While Maharashtra and Chhattisgarh introduce prior scrutiny and reversed burden of proof for conversions, Karnataka protects interfaith couples from violence
In three state assemblies this month, two contrasting ideas of India quietly took legislative form.
In Maharashtra and Chhattisgarh, the BJP-led governments moved to regulate how and why a person may change his or her religion. Their pieces of legislation are almost a copy-and-paste job. In contrast, Karnataka, where the Congress is in power, has moved to protect those wanting to marry across caste and faith.
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All three governments claim to defend freedoms. All of them invoke the Constitution, with its varied interpretation. But their assumptions about the citizen are in sharp contrast.
A draconian law
While Maharashtra and Chhattisgarh assume citizens choosing to convert to a different faith than the one in which they were born are vulnerable to coercion and manipulation, Karnataka assumes their capacity — and therefore freedom — to choose for themselves.
The Maharashtra Freedom of Religion Bill, 2026, passed in the assembly earlier this month and waiting for a nod in the Legislative Council in the ongoing state budget session, is among the more stringent anti-conversion frameworks in India. Tougher than the ones we have in Uttar Pradesh or Gujarat. Ditto as Chhattisgarh.
All three governments claim to defend freedoms. All of them invoke the Constitution, with its varied interpretation. But their assumptions about the citizen are in sharp contrast.
The law criminalises religious conversions carried out through “force, fraud, inducement or marriage,” prescribing prison terms of up to seven years along with monetary penalties.
‘Marriage’ is the biggest reason for concern. It weaponises the police and the administration to object to — even criminalise — one’s choice to marry a partner of another faith (predominantly women marrying into other faiths).
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Chhattisgarh has passed the bill, and therefore it’s the law, despite the outcry from the Congress opposition. Identical in their tone and tenor, Maharashtra and Chhattisgarh don’t merely stop at penalising coercion. They introduce a system of prior scrutiny.
Prior scrutiny
As the third chapter of the Maharashtra bill puts it: Any individual intending to convert must submit a declaration to the district authorities well in advance — reportedly up to 60 days — stating their intention to convert. The conversion must then be formally recorded.
In certain cases, the competent authority — mainly the administration and the police — will be empowered to conduct inquiries to determine whether the conversion is “genuine”.
Among the most controversial provisions in the Maharashtra Bill is the reversal of the burden of proof. The onus lies not on the State to prove that a conversion was illegal, but on the accused — often the person facilitating the conversion — to demonstrate that it was not. If a conversion linked to marriage, for instance, is found by the competent authority to be unlawful, the marriage itself can be declared void.
Freshly weaponised
Taken together, the legislation not just seeks to punish coercion, but creates a framework through which personal belief is made visible, verifiable, and, in some sense, subject to State approval.
True, the laws regulating religious conversions predate Narendra Modi’s ascension to power in 2014, but the BJP has radically amended these laws in the last few years in many states, altering their meaning, substance, and application.
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As of now, about a dozen states in India have laws regulating religious conversions, ironically often christened as ‘Freedom of Religion’ or anti-conversion laws. Some of them were enacted 40-50 years ago, but never weaponised. Almost all of the BJP states have either repealed the old laws and enacted new ones or amended them with new sections.
National agenda of BJP
Besides fulfilling its electoral promise, the Maharashtra bill aligns with the BJP’s broader national agenda. Anti-conversion legislation — framed around the idea of “love jihad” — has been a recurring feature in the saffron agenda across several states for almost 12 years now. The Devendra Fadnavis government is extending that pattern.
Under the Maharashtra Bill, the onus lies not on the State to prove that a conversion was illegal, but on the accused — often the person facilitating the conversion — to demonstrate that it was not.
In the state legislature, the Uddhav Thackeray-led Shiv Sena (UBT) is supporting the legislation, while the Congress, the Sharad Pawar-led NCP (SC), the AIMIM, and other small regional parties with slender presence have strongly opposed it.
