Caught Between Borders and Broken Promises, Pakistani Woman's Journey Through J&K’s Militant Rehab Policy

Gripping the cold iron fence meant to stop people like her from jumping, Misbah Mushtaq, 35, stands on a downtown Srinagar bridge, her other hand wrapped tightly around her 7-year-old son, Arhan. The River Jhelum roars beneath her – a restless current, like the storm inside her. In that moment of despair, she imagines surrendering herself to its pull.

“If only these waters could carry me home,” she yells, “even if it’s just my dead body that reaches there.”

The river, originating at Verinag in the south of Kashmir, zigzags through the valley, flowing through the city of Srinagar, and enters Wular Lake in Bandipora before crossing into Pakistan-occupied Kashmir through a deep, narrow gorge.

Several people, embittered by the miseries of life and unable to bear it any longer, have attempted suicide by jumping into the river from the city’s bridges.

For Misbah, home is on the other side of the Line of Control (LoC), where the Jhelum slips away into distance and memory – towards a place forever out of reach.

Her gaze is fixed on the Jhelum’s muddy swirl. She slips into reveries of the moment when fate bound her to a man who crossed the LoC for arms training,  not knowing that one day, she would be the one caught in a battle far more intimate – longing for the land where she was born, where her parents still live, where she played with her friends, yet closed off by a conflict weighed down by history’s burden – one that India and Pakistan continue to carry, but refuse to lay down.

Mushtaq, her husband, who crossed into Pakistan for arms training via a route near his village, Qaimoh, in the north-western district of Kupwara in 2003, soon saw through the illusion. What had seemed like a call to “jihad” now looked to him like a game – a syndicate’s ploy – and he wanted no part in taking up arms against the country he had been indoctrinated to see as the enemy.

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So, Mushtaq abandoned the militant camp and started a new life in Pakistan’s capital, Islamabad, taking up residence in a house owned by Misbah’s uncle. It was there that a Kashmiri family proposed marriage – one that her family readily accepted.

“There was a growing trend among Pakistanis to marry their daughters to men who had crossed over from Kashmir,” Misbah explains. “Since these grooms were single and had no family around, they were considered a convenient choice – it spared families the usual complications of traditional marriages.”

With the chief minister Omar Abdullah’s 2010 militant rehabilitation policy in mind, Misbah’s parents saw a future for their daughter with Mushtaq – and in 2013, they married her to him, believing he would return to Kashmir to live a normal life as envisaged in the policy.

Hundreds of other Kashmiris living in Pakistan under similar circumstances – lured by the promise of starting life anew – left behind their wives and children, believing they would be welcomed back and rehabilitated into the system.

The policy applied to those who had crossed over to Pakistan-occupied Kashmir (PoK) or Pakistan between January 1, 1989, and December 31, 2009.

Omar Abdullah’s 2010 rehab policy, preceded by others in 1995 under Governor General K.V. Krishna Rao, in 2004 under N.N. Vohra, and tweaked in 2019 on the advice of Gov. S.P. Malik, was touted as a “goodwill gesture.”

Backed by the Union government, then-home minister P. Chidambaram expressed full support for the return of Kashmiris who wished to renounce militancy and live peacefully.

Emphasising that “Pakistan-Occupied Kashmir (PoK)” is part of India, Chidambaram said the government “should make it easier for those who had crossed the LoC for various reasons to return.”

Inspector General of Police, Kashmir, S.M. Sahai, acknowledged that those willing to renounce militancy were an integral part of society and emphasized that it was the moral responsibility of every citizen to support their rehabilitation.

But for those married to men who had crossed the LoC, holding on to the hope of a normal life together, the promise of return unfolded into a perilous and uncertain journey – one that left hundreds of Pakistani women caught between the fading assurances of Chidambaram and Sahai, quickly sinking into bureaucratic quicksand.

Returnees had to navigate a near-impossible maze of approaching the Indian High Commission in Islamabad or rely on relatives in Jammu and Kashmir to get their names listed.

