How a Sibling-Led Sharia Court Offers Hope to Kashmiri Women Trapped in Abusive Marriages

SRINAGAR, Jammu and Kashmir — On a rainy spring evening, off the narrow, mud-filled lanes of Alamgari Bazar, about five kilometers from the heart of Srinagar, Ruheela Jan slowly washed dishes in the kitchen of her maternal home. Dressed in a brown pheran, a traditional Kashmiri cloak, she rinsed her hands and led us into a modest guest room.

“It was a miserable time that felt endless,” Jan said softly, letting out a long sigh. “Those two years felt like an entire decade, one that just wouldn’t end.” More to Her Story is using a pseudonym for the young woman to protect her privacy.

In 2021, Jan was married to a man from another district in Srinagar. The wedding was celebrated with grandeur—one of the most joyful occasions her family had witnessed. As the only daughter among two sons, her parents saw the marriage as a milestone, a moment of pride and fulfillment.

But within weeks, Jan found herself confused and unsettled in her new marriage.

“Even simple conversations would turn into arguments,” she said. “I thought maybe he was just short-tempered, and that I needed to better understand him—learn where to pause, how he reacts, and when to step back.”

As time went on, Jan began to realize that life in her new home wasn’t going to be easy.

“I was constantly harassed by my ex-husband and his family,” she said. “I didn’t know what to do. Telling my own family would have meant making it official, filing a formal complaint, and I wasn’t ready for that.”

After enduring nearly two years in a marriage she desperately hoped would work, Jan felt she had no choice but to return to her parents and share the truth. Her revelation left them in shock—they had heard nothing about her troubles until that moment. As she recounted what she had endured, it became a moment of sheer horror for her parents, unraveling the silent suffering their daughter had carried alone.

Jan’s parents reached out to her in-laws, but their efforts were in vain. When nothing changed, they turned to the local mohalla, or community, committees and other community institutions in hopes of resolving the matter amicably. Still, her husband and his family refused to budge.

“They would indirectly blame me for not being a ‘good woman,’” Jan said. “We weren’t ready to go to court for two reasons—it would cost us money, and secondly, there’s no knowing when the court would make a decision. It could take a year, maybe two, or even more.” 

Finally, Jan and her family turned to Anjuman Sharie Shian, a century-old religious, socio-political, educational, and philanthropic organization based in Kashmir. The organisation is currently led by a brother-sister team — Muntazir Mehdi, a constitutional law attorney, and Khairunnisa Aga, a lecturer in the field of political science  — who help manage its sharia court, adjudicating cases based on Islamic law and advises on reformation. Many people, particularly women, turn to the group to resolve personal and marital disputes that might otherwise remain unaddressed in formal legal settings.

Engulfed in decades of conflict, the Indian-administered state of Kashmir has long seen women bear the brunt of turmoil. In this Muslim-majority region, marriage is considered sacred, yet for many women, it becomes a source of suffering at the hands of violent and abusive partners. Divorce remains a daunting prospect. Prolonged court procedures, social stigma, and the shame attached to separation make it an uphill battle.

Critics say the situation worsened after Aug. 5, 2019, when Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s government stripped Jammu and Kashmir of its special status under Article 370 of the Constitution and divided the restive state into two union territories.

Overnight, the Women’s Commission, along with six other commissions—including those dealing with human rights, the “right to information,” and the rights of the disabled—were disbanded, and about 160 special laws were scrapped.

In response to this crisis, Mehdi and Aga established a sharia court in the Shia community to bridge the gap. Their initiative offers women an alternative route to resolve marital disputes, expedite long-pending cases outside the formal judicial system, and escape abusive marriages to rebuild their lives.

Mehdi, secretary of Anjuman Interfaith Dialogue Chapter at the organisation, said the sharia court had existed for hundreds of years. “We wanted to highlight its relevance and reintroduce it in a contemporary context,” Mehdi said, noting the court system has “several advantages.” 

He said, “First, it’s completely free of cost. Second, it offers a comfortable and dignified space, especially for women. In open courts, many women find it traumatic to share personal details, but here, in front of the sharia president, they feel safe and respected as they are not dehumanized.”

“The work of the sharia court is grounded in thorough research and rooted in well-established Islamic jurisprudence,” Mehdi said. “We consider the interpretations and guidance of all major ayatollahs on matters such as guardianship and maintenance, while continuously studying and adapting to new perspectives offered by ulema and scholars. We are not simply carrying forward traditional decisions without question. We actively ensure that rulings reflect contemporary realities, so that people don’t feel alienated or wronged by outdated interpretations."

Locals say community members widely accept the court’s authority, with rigorous processes and mechanisms in place to protect women’s rights. “We discourage divorce and always aim for reconciliation, but if resolution isn’t possible, we proceed with divorce, ensuring it is done ethically and respectfully," Mehdi said. "In today’s context, where the current Indian government is increasingly dehumanizing religious laws, it becomes even more important to highlight how many rights women already have within religious frameworks. Our goal is to make those rights accessible and to ensure that women can choose a life of dignity."

