The Question of Delay in the SC’s Delhi Riots Bail Order [Guest Post]

[This is a guest post by Rehan Mathur.]


The SC passed a detailed order in the bail applications of several accused in the 2020 Delhi Riots case on 05th January 2026. As per the order, the SC granted bail to all but two of the accused; Umar Khalid and Sharjeel Imam. Throughout the 144-page order, the SC has relied upon the distinction between the central role of Khalid and Imam with the incidental role of the other five co-accused as the basis to deny bail to them. While several commentators have already said much about the order (see here and here), the piece attempts to unpack the order’s rationale by examining how the order determines delay attributable to the accused and its consideration of the prima facie case and role of the accused as relevant factors for determining bail pleas premised on delay and prolonged incarceration. It concludes that the order worsens the jurisprudence of bail in UAPA cases.

Article 21 & Prolonged Incarceration

The threshold for the grant of bail in UAPA Cases is extremely high courtesy Section 43D(5) of the UAPA and the SC’s decision in Zahoor Ahmad Shah Watali. Applications of bail, require the bail deciding judge to look only at the chargesheet and case diary to determine if the accusation against such person is prima facie true. If the accusation is prima facie true, bail cannot be granted. However, the Supreme Court recognised a completely new basis for grant of bail in UAPA cases in K.A. Najeeb. In Najeeb, the Court held that the presence of statutory restrictions under Section 43(D)(5) could not oust the ability of constitutional Courts to grant bail in cases to protect rights under Article 21 where the likelihood of trial being completed within a reasonable time was slim, and the period of incarceration already undergone was substantial.

It is important to note that Najeeb was decided by a bench of three judges, and is binding on smaller two judge benches. But this is completely ignored in the 5th January Order, which goes on to whittle down the import of Najeeb.  The Court does this by arguing that the delay caused was attributable to the accused, and by the introduction of new considerations for grant of bail under this ground.

Delay Attributable to the Accused

The Order clarifies that the inordinate delay which forms the basis of grant of bail should not be attributable to the accused. The Court notes that several objections, deferment requests and sequencing issues were raised on behalf of the accused before the trial court. Particularly, the Court also mentions delay during the stage of disclosure under Section 207 CrPC [Para 38]: “At the stage of compliance under Section 207 CrPC itself, the Trial Court noted that despite repeated directions, certain accused declined to receive copies of the charge-sheet in the manner directed, insisted on alternate modes of supply, or filed successive applications, necessitating further procedural orders and contributing to delay at the pre-charge stage. These aspects emerge from the record and are not matters of conjecture.

This analysis by the Court is faulty on two grounds. First, the right of an accused to receive documents relied upon by the prosecution has been recognised as a fair trial right under Article 21. Therefore, it follows, that to meaningfully exercise this right, the accused may file applications to seek supply of illegible, missing or unrelied-upon documents. The SC in Manish Sisodia rejected this exact argument of the ED by holding that in cases of voluminous records, the accused must be given a reasonable amount of time to inspect documents. In the present case, the record extended up to nearly 22,000 pages. The time taken by the accused during the 207 stage to meaningfully exercise their fair trial right cannot thus be equated with delay attributable to the accused to defeat the grant of bail.

Second, even assuming that the accused did contribute to the delay at the 207 stage, the order makes no mention of who caused this delay. In FIR No. 59 of 2020, there are 20 accused persons. The Court makes no analysis on which of these 20 accused persons caused the delay. It could be possible that none of the seven accused seeking bail before the Court had made any contribution to the delay. Would it then be reasonable to deny bail to Accused X, simply because Accused Y might have contributed to some delay? Such an analysis is entirely missing from the Order. The Court should have undertaken an individualised analysis of the delay caused by each accused rather than attributing delay to all of them. Despite the order placing so much emphasis on the individual role of each accused, it is ironic that the order failed to employ such an approach where it was most needed.

Mixing of two standards

After clarifying the scope of delay, the Court considered the four relevant considerations for the grant of bail under Article 21 [Para 56]:

The outcome of such scrutiny must be determined by a proportional and contextual balancing of legally relevant considerations, including (i) the gravity and statutory character of the offence alleged, (ii) the role attributed to the accused within the alleged design or conspiracy, (iii) the strength of the prima facie case as it emerges at the limited threshold contemplated under the special statute, and (iv) the extent to which continued incarceration, viewed cumulatively in the facts of the case, has become demonstrably disproportionate so as to offend the guarantee of personal liberty under Article 21.

While the Supreme Court itself has negated the applicability of the gravity of the offence in deciding bail on the grounds of Article 21, the two other factors, namely, the accused’s role and the strength of the prima facie case are far more problematic. 

Addressing the factor of prima facie case first, it is clear that introducing this factor is a clear mixing up of two different grounds. The question of whether a prima facie case is made out or not is anyways a question of the merits under Section 43D(5), which the Court can address. Whether a prima facie case exists or not has nothing to do with why Najeeb and other decisions have recognised such a ground for grant of bail. This ground attempts to remedy the prolonged incarceration of the accused, which if not for the grant of bail amounts to a violation of the Accused person’s Right to liberty and speedy trial under Article 21. Mixing of the two standards amounts to making the accused’s constitutional right subservient to the draconian requirements of a special statute, in complete ignorance of constitutional supremacy.

The Role of the Accused & the Purpose of Bail

The alleged role of the two accused is also the second problematic factor considered by the Court and forms its ultimate premise for denying them bail. This begs the question then, what really is the relevance of the alleged role played by an accused person for the grant of bail under Article 21? The order seems to throw some light on this [Para 100]

The continued detention of those alleged to be the architects of the conspiracy may be required to safeguard broader security interests and deter future acts, whereas the rationale for continued incarceration of minor participants is comparatively attenuated once the investigative purpose is exhausted. The Court is therefore justified in calibrating its approach, ensuring that the pursuit of security does not eclipse the principle of proportionality.

The order seems to suggest that bail can be denied simply to protect security interests and deter future acts. But the purpose of denial of bail is very different. Deprivation of liberty by denial of bail is justified to ensure attendance, or prevent witness interference or tampering with evidence. Ultimately therefore, the law is settled that the object of bail is to secure the attendance of the accused at the trial. Using deterrence of future acts as a ground (especially in cases where the accused has no past antecedents) would amount to determining guilt and punishing the accused at the stage of bail, and turns the presumption of innocence on its head.

