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| The Silent Shackle: Ending Child Marriage In Rural J&K | | | Ramiz Raja
High in the jagged, snow-dusted highlands of the Jammu division and deep within the sequestered, emerald valleys of Kashmir, a parallel legal system operates in the long shadows of the Indian Penal Code. While the Union Territory has undergone a massive administrative and legal overhaul following the abrogation of Article 370, a disturbing, archaic reality remains entrenched in the soil. In the far-flung, “backward” rural belts, the law of the land is frequently subordinate to the whim and decree of the village Sarpanch.
This investigation dives into the heart of the “Omertà”—a code of silence—that shields child marriage in Jammu and Kashmir. It is a world where girls as young as 14 are traded into matrimony under a “mafia-like” village structure that effectively suppresses reporting, intimidates whistleblowers, and defies direct administrative intervention.
The Statistical Mirage: Why Numbers Lie
The National Family Health Survey (NFHS-5) presents a seemingly optimistic trajectory for the region. Official data records that approximately 5-6% of women aged 20–24 in Jammu & Kashmir were married before the legal age of 18. This is a marked decrease from the 9% recorded in the NFHS-4. On paper, J&K is winning the war against early marriage.
However, for those on the ground, these figures are a “statistical mirage.” In rural divisions, child marriages are almost never registered with civil authorities. The survey relies on self-reporting—a method easily manipulated by a profound fear of legal repercussions and the dread of social boycott. When a community decides to marry off a minor, it enters into a collective pact of silence. Consequently, official data reflects only the high-profile cases that “escaped” the village boundaries, leaving hundreds of others hidden behind the thick curtain of “tradition” and “poverty.”
The gap between the NFHS-4 and NFHS-5 data suggests progress, but experts argue this is partly due to the shift in how data is collected and the increased fear of reporting under stricter central laws. In reality, the “shadow economy” of marriage—where girls are viewed as assets to be transferred to reduce family liability—continues to thrive in pockets where the reach of the school bus is shorter than the reach of the local village council.
The Constitutional Shift: Before and After Article 370
One of the most significant changes in the fight against child marriage has been the legislative landscape. Before the abrogation of Article 370 in 2019, Jammu and Kashmir operated under its own set of state laws, which often lacked the teeth of central Indian legislation.
The Pre-2019 Era: A Fragmented Defense Before the transition to a Union Territory, child protection was governed largely by the J&K Juvenile Justice (Care and Protection of Children) Act, 2013. While well-intentioned, the reporting mechanisms were fragmented. The Prohibition of Child Marriage Act (2006)—the landmark central law—was not directly applicable in the same way it is today. Local “Customary Law” and the influence of village councils often took precedence over state statutes. Data from NFHS-4 (2015-16) showed a child marriage rate of 9%, reflecting a period where administrative surveillance was sparse and local elders operated with near-total impunity.
In those years, a child marriage case would often be “settled” within the village. If a complaint reached the local police station, the Sarpanch would often intervene, calling it a “private family matter” or a “religious obligation.” The police, often coming from the same social fabric, were frequently hesitant to disrupt the village’s internal peace.
The Post-Abrogation Reality:
A Uniform Hammer Following the abrogation, the Prohibition of Child Marriage Act, 2006 was fully extended to the Union Territory. This brought uniform penalties: two years of rigorous imprisonment and a ₹1 lakh fine for any adult or facilitator involved. Furthermore, the implementation of Mission Vatsalya (a central sponsored scheme) replaced the older, less-integrated state child protection schemes.
Muzaffar Ahmad Malik (KAS), the former District Child Protection Officer for Anantnag, confirms this shift. “Before 2019, reporting systems were significantly weaker and state-specific laws were limited in their scope. Now, central laws and Mission Vatsalya are implemented comprehensively. Surveillance has strengthened, and communities are gradually—though very slowly—becoming more cooperative.”
The data shows a downward trend to 5-6%, but the intensity of the struggle has increased. Under the new regime, the law is no longer a suggestion; it is a mandate. However, as the law became stricter, the practice went deeper underground.
THE VOICES OF AUTHORITY: EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEWS
To map the depth of this crisis, we conducted detailed interviews with the frontline leaders of J&K’s child protection machinery. Their testimonies reveal a system struggling against a wall of cultural resistance.
I. The Administrative Strategy: Dr Rehana Akhtar Bijli (Addl. Sec. Social Welfare)
Additional Secretary Dr Rehana Akhtar Bijli, provided the high-level roadmap for the government’s efforts.
“Records indicate a spike during the pandemic years (2020–2022). School closures and economic distress made girls more vulnerable,” Rehana noted. She emphasized that the department is now moving toward digital reporting and district-level convergence. “Child Helpline 1098 maintains total anonymity. Confidentiality is our strongest tool against village-level retaliation.”
She acknowledged that in rural areas, families often view early marriage as “economic relief,” a mindset the government is trying to break by linking girls with scholarships and vocational training. The goal is to move from a “reactive” system—stopping marriages at the altar—to a “proactive” one where the girl is too empowered to be married off.
