Saima’s Family Was Not Tried, Yet They Were All ‘Sentenced’

Even when the law accuses without proof, society judges with certainty, not realising that the cost is not only borne by those behind bars but also by their families, their children, their dreams and their dignity.

Saima Khan was 24 when the ground slipped beneath her feet. In March 2020, as the country was still absorbing the shocks of the Delhi riots and COVID 19 was beginning to spread, her father, Saleem Khan, was arrested and labelled a “terrorist” under the Unlawful Activities (Prevention) Act (UAPA).

For a family that had never even entered a police station, the accusations and the arrest felt like being teleported into a nightmare with no end. “We got to see him after three months,” Saima recalls. “Not because we did not try, but because we did not even know where he had been taken.” The opacity surrounding Saleem Khan’s arrest was striking. The nationwide lockdowns only made everything harder for the family to navigate.

The Khans had long lived in Chand Bagh, running a business for over 30 years with a record of charitable and social work. Saleem Khan also travelled abroad frequently for export work. When the riots broke out, he was summoned several times for questioning. “Sometimes he would be held overnight, but he always came back. We never imagined he would not return this time,” says Saima.

On 11 March 2020, he was arrested. The family did not receive any direct communication from the police and only learnt of it through a public poster announcing the arrest. “At first, we told people he was out of the country. We were trying to protect him, protect ourselves,” she admits. But the news soon broke. TV channels and newspapers carried the story. Whispers turned to headlines, and just like that, they were no longer the Khan family, they were a “terrorist family.”

The charges against Saleem Khan included three FIRs: rioting, murder and destruction of public property, under FIR numbers 60, 59 and 136. The most burdensome of them all was the UAPA, a draconian anti terrorism law enacted in 1967 to curb unlawful activities and associations, but repeatedly amended to expand its scope amid rising security concerns. Originally aimed at preserving India's sovereignty and integrity by targeting terrorist acts and organised crime, the Act empowers authorities to designate individuals or groups as terrorists, seize property, and impose stringent penalties including life imprisonment or death. Key provisions allow for detention without trial for up to 180 days, extendable in special circumstances, and reverse the burden of proof in bail hearings by presuming the accused guilty unless they can demonstrate innocence. The 2019 amendment, one of the most controversial, enabled the government to label individuals as terrorists without prior judicial oversight, bypassing the need to first declare an association unlawful.

Critics argue that UAPA's vague definitions of terrorism and unlawful activities, which can include incitement or disruption of public order, make it ripe for misuse against dissenters, journalists, activists and minorities. Data shows a dismal conviction rate in UAPA cases, with thousands languishing in pre trial detention for years, their lives suspended in legal limbo. In the context of the 2020 Delhi riots, which claimed over 50 lives, predominantly Muslims, amid protests against the Citizenship Amendment Act, UAPA was invoked in dozens of cases, often against those accused of a larger conspiracy to incite violence. Five years on, as of early 2025, many of these prosecutions are falling apart due to lack of evidence, with only a few convictions amid widespread allegations of fabricated charges and targeted harassment of Muslim communities. Prominent cases remain stalled, with interim bails occasionally granted but full trials dragging on indefinitely.

“Once the UAPA label was added, everything changed,” Saima says. “The police stopped cooperating. We could not find out what was happening. It felt like falling into a tower of silence.”

Dr. Saima at her Dental Clinic

The legal process demands otherworldly patience. Hearing follows hearing, only to face delayed orders, reshuffled judges and a fresh start each time. “It has been two and a half years since we appealed for bail,” Saima says. “Two panels of judges have changed, and with every change, the process resets.”

Truly, justice delayed is justice denied. Saleem Khan was 47 when he was taken. He is 53 now. No conviction. No closure. Only years.

It is not his suffering alone. The arrest derailed his children’s lives. Saima had recently completed her Bachelor of Dental Surgery in 2021 and had hoped to pursue a Master of Dental Surgery. Her brother, who dreamed of doing an MBA, let go of his ambitions under the weight of societal stigma. Their youngest sister was just 19 and still in school when everything fell apart.

“We were too young to run papa’s business,” Saima explains. “So we started working. It was the time we should have been studying, not paying bills.”

The financial and emotional toll was severe. Society did not make it easier. Simple acts such as parking a vehicle on the street became invitations for stigma and abuse. “People would avoid us. They assumed if the police arrested him, he must have done something. No one thinks about false implications. No one waits for proof.”

Support was fleeting. At the start, some members of the community stood with them. But as months turned into years, even the faith people had in a respected man was polluted with doubt. “The public believes, where there is smoke, there is fire,” Saima says. “We were left to fight our battle alone.”

It was not only the injustice of the legal system that forced Saima and her siblings into adulthood, but also the isolation imposed by society. “People do not see the difference between being under investigation and being convicted,” she adds. “They just want to stay away.”

Perhaps what makes Saima’s words most heart-wrenching is not only the injustice they expose, but the quiet resilience they carry. Her voice does not shake with anger but with exhaustion and hope.

“We had to grow up before time. We had no choice,” she says. “We are living on the sacrifices we made and still make.”

Her message to the government is straightforward: “If someone is found guilty, they should be punished. But if you cannot prove anything, how do you justify keeping them behind bars for years? What is the government’s penalty for the years we have lost?”

And to society, her request is even simpler: “If you cannot help someone who is suffering, at least do not add to their pain. Do not become a reason for someone’s isolation.”

The story of Saima Khan and her family is not an isolated one. It echoes the experiences of countless others caught in the wide net of UAPA, from activists detained on flimsy evidence to people charged for social media posts deemed seditious. It is part of a growing archive of lives paused, dreams shelved and identities stolen by a system that punishes without proving, and a society that turns away. As calls for reform grow louder, Saleem Khan remains a stark reminder of the human cost.

Saleem Khan is still in jail. He is still waiting. So is his family.

  ( The writer is an intern at Just Media Foundation )