An accused who might have a tangential role may be highly influential with the ability to influence witnesses, indicating that role in an offence as such has nothing to do with bail. In any case, past antecedents, ability to influence witnesses, or risk of flight are objectively ascertainable, but the role of the accused is something that the Prosecution, and the State has control over. Allowing the role in the crime to be the basis for grant of bail allows States full control over who to make a case against, and prevent those it ascribes an ‘architectural role’ from grant of bail.

It must also be noted that the SC has granted bail under Article 21 in cases where the accused had a major role as per the Prosecution. In Najeeb, the accused was alleged to be one of the main ‘conspirators’ in the crime (who had absconded) yet, bail was granted. Similarly, in Umarmia, the Supreme Court granted bail to the alleged ‘mastermind’ who was charged under various provisions of the TADA amongst others for smuggling a large quantity of arms and ammunition. 

While proponents of this position may seek to rely on Shaheen Welfare Assn. where the Court created 4 categories of undertrials on the basis of their role, such as by directing leniency for those who were roped in by virtue of Section 120-B or 147 IPC not being directly involved in any terrorist or disruptive act and those who were found possessing incriminating material. While the categorisations of the judgement may themselves be questionable, even the judgement notes that those who are directly involved in terrorist acts under Section 3 TADA, may be entitiled to grant of bail if they have been in prison for five years or more, and their trial is not likely to be completed within the next six months. The only exception to this rule is when the Court concludes that the accused’s antecedents are such that releasing them may be harmful to the complainant, their family or to witnesses. 

This signifies that even the dictum of Shaheen Welfare Assn. permits an alleged ‘mastermind’ who has committed terrorist acts to be granted bail under Article 21, in cases of prolonged custody. This follows because the violation of Article 21 rights arising from prolonged incarceration with no likelihood of completion to trial affects all accused equally irrespective of the role or nature of their involvement in the alleged prosecution case. Thus, the SC order creates an irrelevant test based on the role of the accused to selectively decide who should be granted bail without any analysis of whether the accused will actually tamper with evidence, influence witnesses or abscond from trial. 

Some Concluding Thoughts 

The Order allows Umar Khalid and Sharjeel Imam to seek bail again after the expiry of a period of one year from the date of the order, or upon completion of examination of the protected witnesses relied upon by the prosecution. This direction reflects the approach of the Court when it in an earlier portion of the judgement notes [Para 50]

The Court must also bear in mind that it is not confined to a binary choice between continued custody and unconditional release.Where delay becomes a matter of constitutional concern, appropriate directions for expeditious trial, prioritisation of witnesses, or periodic review of progress may be issued. Such measures are constitutionally significant responses that address the vice of delay while respecting the statutory framework. The liberty to renew a prayer for bail upon continued stagnation may also be preserved.

The issue with such directions is that they fundamentally miss the point of invoking Article 21 for seeking bail. An accused’s right under Article 21 is violated due to prolonged incarceration already suffered, and if there is no likelihood of trial finishing. Looking at only the latter without any consideration for the prolonged incarceration, leaves the accused at the mercy of the Prosecution and the Trial Court. Measures for expediting trials, prioritising witnesses may be relevant but cannot completely remedy the suffering caused by prolonged incarceration, since these directions may not actually result in movement, let alone completion of the trial. In the present case, the order provides for a direction for renewal of bail. But charges are yet to be framed in the present case, and thus, it is extremely unlikely that the examination of protected witnesses will take place. Why then should the accused suffer detention for an additional year?  There is no answer.

The Order, thus adds to the already problematic jurisprudence of bail in UAPA cases, like Watali and Gurvinder Singh by mixing two independent grounds, by penalising the accused for exercising their fair trial rights and giving the state full authority to ascribe anyone with an ‘architectural role’ in an offence to deny them bail. Whether it will turn out to be the outlier, or the norm in the sea of inconsistent decisions on bail in UAPA, only time will tell.

Bail granted, but freedom is not: The Supreme Court’s erroneous bail conditions in Gulfisha Fatima [Guest Post]

[This is a blog post by Mihir TejaKalle.]


*(This article does not pass comment on the denial of bail to Sharjeel Imam and Umar Khalid)

On 5th January, 2026, the Apex Court in Gulfisha Fatima v. State (Govt. of NCT of Delhi) granted bail to five individuals – namely Gulfisha Fatima, Meeran Haider, Shifa-ur-Rehman, Mohd. Saleem Khan, and Shadab Ahmed. This would to many be a sigh of relief and a moment of joy (in times of despair), but the judgement still proves to befuddle our minds. In granting bail, the Court listed out eleven conditions that the accused would have to follow, including two very puzzling conditions –

viii. The appellants shall not participate in any programme or address or attend any gathering, rally or meeting, whether physically or virtually till conclusion of the trial.

ix. The appellants shall not circulate any post either in electronic form of physical form or circulate any hand bills, posters, banners, etc in any form whatsoever.

At first glance, one might argue that these conditions are relatively minimal when viewed against the gravity of the accusations involved. However, a deeper introspection reveals a far starker picture, one where such conditions violate the basic and inviolable fundamental rights of the individual and signal a troubling regression in bail jurisprudence in India. Bail is no longer the rule, and even when granted, it increasingly arrives burdened with harsh restrictions on fundamental liberties.

A deviation from past jurisprudence

Bail was conceived as a mechanism to preserve the liberty of the accused while simultaneously securing their presence during investigation and trial. The Supreme Court has consistently emphasised that onerous bail conditions should not be imposed if they are unduly burdensome or infringe upon fundamental rights. Any condition imposed must bear a clear nexus with the administration of justice, securing the presence of the accused, preventing interference with the investigation, ensuring witnesses are not intimidated, and safeguarding the trial process.

The Apex Court has previously held in the case of Siba Shankar Das v. State of Odisha, that a bail condition that restricted a politician from being involved in any political activities is a breach of their fundamental rights and hence, liable to be withdrawn. In Frank Vitus v. Narcotics Control Bureau, (discussed on this blog here) the Court cautioned that restraint must be exercised while imposing bail conditions and that such conditions must minimally impair the accused’s fundamental freedoms and rights.

