SRINAGAR: Twenty-one-year-old Majid Ali (name changed) is among the 90 people booked under the stringent Public Safety Act (PSA) after the deadly attack in Pahalgam that claimed 26 lives, including 25 tourists and one local resident.
On April 23, a day after the attack, Majid received a phone call from the local police station. Calmly, he told his mother, Fareeda (name changed), “Mom, don’t worry. It’s just a routine questioning. I’ll be back soon.”
Trusting his words, she watched him leave home—unaware that the routine call may lead to months of agony. Almost a month later, she has no idea why he was picked up. “The only reason he was picked up was his old record of detention in 2016 when he was barely 12 years old,” she reveals.
When Fareeda visited the police station on April 23, the atmosphere appeared somewhat routine. Dozens of other young men were already in custody. Majid met her with quiet strength and even managed a smile.
“Nothing to worry about. Everything is fine,” he said. His calmness gave her hope.
On April 26, Fareeda suspected this might be a long haul, when during a brief meeting with her son inside the station, Majid asked her, “What was the name of the file when I was detained in 2016?”
The question was unexpected—and chilling. She left the station that day with a growing sense of dread.
The next morning, when she returned again to see her son, Majid was missing.
The police offered no explanation. “He is not here,” they said.
Panic-stricken, Fareeda sought out the sub-inspector, who was standing outside even as he had rudely brushed her aside on previous visits. Desperate and trembling, she asked, “Where is my son?” He replied indifferently, “I don’t know. Come to the police station.”
She broke down right there, collapsing on the road before his jeep. With help from passers-by, she somehow reached the police station again.
Inside, she received no answers—only curt responses and cold shoulders. “We don’t know where your son is,” they repeated.
The next day, the truth surfaced. Majid had been booked under the Public Safety Act (PSA) and was shifted to Kot Bhalwal Jail in Jammu, far from his home and family. The family was informed that the PSA was for two years.
After the Pahalgam attack, over 90 people—most with prior records of detention—have been booked under the stringent Public Safety Act (PSA), while thousands more suspected of links to militancy have been rounded up for questioning or preventive detention.
A Detention History as a 12-year-old
Majid is 21 years old—a young man with dreams, a mother who prays for him, and a sister whose wedding was planned for this month. But in the police station, he is just another entry in a file.
His tryst with the police began in 2016, when he was barely 12 years old. Back then, he was detained for nearly 15 days under FIR 147/148 on allegations of stone pelting, an experience that left emotional scars both on him and on his family. He was accused of rioting, unlawful assembly, endangering life, and attempt to murder.
Since then, Majid had been on the radar. He was frequently called for questioning whenever unrest broke out in the Valley. In 2022, he was taken to the JIC (Joint Interrogation Centre)—a name whispered with fear among Kashmiri families.
A fellow detainee who spent time in JIC the same year recalled Majid’s ordeal three years ago: “He was too innocent and too humble. He was the youngest among us. And his screams... we could hear them. They still haunt me.”
They referred to the physical torture he was subjected to during the 45 days of his detention.
When Kashmir Times reached out to the family for more information and requested to see the dossier used to justify his PSA detention, the family declined.
“We fear it might hurt his case. If the authorities feel we are speaking to the media about his detention, things could get worse for him,” Fareeda said. The arrest has taken a heavy toll on the family. Her daughter’s wedding, scheduled for this month, now hangs in uncertainty. “How can I marry when my brother is in jail?” the sister questions.
In the narrow lanes of their village, whispers about Majid’s arrest spread quickly. Some neighbours offered support, others distanced themselves in silence—fearful of attracting attention.
For Fareeda, the real battle was not only against the authorities but also against the stigma that began to creep in. “He was never part of anything wrong,” she said, holding up photographs of Majid from his school days.
Majid’s father, a government employee, remains tight-lipped about his son’s arrest. Any wrong word, any public expression of anger or pain, could put his job at risk. In a place where even a whisper can be misinterpreted, the family walks on eggshells.
“We can’t afford to say much,” Fareeda admits quietly. “He goes to work, comes home, and stays silent. It’s like we’re living with a shadow of ourselves.”
The fear of surveillance, the worry of being watched or reported, has wrapped itself tightly around their lives. Even inside their own home, conversations are cautious—measured. “One wrong step,” Fareeda says, “and we could lose everything.”
