India’s Alleged Secret ‘Rendition’ of Rohingya Refugees
May 15, 2025
Illustration generated using AI
Indian authorities have allegedly “abandoned”—rather than deported—40 Rohingya refugees in international waters near the Myanmar maritime border, forcing women, children and the elderly to swim to safety using life jackets. The action could be seen as a “secret rendition,” a term used to describe the covert transfer of individuals across borders without legal process, often bypassing judicial oversight and international safeguards.
The refugees, holding valid refugee cards issued by the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), were detained by police in New Delhi’s Uttam Nagar area on May 6. Two days later, the Supreme Court of India refused to intervene in the deportation. The court ruled that under the Foreigners Act, 1946—which governs the entry, stay and exit of foreigners in India—those found to be foreign nationals can be deported, Maktoob reported. The court stated that the right to reside in India is available only to its citizens.
The area where the refugees were left lies near the maritime border off Myanmar’s southern Tanintharyi region, which borders the Andaman Sea to the west and Thailand to the east.
A first-hand account shared with an activist, in the form of a testimony, details the events leading up to what Indian authorities described as a “deportation.” The testimony of one of the 40 refugees now stranded in Myanmar resembles an extraordinary rendition—marked by deception, fear and violent handling.
It began on May 6, when Rohingya refugees living in Delhi received phone calls from the Uttam Nagar police station. The instructions were brief: report for “biometrics” and bring only your UNHCR refugee card—no bags, no family, nothing else.
The refugees complied, believing this was a routine verification. But something felt off. From the police station, 4–5 policemen escorted them to the Dwarka Dossier cell - an unofficial holding area where authorities compile reports on suspected undocumented individuals. At the cell, about 15 personnel from various departments surrounded them, some allegedly armed with rods.
“When they took us for a medical check-up at Indira Gandhi Hospital, we knew something was wrong,” one Rohingya refugee recounted in a phone call to the activist. Still, the police reassured them, “You’ll be allowed to go home. There is no reason to worry,” they said.
But that night, the refugees were not released.
“We were being looked at closely. Even when going to the washroom, there was someone accompanying us. We spent a sleepless night at the cell,” the refugee said, “and in the morning, we were taken to the Rajouri Dossier cell akin to a detention centre, where we saw other Rohingyas who had been detained for over four years.”
The narrator, a Christian Rohingya, slowly realising where this could be headed, made a plea. “We’re Christians—12 to 13 of us—and we’re hated even by some Muslim Rohingya gangs. Please save our lives,” he told the police.
The police replied with assurance: “Who said you were going to be deported? You’ll be meeting with the UNHCR. You’ve lived here for many years, and we’ll not simply deport you. People from the UNHCR are coming and you’ll meet them at the airport.”
They were soon boarded onto a bus and taken to Hindon Airbase in Ghaziabad, Uttar Pradesh. Once inside the aircraft, they asked where they were being taken. The response was chilling: “You’ll know when you’ve landed.”
“That’s when we lost all hope for safety,” the refugee said.
When they landed, they thought it was Myanmar. Men in black, military-style uniforms with long beards and heavy weapons awaited them. “They were speaking in Hindi; we were still in India,” the refugee said. They had arrived in the Andaman and Nicobar Islands.
“There were two separate buses for males and females. In our bus, they tied the hands of the youth. We were all shocked. I realised it was all because we were Rohingya. Later, everyone’s hands were tied behind their backs and our faces were covered. I thought they were going to shoot us.”
The refugees were then moved onto what appeared to be a Navy ship, where their hands were finally untied and faces uncovered. They asked again: “Where are we going?” An officer told them, “You have two options: Indonesia or Myanmar.”
“We said, take us to Indonesia,” the refugee recounted. “There’s still a civil war in Myanmar. We’d be killed there.” The officer promised they’d be sent to Indonesia.
Onboard, the men—described by the refugee as “militant-looking”—began interrogating them. Anyone who said they were a student was beaten, accused of being illegal and linked to the April 22 attacks in Pahalgam, Kashmir.
One officer singled out the narrator for his faith. “Are you really a Christian?” they asked, pointing at his shirt. “Tell the truth or we’ll throw you in the water.” He replied, “I’m a Christian.” They beat him from the back and forcibly checked if he was circumcised to confirm his claim. “They asked me to point out who else was Christian. I was beaten again, my face covered, and I was thrown into a dark room.”
His wife ran to a senior officer, crying and begging for his release. “After that, I was let go,” he said.
But one officer’s words stayed with him. “Your life has no value. You have no country. Even if we kill you, no one will say anything to us. There’s no one to question us.”