These decisions reflect a consistent judicial philosophy, one that seeks to protect individual liberty while allowing narrowly tailored restrictions strictly necessary for the smooth administration of justice.

The lack of rationale in Gulfisha Fatima

In Gulfisha Fatima, the Court appears to have imposed bail conditions mechanically, without providing concrete reasoning beyond a broad invocation of national security, public order, and the integrity of the trial process. The judgment places a blanket prohibition on the accused from participating in, or even addressing, any programme, rally, or meeting. This restriction surprisingly extends to virtual platforms as well. Such an expansive condition directly impinges upon the fundamental rights to freedom of speech, expression, and assembly.

If it was impermissible to impose a similar condition upon a politician, who notably had multiple criminal cases registered against him, it is difficult to see how such a restriction becomes permissible in the present case.

A similar condition was proposed by the State in Mohammed Zubair v. State of NCT of Delhi which called for a blanket bar on the accused ‘tweeting’ i.e posting on social media, X (Twitter). The Court deemed this to be a blanket ban on expression and held that it would be impermissible to impose it as a condition for the liberty of bail. History may not look favourably upon Gulfisha in terms of its bail conditions.

Moreover, it is difficult to discern the necessity of such sweeping restrictions when condition (vi) already prohibits the accused from associating with or participating in the activities of any group or organisation linked to the subject matter of the FIR. The judgment effectively operates as a gag order, rendering the accused unable to express their views, participate in ordinary social and civic life, or engage on social media platforms. This mirrors the concerns raised in Frank Vitus, where the Court frowned upon bail conditions that effectively placed the accused in a state of confinement outside prison walls.

Even assuming that the impugned bail conditions pursue a legitimate aim, such as the preservation of public order and trial integrity, they miserably fail the test of proportionality. A blanket prohibition on all forms of public participation and expression, including virtually, is neither necessary, nor the least restrictive means available. There were multiple alternatives that the Court could have explored that were less intrusive, such as restrictions limited to specific organisations (read condition vi.), or speech directly linked to the alleged offences (read condition vii.), which were plainly available and satisfactory to ensure the goal of the bail conditions. The additional and onerous conditions therefore collapse at this stage of necessity and balancing, hence, rendering them constitutionally disproportionate.

It is difficult to come to the conclusion that merely participating in any event or circulating any post either physically or electronically can have a reasonable nexus to the investigation or the trial itself. The Supreme Court has to bear in mind that it is the guardian of the Constitution. If the guardian itself offends the Constitution, then the remedial promise of constitutionalism stands gravely in danger.

Especially when the Court has repeatedly warned against the use of law in ways that chill the freedom of speech and expression, it bears a heightened responsibility to ensure that its own orders do not negate that very principle through overbroad and unjustified restrictions.

Eyes Wide Shut: The Supreme Court’s Bail Order in the Delhi Riots Cases

This post analyses the Supreme Court’s bail order in the Delhi Riots cases, delivered today. Seven appellants had approached the Court against the Delhi High Court’s September 2025 order denying them bail. The Supreme Court allowed the appeals of five, and granted them bail. The appeals of Umar Khalid and Sharjeel Imam were rejected.

This blog has examined the proceedings in this case in some detail, dating back to 2022; we have examined the 2022 trial court order denying bail (here), the 2022 High Court order denying bail (here), and the 2025 High Court order denying bail (here and here). An analysis of these orders has revealed a consistent pattern: at each stage, the courts have adopted what this blog has called an “eyes wide shut approach” to the question of bail under the UAPA: that is, they have invoked Section 43(D)(5) of the UAPA to avoid any meaningful scrutiny of the material presented by the prosecution, and have filled in the obvious gaps in the prosecution’s case through inferences and assumptions. When it comes to Umar Khalid and Sharjeel Imam, today’s judgment, as we shall see, follows the same pattern.

The Question of Delay

The Court frames two preliminary questions, which we shall address. The first is the question of delay. At this point, all the appellants had spent upwards of five and a half years in jail, without trial. They invoked the right to life under Article 21, which also guarantees the right to a speedy trial. In addition, the Supreme Court’s prior judgment in Najeeb, which holds that a delay in a trial under the UAPA will attract Article 21, was also cited.

How does the Supreme Court justify the continued incarceration of Umar Khalid and Sharjeel Imam, even after five and a half years in jail without trial? It does so by deploying two arguments: first, that the delay in the trial is not “solely” attributable to the prosecution or to the court; and secondly, that the “seriousness of the offence” is a relevant factor in deciding the question of delay. Neither reason stands up to scrutiny.

On the first reason: the Court observes that from the record, it appears that despite the prosecution’s readiness to proceed, “objections, requests for deferment, and issues relating to sequencing of arguments were raised on behalf of the accused.” The Court does not actually engage in any analysis with respect to how much of the delay was actually caused by this, which is a rather glaring omission in the analysis. However, let us assume, for the purposes of argument, that some part of the delay is attributable to “objections, requests for deferment, and issues relating to sequencing of arguments” by the accused. Two points follow. First, “objections,” “requests for deferments,” and “sequencing issues” are not the same. It would be remiss of defence counsel to not raise all the objections that criminal law entitles them to raise, on behalf of their client. Pinning a delayed trial on an accused individual’s lawyer invoking legal remedies cannot, therefore, stand. This leaves only “requests for deferment.” But, ultimately, it is the court that decides whether or not to accede to a “request for deferment.” Defence counsel are not in charge of a trial. Defence counsel do not control the courtroom. The court does so. The court can always decline a request for an adjournment and compel the defence to argue. The responsibility for a delayed trial, therefore, lies only on the shoulders of the court conducting the trial. This point is obscured by the Supreme Court’s eliding of “objections”, “requests for deferment” and “sequencing issues”, as if they were all the same, and that they all pointed to the defence’s culpability.

On the second reason: the Supreme Court states that the weight accorded to delay must be “balanced” with the gravity of the alleged offence. This is incoherent. A delayed trial breaches Article 21 because every individual has the right to a speedy trial. How serious an offence is may have a bearing upon consideration of bail on merits, but it has no bearing on the right to a speedy trial. Drawing this link, in fact, opens a dangerous Pandora’s Box where fundamental human rights are made contingent upon what the State chooses to accuse an individual of. In fact, the Supreme Court itself has recognised the untenability of such distinctions, across contexts: for example, the Court has not accepted the proposition that the its rule for hearing death penalty reviews in “open court” be curtailed for particularly serious cases, such as terrorism convictions – because the right to an open court review itself flows from Article 21.

