Yasin Malik, once a household name in Kashmir’s turbulent political landscape, is back in the spotlight—but this time, not as a street protester or peace envoy, but as a prisoner making explosive claims from his jail cell. On September 21, 2025, The New Indian Express reported that Malik, currently serving a life sentence in a terror funding case, submitted an 85-page affidavit to the Delhi High Court. In it, he alleges that successive Indian governments saw him as a crucial bridge between India and Pakistan, even in dealings involving state-backed terrorist outfits. The affidavit has reignited fierce debate over Malik’s legacy and the unresolved wounds of Kashmir’s past.
Malik’s journey from militant leader to self-styled Gandhian and now convicted criminal is as complex as the region he hails from. Born in 1966 in Srinagar’s volatile Maisuma locality—often dubbed the “Gaza of Kashmir”—Malik was swept up in the tide of radicalization that followed the widely contested 1987 Jammu and Kashmir Assembly elections. According to The New Indian Express, Malik had campaigned for Muhammad Yusuf Shah, a separatist-leaning candidate, and the subsequent allegations of electoral rigging pushed many young Kashmiris, including Malik, toward militancy. Shah would later become Syed Salahuddin, now the Pakistan-based head of the banned Hizbul Mujahideen. Malik himself crossed the Line of Control to receive arms training and soon returned as the face of the Jammu and Kashmir Liberation Front (JKLF), the first outfit to openly declare an armed struggle for Kashmir’s independence.
Malik’s notoriety soared after the 1989 kidnapping of Rubaiya Sayeed, daughter of then Home Minister Mufti Mohammad Sayeed. Although Malik denies direct involvement, the episode catapulted him into the limelight. His image was so prominent that a life-sized cut-out of him once stood near a key junction in Lahore, Pakistan, symbolizing his status in the separatist movement.
But in 1994, Malik took a surprising turn. Declaring that the JKLF would renounce violence, he recast himself as a follower of Mahatma Gandhi. This shift, combined with his connections across the border, made him a regular subject of Indian backchannel diplomacy. Prime Ministers from Chandra Shekhar and PV Narasimha Rao to Atal Bihari Vajpayee and Manmohan Singh engaged with him, directly or through intermediaries. Even during Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s first term, officials reportedly maintained quiet channels of communication with Malik.
Between 1995 and 2014, Malik was a frequent figure in Delhi’s elite political circles, often seen at gatherings with policymakers and civil society leaders. Yet, the political winds changed dramatically after the BJP’s outright majority in 2014 and an even stronger mandate in 2019. The abrogation of Article 370 and the reorganization of Jammu and Kashmir into a union territory marked a decisive break. The political space for separatist leaders like Malik shrank rapidly, and the government’s stance hardened.
Now, from the confines of his prison cell, Malik’s affidavit offers sensational disclosures. He recounts a five-hour meeting with RSS leaders in 2001 at the India International Centre, organized by the Centre for Dialogue and Reconciliation. He also claims that Shankaracharyas visited him “umpteen times” in Srinagar, even holding joint press conferences. Perhaps most striking is Malik’s account of a 2006 meeting with Lashkar-e-Taiba (LeT) founder Hafiz Saeed in Pakistan, which he says was conducted under instruction from Indian intelligence following the 2005 earthquake. Malik asserts that then-Prime Minister Manmohan Singh personally thanked him for this effort.
But Malik’s version of events has met with fierce skepticism and anger—especially from the Kashmiri Pandit community, who accuse him of trying to whitewash a bloody past. On the same day, The Hans India published a scathing article alleging that Malik, despite his denials, was among those responsible for the brutal campaign of violence that led to the exodus of Kashmiri Pandits from the valley in 1990. The article details accusations of killings, abductions, gang-rapes, looting, and desecration of Hindu temples—crimes that, it claims, have never been fully investigated or prosecuted.
The Pandit community’s grievances are many and deep. They point out that, unlike other incidents of communal violence in India—such as the Gujarat riots or the 1984 anti-Sikh riots—there has never been a comprehensive judicial probe into the ethnic cleansing of Kashmiri Hindus. The article highlights the lack of progress in hundreds of FIRs filed by victims, and the absence of any state or central government commission to investigate the events of 1989-1990. “Countless” is no exaggeration, the article states, lamenting that only a handful of cases have seen any movement in the courts.
Malik’s affidavit reportedly includes the line: “There are unsubstantiated claims that the Kashmiri Pandits’ exodus happened because of the alleged genocide and gang rape initiated by me.” He goes further, daring the Intelligence Bureau to produce records from that period. But for many Pandits, such denials ring hollow. The Hans India article asks: how can Malik explain the systematic marking of Pandit houses, the targeted killings of scholars, politicians, and ordinary citizens, or the horrific crimes against women like Girija Tickoo and Sarla Bhat?
The article also references the case of Bitta Karate (Farooq Ahmed Dar), a close associate of Malik, who openly admitted to killing more than 20 Pandits in 1990. Despite the gravity of the crimes, Karate was granted bail in 2006 after the prosecution showed “total disinterest” in pursuing the case, according to the presiding officer. The sense of injustice lingers, compounded by the fact that more than three decades later, many of the original victims and witnesses are aging or gone, and their stories risk being lost to history.
Adding to the controversy, former Jammu and Kashmir Chief Minister Mehbooba Mufti has called for a “humanitarian view” towards Malik, even writing an emotional letter to Union Home Minister Amit Shah. Critics point out the irony: Mufti’s own sister, Rubaiya Sayeed, identified Malik as her kidnapper in court. Meanwhile, the suffering of over seven lakh Kashmiri Pandits remains largely unaddressed, with many still waiting for justice or even acknowledgment of their trauma.
Malik remains, as ever, a deeply polarizing figure. To some, he is a fallen icon of Kashmiri resistance, a man who tried to build bridges and pursue peace, even if imperfectly. To others, he is a symbol of unpunished brutality and the architect of a tragedy that has never been fully reckoned with. Whether his claims from jail will reshape public memory or be dismissed as self-serving is, for now, an open question. But as the debate rages on, one thing is clear: the wounds of Kashmir’s past are far from healed, and the search for truth and justice continues.
