IN 2015, I WALKED FREE AFTER SPENDING NINE YEARS IN PRISON as one of the accused in the 7/11 Mumbai train blasts. A special MCOCA court acquitted me, holding that the case against me didn’t hold weight.
Yet, during the years of my incarceration, one piece of evidence stood above all else: confessional statements recorded under Section 18 of the Maharashtra Control of Organised Crime Act (‘MCOCA’). On paper, this clause allows confessions made to a senior police officer to be admissible in court. In practice, it is nothing short of legalised torture.
I still remember the words of my co-accused Asif Bashir Khan, whispering through his pain: “Confession is conviction.” I saw him tortured before my eyes, forced to sign statements that came straight from the imagination of ATS officers. When my turn came, I was forced to confess. My interrogator, Arun Khanvilkar, told me it would be easier if I cooperated. I replied: “You can kill me, but I will not sign your bogus story.” I knew that to confess would not only destroy my life but betray the truth. That refusal brought unimaginable brutality upon me, but I endured.
When I later met my co-accused in Arthur Road Jail, I realised that almost all of them except Khan, under unbearable pressure, had signed such confessions. The Anti-Terrorism Squad (‘ATS’) immediately leaked these to the media. Newspapers and television channels carried headlines: “Bombs planted in pressure cookers,” “Conspiracy unravelled,” and “Accused admit guilt.” The public narrative shifted overnight. Friends and well-wishers who once defended our innocence began to ask: “If they themselves have confessed, why should we doubt it?” That was the true power of MCOCA confessions.
All of my co-accused, including Khan, were convicted. Khan, like me, was adamant about not giving a confessional statement, and he never did. However, because his name appeared repeatedly in the confessional statements of others, the trial court still convicted him. While I was eventually acquitted, Khan remained imprisoned, though he, too, was acquitted by the Bombay High Court in 2025.
This is not a mistake, nor a bias, nor the act of an individual officer. While many officers were unwilling participants—like Vinod Bhatt, who ultimately had to end his life rather than be drawn into this corrupt system—the reality is that the extraction of confessions under torture reflects a systemic, institutional practice. From the lowest ranks to the highest, officers are complicit in drafting and fabricating these statements, fully aware of their illegitimacy. The process is deliberate, with all levels functioning hand in glove, shielded from accountability. Fundamentally, this constitutes a case of malicious prosecution.
The law as a tool of coercion
Article 20(3) of the Constitution is clear: “No person accused of any offence shall be compelled to be a witness against himself.” This embodies the ancient principle of nemo tenebatur prodere seipsum—no one is bound to accuse himself. The Supreme Court in Nandini Satpathy v. P.L. Dani (1978) reaffirmed this right to silence, emphasising that compelling confessions undermines due process. Yet MCOCA overrides this safeguard by making police-recorded confessions admissible, something the Sections 22 and 23 of Bharatiya Sakshya Adhiniyam, 2023 (‘BSA’) explicitly prohibit .
The dangers of such a provision were recognised even under earlier draconian laws. In Kartar Singh v. State of Punjab (1994), while upholding confessions under TADA, the Supreme Court admitted: “We do realise that the police are not angels but are prone to misuse the powers… the very fact that confession is admissible makes it a very weak piece of evidence unless corroborated.” In State of Punjab v. Harjagdev Singh (2009), the Court went further, holding: “The retraction of confession immediately after being released from police custody casts serious doubts on the voluntariness of such confession.”
If we observe , Section 15 of Terrorist and Disruptive Activities (Prevention) Act is copy pasted in Section 32 of Prevention of Terrorism Act, and Section 18 of MCOCA .is essentially the same i.e Section 18 of MCOCA allows confessions made before a police officer of Superintendent rank or higher to be used as evidence against the accused, co-accused, abettors, or conspirators, provided they are tried together in the same case.
The law mandates that such confessions be recorded voluntarily, in a free atmosphere, and in the language of the accused exactly as narrated. The recording officer must inform the accused that confession is not compulsory and may be used as evidence, and must certify in writing the voluntary nature of the statement along with the date and time.
The law also introduces judicial oversight and safeguards: the recorded confession must be sent to the Chief Metropolitan or Judicial Magistrate, who forwards it to the Special Court, and the accused must be produced before the magistrate along with the original statement. In case of allegations of torture or coercion, the accused must be examined by a medical officer of at least Assistant Civil Surgeon rank. While intended as a safeguard, Section 18 effectively creates an exception to the general prohibition on police confessions under Sections 25 and 26 of the Indian Evidence Act, a provision that has been criticised for enabling custodial pressure despite procedural formalities.
