A notorious conversion racket led by Jalaluddin aka Chhangur Baba was recently apprehended in Uttar Pradesh. Daily, more shocking revelations come to light, with tales more harrowing than the last. Women were the primary target of Chhangur, who coerced them into abandoning their faith. A woman named Rashmi shared her heartrending experience over the phone with aajtak.in. A Karnataka-based young girl endured deceit, captivity, gang rape, and abuse in the guise of love.
Late 2019 marked a tragic phase when I lost my elder brother. With no family left, isolation enveloped me. This emptiness was seized by ‘Raju Rathore’, who approached me on Instagram. Initially ignored, I was later drawn into his web by another woman, claiming to be his sister-in-law. Numbers were exchanged, and he posed as a 'Rajput', cleverly camouflaging his true identity with deity images on his display picture.
Gradually, our conversations led to a marriage proposal. His 'sister-in-law' emphasized that without a family, marrying Raju would integrate me into theirs. It preyed upon my vulnerabilities, and they relentlessly pursued this notion.
Raju resided in Saudi Arabia. I was told he’d take time to return, and meanwhile, I could visit the country and potentially secure a job. A new life and career awaited, and I agreed. Soon, fake IDs and passports with my photos arrived through the mail.
You might think suspicion would arise immediately. Yet, how could it? I had never ventured abroad, nor did I know anyone with international exposure. Alone and with only a phone, I integrated into the deceit.
In Karnataka, I owned a house—built alongside my brother—and ran a successful beauty parlor. Pursuing promises of a new life, I sold off everything, believing in Raju’s vision. His calls featured glimpses of Saudi's towering buildings and flawless streets. Online, I researched the culture, attire, and beauty standards of local women.
Any residual doubts disappeared when I arrived in Delhi. There, Raju’s father and his ‘sister-in-law’ escorted me to the airport. Accompanied by a man on the flight, he guided me through flying protocols, convincing me of familial love from Raju's side. Those six hours were filled with dreams of a world left unexplored.
Meeting Raju at the airport didn’t raise flags; he appeared Hindu, spoke like Hindus, and regularly referenced deities. The impression could deceive anyone. As soon as I entered the car, he referred to a phone call, stating, 'The package has arrived'. This 'package' referenced girls trafficked from India to Saudi Arabia.
Source: aajtak
From Jeddah, where did you go, and where did you stay?
The location’s name eludes me, but they mentioned something like Al-Badiha. We stayed in a two-room house. Upon arrival, Raju called a few people, held a small ceremony, and prominently marked our supposed marriage by adorning 'mangalsutra'. Although events unfolded swiftly, I saw it as a family being built and overlooked subtleties. Shortly after, Raju made a call proclaiming my readiness for faith conversion. Alarmed, I questioned the intention.
I questioned the religious reference; we were both Hindus, who needed conversion? That was when I realized Raju Rathore was, in fact, Wasim, intending to rename me Ayesha.
Within hours of arriving in Saudi, my world upended – a girl from a Hindu priest's family now caught in a Muslim’s foreign realm. As I resisted, Raju resorted to violence. Striking me out of frustration before further violating me became a three-night routine. Absent, Raju locked me in, seizing my phone. Even if I retained it, who could I call?
A presumed life of beauty in a commendable city among kind-hearted souls turned into confinement in an empty flat with a betrayer, stripping even my identity.
Three days later, a face emerged – Badar Akhtar Siddiqui. A confederate of Chhangur, he operated overseas affairs. Initiating cordial engagement, he touted their faith for security. Skeptical, I challenged their duplicitous actions.
A furious Siddiqui argued with Wasim, revealing that Wasim profited Rs 15 lakh smuggling me there. Various caste commanded distinct rates.
Agitated, Siddiqui left, leading Wasim to a new ploy: coercing me into submission by recording acts of assault, threatening exposure unless I converted. The dominion lasted three excruciating months. With a lapsed tourist visa, Wasim sent me back to Karnataka but kept the video.
Source: aajtak
Back in Karnataka, the city hosting my former life had me reduced to renting accommodations. Anxiety constantly haunted me as I feared the video surfacing, leading always to paranoia.
Wasim and his kin inundated me with calls, surveilling my every move. Jobs were frequently changed, but calls persisted. A few months saw money demands from Saharanpur, feeding into deceits of family emergencies and celebrations in a region I never knew. Reluctantly, I approached the Karnataka police, who registered my report and contacted the provided numbers.
Shortly after, intimidation struck again. Ordered to Saharanpur within three days, the ultimatum haunted me. May 2024 – Saharanpur! Agonies were far from over. Learning that the ‘sister-in-law’ I knew was Wasim’s actual wife exposed a web of lies. The gathered family, with members from neighboring villages, held me hostage for a month, coercing my conversion.
I asserted my ties to the priestly lineage, knowledgeable in Hanuman Chalisa, offering to teach if desired. Beatings followed publicly. Did you not reach out to local authorities? Complicit, they juggled me within bureaucratic loops, ultimately bound for Wasim's doorstep. Even resistant police sided with them, transferring me to their custody where conversion talks resumed, driven by a debt to Chhangur amounting to Rs 15 lakh.
Source: aajtak
Come December, threats escalated, culminating in the dubious offer of beef consumption. Upon refusal, relentless beatings ensued, yet they left, misleading me into hope that it was over.
While in town for beauty supplies, men abducted me, bound and gagged, subjecting me to a gang rape. Included were Wasim’s ‘uncle’, friends, and many relatives. The ‘uncle’ even documented the ordeal. They abused me with cigarettes, belts, bricks, and whatever crude method they sought, spewing vilification.
Taken to Chhangur’s hideout, my mangled state barely sustaining sight amidst clotted blood.
Why take you there?
Their desperation forced a confrontation on conversion need fulfillment versus Chhangur's retribution post payment. Thus, their resort was to kill and bury me there.
Chhangur’s first dismay was physical damage; rendering me unsaleable. They should ‘heal me’, while he provided spiritual remedies. It concluded by affixing me with an amulet.
Hospital admissions bore false identities; released back into their confines, I remained battered, my entire body enveloped in scars and bruises. Exhausted entirely, I again claimed a reluctant escape towards justice, meeting with global support networks and Hindu Councils that changed dynamics.
By June 3rd, a spiritual purification ceremony was conducted in Lucknow, amidst a support group of 15 families, all tormented by Chhangur. July saw his arrest, though associates linger.
In Saharanpur, broken accommodations recognize me legally, while isolating me amidst survival extremities. Neighboring rooms provide neither kitchen nor bathroom. With ongoing threats, adaptation involves home-service beauty work amidst fear of culprits lurking. Harassment prevails, infringing every venture into public errands. Desolation haunts, isolated in precarious conditions amidst shadowed threats.
An orphan, dreams of a family condemned her into solitary despair.
