The Ajmer Scandal: Behind India’s Biggest Sex Crime

Between 1990 and 1992, Ajmer—a quiet city in Rajasthan—turned into the backdrop for one of the country’s most disturbing criminal stories. More than 250 girls, most of them students and some as young as 11, got caught in a web of gang rape and blackmail. The details are gut-wrenching. The men behind it all weren’t just anyone; they had deep ties to the Ajmer Sharif Dargah, one of India’s most respected Sufi shrines.

At the center were Farooq Chishti and his brother Nafis Chishti. Both belonged to the Khadim family, who’d been caretakers of the Dargah for generations. Farooq led the Ajmer Youth Congress, and Nafis was the Vice President of the Indian National Congress in Ajmer. With their family’s religious influence and political clout, they had the power to cover their tracks. For almost two years, they hid in plain sight, protected by the very status that should have held them accountable.

Aerial view of beautiful city with lake and mountains at sunset, Ajmer, Rajasthan, India. stock photo

How It Worked: A Chain That Trapped Victims

The whole operation ran on a twisted, calculated system. Farooq Chishti singled out young girls—usually students in Class 8 or 9, often from top schools like Sophia Senior Secondary. He’d approach them outside their schools, spinning stories about political opportunities or offering roles in youth organizations to win them over.

Once he gained their trust, Chishti would lure the girls to his farmhouse or a secluded bungalow. That’s where the assaults happened. He and his accomplices took explicit photos—these photos became their weapon. Afterward, they’d show the girls the images and threaten them: “Bring another friend, or we’ll send these pictures to your family and neighbors.”

That’s how it spread. Terrified of being shamed in a conservative town, most victims did what they were told. They brought in friends and classmates, only to see them get trapped the same way. Each new victim, desperate and scared, became a link in this ugly chain—dragging more girls into the nightmare and getting pulled in deeper themselves.

Who Were the Victims?

Most of the girls came from well-off, respected families in Ajmer. Some were still in school, others in college. In a place where family honor came before everything, the threat of exposure was paralyzing. The pressure to stay silent was suffocating.

Investigations later showed the gang mostly targeted Hindu girls—fueling old religious and social divides. Sometimes, victims got pulled in through their own friends, not just strangers, so the web stretched further and lasted longer.

The damage didn’t stop at blackmail or abuse. The trauma ran deep. Reports said at least six girls from Sophia Senior Secondary School took their own lives while the scandal was going on. Fear, shame, and constant threats pushed them over the edge. The official number stayed at six, but people in the community whispered that more girls died—only their families hid the truth to protect their reputations.

Exposing the Truth: Journalism Breaks the Silence

For almost a year, everyone in power knew about the abuse, but nobody did anything. The police had gotten complaints and even ran secret investigations, but the Chishti family’s political clout kept the whole thing under wraps. What finally brought the truth out wasn’t the law—it was journalism.

Santosh Gupta, a reporter at Dainik Navajyoti, refused to stay quiet. He saw the evidence piling up, and unlike everyone else, he acted. On April 21, 1992, Gupta published the first story exposing the sexual exploitation and blackmail ring. His reporting forced the scandal into the open and shattered the silence that had kept the girls trapped for so long.

Investigative Journalist Breaking News: The Power of Journalism

The first report barely made a ripple. People just didn’t react. In a conservative place like this, stories about sexual exploitation usually hit a wall—doubt, blame, all of it landing on the victims. Gupta saw this happening and decided to go further. On May 15, 1992, he took a risk and ran a second report. This time, he didn’t just write about the abuse—he printed blurred photos of the victims as they were being exploited.

That changed everything. Seeing those images shook people in a way that words never could. The photos showed young girls, trapped and abused by powerful men who used their status to get what they wanted. Three days later, on May 18, Ajmer came to a standstill. The city shut down for three days. People poured into the streets, demanding justice, furious at what they had seen.

As the story spread, the newspaper’s circulation exploded. Gupta later said their presses used to run 2,000 to 5,000 copies an hour. Suddenly, everyone wanted to read the reports. They jumped to selling 60,000 copies a day. The coverage hit a nerve, and the public’s anger put real pressure on the police and the administration.

Then the reports revealed something even worse. The Criminal Investigation Department had known about the scandal for over five months before anything came out. The Home Minister of Rajasthan had already seen the photos—three months before Gupta’s report ever ran. That only made people angrier, and the politicians couldn’t ignore it anymore.

Officials tried to stop the coverage. They threatened Gupta and other journalists, hoping they’d drop the story. But they kept going, documenting everything. Their reporting became key evidence in court. Years later, Gupta even took the stand as a prosecution witness—more than once.

