There’s an old joke doing the rounds – one of those that is so ridiculous you wouldn’t be surprised if it turns out to be true. A certain nawab’s prized horse, the story goes, once paused in a pasture to relieve itself. Now, a few generations and many legal fictions later, the land is claimed as waqf property. Presumably, the divine droppings sanctified it forever.
The logic is irrefutable. If a nobleman’s horse so much as glances at a patch of land with spiritual intent, it’s game over. It’s not yours anymore. It’s waqf.
This whimsical land grab reminds me of those daily commuter dramas from the heyday of RTC buses. As the vehicle chugged towards the stop, passengers would fling their handkerchiefs through the windows to land on seats. A square of cotton-creased and faded was all the proof needed to claim the seat. Never mind that the bus hadn’t even halted. Never mind that someone else might physically reach the seat first. The ‘kerchief king’ had spoken.
And just like that, the game of seats and sanctity continues – except now, the stakes are slightly higher than a ride home.
Land everywhere, and all of it waqf
Waqf Boards across several states have become masters of creative reasoning. If there’s open land, a ruin, or even a suspiciously shaped pile of stones that might once have resembled a prayer site, it’s waqf. No questions asked. No answers offered. And certainly no documentation required.
Here’s the fun bit: If someone challenges the claim, it’s they who must furnish evidence that the land isn’t waqf. The burden of proof is helpfully reversed. The Waqf Board, despite being the one asserting ownership, has no obligation to prove anything. Why bother with deeds, records or even an old photograph when you can invoke ‘usage’?
It’s the equivalent of me strolling into your garden and declaring, ‘By long-standing tradition, my ancestors used to admire the hibiscus from this very spot. Therefore, it’s mine now. Please vacate.’
Tribunals where hope goes to die
Even if you wish to contest a waqf claim, your destination is the Waqf Tribunal – a charmingly circular system where the judge, jury, and beneficiary often sing in the same choir. Expecting an impartial verdict here is like hoping your cat will apologise for knocking over a vase. Not happening.
It’s a peculiar system where ancient claims are immune to scrutiny. Consider this: The Supreme Court, during the Ayodhya case, asked for rigorous documentation – centuries-old evidence, maps, gazetteers, copper plates, preferably signed in triplicate by Lord Rama himself. But when it comes to waqf land? Ah, but sir, how can one expect centuries-old paperwork? Be reasonable!
Long usage, longer claims
The idea of ‘waqf by user’ is one of those legal innovations that deserves a spot in the Museum of Selective Logic. According to this doctrine, if a property – say, a dargah, mosque or graveyard- has been used for religious or charitable purposes over time, it’s now waqf. No deed? No registration? No problem.
This nebulous concept was cheerfully enshrined in law via the Waqf Amendment Act, 2013, thanks to the ever-considerate UPA government. It allows for properties to be declared waqf by declaration, or better still, ‘otherwise’. ‘Otherwise’ being that delightful legal grey zone where dreams come true – if your dreams involve acquiring prime real estate.
Once marked, always taken
Recently, the Chief Justice of India noted that properties already declared waqf need not, for now, be de-notified – even if they were categorised under this broad umbrella of ‘usage’. Which, naturally, includes every building, boundary or boulder that might have once hosted a prayer or a public sermon.
And so, the kerchiefs keep flying, only now they land on acres, not seats. The stories get stranger, the laws get looser, and the land gets claimed – all in the name of noble causes.
After all, once a waqf, always a waqf.