“That broke our heart,” the narrator said. “All this was happening to us just because of our identity.”
Even their fellow Muslim Rohingyas, broken and terrified, wept and cried out to God: “Why have you made us Muslims? Why have you made us Rohingyas?”
“We also wondered why we were given the UNHCR cards in the first place,” the refugee continued. “We wouldn’t be living in India if we didn’t have those cards. And yet on the back of it is written: ‘No refugee should be deported.’ The UNHCR should stop issuing these cards if they can’t stop deportations.”
After some time, they reached a place where there were two small houses. Before leaving the ship, they were told to stand for a group photograph. “We were all crying, but they forced us to smile,” he said.
Eventually, they were transferred onto smaller boats. The drivers were Indians. The group was split in two and loaded onto boats once more. Their hands were tied again—this time so tightly that some began to bleed. “Women started crying. We begged them to loosen the ties, but they wouldn’t. Only one or two had their ties loosened slightly. We were told to keep our heads down. Anyone who looked up would be beaten.”
They spent four hours like that—heads down, hands bound. “They threatened to shoot us if we didn’t obey.”
As they neared the shore, the boatmen showed them how to wear life jackets. Then, the men on board tied one end of a rope to a tree and the other to the boat.
“They asked us to get down into the water and use the rope to reach the land,” the narrator said. “Some Muslims struggled a lot while swimming. I looked up once and realised—it was Myanmar. They had promised Indonesia. I told everyone, but they couldn’t believe it.”
Their phones had been returned, but the SIM cards were removed and all data wiped. No Indian documentation remained. Their UNHCR cards were gone too.
“The Indian men told us that an agent would come pick us up within 1–2 hours. We waited on the shore. One hour. Two. Then the entire night,” the refugee said. “We waited around four hours until early morning but saw nobody coming. We were still unsure where we were. Later, the mobile signal detected Myanmar. We knew.”
They were afraid at first. But they eventually decided to turn themselves in. “If we were caught while hiding, we’d be treated worse—thrown into jails,” the narrator said. There were fishermen nearby. “We hesitated to speak to them because we still weren’t sure where we were. But they helped us. They were kind.”
Life By Chance
What could have been a fatal misfortune—given the Rohingyas’ history of persecution by Buddhist nationalists and the Myanmar military since 2016—was narrowly averted. The Tanintharyi region, where the deported refugees currently are, is controlled by the National Unity Government (NUG), a shadow government in exile that oversees a loose coalition of anti-junta groups known as the People’s Defence Force (PDF). The NUG has confirmed that the deportees are safe and being protected.
Myanmar remains in the grip of a civil war that escalated sharply after the 2021 military coup ousted the elected government, with militias now controlling large parts of the country. It was reasonable for the abandoned refugees to fear the worst if returned to their country of origin. Myanmar’s junta has been accused of genocide against the Rohingya, including mass killings, sexual violence and forced displacement.
However, their genuine fears carry no weight with Indian authorities. in April 2021, the Supreme Court of India issued an interim order permitting the deportation of Rohingya refugees who had been detained in Jammu, provided that “due process” under the Foreigners Act, 1946, was followed. The decision was rendered in the case of Mohammad Salimullah v. Union of India.
It marked a departure from earlier High Court judgments, such as Ktaer Abbas Habib Al Qutaifi v. Union of India (Gujarat High Court) and Dongh Lian Kham v. Union of India (Delhi High Court), where the principle of non-refoulement—the prohibition against returning refugees to a country where they face serious threats to their life or freedom—was read into Article 21. The Supreme Court’s 2021 order did not incorporate the principle of non-refoulement into Article 21, effectively allowing deportation even in cases where individuals might face persecution upon return.
India does not have a specific refugee law, nor has it signed the UN Refugee Convention of 1951, or its 1967 Protocol, which protect those fleeing persecution. The Foreigners Act does not mention the terms “refugee” or “deportation” even once. Yet it continues to be applied to people who are not ordinary migrants, but victims of mass violence.
In the absence of a formal legal framework, the treatment and protection of refugees in India are governed by administrative decisions and policies, leading to inconsistencies and uncertainties in their status and rights. However, even administrative decisions and policies are often disregarded in practice, like in this case.
On Dec. 9, 2014, the Minister of Home Affairs, in a written reply to a question in the Lok Sabha, stated that deportation is carried out only after Emergency Travel Documents are issued by the concerned embassy or consulate and travel arrangements are in place.
While it is a relief that the Rohingyas remain safe—for now and thanks to the presence of PDF personnel in that region of Myanmar—the means by which they were expelled from India set a dangerous and deeply troubling precedent.