In fact, the Supreme Court’s order here is contrary to its own prior bail jurisprudence under the UAPA: in Sheikh Javed Iqbal vs State of Uttar Pradesh, the Court specifically noted that, in fact, the more serious the offence, the greater the imperative that the trial be concluded expeditiously, and that the seriousness of the offence cannot be invoked in order to make trial delays constitutionally acceptable. Today’s judgment makes no mention of Javed Iqbal, and advances a proposition directly contrary to it. This is not something that co-ordinate benches of the Court can do.

Finally, it is notable that when courts examine the question of delay, they specifically look at the number of witnesses that have to be examined, and the probable further time that it will take for the trial to be completed. None of this is done in the present case.

Definition of Terrorism

As a second preliminary point, the Court considers the definition of “terrorism” under Section 15 of the UAPA. This is relevant because – as this blog has pointed out before – the test for bail under Section 43(D)(5) of the UAPA is whether a “prima facie” case exists against the accused. The question of whether or not a “prima facie case” exists depends on what the ingredients of the offence are. These, therefore, must be outlined with care and specificity.

Unfortunately, the Court is neither careful nor specific. It notes that in addition to weaponry, Section 15 uses the term “by any other means of whatever nature” which – according to the Court – includes “conduct that destabilises civic life or societal functioning, even in the absence of immediate physical violence.” There are two problems with this definition. The first is that it is entirely vague. Every protest that blocks a road “destabilises civic life or societal functioning.” Every such protest is not – obviously – statutory terrorism. Secondly, this definition conflates a number of concepts that decades of Supreme Court jurisprudence have carefully articulated – and separated – from each other. Every law student is familiar with the Supreme Court’s judgment in Ram Manohar Lohia, which advanced the famous “concentric circles” image to distinguish between a disruption of law and order, public order, and of State security. Today’s judgment does not engage in any analysis of these concepts, and indeed, appears to conflate the three circles in the umbrella term “destabilises civic life.”

Why is this a problem? It is a problem, in general, because such a vague definition of “terrorism” ensures that pretty much every act of civic disobedience can invite a UAPA case, and endless incarceration. It is also a problem in this specific case, because the foundational reason for the Court’s decision to deny Sharjeel Imam and Umar Khalid bail is – in its view – the difference between a “dharna” and a “chakka jam.” In my post on the High Court’s judgment, I wrote:

On the chakka jam, it is worthwhile to remember, for a moment, that we live in a country that owes its existence, as a nation-state, to forms of mass mobilisation and protest that were, by their very nature, designed to be disruptive (and the chakka-jam is one among them). Nor is this restricted to the freedom struggle: in a book titled Hailing the State, Lisa Mitchell examines a range of unconventional ways in which Indians have communicated their claims to the State outside of the electoral process: from the “rail roko” to the “chakka jam.” These forms of protest have a specific history and a specific vintage, and have been practiced by Indians of different persuasions, across time and space. It may be argued that the State reserves the right to respond to such methods through the legal form; while that it is a separate debate, what the State has done here is to use anti-terror laws to deal with what was a political protest (recall, once again, that the link between the protesters and the violence remains unproven). That is where the problem lies.

The Supreme Court’s catch-all definition of “terrorism,” therefore, invites selective prosecution – followed by selective incarceration – under the UAPA.

It is important to note one more thing: two years ago, in Asif Iqbal Tanha, the High Court of Delhi embarked on a very detailed and very careful examination of the phrase “terrorism” under the UAPA (see here). In that case, the High Court of Delhi noted the following:

… the extent and reach of terrorist activity must travel beyond the effect of an ordinary crime and must not arise merely by causing disturbance of law and order or even public order; and must be such that it travels beyond the capacity of the ordinary law enforcement agencies to deal with it under the ordinary penal law. (para 49)

The High Court also noted:

The making of inflammatory speeches, organising chakkajams, and such like actions are not uncommon when there is widespread opposition to Governmental or Parliamentary actions. Even if we assume for the sake of argument, without expressing any view thereon, that in the present case inflammatory speeches, chakkajams, instigation of women protesters and other actions, to which the appellant is alleged to have been party, crossed the line of peaceful protests permissible under our Constitutional guarantee, that however would yet not amount to commission of a ‘terrorist act’ or a ‘conspiracy’ or an ‘act preparatory’ to the commission of a terrorist act as understood under the UAPA. (para 47)

Now, when this case was appealed to the Supreme Court, instead of engaging with the High Court’s reasoning, the Supreme Court simply declared that it would “not be treated as precedent” (see here). The result is what we have today, which is a Section 15 definition that is so wide and vague that more or less any disruptive act can come within it – and whether or not a particular act will come within it depends entirely on how the State, in a given case, decides to frame it. This is not the rule of law.

The Facts

This blog has gone into the details of the factual allegations against Sharjeel Imam and Umar Khalid – and why they do not stand up to UAPA scrutiny – in some detail, on three previous occasions. We must now do it a fourth time. Let us first consider Umar Khalid. As has been noted before, the prosecution’s case has always had a fundamental problem: that Umar Khalid never called for violence, was not involved in any violence (he was not even in Delhi when the riots broke out), and no material was recovered from him. To get over this rather substantial hurdle, the prosecution has alleged the existence of a conspiracy, and that Umar Khalid was one of the two masterminds (Sharjeel Imam being the other).

But the allegation of a conspiracy must be based on something. Here, we see a rather interesting evolution in how the courts have adjudicated this case over the years. In the beginning, the courts have tried to nonetheless find something concrete or specific in the facts (this was taken to the point of absurdity in the High Court’s first order denying bail, where Umar Khalid’s reference to “revolutionary greetings” in a speech was taken as potentially violent because he did not specifically clarify that was talking about a peaceful revolution). However, judgment by judgment – perhaps noting the untenability of these claims – courts have begun to frame Umar Khalid’s role in more and more abstract language, abandoning specificity altogether.