But Gupta wasn’t the only one showing guts. Madan Singh, another journalist, kept digging even when his life was on the line. He ran a small weekly paper, Lehron ki Barkha, and he just wouldn’t let the story die. He kept investigating, kept publishing—no matter the threats.


The Murder That Awakened a Nation

Madan Singh was relentless about telling the truth, and it cost him his life. After he exposed the scandal and called out the people behind it—who walked free, even though the evidence piled up—someone shot him on Srinagar Road in Ajmer in 1992. He got away, barely, and doctors rushed him to JLN Hospital.

But it didn’t end there. As he lay in his hospital bed, just trying to recover, a group of five or six men came in and killed him. They didn’t even wait for him to heal. News of Madan Singh’s murder tore through the media. It was a brutal reminder of what happens when someone dares to take on the powerful.

The court later charged former council member Sawai Singh, former Congress legislator Rajkumar Jaipal, Narendra Singh, and a few others with the murder. But justice never really came. In 2012, almost twenty years later, the court cleared every single one of them. Madan Singh’s killers walked free, and his murder went unpunished.

Impact on Victims: Trauma, Stigma, and Silence

The Social Stigma That Destroyed Lives

When the scandal broke, it wasn’t just about exposing the truth or finding justice. For the victims, a whole new wave of pain hit—public shame. In a conservative place like Ajmer, just being called a “victim” practically erased your future. People didn’t forget. The label stuck to you and followed you everywhere.

Santosh Gupta talked about this years later. He remembered how families hunting for brides would come to his house, holding out photos, all asking the same thing: “Is this girl one of them?” That’s how deep the suspicion ran. Any girl from Ajmer, whether she was involved or not, carried this shadow. A scandal like this poisoned everything, even for those who weren’t victims.


Personal Testimonies: Lives Shattered

One woman, “Sushma”—not her real name—came forward decades later. She helped put six of her attackers in prison, finally, in 2024. She was only 18 when it happened. They tricked her into coming to an empty warehouse, where six or seven men—guys from wealthy, respected families—attacked her. Afterward, they tossed her 200 rupees and told her to buy lipstick. That gesture said it all: they didn’t see her as a person, just something to use and toss aside.

The attack itself was horrific, but the fallout was endless. Society turned its back on her. Both her marriages fell apart when her husbands found out what had happened. Even in her fifties, when the court finally sent those men to prison for life, Sushma’s words cut deep: “It cannot restore what I have lost.” Justice came, but way too late—and it didn’t give her life back.

The Silencing of Survivors

Survivors didn’t just face pressure—they got hit from all sides, told to keep quiet no matter what. Some felt they had no choice but to change their names, pick up and move to a new city, or even convert to another religion, just to shake off the shame people tried to pin on them. Families got threatened. Some packed up and left town, then kept their mouths shut about what happened to their daughters. The pressure was brutal. It pushed a lot of survivors to back away from the whole process. Even if their abuse was on the record, many refused to testify or help the legal case—people called them “hostile witnesses,” but it’s not hard to see why they pulled back.

Prosecution lawyer Virendra Singh Rathore put it bluntly: the accused had so much power, most victims never stood a chance. Some of the accused even skipped the country, heading to places like Dubai, Pakistan, or Bangladesh. They only came back when the headlines died down. It wasn’t random—they had a whole system for dodging justice.

Inadequate Victim Protection and Compensation

There’s one number from the 2024 verdict that really says it all. Six men were convicted thanks to testimony from 16 survivors, but only one of those survivors actually filed for compensation—even though the law said all of them could. The other 15 wanted nothing to do with it. The idea of reliving everything, getting tangled up in court again, was just too much.

That’s not just a statistic—it’s a gut punch. It shows how deep the scars go, how heavy the judgment and silence still weigh, and how the system keeps letting people down, decade after decade. Rathore didn’t hold back; he said getting justice in India is like climbing Mount Everest for victims. He also pointed out what happened to Purushottam, the photo studio worker who first uncovered the photographs. Instead of being protected, he and his wife ended up so hounded and alone, they both took their own lives.

Police Failure and Administrative Inaction

The Ajmer scandal isn’t just about a horrifying crime—it’s about how the whole system failed. Local police knew about the ongoing abuse for almost a year and did nothing. In fact, Deenbandhu Chaudhary, the editor of Dainik Navajyoti, later admitted that law enforcement had been aware from the very start. But politicians stepped in and stalled any investigation, and the police went along with it.

