A protracted legal battle over land ownership involving the Waqf Board has left 135 families—Hindus and Muslims alike—homeless and destitute in the Kasba Peth area of Pune. The colony, known as the Punyeshwar Co-operative Housing Society in Kumbharwada, was demolished in 2016 for a slum redevelopment project that has since been stalled due to claims made by a local resident on behalf of the Waqf Board.
The redevelopment was intended to provide better living conditions for families who had resided on the land since the 1960s. However, the project ground to a halt when a man, citing the presence of a nearby dargah, claimed the land belonged to the Waqf Board. This claim has effectively paralyzed any progress on the redevelopment project, leaving families in limbo for nearly eight years.
From hope to homelessness
The demolition began with promises of modern housing, a better standard of living, and a brighter future. Developers assured residents that they would receive new homes once the project was complete. In the interim, rents were paid to the displaced families.
However, the optimism was short-lived. Shortly after the land was cleared, a local Muslim man filed a claim, arguing that the land belonged to the Waqf Board due to its proximity to a small dargah. This unexpected move halted redevelopment, leaving the land vacant and the families stranded.
Today, the promises of a better life lie buried under the debris of their demolished homes. Mohammed Anif Shaikh, a 45-year-old auto-rickshaw driver who grew up in the colony, lamented:
“I was born here. My entire life has been in this place. They tore down our homes and assured us we’d return to something better. But now, they tell us this land belongs to the Waqf Board. All we want is our land back.”
A claim based on proximity
The claim hinges on the Waqf Act, which governs properties designated for religious or charitable purposes in Islam. According to the law, land can be considered Waqf property if:
- It was donated in the name of Allah.
- It has been historically associated with a Muslim institution or practice.
- It was legally transferred to the Waqf Board.
In this case, the presence of a small dargah near the colony became the focal point. The claimant argued that the land was Waqf property and sought to construct a vajukhana (ablution area) on a 100-square-foot portion of it.
Residents, however, refute the claim, arguing that the dargah is far from their land and has coexisted peacefully with the community for decades.
“This dargah was always part of our neighborhood,” said Sushma Gujar, a displaced resident.
“Hindus here have preserved it for years. Now, suddenly, they claim it’s connected to our land? It’s nothing but a ploy.”
Unity amid crisis
The dispute has disrupted lives but has not divided the community. Hindus and Muslims alike have united in their fight for justice, blaming bureaucratic inertia and personal greed for their plight.
“Religion is not the issue here,” said 80-year-old Abu Sayyad, a Muslim resident.
“We lived together peacefully for decades. Now, this claim has ruined all of us. Even Muslims from our colony are suffering because of this.”
For many, the situation has brought unimaginable hardship. Families that once had a roof over their heads now live in makeshift shelters or with relatives.
“A man from our community was bitten by a snake while staying in temporary housing,” Abu added.
“Another passed away because of the stress. It’s not just our homes that were destroyed; our lives are falling apart.”
A widow’s anguish
Among the hardest-hit is Sushila Devi, a widow who lost her husband two months ago. He succumbed to the relentless stress of the legal battle and the uncertainty surrounding their future.
“We were only two in the house. Now I’m alone,” she said, her voice heavy with grief.
“The big question is, where will I go? Who will take care of me? This fight has taken everything from us—our home, our dignity, and even my husband.”
A silent administration
The residents have appealed to local authorities, politicians, and even members of the dargah trust, but their cries for help have gone unanswered.
“No one wants to touch this issue because it involves the Waqf Board,” said another resident.
“We feel abandoned by the very system that was supposed to protect us.”
Even the dargah trust members, caught in the crossfire, have distanced themselves, fearing repercussions.
Human cost of legal loopholes
The Punyeshwar case highlights a broader issue: how ambiguous laws and systemic failures can devastate entire communities. The Waqf Act, while designed to protect religious properties, is often mired in controversy due to vague definitions and overlapping claims.
For the displaced families, however, this is not about legal intricacies—it’s about survival.
“We don’t care about the politics or the law,” said Mohammed Anif.
“All we know is that we had homes, and now we don’t. We just want our lives back.”
Under the Waqf Act, land claimed by the Waqf Board is legally considered property for the use of Allah. The land can be registered with the Waqf Board under three conditions: through donation, prolonged use by a Muslim institution, or specific legal transfer. This framework has often led to disputes, especially in cases involving shared community spaces.
While the office-bearers of the dargah trust are also reportedly troubled by the Waqf claim, the legal entanglements have left them and the residents with few options. Attempts to engage local authorities and political representatives have yielded no relief.
The story of Kumbharwada is a glaring example of how legal loopholes and administrative inertia can devastate lives. Despite the fact that the land has been home to a diverse community for decades, these families now find themselves abandoned, with neither homes nor justice.