Each application underwent exhaustive security vetting, with final clearance resting with the Union home ministry. Officials reportedly admitted the process was so protracted that even genuine cases could take years, if not be lost entirely. The promise of return began to feel like a cruel illusion.

The policy offered four official routes: two in Jammu and Kashmir, one in Delhi, and one in Punjab. However, most chose to return via Nepal, fearing retribution from Pakistani militant groups and the ISI if they used official transit points.

“Abandoning a militant camp would mean certain death for you and your family, as our return would serve as proof of how the state of Pakistan, ISI, and other militant outfits were responsible for running these training camps," Mushtaq said.

For India, official routes implied Pakistan’s complicity, which it could use to show the international community that Pakistan supported terrorism in Jammu and Kashmir – a charge Pakistan has consistently denied.

The Omar Abdullah government strongly advocated for Nepal to be recognised as an official route, but the Union government refused. Despite being used by many families, the Nepal route remained unofficial and technically illegal.

The tussle between the Jammu and Kashmir government and the Centre over the Nepal route escalated when Liyaqat Ali Shah, a former militant, was arrested by Delhi Police in 2013.

Omar Abdullah defended Liyaqat’s actions, insisting that his return was legitimate under the state's policy. This political and security wrangle between the state and the Union government – and with Liyaqat caught in the middle – highlighted the complexities of reintegrating militants and the mistrust surrounding the rehabilitation policy.

Misbah was part of a 16-member group of three families, arranged by a travel facilitator named Saleem, originally from Khanmoh, Srinagar, who allegedly charged each person between Rs 2.5-3 lakh. The group, carrying Pakistani passports with Nepali visas, took an Emirates flight from Islamabad to Sharjah. Misbah’s husband, Mushtaq, held a Pakistani passport under the name Junaid-ul-Islam.

When asked how her husband obtained a Pakistani passport, Misbah replied, “For Pakistan, every citizen from Jammu and Kashmir is entitled to Pakistani citizenship, as it considers the region its own.”

From Sharjah, they flew to Nepal, where an unnamed Kashmiri agent received them at the Kathmandu airport, already aware of their details. The agent took them to a pre-booked hotel, where they stayed for three nights. He locked the hotel from the outside whenever he would leave for some work.

“The agent demanded his fees and took whatever we had – cash in US dollars and gold,” Misbah said. “One member also transferred money online to the agent’s Jammu and Kashmir Bank account.”

After seizing their documents, including nikah namas (marriage certificates) and anything connecting them to Pakistan, the agent bundled them into a lorry while riding a bike to guide the driver. He claimed the documents were safe but never returned them.

“When I think of the agent today, I wonder: Was he a Pakistani agent, an Indian, or a police conduit who erased our Pakistani identity while getting money transferred to his account?” Misbah said.

The group reached the Sonali Border separating Nepal and India at 11:00 PM.

“Stripped of our identity, we were terrified and dreaded crossing at that hour,” she said. “We decided to wait for the morning.”

At 11 AM the next day, they crossed the Sonali Border into India, where a contingent of BSF and J&K Police’s Counterinsurgency Unit (CIK) received them. After thorough frisking, they were placed in a house. Misbah alone carried 13 suitcases, and the search was torturous.

“They threw items everywhere without regard,” Misbah recounted. “While the BSF treated us respectfully, offering tea and biscuits and lodging us in a Muslim hotel, the J&K Police’s behaviour was shockingly indecent.”

The police and BSF recorded everyone’s details in their registers.

From there, the group was taken to Delhi by bus; they paid with money they had managed to hide from the agent. They arrived at 7 AM, where CIK took their details again before loading them into a blue police van without offering refreshments.

After an arduous journey, they reached Srinagar at 11 PM and were taken to CIK headquarters at Humhama. There, they were formally arrested for illegal border crossing under Section 14 of the Foreigners Act.

“Eight or nine agencies took the minutest details of our lives,” Misbah said.