Critics contend that women and girls have been unfairly penalized by religious interpretations of law that deny women and girls equal rights compared to men and boys. 

Habeel Iqbal, a human rights lawyer who has extensively worked in Kashmir on issues affecting women, says, "In theory, Islamic law offers women meaningful safeguards. But in practice, especially in lower courts, men still dominate the outcomes. A woman facing domestic violence might get a maintenance order while her husband, especially if he's not in a government job, walks away and remarries. She, on the other hand, is left with no real recourse. That's why we must push for stronger clauses in the nikahnama itself. Shariyat has already opened the door—we just need to walk through it, and more Muslim women need to lead that walk." 

“We often rely on a basic nikahnama, but what we need is a model nikahnama that incorporates all the rights Shariyat permits—like Talaq-e-Tafweez, which allows both partners to agree on fair, mutual terms. This clause can empower a woman to seek divorce if conditions are violated, such as in cases of abuse. Unfortunately, this tool remains underused because of patriarchal resistance, not just from society but also within our courts and religious bodies.” Iqbal added.

In Tamil Nadu, for example, some years ago, a Muslim woman, Sharifa Khanam, launched an effort to start a women’s mosque in order to avoid the mostly patriarchal interpretations of law, penalizing women on issues of divorce, child custody, property rights, and other issue, because women weren’t allowed to be present for dispute resolution meetings inside mosques that only allowed men to enter. 

The effort in Kashmir is an attempt to thread the needle and turn religious structures into agents for justice, not injustice.

Like Jan, 29-year-old Beenish Nabi, also using a pseudonym, was married through a formal ceremony to Showkat Ali, a pseudonym, from Chatrehama, Chadoora. The nikah, or Islamic marriage, was performed after a few meetings between the two families, though the rukhsati, or bridal send-off, was scheduled for six months later.

“My uncle introduced us to this family. In our culture, an uncle is regarded almost like a father,” Nabi said. “I didn’t voice any hesitation—not because I didn’t feel it, but because I couldn’t. My mind was preoccupied with my exams, which were just two months away.”

The families had agreed that following the nikah ceremony, Nabi would complete her exams and finish her studies before the rukhsati took place.

“Once my exams were over, I finally had some time and was able to speak with my husband and his family a few times,” Nabi recalled. “Even during those initial phone conversations, I sensed something was off. They mocked my educational background, criticized my way of dressing, and repeatedly told me I needed to change.”

Nabi was hesitant to share her concerns with her parents, so she first confided in her older sister. Following her sister’s advice, she gathered the courage to open up to her family. “When my father heard the kind of remarks they were making, he simply said, ‘This won’t work. You’re still in our home, and if this is how they behave now, what will happen once you start living with them?”

Determined not to waste time in lengthy court proceedings, the family approached the sharia court. Nabi said she was fully satisfied with the outcome after both parties were heard.

“I was granted my mehr,” or divorce, “and the case was resolved quickly,” Nabi said. “It allowed me to refocus on my life and spared us both time and money. Most importantly, the ruling was binding—it couldn't be challenged or disregarded, which might have happened had we gone through local mohalla committees.” 

Ezabir Ali, founder and secretary of Ehsaas,  a non-governmental group based in Kashmir, advocating for women’s rights in Jammu and Kashmir, said that grassroots initiatives like sharia courts are not just important, but also vital. Also a trained mediator, she said the sharia courts provide an alternative, community-based mechanism for justice, especially for women who might otherwise remain trapped in abusive marriages due to stigma, lack of resources, or fear of retaliation. 

“In my experience, when formal systems fall short, culturally rooted, localized approaches can deliver timely relief and restore a sense of dignity,” she said. “What’s happening in Budgam, helping women to resolve marriage disputes through a sharia court, bridges a critical gap. It offers women hope, support, and resolution without the long delays or intimidation of the formal judicial process.”

​According to a report released by the National Crime Records Bureau in 2022, domestic violence remains a significant concern in India. The category of “Cruelty by husband or his relatives” accounted for 31.4% of all crimes against women. That year, Jammu and Kashmir recorded 3,716 cases of crimes against women. Despite 6,309 arrests, only 68 cases resulted in convictions. This indicates a significant gap between arrests and successful convictions, highlighting challenges in the legal process and the need for reforms to ensure justice for women.  

“In Kashmir, religious leaders often hold immense influence over public opinion and community norms. When they speak up for women's rights and well-being, especially in the context of marriage and abuse, it sends a powerful message,” Ali acknowledged, “I have worked closely with ulema,” or religious scholars, “on issues like the plight of half-widows, and their involvement has been instrumental in securing support for women.” “Half-widows” are women whose husbands went missing during the Kashmir conflict, leaving them in a state of limbo, uncertain whether their spouses are dead or alive..

She noted: “Ulemas can shift narratives from silence and shame to support and solidarity, making it not just a women’s issue but a collective moral responsibility.”