Then there was Omendra Bhardwaj, who was Deputy Inspector General back then. He later brushed the whole thing off, saying the scandal was “not as big as publicized.” He even went so far as to question the character of the four girls whose photos got used for blackmail, calling their character “suspicious.” This kind of victim-blaming from someone at the top really showed how deep the misogyny ran in the system. The people in charge protected the abusers instead of the girls who needed help.

The CID Takeover and Investigation

Things finally shifted on May 20, 1992, but only after relentless media coverage and public outrage. Chief Minister Shekhawat handed the case over to the CID. Senior IPS officer N.K. Patni and his team rolled into Ajmer on May 31 and took charge from the local cops.

Patni’s team walked right into a mess. The country was already tense, and he knew the case could easily spiral into a communal flashpoint—most of the victims were Hindu girls, and many of the accused came from powerful Muslim families tied to religious institutions. Even with all that pressure hanging over him, Patni kept digging. His team soon uncovered the involvement of Youth Congress leaders Farooq Chishti and Nafis Chishti, Joint Secretary Anwar Chishti, and a long list of others.

On September 18, 1992, police finally filed an FIR against 18 people under the Indian Penal Code and the POCSO Act. By then, it was clear—the crimes were systematic, and the accused had been protected by a network of political and religious power. The real story wasn’t just about what happened to the victims, but about how many people looked the other way.

The Long Road to Conviction: 32 Years of Injustice

It started back in 1998. A sessions court in Ajmer handed life sentences to eight men. For a moment, it looked like justice had arrived. But just three years later, the Rajasthan High Court stepped in and let four of them walk free. The number of convicted men dropped overnight.

Then came 2007. Farooq Chishti—the main person behind the whole scandal—got convicted in a fast-track court. You’d think that would be the end of it. Instead, in 2013, the High Court let him out, counting the years he’d already spent behind bars as “time served.” It felt like the same old story: convictions, then reversals, and people with power finding ways to slip through the cracks. The system seemed broken, especially for the victims who watched this all unfold.

But in 2024, everything changed. On August 20th, after 32 long years, justice finally caught up. A special POCSO court in Ajmer convicted six men. This time, the verdict stuck. All six were sentenced to life in prison.

  • Nafis Chishti
  • Naseem (also known as "Tarzan")
  • Salim Chishti
  • Iqbal Bhati
  • Sohil Gani
  • Syed Zameer Hussain

 They each got life in prison and had to pay a fine of 5 lakh rupees. The court based its decision on the testimony of 16 victims, but people say the real number of women harmed was probably over 250.

Dargah of Moinuddin Chishti, Ajmer - TimesTravel 
Thirty-two years. That’s how long it took for a final conviction in this case—a staggering delay that really exposes how broken India’s judicial system can be. Sixteen survivors stood up and testified, but by the time the verdict came, many of them were old. Imagine waiting three decades, carrying that weight, hoping for justice. The emotional and social cost of that kind of wait? It’s hard to even put into words.

2023: When Justice Failed, Revenge Stepped In
The Unpunished Murder of Journalist Madan Singh
Let’s go back. In 1992, journalist Madan Singh was killed while digging into a scandal. His sons, Surya Pratap Singh and Dharma Pratap Singh, were just kids—eight and twelve—when they saw their father murdered for chasing the truth. Twenty years later, in 2012, the court cleared everyone accused in the case. The boys, now adults, watched the system let their father’s killers walk free.

That verdict broke them. They made a vow: they’d avenge their father, no matter how long it took.

January 7, 2023: Pushkar
On a chilly morning in Pushkar, after 31 years of waiting for justice that never came, Surya and Dharma decided to act. Their target: Sawai Singh, a former councilman who’d been named in their father’s murder case. People said Sawai was the mastermind behind Madan Singh’s killing.

That day, Sawai Singh was having tea with friends at the Yuvraj Fort Resort, just outside Ajmer. He never saw it coming. Two men rode up on a motorcycle and shot him. Bullets hit Sawai in the head and stomach—he died on the spot. Another man, Dinesh Singh, got hurt but survived.

Right after, Surya Pratap Singh didn’t run. He headed straight to the police station and turned himself in, even snapping a photo with a big grin. To the media, he said, “Our revenge is complete.” He didn’t hide his anger or his reasons. For him, this was about finally getting justice for his father—something the courts never delivered.
The Legal Aftermath

Police arrested Surya Pratap Singh and charged him with murder. At first, his brother Dharma Pratap Singh managed to avoid arrest, but eventually, they caught him too. Their cousin, Vinay Pratap Singh, got picked up as well—he was accused of helping track Sawai Singh’s movements right before the shooting.