The men were handcuffed, and the group was taken for medical check-ups before being produced in the Srinagar court, where a challan was filed against them. Women and children were handed over to the men’s relatives, who had been summoned by police.

The proceedings were videotaped, with each member photographed with their name and FIR number on a slate hung around their neck. They stayed at CIK Humhama for three days.

“My husband was released on bail, and we headed to his village in Kupwara, where we lived relatively undisturbed for a while, though he was summoned to the local police station often,” Misbah said.

The case was heard in Srinagar, then transferred to District Court, Sopore. Women were exempted from court appearances.

Judge Aadil Mushtaq trashed the police’s claim that they were arrested in Srinagar, noting no mention of Nepal.

“When the judge asked, ‘Did you see them crossing from Pakistan?,’ the police had no answer,” Misbah said.

Eventually, they were released. However, she later learned that their lawyer had falsely claimed they weren’t Pakistani citizens, further complicating the issue.

It was at the funeral of a Pakistani woman, Ambreen, that Misbah learned of others like her. She met Bushra and Saira, and they formed a WhatsApp group that grew to 370 members. The group became active, protesting at venues across Kashmir, including Srinagar’s Press Enclave, demanding repatriation or citizenship.

In a protest video, Misbah passionately states, “Hamain Ya To Goli Maar Do Ya Wapas Bejh Do!” (“Shoot us or deport us!”), highlighting their desperation.

Some excerpts from Misbah’s protest video:

•  If the government created this rehabilitation policy, why are we called illegal now? If we were illegal then, why weren’t we sent back at Nepal? We have no identity, no citizenship here.

• They call our children “Pakistanis” though their fathers are Kashmiris. If our children are registered as Pakistani, send us back—we’re not asking for anything else. Just open the border.

• We are not terrorists. We are women and children. What have we done wrong? We have no citizenship. Our children have no future. We are already imprisoned.

One day, while traveling in a Sumo taxi, a passenger suggested Misbah write to the ADG CID in Jammu, which she did, including her name, address and phone number. The letter was forwarded to the SSP Kupwara, Youghal Manhas, who promptly registered the returnees’ details online.

“Thanks to Manhas, Saira, who entered via Wagah Border, was repatriated with her four children in October 2018,” Misbah said.

However, her own ordeal worsened as she joined more protests by the day. She wrote to the Indian home ministry, foreign ministry, and Pakistan Embassy, but to no avail.

“We met Lieutenant Governor Manoj Sinha, whose PA took our addresses, promising action within a fortnight,” she said. “When nothing happened, we tried meeting him again but the cops arrested us near the Botanical Garden after the LG declined to meet us.”

“They took us to the Ram Munshi Bagh Police Station along with the auto drivers, but released us soon after.”

A letter to the Pakistan high commissioner, forwarded to India’s Ministry of External Affairs and CID Kashmir, yielded confusing responses.

When Nasreen, Nusrat, Safiya Sayed and Salma Mushtaq visited the Pakistan High Commission, the Delhi Police reportedly arrested them but released them after they explained their motive and showed rehab documents.

Misbah says politicians exploit their plight every now and then, promising much during the elections but delivering nothing.

“Can you imagine, two women became sarpanch after we got voter IDs, and one, Somia Sadaf, ran in DDC elections? When we complained to the Election Commission about Pakistani women in polls, counting stopped midway,” Misbah said. “Our voter IDs were confiscated and cancelled later.”

She said the Foreigners Registration Office (FRO) in Kupwara repeatedly tells them to first obtain Pakistani passports, pay a penalty, and only then can their exit from the country be processed.

A desperate Misbah, standing at the bridge, stares at the Jhelum’s gushing waters, wondering how their ordeal will end. She doesn’t even remember the dates of the events that have brought her to this pass.

“They are leaving us no choice but to end our lives by suicide,” a distraught Misbah said. “Jhelum is my last hope — it’s this river that shall take me back home.”

Farooq Shah is a Kashmir-based journalist.

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