The ruling alliance of the BJP, Eknath Shinde’s Shiv Sena, and the late Ajit Pawar's faction of the NCP commands an overwhelming majority in both the houses of the legislature, and therefore, any opposition can’t derail the BJP’s legislative agenda.
Political anxieties?
The official justification, however, is framed in administrative and protective terms. The State argues that such a law is necessary to prevent vulnerable individuals — particularly women, minors, and economically disadvantaged groups — from being coerced or deceived into conversions, the target being the conversions from Hinduism to another faith.
Coercion, where it exists, is a legitimate subject of law. And the existing laws are adequate to deal with it, the opponents say.
But the deeper question is whether the law is responding to demonstrable patterns — or to political anxieties. There have not been very many cases within Maharashtra where this ought to become a focus of the legislative agenda in such a compelling way, unless it is politically expedient.
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Supporters of the bill argue that it introduces much-needed safeguards in a deeply unequal society. Economic vulnerability, social marginalisation, and lack of access to education can make individuals susceptible to influence, and therefore, the State has a responsibility to ensure that religious conversion is not the result of material inducement or manipulation, they argue.
A complex, nuanced task
Yet, these arguments assume that the government can reliably distinguish between genuine choice and subtle coercion, a task far more complex than legislation can resolve.
Leave aside the constitutional propriety, the law would hand gangs of self-proclaimed protectors of religion a carte blanche to run riots among anti-faith couples marrying out of personal choice, given our horrific experience with the thousands of anti-social gaurakshak dals across the nation today, who take the law in their hands and beat up people (read Muslims) on the slightest of suspicion.
Critics of the Maharashtra bill point to the fact that the requirement of prior notice effectively brings the State into the most intimate domain of personal liberty: belief. Requiring individuals to declare and justify that decision to authorities transforms a fundamental right backed by the Constitution into a regulated activity, they argue.
Burden of proof
The reversal of the burden of proof raises additional concerns. During the debate, the opposition members pointed out that such a provision can enable harassment, particularly in socially sensitive cases involving interfaith relationships.
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Another problem is the ambiguity embedded in terms such as “inducement.” Does offering education, healthcare, or social support constitute an inducement?
More broadly, critics warn that this law can legitimise social suspicion. Families, communities, and vigilante groups may feel empowered to intervene in personal choices, knowing that the law itself casts doubt on the legitimacy of conversion. The danger is not only legal but also cultural.
The case of Karnataka
Now consider Karnataka. In a striking contrast, the state's Siddaramaiah government has introduced legislation that seeks to safeguard inter-caste and interfaith couples from violence, intimidation, and social retaliation.
Under the previous BJP government, Karnataka did enact in 2022 the Karnataka Protection of Right to Freedom of Religion Act, a law strikingly similar to the one Maharashtra is moving to enforce now.
But when the Congress came to power in 2023, it declared its intent to repeal that law, but has not been able to do so due to the political minefield it promises to be in the national context.
Instead, Siddaramaiah introduced a new legislation while going silent on the repeal of the 2022 law. While the Karnataka Freedom of Choice in Marriage and Prevention and Prohibition of Honour and Tradition (Eva Nammava Eva Nammava) Bill, 2026, prescribes stringent penalties for honour-based crimes, including imprisonment for those involved in honour killings or acts of violence against consenting adults, it also proposes institutional support — protection mechanisms, fast-track courts, and administrative oversight — to ensure that couples are not left to navigate hostility alone.
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At its core, the Karnataka approach rests on a simple principle: that adults have the right to choose their partners, and that the State’s role is to protect that choice from coercion — particularly coercion exercised by family or community.
Placed side by side, the contrast between the bills is stark. One seeks to regulate intention. The other seeks to prevent violence. Both are responses to real social dynamics, emerging from the political anxieties. But they reflect fundamentally different ideas of what the State is for.
(The Federal seeks to present views and opinions from all sides of the spectrum. The information, ideas or opinions in the articles are of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of The Federal.)
