Scott Neuman, Jantho – Head in hands and tears welling in her eyes, Syarifah Binti Jauhari says she knows what she did was against the will of God: She tried to support her family in the tsunami-ravaged province of Aceh by selling liquor.

But 10 months in jail – a sentence imposed under newly enforced Islamic laws – is more than the mother of five can bear. "My family needs me," she said, noting that her husband is ill and her youngest child only 3. "I miss them so much."

Aceh faced the brunt of the Dec. 26, 2004, tsunami that killed more than 131,000 in the province alone – out of a total of 216,000 dead from the storm across Asia – and many here believe the catastrophe was an act of divine vengeance against a people who had strayed too far from religious piety.

For them, implementing Shariah law was a way of putting things right and appeasing Allah. Others feel adhering to strict Islamic traditions is key to restoring the moral and social fabric that was swept away by the massive waves.

But Jauhari, who has seen her family only twice since she was locked up five months ago, is bitter. She said the rules appear to be enforced arbitrarily and without regard to personal circumstances. And, that women are targeted more frequently than men.

"I was the family breadwinner, I was the only one making money," the 36-year-old said, noting that her husband was a heavy drinker who quit only recently after he became sick. And while other women also have been arrested for selling liquor – since drinking alcohol is forbidden in Islam – Jauhari has so far received the harshest sentence.

"This is not justice," she said in an interview in the warden's office, wiping away tears with her white traditional headscarf, or jilbab.

The federal government agreed to allow Sharia law in Aceh four years ago as part of a peace settlement to end three decades of separatist conflict in this religiously conservative corner of Indonesia, the world's most populous Muslim nation.

But the province only began enforcing the laws last year after Islamic scholars and villagers started putting pressure on authorities, said H. Ziauddin Ahmad, deputy of the Shariah office in the provincial capital Banda Aceh. In the chaos that followed the tsunami "people were looking to us for guidance," he said.

The Shariah courts – long already engaged in matters of marriage and property – began meting out criminal punishments ranging from public floggings with a rattan cane for unlawful contact between unmarried men and women, to imprisonment for gambling or selling alcohol.

A special police force now roams the streets in patrols aimed at putting down behavior deemed offensive to Islam: Since the tsunami, some 150 cases have been heard. "Women in tight clothes are the Devil!" warned one recent banner displayed in the heart of the capital.

For those facing Shariah charges, justice is swift and certain. There are no lawyers, and no right to face accusers. Investigations typically take no more than a month and the courts have a nearly 100 percent conviction rate. That's because the cases are solid, Shariah authorities contend.

Ahmad describes the need for at least two male witnesses or four women to bring a trial – the Quran recognizes that "a woman's power of observation is not as good as a man's," he explained.

In perhaps the most celebrated Shariah case – known locally simply as "Romeo and Juliet" – authorities nabbed an unmarried couple for displaying their affections in the open. Romeo endured 12 lashes on the back, Juliet got nine. The sentences were carried out before a public audience at a local mosque and administered by a white robed and hooded figure.

But by standards of Quranic Shariah, caning is a relatively mild measure, and authorities say they have no intention of enforcing the more severe punishments, such as stoning and amputations.

Some people argue authorities are being too lenient. "I don't think caning is enough. Seven times, what's that? Nothing," said Yuniar, a 23-year-old woman who, like many Indonesians, uses only one name.

"But Shariah has helped," she said, sitting with her 2-year-old daughter in a Banda Aceh park. "Before you could see in the market everywhere that women were wearing tank tops and tight jeans, but not now."

Others note that justice is being unevenly distributed. "We feel that Shariah is directed mainly at women and the poor," said Sufriyani Ayub, staff media officer for Flower Aceh, an organization working to economically empower women.

She said her organization supports Shariah "in principle," but in almost the same breath added that those opposed to the changes – especially women – are afraid to speak up. They don't want to be accused of being un-Islamic, others note.

Ayub especially objects to the humiliating aspect of the public punishments, explaining that when Shariah police round up women for not wearing jilbabs, "they put them in a truck and parade them around town for everyone to see."

As for Jauhari, the imprisoned mother of five, the shame of her incarceration is the least of her worries. "The only concern I have is how to raise my children. I don't care what anyone else thinks," she said.

[Associated Press writer Febry Orida contributed to this report from Banda Aceh.]