In the Supreme Court’s order, this abstraction is taken to its vanishing point. Note the following: in paragraph 98, the Court says this: “the prosecution material comprises direct, corroborative, and contemporaneous evidence, including recoveries, digital communication trails, and statements indicative of managerial responsibility.” First, evidence of what, precisely? Later on, we are told that the only evidence is that of starting a “chakka jam” (see above), but that to go into this question in more detail would involve scrutiny beyond what is permitted by Section 43(D)(5). Secondly, in paragraph 215, the Court itself admits that there have been no “recoveries” – so it is unclear why it mentions “recovery” in paragraph 98, when this is – quite literally – not true. In that same paragraph 215, the Court says that the absence of recovery may have weight in “ordinary IPC bail jurisprudence” but not under a “statute alleging a wider conspiracy.” But “conspiracy” is not a concept invented by the UAPA – it is, quite literally, a concept defined – and interpreted – under the IPC!

In paragraph 211, the Court states that the prosecution’s narrative is “not episodic; it is architectural.” What on earth does this mean? The Court then says: “It asserts a phased progression: mobilisation and indoctrination; institutionalisation through committees and digital platforms; expansion of protest sites into permanent blockades; preparation for escalation; and culmination in coordinated chakka jams and widespread violence.” Note that none of this except the last two words constitute an offence under the UAPA (I have dealt with the chakka jam point above). What we would therefore need from the Court is the following: a plausible causal link between every word used before the words “widespread violence,” and the “widespread violence” itself. The moment the Court is asked to do this, however, it repeats that such a level of scrutiny is barred under Section 43(D)(5).

To put it schematically: the UAPA requires (conspiracy to) commit “widespread violence.” The actual evidence is well short of establishing any such thing. The Prosecution asserts that this gap between the evidence and the act is filled by “conspiracy.” The Court states that it is barred from examining this (evidence-free) assertion. To take an example, consider para 218:

At this stage, the Court does not decide whether each meeting was conspiratorial. But where multiple meetings across weeks and months are alleged, and where witness material and electronic records are pressed to place the same accused at several of these junctures, the Court is entitled to view continuity itself as a relevant circumstance. Continuity is the difference between a participant and an organiser in the prosecution narrative.

But, for the umpteenth time, we have to ask: continuity of what? Continuity to do what? In the paragraph before, the Court has referred to the following “decision points” (decision of what?):

... the Jangpura meeting of 08.12.2019; the Jamia phase of mid-December; the formation and functioning of JCC/JACT as mobilisation structures; the creation and operation of DPSG as a dissemination mechanism; the meetings at ISI, Gandhi Peace Foundation and Shaheen Bagh; and the January Seelampur phase alleged to involve preparation for escalation.

But once again, it is not in these meetings that the violence took place. There is always a permanent gap between the actual evidence against Umar Khalid and the allegation against him, and no matter how many multi-syllabled words are used in the judgment (“architectural”, “conceptual leadership”, “architect of escalation”), this is a gap that will remain unfilled, because it cannot be filled except through a effort of prosecutorial and judicial imagination.

The final giveaway comes in para 239. After insisting throughout the judgment that its task is to scrutinise the material to see if there is a reasonable nexus with the ingredients of the offence, the Court finally concludes its analysis of Umar Khalid’s case with this: “at the bail stage, the Court does not determine whether these allegations ultimately satisfy the ingredients of a “terrorist act” under Section 15.”

But then, what are we doing here? If the Court will not even ask if the allegations satisfy the ingredients of the offence, then what will it do? What is left for it to do?

In fact, this same issue arises in the Sharjeel Imam bail denial. I have written at some length before about the facts in Imam’s case, and how his speeches – in particular – do not meet the standard of criminalisation under the Constitution (see here). Under the Constitution, speech is protected unless it constitutes incitement to imminent violence; Imam’s speech does not fall within this judicial test. Before the Supreme Court, Imam’s counsel made this argument. The Court says, in para 162:

The defence has urged that the speech contains no direct incitement to violence and is protected. That contention cannot be adjudicated in the manner the defence invites at this stage. The statutory enquiry is not whether the Court, after a full trial, would accept the prosecution’s interpretation. The enquiry is whether the prosecution’s reading is prima facie plausible on the face of the material and whether, read cumulatively with the other links, it contributes to a coherent narrative of planned disruption.

With due respect, this gets the law upside down and back to front. Consider the argument schematically:

Proposition 1: The Constitution prohibits criminalising speech that is short of incitement to imminent violence.

Proposition 2: The UAPA must be interpreted consistently with the Constitution. Consequently, speech that does not incite violence does not fall within Section 15.

Proposition 3: The question of whether or not a speech constitutes incitement, therefore, is essential to determine whether the ingredients of Section 15 have been satisfied, and therefore, whether a prima facie case exists against the accused.

This should make it crystal clear that the question of incitement is fundamental to the question of bail under UAPA. If there is no incitement, then there is no Section 15 offence, and – therefore – no prima facie case. The Court does not engage in any of this analysis.

Miscellaneous

Reading the orders granting bail to the other appellants, a rather curious picture emerges: it is as if the other individuals are automatons, mechanically carrying out the orders delivered from on high by Sharjeel Imam or Umar Khalid. We are treated to phrases such as absence of “autonomous decision-making authority,” “limited to coordination,” “layered participation,” “site level participant whose presence and conduct derive meaning primarily from directives purportedly issued by others,” “conceptual command,” “multi-layered mobilisation architecture,” “conduit for information,” “operational execution,” and so on.

These phrases appear to have been borrowed from the domain of corporate governance, so let’s also use a corporate law phrase: when you pierce the veil that has been drawn by these multi-syllabled words, and when you go back to check the actual evidence that distinguishes what Sharjeel Imam and Umar Khalid have done vis-a-vis what the others have done, there is absolutely nothing on the record that justifies this scary image of two individuals sitting at the node of a vast conspiracy, issuing directions to subordinates who then act unthinkingly on them. This image is built entirely upon a set of assertions that exist in the gap between the actual pieces of evidence.

The tragedy of the case, ultimately, lies in this: that instead of scrutinising these gaps, the courts – at all levels – have chosen to fill them up. As we have seen before, the UAPA does not compel courts to do this. In this case, however, the Courts have chosen an eyes wide-shut approach. The result is that only measured in an indefinite, open-ended, and continuing imprisonment, without trial or conviction.

