Haq (meaning “Right”) is a gripping courtroom drama that explores faith, justice, and womanhood through the emotional journey of Shazia Bano, a devoted wife, mother, and believer. The film begins in a quiet, middle-class neighborhood, where Shazia lives with her husband Abbas and their two young children. Shazia’s life revolves around her family — she’s caring, patient, and deeply rooted in her faith and community traditions. Abbas, on the other hand, is a man torn between ambition, ego, and societal pressures.
For years, their marriage appears stable, though not without unspoken tensions. Shazia silently bears the weight of domestic imbalance, believing endurance is a woman’s virtue. But the façade shatters when Abbas, dissatisfied with their life and emboldened by personal and religious interpretations, leaves Shazia and marries another woman. He cuts off financial support and begins a new life, leaving Shazia and her children to face hardship and humiliation.
The first act of the film focuses on Shazia’s personal suffering — eviction from her home, isolation from her in-laws, and the daily struggle to feed her children. Yet, amid her pain, there is an awakening. When Shazia realizes that Abbas has no intention of supporting them, she decides to fight back. Encouraged by her friend Zeenat (played by Paridhi Sharma) and a sympathetic lawyer, she files a petition under Section 125 of the Indian Code of Criminal Procedure, demanding maintenance — a legal right available to all women regardless of religion.
This decision shocks her conservative community. The elders condemn her move, insisting that personal and religious laws govern marital disputes, not secular courts. The local clergy warn her that pursuing the case in a secular court is against religious principles. But Shazia, torn between faith and survival, insists that she is not rejecting her religion — she is only seeking justice. This distinction becomes the heart of the film.
The courtroom scenes — which make up the film’s central act — are written and directed with tense precision. Shazia’s lawyer (played by Sheeba Chaddha) argues that justice must transcend personal law and that no woman should be denied basic dignity and sustenance. Abbas’s defense counters that Islamic personal law allows certain marital rights and responsibilities that cannot be judged by secular standards.
As the legal battle unfolds, the court becomes a battlefield of ideas. Through Shazia’s testimony, the audience witnesses her transformation — from a quiet, submissive woman to a determined fighter for truth. Her statements are powerful yet restrained: “My faith teaches me compassion and justice. Then how can justice for me be different from justice for others?”
Interwoven with the courtroom drama are flashbacks of Shazia and Abbas’s early years — tender moments of love, promises of partnership, and the gradual erosion of respect. These flashbacks humanize both characters; Abbas is not portrayed as a villain, but as a flawed man bound by patriarchy and religious misunderstanding.
Director Suparn S. Varma crafts these sequences to highlight the internal conflicts of both the individual and society. The camera often lingers on small moments — a hand hesitating over a legal document, a prayer whispered in solitude, or the silent defiance in Shazia’s eyes — to show the emotional stakes beneath the legal arguments.
As public interest in the case grows, the courtroom fills with journalists, activists, and community leaders. The nation becomes divided — one side hailing Shazia as a symbol of women’s empowerment, the other accusing her of defying her faith. The media frenzy and political involvement escalate tensions, echoing real historical debates around the Shah Bano case of 1985, which inspired the story.
In one of the most emotionally charged scenes, Shazia confronts Abbas in court. When asked why he left her, Abbas replies, “Because our law allows it.” Shazia’s response is simple but devastating: “The law allows it, but does justice?” This line becomes the emotional centerpiece of the film — the question that resonates beyond religion, gender, and nationality.
As the verdict approaches, the film builds an atmosphere of anticipation and moral reflection. The judge’s final statement emphasizes that India’s Constitution guarantees equality to all citizens, regardless of religion or gender. Shazia wins the case — but the victory is bittersweet. She receives her rightful maintenance, but more importantly, she earns her dignity and a place in history as a woman who dared to question the boundaries imposed upon her.
The film’s final act moves away from the courtroom to show the impact of the verdict. Women from different communities are inspired by Shazia’s courage. Her story becomes a beacon of hope, sparking conversations in homes, schools, and religious circles about the balance between faith and justice.
In the closing scene, Shazia walks out of the courthouse with her children. The crowd outside parts silently, some in admiration, others in judgment. She doesn’t speak; her expression says it all — relief, pride, and a quiet awareness that her fight was not just for herself but for countless women like her. The final shot shows her looking toward the horizon as the word “HAQ” — meaning “RIGHT” — fades across the screen, symbolizing that true faith and justice can coexist when courage meets conviction.
Tone and Message
Haq is not just a courtroom drama; it’s a social reflection. It questions how personal faith and national law can coexist in a diverse society. The story emphasizes that religion and justice need not be in conflict — that women’s voices deserve to be heard within every system, sacred or secular.
Through Shazia’s journey, the film delivers a profound message: Justice is not given; it is claimed
