In December 2020, a 16-year-old Mohammad Saqib was dragged off a village road near his friend’s house in the Indian state of Uttar Pradesh and assaulted by a group of men. 

Hours later, he found himself behind bars, accused of one of India’s most controversial and politically-charged crimes: ‘love jihad’,  the alleged conspiracy by Muslim men to seduce and convert Hindu women.

“I was returning from a birthday party with a friend when I saw some boys stopping a girl on the road,” Saqib tells TRT World. 

“I asked what was going on, and they attacked me (without any apparent provocation). Later, the police arrived and took me to the station. Even though the girl told them I wasn’t with her, they still charged me.”

Saqib, now 20, was recently acquitted after nearly four years of legal battles, over 70 court hearings, and a six-month jail stay.

His case, according to his lawyer, is the first full acquittal in Uttar Pradesh under the state’s anti-conversion legislation, commonly known as the ‘love jihad law’.

Enacted in 2020, Uttar Pradesh’s unlawful conversion law criminalises religious conversion through marriage, coercion, or deceit, but critics say the law is being misused to harass Muslim men. 

Although nationwide data is unavailable, activists say that the number of such cases could run into thousands.

In Uttar Pradesh alone, the anti-conversion law has been used to register 835 cases, leading to 1,682 arrests as of July last year. 

Yet convictions remain rare. As of mid‑2024, no case had resulted in guilty verdicts—even as hundreds remained under trial.

It has also become a tool to police interfaith relationships—especially those involving Muslim men and Hindu women—under the guise of protecting religious freedom.

Saqib was among the first individuals to be charged under the law, just 18 days after it came into effect.

Similar laws have since been introduced in several other states ruled by the rightwing Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) – including Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s home state Gujarat – contributing to a growing nationwide legal framework that many rights groups say infringes on personal freedoms and fuels communal polarisation.

Saqib’s account is not isolated. 

Since 2020, when Uttar Pradesh enacted a sweeping anti-conversion law targeting interfaith relationships, hundreds of Muslim men have been arrested under similar charges.

Uttar Pradesh is home to 38.5 million Muslims —the largest Muslim population of any Indian state—making up about 20 percent of its roughly 200 million residents.

False cases

Since the enactment of the law through July 2024, Uttar Pradesh authorities registered 835 cases under the anti-conversion law and made 1,682 arrests. 

However, there have been only a handful of convictions, while many accused spent months—often years—in pretrial detention.

Legal experts and activists argue that the law is being used to target India's largest religious minority in the name of morality and national identity.

“The majority of the cases under this law are fake,” says Mashruf Kamaal, Saqib’s lawyer. “This law may be religion-neutral on paper, but in practice, it overwhelmingly targets Muslims.”

Saqib said he was unfamiliar with the girl allegedly involved and denied any romantic interaction. His version is corroborated by court records and witness testimonies, including the girl’s statements during cross-examination.

“She said clearly in court that she didn’t know Saqib,” says Kamaal. “Her story was twisted. At first, she said she went to her friend’s house. Then she was pressured into naming Saqib.”

Kamaal contends that Saqib was initially mistaken for a thief in the village, where there had been a spate of automobile thefts. The crowd that beat him up included Muslims, but once the police arrived and discovered that the girl was from the Hindu community, the narrative changed.

“They gave the case a communal twist to avoid accountability,” he says. “Then they invoked cases of kidnapping, abduction with intent to compel marriage, and assault to outrage modesty.”

Saqib’s family, already financially struggling after the death of his father, spent thousands of Indian rupees on travel and legal costs. 

“I work as a welder now,” Saqib says. “My brother had to bear the expenses. We went to court two to four times a week. It was exhausting.”

Despite being a minor at the time, Saqib was tried as an adult. “We couldn’t prove his age initially because he didn’t have a school certificate,” Kamaal says. “Only later did we manage to get a birth certificate.”

In several instances, Uttar Pradesh police have had to withdraw charges against individuals following initial inquiries, after finding that the cases were based on exaggerated or unsubstantiated claims.

India’s Supreme Court has also sharply criticised the state Police for the biased and inappropriate use of anti-conversion laws. 

In March 2025, a bench led by then Chief Justice Sanjiv Khanna rebuked state authorities for invoking the law in an unrelated case.