Orders

A final point. In its order granting bail, the Court has set twelve conditions. Conditions (vii) and (ix) are:

viii. The appellants shall not participate in any programme or address or attend any gathering, rally or meeting, whether physically or virtually till conclusion of the trial.

ix. The appellants shall not circulate any post either in electronic form or physical form or circulate any hand bills, posters, banners, etc in any form whatsoever.

It is one thing to limit rights in relation to the case at hand. But what justifies a sweeping judicial abrogation of the appellants’ Article 19 rights to speech, assembly, and association altogether? How does any of this have any relation to the case actually before the Court – one in which, it is worth remembering, the trial is yet to commence? As with the rest of the judgment, we ask these questions in vain, because no answer is forthcoming.

Conclusion

With respect to Umar Khalid and Sharjeel Imam, the Court states that they are entitled to re-apply for bail after the “protected witnesses” have been examined, or after one year from the date of today’s order, whichever is earlier. An optimistic reading of this direction would suggest that the Court is of the view that at the most, the “balance” between delay and the “gravity” of the offence would – after six and a half years – finally tip in favour of the former. To quote a piece written by two other individuals who have spent years in jail without trial, perhaps then the question – “how long is too long?” – will, at last, be answered that “now, at last, it is too long.” Until then, we can only wait.  


[Thank you to Paras Nath Singh for pointing out the SC’s coordinate bench judgments on delay.]

Five Years of (A) Life – II: The Bail Order in the Delhi Riots Case (Gulfisha Fatima, Sharjeel Imam, and Others)

In the previous post, I examined the Delhi High Court’s 2nd September order denying bail to nine individuals in the “Delhi riots cases,” with a focus on the case of Umar Khalid. I noted that this order – like the orders before it in the same case – adopts an “eyes wide shut” approach to the evidence before it. Faced with the fact that Umar Khalid at no point called for or instigated communal violence, the Court falls back upon a Moscow Trials-style invocation of “conspiracy”, grounded in vague and uncorroborated statements from anonymous “protected” witnesses, filling in the gaps in the Prosecution’s case with its own assumptions and inferences, and mis-applying (or not applying) existing legal standards.

In many respects, the bail rejections of the other accused individuals follow a similar pattern of reasoning. Out of these, the case of Gulfisha Fatima is the most glaring, because the allegations against her are almost entirely at the behest of anonymous, “protected” witnesses (without corroboration). When is the earliest that such corroboration may take place? At the trial. How long will the trial take? Given that there are 900 witnesses to be examined, and given the pace of Indian criminal trials, one may estimate that it will take ten years or thereabouts. And in any case, the High Court – as we have seen in the previous post – appears to believe that the trial is proceeding at a “normal pace”, and speeding it up would be “unfair” to the rights of all parties. Therefore, shorn of legalese, the High Court holds – in effect – that it is okay for a person to spend fifteen years in jail just on the basis of anonymous witness statements. It feels almost unfortunate that Andrey Vyshinsky, Stalin’s prosecutor at the Moscow trials, is long dead. Had he been around, he could definitely have taken home some notes from the Delhi High Court.

An argument was also made by Gulfisha Fatima’s lawyer that in all material respects, her case was similar to that of Devangana Kalita and Natasha Narwal, who had previously been granted bail (for the extraordinary journey of that case, see here and here). Bail, therefore, was sought on the well-established ground of parity. How does the High Court respond to this? It needs to find something to distinguish the two cases, and so it turns to the theatre of the absurd:

The WhatsApp groups that the Appellant allegedly created, of which one noticeably, revolve around coordination in protests and ensuring that as many women participate in the protests. This factum of creation of these two groups cannot be seen in isolation, the consideration should weigh in on broad probabilities as per the settled law. 

But there is – it should be needless to state – nothing illegal about forming WhatsApp groups to coordinate protests, and to encourage the participation of women in the protests. In fact, how else are you going to coordinate a protest other than through a WhatsApp group (now if you used Signal, that would presumably be even more serious indication of a conspiracy!)? We therefore come back to the initial point about how, in this case, each of the three courts involved have filled in the huge, gaping hole of the Prosecution’s case with an assumption that is totally untethered from reality. To close the gap between the fact that these nine people were involved in the democratically legitimate activity of organising protests against the CAA, and the fact of communal violence that claimed the lives of 54 people – a gap that is as vast as the grand canyon – the High Court has built a bridge of smoke where the organisation of protests itself becomes the conspiracy. In essence, what we have is an implicit attempt by the Court to criminalise protest itself, because – as noted above – there is no actual, tangible evidence of the protesters themselves engaging in acts or instigation of violence.

Apart from the specific case of Gulfisha Fatima, there are two other strands that run through the multiple denials of bail in the judgment. The first is what I call a judicial double-standard. In short, where there is a fact that is potentially favourable to the individuals, and militates in favour of granting bail, the High Court cites the Watali judgment, claps its hands over the eyes, and refuses to consider it. However, when it comes to reasons against granting bail, the Court is happy to go deep into the evidence, and make all kinds of inferences that are not even on the record. So, for example, in the case of one of the individuals, Shifa-ur-Rahman, there is an allegation that funds raised for the protests have been used for instigating the riots. There is, of course, no direct evidence of this.

The High Court, however, makes the extraordinary claim that because Shifa-ur-Rahman was the president of a Jamia student organisation called AAJMI, “the possibility of misuse of the position … cannot be ruled out.” This “possibility” that “cannot be ruled out” becomes one of the bases for refusing bail. While this is a bizarre leap of logic in its own right, the judicial hypocrisy is laid bare when, in response to defence counsels’ argument that the delay in recording the statements of the “anonymous” witnesses undermines their probative value when it comes to assessing whether a prima facie case based on those statements is sustainable, the Court cites Watali to say that it cannot consider this question at the stage of bail. But for a moment, let us ask ourselves which of the two “possibilities” is higher: the “possibility” of Shifa-ur-Rahman “misusing” his Presidency of AAJMI, or the “possibility” that highly belated statements taken from “anonymous” witnesses are worthy of skepticism? Which of these ought not to be “ruled out”? In sum, it seems that the High Court will refrain from conducting a “mini-trial” only when doing so would make the case for bail inevitable; in all other cases, the High Court is perfectly happy to conduct a host of mini-trials, draw out all kinds of inferences from the facts on record, and use those inferences to deny bail. Judicial hypocrisies of this kind – and this inconsistent approach to assessing the evidence – are rife throughout the judgment.