As Eid approaches, Fareeda prepares the house with a heavy heart. She still cooks Majid’s favorite dish—mutton yakhni—but leaves the plate untouched. “Maybe he’ll come back next Eid,” she says, trying to convince herself. Her daughter quietly folds away the wedding dress that was meant for this month, unsure when—or if—it will be used.
In a small corner of the house, under a cracked photograph of the family from happier days, sits Majid’s old school bag. Inside it, notebooks, a half-used pen, and a worn-out ID card. On one of the pages, he had scribbled a line in Urdu:
"Zindagi ki raahon mein, sach ka raasta aksar akela hota hai."
(In the paths of life, the road of truth is often a lonely one.)
Picked Up on Basis of Old Detentions
The Kashmir Times visited the homes of around ten families whose sons have been booked under the Public Safety Act (PSA) following the Pahalgam attack. Most of them were picked up on the basis of their past dossiers from 2016 and 2017.
A disturbing pattern emerged—most of these young men had prior detentions, often from years ago, and no fresh FIRs.
In South Kashmir, 23-year-old Nadeem (name changed), a mechanic, had been briefly detained during a protest crackdown in 2017. Since then, he worked quietly at a garage. But days after the Pahalgam incident, police picked him up at night. A week later, his family learned he had been sent to jail under PSA.
“Why now? Why him?” his brother asked. “He hadn't even stepped out of the village.” The family was told informally that his "old record" made him a suitable preventive case.
For many, a single detention years ago when they were minors becomes a permanent blot. Their families have learned to fear not just raids or arrests, but memories—digital or spoken—that can be used against them.
A Facebook Post in 2021 comes Haunting
In Central Kashmir, 19-year-old Faizan (name changed) had once posted a critical line about a political decision on Facebook. He was summoned in 2021, but let off after a warning. His family said that he was never detained, though after his social media post, he was summoned several times in the last few years.
“We never imagined something so small would come back to destroy his life,” his mother whispers. She, however, added that she is not sure if the post has been the grounds of his detention.
The family hesitated to share the dossier, fearing reprisal.
Faizan’s room remains untouched, his books left open, and a sticky note on his desk reads: "I’ll make it through, Insha’Allah."
No Place for Reform
In South Kashmir, Ishfaq (name changed), 25, had moved to a nearby town to work as a delivery boy.
His only brush with the law was in 2016, as a teenager. But that has led to a detention under PSA.
“They said it's precautionary,” says his father. “But how do you live your life if the state takes precautions against your existence?”
With Ishfaq gone, his younger sister dropped out of her coaching classes. They now survive on a single pension—and fading hope. When someone like Ishfaq, striving for a decent life, becomes a threat on paper, it leaves families wondering whether rehabilitation and reform have any place left in the system.
In another part of South Kashmir, a small grocery shop has remained locked since Rashid (name changed), 28, was picked up.
Detained in 2016 and again in 2019, Rashid had since built a quiet life, running the shop and taking care of his wife and daughter. But post-Pahalgam, police returned. With no new case, the old records were revived, and Rashid was booked under PSA.
“His daughter keeps asking, ‘Did papa do something bad?’” says his wife. “What do I tell her when I myself don’t know?” Rashid’s daughter waits with a bag packed, thinking her father will return soon to take her for ice cream, not knowing he's now hundreds of kilometres away behind bars.
In North Kashmir, Yawar (name changed), 22, had turned over a new leaf after a difficult past. A bookworm, he was preparing for competitive exams and had stayed away from political activity for years.
His grandmother holds a photo from when he was 15 and says, “He’s changed... but maybe in Kashmir, change doesn’t count. Only your history does.”
Despite the legal safeguards available under the Indian Constitution, the application of the Public Safety Act (PSA) in Jammu and Kashmir has consistently drawn criticism for operating outside the boundaries of procedural fairness.
After visiting multiple families affected by PSA detentions, Kashmir Times found a pattern that many legal scholars and rights observers find deeply troubling.
Opacity of PSA Dossiers
A legal scholar based in Central Kashmir, who has reviewed over a hundred PSA dossiers in the past ten years, observed, “We are increasingly seeing the use of past allegations—some dating back nearly a decade—as grounds for fresh detentions.