Law rooted in political campaigns

The term ‘love jihad’ first surfaced in India in the late 2000s, popularised by right-wing Hindu groups and later amplified by politicians from PM Modi’s BJP, which has led the federal government since 2014. 

The allegation is based on the unproven claim that Muslim men systematically court Hindu women to convert them to Islam, thus altering India's demographic balance.

Despite no empirical evidence supporting the theory, anti-conversion laws introduced in several Indian states effectively criminalise interfaith marriages if conversion is involved. 

These laws require prior notice of conversion and allow family members to challenge marriages in court—provisions that critics say undermine the autonomy of consenting adults.

Critics argue that the growing legal infrastructure around so-called ‘love jihad’ is not simply the result of fringe ideology, but part of a broader state-backed project. 

“Government officials, including chief ministers, have openly endorsed the love jihad conspiracy,” says Apoorvanand Jha, a professor at Delhi University and a prominent critic of the ruling government. 

“These laws are not about protection. They are about punishing Muslims for transgressing social boundaries.”

Rights groups like Human Rights Watch have also warned that these laws, alongside rising hate speech, reflect a state-sponsored climate of intolerance. In 2023, the US Commission on International Religious Freedom once again listed India as a “country of particular concern,” citing the role of government officials in inciting violence and discrimination against religious minorities, particularly Muslims.

While Saqib’s acquittal may offer a glimmer of hope to the Muslim community, it does little to stem the tide of cases being filed under the anti-conversion laws. 

Rights groups say these laws are being enforced unevenly, overwhelmingly targeting Muslims rather than addressing genuine concerns about coercion. 

A Supreme Court petition lodged by Citizens for Justice and Peace in April 2025 noted that Uttar Pradesh’s law has been “weaponised” to harass interfaith couples—largely Muslim men married to Hindu women—with numerous cases filed by third parties, not the women themselves.

“The police act as if the woman’s consent is irrelevant,” says Apoorvanand. “It reflects a feudal mindset and a political strategy. These laws aren’t about justice; they are about control.”

In many cases, women who say they willingly married Muslim men are disbelieved or treated as victims of coercion. In some instances, couples have had their homes demolished or family members arrested despite court protections.

Last year, authorities in Uttar Pradesh demolished six homes belonging to a Muslim family after one of their men was accused of abducting a Hindu woman, despite her statement in court affirming that she had gone willingly. 

“This is not silence,” says Apoorvanand. “This is systematic persecution.”

Weaponisation of ‘love jihad law’

Right-wing Hindu groups closely allied with the BJP—such as the Bajrang Dal and the Vishwa Hindu Parishad—have taken the lead in aggressively pursuing alleged cases of ‘love jihad’. 

For instance, Bajrang Dal and VHP workers raid public spaces, gyms, and coaching centres to expel Muslim staff, alleging a threat to Hindu women’s safety. 

In other cases, their activists have forcibly entered private apartments hosting birthday gatherings, manhandling Muslim men and circulating footage online to shame them.

This pattern of vigilantism is not confined to northern Indian states, often associated with hardline Hindu nationalism. 

The playbook of harassment, surveillance, and moral policing is increasingly visible across the country, extending into regions with different political and cultural contexts.

Last month, in the state of Assam – located in the far east of India, close to the border with China and Myanmar – a mob believed to be linked to these outfits livestreamed the public assault of a Muslim youth over alleged ‘love jihad’, with police observers later acknowledging it as unlawful moral policing.

Reports suggest around 60% of the cases are filed by third parties, primarily Hindutva activists, and not the women involved or their families.

Activists from these rightwing groups often act as self-appointed guardians of Hindu women, mobilising through local networks and WhatsApp groups to monitor and intervene in interfaith interactions. 

In many cases, they confront couples in public, pressure families to file complaints, and circulate personal details online to create social pressure. This grassroots machinery plays a central role in triggering police action, even when the woman involved denies coercion or wrongdoing.

For individuals like Saqib, though, who have faced accusations, the impact extends beyond the courtroom and into daily life.

“I am terrified. I stay away from girls now,” he says. “I have lots of Hindu friends. But I am afraid to be in touch with them and don’t want any more trouble.”