The second strand is that while on the one hand – when considering arguments for parity – the High Court goes to great lengths to emphasise, re-emphasise, and re-re-emphasise that every individual’s role in the “conspiracy” is difference, and while it invokes the most microscopic textures of difference (such as Gulfisha Fatima starting a WhatsApp group!) to justify denying bail on grounds of parity, the same High Court, within this judgment, is perfectly happy lumping together individuals into groups and denying bail en masse. Thus, Umar Khalid and Sharjeel Imam get clubbed together as the “intellectual masterminds”, and then other individuals get clubbed together, ostensibly based on which protest sites they were at, or what was their broad-brush organisational role in the protests. While this may seem innocuous, it is not: as noted in the previous posts, and the posts before, this generic clubbing allows the High Court to avoid its obligation of scrutinising the evidence to ensure that the allegations against each individual are specific and particularised, not generic and inferential. This clubbing allows the High Court to justify the denial of bail by – once again – invoking the shibboleth of the “conspiracy”, and casting the nine individuals before it in shadowy, undefined roles within that conspiracy.

Finally, after all this, it is also important to consider separately the case of Sharjeel Imam, as it is he who has been – since the beginning of the protests against the CAA – most strongly vilified in the media. In this judgment, Sharjeel Imam is clubbed alongside Umar Khalid, and therefore, many of the arguments made in the previous post apply equally to him. There is the additional point to note that Sharjeel Imam was already in prison from 28th January 2020 onwards – almost a full month before the riots began.

Other than the issue of a “conspiracy” – which I have addressed both in the last post and in this post – the additional allegations against Sharjeel Imam pertained to certain speeches that he had delivered. The first – referenced by the Court in its analysis – was about a “chakka jam” in Delhi that would disrupt the flow of services. The second – quoted in the submissions of the State – was a speech about cutting off access to the north-eastern states beyond Assam until the government listened to the protesters. This, it was argued, was secessionist.

Let us take each speech in turn. On the chakka jam, it is worthwhile to remember, for a moment, that we live in a country that owes its existence, as a nation-state, to forms of mass mobilisation and protest that were, by their very nature, designed to be disruptive (and the chakka-jam is one among them). Nor is this restricted to the freedom struggle: in a book titled Hailing the State, Lisa Mitchell examines a range of unconventional ways in which Indians have communicated their claims to the State outside of the electoral process: from the “rail roko” to the “chakka jam.” These forms of protest have a specific history and a specific vintage, and have been practiced by Indians of different persuasions, across time and space. It may be argued that the State reserves the right to respond to such methods through the legal form; while that it is a separate debate, what the State has done here is to use anti-terror laws to deal with what was a political protest (recall, once again, that the link between the protesters and the violence remains unproven). That is where the problem lies.

On the second speech, pertaining to the North-east: while the speech does not figure in the Court’s analysis, it is worthwhile to clarify that this cannot be a ground for denying bail under an anti-terror law either. This is because the Constitution does not allow for the punishing of violent speech; it allows for the punishing of incitement to violence. There is a crucial difference between the two. To say that access to the north-east will be cut off until the government listens to the protesters’ demands is, at its highest, violent speech. If, on the other hand, Sharjeel Imam had at his command a private army that would march upon his bidding to actually cut off access to the north-east, then that would be incitement to violence. Needless to say, nothing of the sort happened. Indeed, this distinction between violent speech and incitement to violence has been a consistent part of the Supreme Court’s free speech jurisprudence, from Shailabala Devi (1953) to Shreya Singhal (2015). Under that jurisprudence, it must be stated that Sharjeel Imam is as entitled to bail as his eight co-accused in these orders.

As an aside, it’s probably worth remembering that if every instance of violent speech was met with a UAPA FIR and a half-decade in jail, then a lot of people who have said – and done – much worse than Sharjeel Imam, would be behind bars at the moment. They are not. He is.

At the end of the day, reading the High Court’s analysis of Sharjeel Imam’s case, and indeed, reading the 133-page bail order as a whole, the overarching framework is clear. It depends upon what Mourid Barghouti once called “a simple linguistic trick.” This simple linguistic trick is a framing device: instead of framing the anti-CAA movement as a legitimate collective protest with legitimate collective political goals, in which Muslim activists played a prominent role (it is no coincidence that all the nine individuals whose bails were denied yesterday are Muslims), the Court frames it as a conspiracy of violence. Through this “simple linguistic trick”, the violence that actually happened is linked to the protests, as though the protests, by design, carried within them the seeds of violence. And the moment you adopt that framing, WhatsApp groups become seedbeds of secession, speeches preaching peace start carrying double meanings, and dissent turns into treason.

It is crucial, therefore, for the judicial institution to urgently correct this distorted way of seeing. With every passing day that it does not do so, the miscarriage of justice will become more and more severe, until one day, it will indeed be too little, too late.


N.B. The title of this piece is borrowed from Five Years Of My Life: The Diary of Captain Alfred Dreyfus.

Five Years Of (A) Life – I: The Bail Order in the Delhi Riots Cases

On 2nd September 2025, the High Court of Delhi passed an order denying bail to nine individuals accused in what is popularly known as the “Delhi riots case.” At the time of writing, these individuals have now been in prison for more than five years, with the trial yet to commence.

Previously, on this blog, I have examined two prior orders of the Sessions Court and the High Court denying bail to Umar Khalid, one of the nine individuals. In “Stenographer for the Prosecution” and “Forgetting the Basics“, I have argued that a close reading of these orders reveals a serious miscarriage of justice by the two courts involved: instead of a fair assessment of the evidence placed before them, these courts embarked upon an exercise to fill in the gaps in the prosecution’s case with unwarranted inferences and assumptions, provided a distorted reading of the evidence that was on the record, and deployed a reasoning process unknown to law or to logic. This post will examine today’s judgment (which came after an unjustifiable three-year-delay at the High Court, discussed here) with respect to Umar Khalid; a subsequent post will extend the analysis to the other individuals in the case.

