“I’n khaa’m diloo’n kay unsur per, Bunyaad na Rakh, Tameer na Kar”….
Adoption has always been spoken of as an act of kindness. A child who is deprived of the care of his biological parents or by any other possible reason, is taken into another home, raised with affection, given a roof, food, education, and even at times property in order to secure his future. On the surface, it appears as though humanity has triumphed over blood, that love has silenced the voice of lineage. But those who have lived through the full circle of adoption know a harsher reality. The truth is that adoption often begins in love but ends in bitterness, and what was once considered a blessing can eventually turn into a curse.
The story usually begins with hope. An adult couple, sometimes childless and sometimes moved by sympathy, takes in a child. They raise him as their own, invest years of care, and even imagine that he will stand by them in old age. For the child too, the arrangement at first feels natural; he grows up believing he truly belongs. Adoptive parents, out of affection, may even go to the extent of gifting him property during their lifetime. Everything looks settled, everything looks safe. Yet human behaviour changes with time, and when the moment of succession arrives, the same child who once felt secure suddenly realises he is a stranger.
The shift usually begins when biological children arrive in the family. Sometimes the adopters are blessed with children of their own after years of marriage; sometimes they already have relatives who grow more assertive with age. What was once accepted silently soon turns into questioning: Why should an outsider share in what rightfully belongs to blood? Why should property, which carries with it the weight of memory, effort, and identity, be diverted to someone who is not part of the lineage? And so, with time, affection fades, suspicion creeps in, and compassion turns to cruelty.
Islamic law had foreseen this tragedy. Long before modern societies debated the rights of adoptees, the Qur’an made it clear: adoption as a transfer of lineage was not permitted. “Call them by the names oftheir fathers; it is more just in the sight of Allah” (Qur’an 33:5). This injunction preserved both truth and justice. It ensured that children retained their biological identity and that inheritance remained within the natural chain of heirs. An adopted child could be cared for through guardianship, but he was not to inherit by default. The law allowed adopters to make gifts during their lifetime or leave up to one-third of their estate through a will, but beyond that, property was to follow the divine shares laid down for spouses, children, parents, and siblings.
This divine wisdom was not without reason. Property has always been more than material. It is heritage, it is symbol, it is continuation of bloodlines. To give it to someone outside of that circle invites jealousy, anger, and disputes that rip families apart. And indeed, when adoptive parents ignore these limits, the day of reckoning arrives at the disposal of property. What was once a peaceful home becoming a battlefield of litigation. Wills are challenged, gifts are labelled invalid, and relationships are torn apart in the pursuit of wealth. The adopted child, who once thought himself secure, finds himself humiliated and betrayed. He discovers that in the eyes of law and blood, he never truly belonged.
This sense of betrayal has consequences beyond the material. Many adopted children, when faced with rejection at the stage of inheritance, develop deep resentment. They begin to question not just the fairness of their adoptive family, but the fairness of God Himself. Years of love are overshadowed by a single act of exclusion, and gratitude turns into curses. The one who was once called a blessing becomes a victim of bitterness, and the parents who once prided themselves on their compassion are remembered only for their cruelty.
“The Complexities of property, inheritance, and lineage make adoption inherently unstable. It characterizes the process as a “crucible” where emotional intentions—initially rooted in mercy—are ultimately undermined by the harsh realities of legal and familial obligations. Prospective parents and adopters should keep in mind the fact that prioritizing temporary emotional bonds over established patterns of kinship creates an illusion of stability. Formal guardianship is a more honest and sustainable alternative as it avoids the long-term resentment and conflict that adoption supposedly invites.”
Philosophically, this outcome is inevitable. Human beings are possessive by nature. Property stirs up instincts stronger than emotion. A father may love equally, but his children seldom will. An adopted child may serve faithfully, but society will always whisper reminders of difference. When the truth of lineage is denied, reality will find its way back at the most painful moment. Love may build illusions, but inheritance breaks them.
For society, too, the consequences are grave. Families that once displayed unity collapse under the weight of succession disputes. Brothers and sisters who should protect each other instead drag one another to court. Social respect is lost, and what was meant to be a symbol of kindness becomes a warning of folly. Adoption, instead of solving a problem, often creates a larger one; one that is carried not only in property records but in the wounds of the human heart.
What then is the lesson for people today, especially for those who may in future consider giving their children in adoption or taking in the child of another? The message is simple yet painful: understand the limits of love, and do not defy the wisdom of law. Compassion does not require deception. If one wishes to care for an orphan or an abandoned child, Islam has already provided the system of kafala; guardianship that preserves compassion without destroying lineage. One may raise the child, educate him, nurture him, and even gift him wealth within permitted bounds, but one must not erase his biological identity or promise him inheritance that the law does not allow.
For those giving children away, the warning is sharper still. To surrender a child into adoption is to expose him to a future where his very sense of belonging may collapse. He may be showered with love in youth, but at the moment of succession, he may taste bitterness that no child should ever face. His heart may harden, his faith may falter, and his life may become a curse against the very gods you sought to please. Better instead to support him through guardianship, foster arrangements, or kinship care, where his lineage remains intact and his identity is never in doubt.
Adoption, when examined closely, is not just a private matter but a social menace. It begins with noble emotion but ends with fractured families, broken faith, and endless litigation. It replaces gratitude with resentment, belonging with alienation, and mercy with hostility. Islam abolished adoption as a transfer of lineage for this very reason, not to close the door of compassion, but to open it in a way that does not breed future injustice.
The truth, however bitter, must be told. Property is the crucible in which human emotions are tested, and in that crucible adoption often fails. What begins as an act of mercy often ends as a curse. And so, for those who contemplate giving away their children, and for those who dream of adopting in defiance of divine law, the message is clear: think not of the smiles of today, but of the tears of tomorrow. Do not build futures on illusions that time and inheritance will surely shatter. Choose guardianship, choose truth, and choose a path where compassion does not end in curses.
(The author is presently working as Junior Assistant Legal at NIT Srinagar. The views, opinions and conclusions expressed in this article are those of the author and aren’t necessarily in accord with the views of “Kashmir Horizon”)