The whole case blew up in the news. People across India felt for the murdered journalist’s sons, but they were also uneasy about the kind of vigilante justice that played out. Legal experts argued back and forth. Was it fair to consider that the courts took 31 years to deliver justice for Madan Singh’s killing? Should that delay matter when deciding Surya Pratap Singh’s fate?

The Symbolic Completion of a Cycle

The shooting in January 2023 didn’t just end a story—it closed a loop that started decades ago. Back in the early ’90s, there were the original sex crimes. Then Santosh Gupta exposed them, and Madan Singh paid with his life for his own reporting. Decades later, his sons took matters into their own hands—after waiting for the courts to act and getting nothing.

This was more than a crime. It was a gut punch to India’s whole justice system. If the courts had convicted Madan Singh’s killers in 1992, if justice hadn’t taken decades, if the powerful had faced real consequences instead of walking free—maybe, just maybe, that January 2023 tragedy never would’ve happened.
Looking at the bigger picture, the Ajmer scandal didn’t happen in a vacuum. Tensions between Hindu and Muslim communities in India were already running high. On paper, this was a case of sexual violence and blackmail—crimes against women. But the fact that the victims were mostly Hindu girls and the accused were Muslim men from influential families tied to the Ajmer Sharif Dargah made everything messier.

Police had to tread lightly. No one wanted the investigation to spark another wave of communal violence. But let’s be honest: some people say this caution actually slowed things down. Authorities worried about being accused of going after a particular religious group, so they hesitated. That hesitation gave the perpetrators more time.

This isn’t just an Indian story. People have compared it to what happened in Rotherham, UK, where years of abuse went unchecked. There, too, political worries, social stigma, and broken institutions let victims down. It’s the same ugly pattern—systemic failure, and the most vulnerable pay the price.
Institutional Misogyny and Victim Blame

When senior police officials opened their mouths, you could hear the institutional misogyny loud and clear. Take former DIG Omendra Bhardwaj—he actually questioned the “character” of the victims and called them “suspicious.” Instead of focusing on the real crime, the system kept turning the spotlight on the girls themselves, as if they were the problem. This attitude didn’t just pop up once or twice. It stuck around, shaping the whole investigation and trial, making it even harder for survivors to get justice.

Society already throws a ton of shame at victims, but law enforcement and the courts weren’t any better. Instead of seeing survivors as people who needed help and protection, officials acted like the girls were somehow guilty—like their stories weren’t to be trusted just because of who they were.


Wealth, Power, and Impunity

The Chishti family had it all: money, political clout, and serious religious influence. They ran an important shrine and held positions in political parties, which basically put a shield around them. For years, they dodged accountability. Even when the court finally convicted Farooq Chishti, the High Court let him out in 2013 for “time served.” It was like their power rewrote the rules whenever things got uncomfortable.

This kind of impunity isn’t rare, and it eats away at whatever faith people have left in India’s justice system. Prosecutor Virendra Singh Rathore didn’t mince words—he said the Ajmer case was just one example. He pointed to similar scandals in Bhopal and Beawar, making it clear this wasn’t a one-off. The real problem runs deeper: the system keeps failing the people who need protection most, especially young girls.
The Tragedy of Delayed Justice

The Ajmer scandal isn’t just a crime story—it’s heartbreak stacked on heartbreak. More than 250 young girls went through hell: sexual violence, blackmail, lives turned upside down. And what did the system do? Almost nothing, for 32 long years. Police, officials, courts—everyone who should've stepped in just watched, or looked away. Meanwhile, the girls faced something almost as cruel as the crime itself: silence. Society turned its back, shamed them, forced some to change their names, hide who they were, or even end their own lives.

Then there’s the justice system, which talks a big game about fairness and accountability. But for these victims, those words meant nothing. Decades passed. One journalist, Madan Singh, lost his life just for reporting the truth. His sons waited 31 years for something—anything—to happen. In the end, they couldn’t keep waiting. The system failed so badly, they took justice into their own hands.

So, when the courts finally convicted six men in 2024, it brought a bit of closure. But honestly, it was too late for so many. Some victims were already gone. Others were so battered by years of waiting, they couldn’t even claim the compensation they deserved. The whole story just lays bare how empty the promise of justice can feel, especially for those without power.

Santosh Gupta’s bravery in exposing the scandal, and Madan Singh’s sacrifice, made sure people didn’t forget. Still, what should’ve been a fight for swift justice turned into a 32-year nightmare—pain, silence, and a verdict that never really made anyone whole. It’s a warning, plain and simple: when justice drags its feet, the most vulnerable always pay the highest price, and the powerful walk away untouched.