The State Investigation Agency's (SIA) decision to reopen the 1990 rape and murder case of Sarla Bhat, the Kashmiri Pandit nurse killed by militants, is welcome news but this appears to be only on the surface. Coming exactly two years after the reopening of the Neelkanth Ganjoo case, it signals official acknowledgment of the sufferings of the Kashmiri Pandit community who fled from the Valley in 1990-91. Bhat's case holds particular significance in the collective memory of Kashmiri Pandit’s persecution in the most turbulent periods in Kashmir.
However, this selective approach to justice raises crucial questions about the government's intentions. Why were two cases alone picked up? According to a J&K Police Survey about a decade ago, 209 killings of Kashmiri Pandits were documented, 140 cases were registered in police stations, but only 24 chargesheets were filed, revealing a systemic complacency at the official levels in investigating these cases.
Equally disturbing is the contradictory official data on the violence against the community. According to Indian government’s reply in the parliament in 2017, 174 cases of killing of Kashmiri Pandits by militants were registered by the Jammu and Kashmir Police. It added that after investigations, “30 cases have been challaned and 142 cases have been reported as untraced. There has been conviction in one case”.
In 2017, and yet again in 2022, the Supreme Court refused to reopen these cases, reasoning that after decades, evidence would be unavailable and witnesses unreliable. The government neither challenged these orders nor initiated independent investigations into the remaining 207 cases, leaving families in legal limbo.
In 2023, the Jammu and Kashmir Lieutenant Governor while reopening the Ganjoo murder case had hinted that more such cases would be reopened, kindling hopes of the community struggling for justice. The reopening of another case, without any information about the investigations in the previous one, two years later does not only suggest a tardy pace of response but also a possible politicising of the pain of the community.
The timing of re-opening this case also puts into spotlight the hypocrisy of the government which recently banned among 25 books on Kashmir, ‘Do You Remember Kunan Poshpora’ which is a meticulous documentation of the Kunan Poshpora rapes case. These rapes are deeply embedded as a harrowing memory in the psyche of the broader Muslim community of Kashmir.
The practical challenges of pursuing justice after 35 years are indeed immense. Can scientific investigations truly resurrect lost evidence from crime scenes that may have undergone extensive alterations? While modern forensic techniques offer some hope, the fundamental question remains whether meaningful prosecution is possible when memories have faded, witnesses have died or relocated, and physical evidence has deteriorated or disappeared entirely.
The recent raids on eight locations in Srinagar highlight the absurdity of this exercise. Among those targeted was Mohammad Yasin Malik, already imprisoned in Delhi's Tihar Jail, while some suspects may well be dead after three and a half decades. What evidence do they expect to find in these homes, 35 years on? Conducted with great fanfare and publicity, the spectacle of simultaneous raids on some hand-picked houses is more theatrical than investigative.
A scrutiny of the track record of this government’s hollow claims of delivering justice to the community further deepens this suspicion. Two years after the Ganjoo case was reopened, no significant progress has been reported. Even more telling is the lack of headway in recent Kashmiri Pandit killings after 2020, in which evidence is fresh, witnesses are living, and there’s better prospects for justice. If the state cannot solve current cases, what hope exists for crimes from the 1990s?
The selective reopening of these cases appears to serve political rather than judicial purposes. It allows the government to demonstrate concern for Kashmiri Pandit’s festering wounds while avoiding any scientific investigations that can lead to justice and closure. This approach of picking out two symbolic cases for making headlines, probably only to be forgotten again, disrespects both the memory of victims like Sarla Bhat and the broader community still seeking answers. True justice would require systematic investigation of all documented cases, adequate resources for forensic work, and honest assessment of any evidence that remains viable after decades.
This selective theatre, which at best is political posturing, promises much but delivers little. Instead, when cases of delays in justice become tools to serve political convenience rather than truth-seeking, it is not just a case of denying justice, it is one of perverting justice.
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