In my case, it enabled the ATS to hold me without bail or discharge for years. Judges, when faced with “confessions,” often ask: if the accused themselves have admitted guilt, on what basis can relief be granted?
Even though I had not confessed, the fact that my name appeared in the statements of two or three co-accused was enough to ensure I remained in jail for nearly a decade. Confessions did not just bind those who signed them; they became a chain dragging all of us the accused in prolonged imprisonment.
Confessions under MCOCA are not confined to the courtroom. Their real power lies in shaping public opinion and political narratives. During investigations, the police hold press conferences, feeding selective details to journalists. The media, instead of questioning, becomes a stenographer of these reports. But once confessions are leaked, the shift is dramatic. The accused are no longer suspects; they are already “terrorists.” Those who once defended our innocence retreat into silence, uncertain how to argue against an apparent admission of guilt.The idea that seems widespread in our times in the context of the Delhi riots greater conspiracy Case , ‘Guilty until proven innocent’ finds its roots in these confessions.
These statements serve multiple purposes. They reassure political leaders that the case is solved and that law enforcement has “nabbed the terrorists.” They provide the media with sensational headlines that boost circulation. And they silence dissent by showing critics that the accused themselves have confirmed the police narrative. In this way, confessions become not just instruments of prosecution but tools of governance. They stabilise political authority by providing closure to public outrage. In the 7/11 case, the ATS and the government could claim success, while the real perpetrators of the blasts remained at large.
This is not an aberration but a pattern. Under TADA, POTA, and now MCOCA, confessions have repeatedly been used to manufacture guilt rather than uncover truth. The Law Commission of India, in its 185th Report, warned of deteriorating police conduct, noting that torture and third-degree methods had become routine. In its order acquitting all the accused in the 2006 Mumbai train blasts case, the Bombay High Court affirmed the observations of Lord Coleridge CJ, noting that “a confession, in order to be admissible, must be free and voluntary: that is, must not be extracted by any sort of threats or violence, nor obtained by any direct or implied promises, however slight, nor by the exertion of any improper influence.”
Yet MCOCA’s Section 18 continues to legitimise precisely this process.
The legal system is not unaware of the problem. In Pakala Narayan Swami v. Emperor (1939), the Privy Council defined confessions narrowly, holding that self-exculpatory statements could not be treated as admissions of guilt. Indian courts have also held that the confession of a co-accused is not substantive evidence but merely corroborative. Yet in Jameel Ahmed v. State of Rajasthan (2003), the Supreme Court allowed one co-accused’s confession to corroborate another’s—an approach that stretches fairness to breaking point.
International law offers clearer safeguards. Article 14(3)(g) of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (‘ICCPR’), to which India is a signatory, states: “No one shall be compelled to testify against himself or to confess guilt.” The American Supreme Court’s landmark Miranda v. Arizona (1966) decision laid down the Miranda Rule: police must inform suspects of their right to silence, the risk of self-incrimination, and the right to counsel. In India, no such robust safeguards exist when confessions to police are admitted.
The result is devastating. Innocent people are turned into “terrorists” through words scripted by officers under pressure to produce results. Courts, bound by statutory provisions, treat these confessions as credible until disproved. Bail is denied, discharge applications are dismissed, and trials drag on for decades. In the end, even when acquittal comes, as in my case, the damage is irreversible. Families are destroyed, reputations ruined, and years of life lost.
The continued existence of Section 18 of MCOCA undermines both the presumption of innocence under Article 21 and the privilege against self-incrimination under Article 20(3). It also contradicts India’s obligations under international law. To allow such a provision to remain is to accept that torture is a legitimate investigative tool and that false convictions are an acceptable price for expedient justice.
The 7/11 blasts case should stand as a warning. The Bombay High Court found that those arrested had nothing to do with the tragedy. That means the real perpetrators were never caught, shielded by a system more interested in manufactured confessions than genuine investigation. If that shielding was deliberate, then those responsible are complicit in terrorism themselves.
A confession obtained under torture is not truth—it is a fiction born out of demonic officers. To admit it in court is to enshrine injustice in law. As long as Section 18 of MCOCA remains, it will continue to produce more Wahid Shaikhs—innocent men branded as terrorists, their lives destroyed not by bombs but by words forced from their mouths.
The time has come to abolish this provision, to restore the principle that guilt must be proven by evidence, not by coercion. Until then, every confession under MCOCA will lead, as Asif Bashir Khan told me in custody, to an unjust conviction.