Kashmir Singh, The Indian Spy Sent In 1973 Who Survived Death Row, Solitary Confinement And 35 Years Inside Pakistan’s Most Notorious Prisons

There are stories that arrive quietly and then refuse to leave you. Kashmir Singh’s life is one such story. It does not shout. It does not wrap itself in cinematic bravado. Instead, it sits with you, heavy and unsettling, because it forces you to confront the price of loyalty, the weight of forgotten lives, and the human cost of hostile borders. When Kashmir Singh walked back into India in March 2008 after spending 35 years in Pakistani prisons, he was not just returning home. He was stepping out of a time capsule sealed in 1973, a man who had missed entire decades, watched his youth dissolve behind iron bars, and survived an existence that few could even imagine. For India, his return felt unreal. For his family, it was a resurrection. For the subcontinent,

it was a reminder of how many stories remain trapped between India and Pakistan, buried under files, fear and silence. Singh’s life reads like a political thriller, yet it unfolded slowly, painfully and without applause until the very end.

A modest beginning before a dangerous calling

Kashmir Singh was born in 1941 in Punjab, long before the region became synonymous with borders and barbed wire. By the early 1960s, he was part of the Indian Army, serving between 1962 and 1966 during a period when India’s military psyche was still bruised from the China war. After leaving the army, he joined the Punjab Police, a job that promised stability rather than glory.

But history rarely asks permission. Singh was later approached to work as an operative on a contractual basis for Indian intelligence. The pay was modest, reportedly around Rs 400 a month, but the stakes were enormous. Intelligence work in the early 1970s was raw and unforgiving. There were no digital footprints, no satellite images available at the click of a button. Information had to be gathered in person, often at great personal risk.

Crossing the border under another name

In 1973, Singh crossed into Pakistan under the Muslim alias Mohammed Ibrahim. It was not an unusual tactic at the time. Disguises were essential for survival, and Singh reportedly managed to obtain identity cards and check into hotels using his assumed name. His assignment involved gathering intelligence and photographing sensitive military installations. What followed was swift and brutal. He was arrested near the Peshawar-Rawalpindi road by Pakistani intelligence officers. The charges ranged from espionage to smuggling, accusations that would define the rest of his life. At home in India, his wife, Paramjit Kaur, was left behind with three young children, all under the age of ten, unaware that their husband and father was about to disappear into one of the longest incarcerations suffered by an Indian national in Pakistan.

Death sentence and decades on the edge

Later that same year, Kashmir Singh was sentenced to death by a Pakistan Army court. The verdict was upheld by civil courts in the mid-1970s, sealing what appeared to be his fate. A mercy petition followed, but it brought no relief. Instead of execution, his sentence turned into something arguably more cruel, a prolonged existence on death row.

Singh would later recount that the first months of his imprisonment involved severe torture, with authorities attempting to extract a confession. Over the next three and a half decades, he was shifted across seven different jails in Pakistan. He spent 17 years in chains and long stretches in solitary confinement. By his own account, there were years when he did not see the sky or meet a single visitor. One chilling detail stands out. For decades, his family did not even know if he was alive. It was only in 1986, when Pakistan released a few Indian prisoners accused of spying from Lahore jail, that the family learned Singh was still alive, though condemned to death. For everyone except his wife, Paramjit Kaur, hope slowly faded.

A chance encounter that changed everything

History often turns on accidents. In 2008, Pakistani human rights activist Ansar Burney visited Lahore jail in his capacity as caretaker human rights minister. There, he noticed an elderly Indian prisoner who had spent an astonishing 35 years behind bars. Burney later said Singh appeared mentally broken by his incarceration. Shocked by the length and conditions of Singh’s imprisonment, Burney took up the case on humanitarian grounds. He argued that no individual, regardless of political accusations, should be left to rot in prison for decades without resolution. His intervention reached the highest office in Pakistan. When Pervez Musharraf was informed of the case, he reportedly expressed disbelief. Shortly thereafter, Singh received a presidential pardon. The order included his release and repatriation to India, a decision that would resonate far beyond one man’s life.

The long walk back home

On 4 March 2008, Kashmir Singh crossed into India via the Wagah Border. The images were unforgettable. A frail man, visibly aged beyond his years, stepping into a country that had changed almost beyond recognition. He was welcomed by officials, media and an emotional family that had waited for him for over three decades. His reunion with Paramjit Kaur was particularly moving. She had lived most of her life as a woman in limbo, neither a widow nor a wife, clinging to the belief that her husband would return. In his village, Singh was greeted as a hero, a survivor who had endured the unimaginable.

The confusion that followed his return

Almost immediately after his return, controversy followed. In initial statements, Singh denied being a spy, insisting that he was a policeman who had crossed the border accidentally. Later, he acknowledged that he had indeed carried out duties assigned to him as an operative. The conflicting versions led to public confusion and debate. Some saw his hesitation as a survival instinct, shaped by decades of coercion. Others viewed it as a reminder of the murky realities of intelligence work, where truth is often layered and strategic. What remained undeniable was the scale of his suffering.Kashmir Singh’s case became symbolic of the many prisoners caught between India and Pakistan, accused of espionage, often with little public attention. His release raised hopes for other Indians imprisoned across the border, including cases like Sarabjit Singh, whose fate would later take a tragic turn. Diplomatically, his repatriation was seen as a rare moment of goodwill between two deeply suspicious neighbours. It showed that humanitarian considerations could, at least occasionally, override political hostility. Trivia: Singh spent more years in Pakistani prisons than Nelson Mandela spent in jail in South Africa, a comparison that underscores the extraordinary length of his captivity.

A life reduced yet undefeated

Kashmir Singh did not return as the man who left India in 1973. He returned older, quieter and marked by years of isolation. Yet his survival itself became a form of resistance. He embodied a grim truth about the subcontinent’s history: that wars do not end when treaties are signed and that their shadows can stretch across generations. Today, his story stands as both a cautionary tale and a testament to endurance. It reminds us that behind every headline about spies and borders lies a human being, waiting, hoping and counting days that no calendar records.