Even when courts have quashed earlier charges, these same claims are often reproduced in PSA dossiers without judicial scrutiny. This isn’t preventive detention anymore; it’s institutionalised punishment without trial.”
He spoke on conditions of anonymity.
His concern aligns with what many in the legal fraternity have begun calling a ‘parallel system of control’—one where administrative orders outweigh due process, and vague language like “threat to public order” is rarely backed by verifiable evidence.
A human rights researcher, who requested for anonymity, stated, “The PSA works in a legal void. Detention becomes a tool not of justice, but of erasure—erasing the right to be heard, to protest, to defend oneself. In most cases, families don’t even receive full copies of the dossiers. They are left in the dark, only told that the person is a ‘habitual offender’ based on police language that is never cross-examined.”
The researcher emphasized how this climate of fear and opacity leads to silence—especially among vulnerable families who fear that publicising detentions may worsen the detainee’s condition or delay their release.
Even legal experts and lawyers are unwilling to speak on record. Those who agreed to talk, spoke on condition of anonymity.
Mirwaiz Umar Farooq criticised the policy of mass detentions. Taking to X, he wrote, “Repeated arrests of Kashmiris—many of whom have already completed their sentences, serve no justice. ……… Such harassment deepens the wounds and fuels mistrust and anger among people.”
His tweet can be accessed here.
PSA to Silence Dissent
One of them pointed to the case of Rehmatullah Padder, a 30-year-old environmental activist from South Jammu’s Chenab Valley, as a glaring example of how PSA is increasingly used to silence dissent.
Rehmatullah, who stood in front of burning garbage, had openly criticised the authorities for violations of solid waste management norms in Doda district, saying, “You can see the violations in broad daylight.”
He was arrested on 9 November 2024 under the Jammu and Kashmir Public Safety Act for alleged anti-State activities. However, his family and civil society groups claim he was wrongly labelled an Over Ground Worker (OGW) simply because he exposed corruption and raised environmental concerns about large-scale infrastructure projects in the fragile hilly region.
“Rehmatullah has been targeted by the Doda authorities for his activism,” said his elder brother Fayaz Ahmad Padder, who described the PSA detention as a systematic attempt to suppress critical voices.
The detention order said Rehmatullah Padder was “a strong motivator of jihad” (holy war) and had “good oratory skills”, with the ability to attract a large number of people towards anti-national activities, especially among youth.
The dossier claimed that Rehmatullah Padder was a sympathiser of militants and “remains in continuous touch with ISI/PAK-based settled militants through the use of various apps on social media, which could lead to rise in militancy, particularly in District Doda, especially at a time when the region is witnessing a revival of terrorism.”
The Public Safety Act, which permits the government to detain citizens for up to two years without trial, has been used to imprison hundreds of Kashmiris, including journalists, youth, politicians and others without formal charges.
During the October 2024 assembly election in the union territory, the manifestos of the National Conference and the People’s Democratic Party both vowed to repeal the PSA, a law that global human rights group Amnesty International has termed a “lawless law” for its violation of India’s international human rights commitments.
A February 2020 writ petition in the Supreme Court challenged the constitutionality of the PSA, which legal experts have said is violative of fundamental rights guaranteed by the Indian Constitution.
Intensified Crackdown
However, following the deadly attack in Pahalgam that claimed the lives of 25 tourists and one local resident, Jammu and Kashmir Police have launched an intensified crackdown across the Valley.
The Jammu and Kashmir Police have launched an intensified crackdown across the Valley in the aftermath of the Pahalgam. Police officials said the operation targets Over Ground Workers (OGWs), sympathisers, and individuals identified as having an "inimical mindset." This crackdown, they stated, is part of a broader counter-terror strategy that will be further intensified in the coming days.
Citing Inspector General of Police (IGP), Kashmir Zone, V K Birdi, a report noted that at least 90 individuals have so far been booked under the Jammu and Kashmir Public Safety Act (PSA), 1978, while nearly 2,800 suspected OGWs have been rounded up for questioning or preventive detention.
“The crackdown against OGWs and people with inimical mindset will be intensified further in the coming days,” Birdi was quoted as saying.
(This report has been updated with additional versions of the family of Faizan to add more clarity)
(The identity of the reporter of this story has been withheld due to fear of potential reprisal. The names of those detained and their family members are changed to protect their identity.)
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