II. The Poonch Corridor: The Violent Reality of Intervention
Perhaps the most harrowing account comes from Mehboob Murtaza Nawab, a Protection Officer with NIC Poonch. His testimony strips away the bureaucratic polish and reveals a dangerous, physical struggle in the border districts.
“Issues bahut saaray hain (there are so many issues) that we have to face every day,” Nawab says. “Local people simply do not cooperate. They hide the children; they conduct the marriages in the dead of night. If we receive a tip-off and arrive on the spot during the wedding, they don’t just resist—marrty lag jaty hn (they start hitting us). We face actual physical violence just for trying to uphold the law.”
Nawab points out that despite endless awareness programmes, the feedback from the community is often nil. One of the most chilling cases he encountered involved a massive age gap. “I have seen a case where the girl’s age was 14 years and the bridegroom’s age was 40 years. This isn’t just a ‘marriage’; it’s the destruction of a life. Most of these cases involve very poor families in rural areas who feel they have no other choice.”
Adding to this, Mehboob shared a recent encounter: “We recently intervened in a child marriage case in a rural area. Upon reaching the spot, we found that the marriage was scheduled to take place at that very moment. We successfully rescued the girl; however, tragically, her grandmother passed away later that same day.”
Nawab is vocal about the failures of local leadership. “The main reason these marriages continue is the cooperation of the Sarpanch and the ‘marriage fixers’ who support them. The administration’s role is sometimes limited because the Social Welfare Department wings and Mission Vatsalya are left to handle the heat. Every district has a Child Marriage Prohibition Officer (CMPO), but we aren’t even able to inform him daily—we only go to him for the most critical cases because the resistance is so high.”
The “Sarpanch” Hegemony:
Rule by Decree
In many remote villages, the social fabric is governed by an iron-clad patriarchal culture. Here, the Sarpanch acts not just as a representative of the government, but as a local monarch. If a girl reaches the age of 16 or 17, the pressure to marry her off “ASAP” becomes a collective community mission, often orchestrated by the village headman himself.
The Sarpanch often uses “protection” as a justification. They argue that in remote areas, marrying a girl early “safeguards” her from social stigma or “outside influences.” This logic, however, is a thin veil for maintaining patriarchal control.
“It is a mafia-like grip,” says a local field worker. “The Sarpanch decides the marriage, and no one dares to say anything. If someone even thinks of dialing 1098, they know they will be identified and exiled from the village social circle. The fear of the neighbor is greater than the fear of the police.”
The Core Conflict: Fear vs. The Law
The persistence of child marriage in J&K is rooted in a paradox of fear. Parents are technically scared of the law, but they are far more terrified of their own community. The “old culture” perpetuated by village elders dictates that a girl’s “shelf-life” ends at 18. To them, the law is an “outsider’s” interference in their “private” and “religious” customs.
In many cases, the “marriage fixer”—a local middleman who scouts for grooms—works directly with the village headman. They identify families in deep debt or those with multiple daughters and present marriage as a “solution.” This turns the life of a minor into a debt-clearing transaction.
The Frontline Shield: A Guide for Village Workers
To bridge this gap, this investigation has compiled a professional protocol for the unsung heroes—the ASHA workers, teachers, and Anganwadi staff who are the only eyes and ears inside these closed communities:
Mandatory Reporting: Under the POCSO Act and the JJ Act, failure to report a known crime against a child can lead to legal action against the official. Silence is complicity.
The Anonymity Clause: Calling 1098 does not require a name. You can report anonymously to protect yourself from local backlash. This is vital in small villages where everyone knows everyone.
Direct Escalation: If the local Sarpanch is the one facilitating the marriage, do not go to the local authorities who might be under his influence. Go directly to the CMPO, the DCPU, or the District Magistrate.
The School Dropout Marker: Watch the registers. The first sign of an impending marriage is almost always a girl stopping her education. A sudden dropout in the 9th or 10th grade should trigger an immediate welfare check.
CONCLUSION: BREAKING THE SHACKLES
The eradication of child marriage in Jammu and Kashmir cannot be achieved by FIRs alone. It requires a total dismantling of the “Old Village Culture” and the shadow economy that feeds it. While the post-Article 370 legal framework provides the tools—moving the needle from 9% to 6%—the remaining 6% represents the hardest, most resistant core of the problem.
The “Mafia” hold of the village elders must be broken through direct, uncompromising accountability. If a child marriage occurs in a village, the Sarpanch must be held legally responsible for failing to prevent it. Their position of power should be revoked if they allow a 14-year-old to be married to a 40-year-old.
We must also address the “Marriage Fixer” networks that operate across district lines, moving girls from poor families in one district to older men in another to avoid local detection.
Only when the cost of silence becomes higher than the cost of speaking up will the children of rural J&K truly be free.
This is a call to the youth of Jammu & Kashmir: Do not let tradition be a cage. Do not let the “fixers” decide your worth. Report. Protect. Save a childhood. The future of the valley depends on the girls who are allowed to grow into women on their own terms.
Note: This article has been published under the Laadli Media Fellowship 2026. The opinions and views expressed are those of the author. Laadli and UNFPA do not necessarily endorse these views |
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