemently denied involvement, stating it was “committed to upholding the rule of law…and that when it comes to protecting rights and lives, children are of the utmost concern.” The Indian National Congress (INC) also strongly denied employing crude bombs for electoral gain, asserting it had “never engaged in any violence for political or personal gain.” Although no political party accepts responsibility, all experts interviewed by the BBC are convinced that this carnage is deeply rooted in Bengal’s culture of political violence. “During any major election here you will see the rampant use of bombs,” Pankaj Dutta told us. “Extreme abuse of childhood is going on. It is a lack of care on the part of the society.” Mr Dutta passed away in November. Poulami added: “Those who planted the bombs are still free. No one should leave bombs lying around. No child should ever be harmed like this again.” However, the tragedy persists. In May of this year, in the Hooghly district, three boys playing near a pond unknowingly discovered a cache of bombs. The resulting explosion killed nine-year-old Raj Biswas and left his friend maimed, missing an arm. The third boy escaped with leg fractures. “Look what they have done to my son,” Raj’s grieving father sobbed as he caressed the forehead of his deceased child. As Raj’s body was lowered into a grave, political slogans from a nearby election rally crackled through the air: “Hail Bengal!” the crowd chanted, “Hail Bengal!” It was election season. And once more, children were bearing the cost.