BANDIPORA (Kashmir): Twenty-one women of Pakistani origin face deportation after living for over a decade in Kashmir, leaving their families devastated. They are seeking compassion under what they call a failed official promise of rehabilitation.
“If they take me away from my father, I’ll feel like I’ve lost everything,” whispers the eight-year-old daughter of Mohammad Shafi, clinging tightly to him.
These women married men who had surrendered under a 2010 government policy aimed at rehabilitating former militants. But following a terror attack in Pahalgam, the government has ordered them to leave, uprooting their families and upending lives built over the years.
Many say the deportation order feels more painful than death itself.
Mohammad Shafi’s wife, Asmat, is among those affected.
“I received a notice on April 26 stating that my wife must leave India. We are left in limbo, waiting for the authorities to act. Why should we be punished for something we had no part in? What will happen to our children? Our eight-year-old daughter? It’s breaking our hearts.”
Shafi recalled the hope he felt returning to India under the 2010 policy.
“The government offered us a chance to reunite with our families. I was grateful then. But now, I fear for my wife and children. If they send her away, where will she go? Who will care for our children? The thought of it is unbearable,” he said.
Asmat, overwhelmed with grief, added: “I feel lost. After fifteen years of raising my children here, the thought of losing them is unimaginable.”
Their son, who wished to remain anonymous, echoed the fear.
“Since the notice arrived, I’ve been anxious. It says my mother will be taken away soon. Why didn’t they act when we first came here legally with all the necessary documents?”
Shafi pointed to their official documents—Aadhaar cards, domicile certificates, and election cards—which confirm Asmat’s legal status in India. “Why, then, is she being deported? This is unjust,” he said. Their future now hangs by a thread.
“I Would Rather Die Than Leave My Children”
Another woman, Aliza Rafiq, voiced her distress: “After 12 years in Kashmir, I now face the threat of being sent back to Pakistan, a place where I fear for my safety. I have followed every law, embraced the rehabilitation policy, and built a life here. But now, I have a notice to leave the only home my children know.”
Aliza’s voice trembled as she spoke about her young daughter. "She is 10 and needs me now more than ever. A mother’s love is irreplaceable. Please don’t tear us apart. I would rather die than live without my children.”
Her daughter’s anguish is heartbreaking: “Papa, every Eid you bring me toys and new clothes. If I’m sent away, what will I wear on Eid? Who will buy me toys?” she sobbed. “Who will care for my mother when she’s sick? I’m still small. I can’t live without them.”
Policy Turned Empty Promise
The 2010 rehabilitation policy was intended to support former militants who had renounced violence and wished to return from Pakistan with their families. It provided a legal route for re-entry, reunion, and reintegration.
One such woman, Mufzala, originally from Muzaffarabad, married a man from Baramulla and came on a long-term visa.
“Both my children were born here, and I have a newborn just 40 days old. Where will I go with her? I’ve been applying for Indian citizenship for years, but I have received no response. Then, on April 30, the police told me my application was rejected and that I must leave.”
She added, “Every year, our verification is done regularly. We condemn the brutal attack in Pahalgam—those responsible are not human. I urge the Government of India to reconsider. Please don’t separate our daughters from their father.”
Zahida Begum, a resident of Kashmir for fifteen years, echoed the same plea: “I have built a life here with my children. Being forced to leave would destroy everything. This place represents our existence and stability. Removing us will lead to our destruction.”
Since the deportation order, about 800 Pakistani nationals have returned home, and approximately 1,400 Indians have returned from Pakistan amid tightening visa rules. Those affected in Bandipora had believed they were secure, entering under a formal policy. But now, their status has been reversed overnight.
Children face losing their mothers, and women face being ripped away from their homes. “This is not just a policy issue,” said a social worker in Bandipora. “It’s a humanitarian crisis.”
Legal Opinion: “Policy That Never Materialised”
Advocate Tajamul, who uses a mononym, explained: “The decision to deport individuals labelled as illegal immigrants from Pakistan is fundamentally political, although it is backed by laws such as the Foreigners Act and Passport Act, which allow the government to deport foreigners.”
“The critical issue,” he said, “is timing. These individuals returned under the government's assurance after renouncing violence. But the policy never translated into a tangible solution. It remained an empty promise.
They came via Nepal, never received support, and were always seen as illegal. Now it has been confirmed. They were never granted citizenship or meaningful rehabilitation. They are being punished for a policy failure.”
“This must be viewed through a humanitarian lens. Deporting them achieves nothing but appeasement of certain political groups. India, once known for its hospitality, is losing its essence to exclusionary ideologies,” he said.
“This Is Our Home”
Zahida Begum and Nowreen are among the many women married to former militants who now face repatriation after a decade or more in Kashmir. Both hold official documentation and plead to stay—for the sake of their children and families. “It will shatter everything we’ve built,” Zahida says.
In the aftermath of the Pahalgam attack, Aliza Rafiq—seen by many as a representative voice for these women—delivers an emotional appeal to the government, asking for compassion.
“We came here legally under the NC government’s policy. Now we are being uprooted again.”
With children aged 10 to 12, she fears for their well-being. “We are just mothers trying to give our children a future. Show mercy. Don’t take their mothers away.”
As these stories unfold, the government faces a choice—not just of law, but of humanity. Whether it honours its promises and protects these vulnerable families or abandons them once more.
The lives of Shafi, Asmat, Aliza, Mufzala, Zahida, and many others now hang in the balance. Their appeal is simple: “This is our home. Let us stay.”
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