First, a few preliminary remarks. The “Delhi riots” refer to the communal violence in the month of February 2020 in Delhi, which left 54 people dead and many more injured. The accused in this case are all individuals who, in the months of December 2019 and January 2020, had been involved in public protests against the Citizenship Amendment Bill (later, the Citizenship Amendment Act). The problem for the prosecution, however, was that none of these individuals had publicly called for, or instigated, violence or riots. To get around this, the prosecution’s case was – and is – founded on the idea of a conspiracy: that whatever these individuals said in public, in secret, they conspired to bring about violent riots. The prosecution’s case of conspiracy, in turn, rested on two evidentiary limbs: statements of “protected witnesses” (that is, anonymous and secret witnesses whose identities are withheld from the defence) alleging that in certain secret meetings, they had heard these individuals call for violence; and the existence of circumstantial evidence such as messages on a WhatsApp group, phone calls in the aftermath of the riots, or public speeches that were alleged to carry a dual meaning.

When faced with a circumstantial case of this kind, I have argued previously, a court can do one of two things. Given the drastic consequences of denying bail (years of incarceration), it can adopt an “eyes wide open” approach, which requires the prosecution evidence on record to be concrete and specific, and for there to exist a clear link between fact and inference (of guilt). Or it can adopt an “eyes wide shut” approach, which takes not just the evidence on the record, but the prosecution’s inferences from that evidence on face value. It is one of the vagaries of the Indian criminal legal system that you will find instances of both approaches at all levels of the judiciary, dependant entirely on the judges involved. In fact, sometimes – and as Umar Khalid himself would find out to his cost – you will find the two approaches in the judgments of the same judge, a few months apart. Such is the duality of man.

In the previous two posts, I have analysed how the Sessions Court and the High Court’s orders denying bail to Umar Khalid represent a particularly extreme instance of the “eyes wide shut” approach. Quite apart from the injustice of keeping an individual in jail for years on the strength of “secret” witnesses, even the statements of these “secret” witnesses were almost all extremely vague. Furthermore, the Sessions Court held it to be an incriminating fact that after the riots broke out, “the calls still show how different accused persons are linked and talking to each other after the riots have begun and more importantly, most of the accused persons involved reached a common place.” Inferences of Khalid’s guilt were gleaned from his “membership” of WhatsApp groups, his “participation” in certain meetings, and his “reference” to Donald Trump’s visit to India – with no specific facts to support instigation or planning of violence. In sum:

“The case against Khalid, therefore is based on: (a) membership of WhatsApp groups; (b) participation in various meetings, the particulars of which are provided by anonymous witnesses, for the most part in vague terms; and (c) being mentioned in a “flurry of calls” after the riots began.”

The High Court went one step further, holding that Khalid’s use of the terms “inquilabi salam” (“revolutionary greetings”) and “krantikari istiqbal” (“revolutionary greetings”) in a public speech were incriminating, because unless you explicitly stated that your revolution was going to be a bloodless one, the assumption was that you were implicitly calling for violence (the fact that in the same speech Khalid referred multiple times to peaceful and non-violent protest was discounted). In sum, as I wrote at the time, in addition to the Sessions Court, the High Court’s judgment rested on the following four assumptions:

“That calling for a chakka jam logically entails incitement to violence and riots; that membership of WhatsApp groups is indicative of participation in a conspiracy; that a “flurry of calls” after a riot has started – between activists who have been engaged with the issue in question – is indicative of a conspiracy; and that Umar Khalid’s involvement in protests agains the CAA is indicative of his participation in a conspiracy to cause riots.”

These two judgments were delivered in 2022, when Umar Khalid had spent two years in jail without trial. If you thought, however, that three years down the line, when the High Court was faced with the plight of a man who had spent five years in jail without trial, it would at least attempt to provide more plausible justifications for why this was so, you would be mistaken. In many ways, indeed, today’s judgment by Naveen Chawla and Shalinder Kaur JJ is worse than the two previous ones: while previously, the Sessions Court and the High Court had made some effort – however distorted – to engage with the evidence on record, today’s judgment does not even do that. So, in paragraphs 133 and 134, the High Court holds:

Appellant Umar Khalid also delivered speeches in Amravati on 17.02.2020, urging protests on 24.02.2020, which coincided with the State visit of the President of the USA, which is alleged by the prosecution to have deliberately been timed to cause violent riots on 23/24.02.2020 to garner international attention. The above role, as assigned by the prosecution to the Appellants, cannot be lightly brushed aside. 

Missing from this is any analysis of what Umar Khalid actually said at Amravati. The High Court, as I have noted above, put Umar Khalid’s words in a torture rack and derived some twisted meaning from them, but at least it ackowledged that there were words that it had to analyse, and had to show that there was some link between the words and the violence. Today’s judgment, however, liberates itself from even that basic judicial obligation. Paraphrasing the High Court’s judgment: “A man said something. Violence happened. The Prosecution says this is evidence of a conspiracy. Therefore it must be so.

In paragraph 136, the judgment repeats the allegation of “allegedly inflammatory and provocative speeches”, without, once again, telling us what Khalid actually said. A hint of this appears in paragraph 135, where the judgment notes that the “prosecution case further alleges that the Appellants were constantly preaching to the masses by misleading them into believing that the CAA/NRC is an Anti-Muslim law.” But if this is the standard for keeping someone in jail for five years without trial, then we might as well repeal Article 19(1)(a) from the Constitution as obsolete: this is no legal standard at all.

Perhaps aware that it grasping at straws, the judgment then resorts to using fearsome words. Umar Khalid – along with Sharjeel Imam – it notes, “were the intellectual architects behind the entire conspiracy.” But who or what is an “intellectual architect” of something? How do you define an “intellectual architect”? How does the law define it? What is abundantly clear is that, much like the two courts before it, this bench, unable to find any actual incriminating evidence against Khalid, is forced to take refuge in semantics. Because what, after all, is the need for evidence when you can label someone an “intellectual architect”, and be done with it? I have previously referred to this as Humpty Dumpty jurisprudence, where the Court uses language and words the way it wants (regardless of their actual meaning), simply because it has the State power to inscribe that meaning into law (and, in this case, into jail time).

A final argument was made by Umar Khalid’s counsel – and indeed, counsel for all the individuals: the glacial pace of the case (at the time of writing, the trial has yet to begin), and the fact that these people had now been in jail for five years, made out a strong case for bail under Article 21 of the Constitution, and in accordance with the judgment of the Supreme Court in K.A. Najeeb. Chawla and Kaur JJ.’s response to this argument is perhaps the starkest example, in this judgment, of something scholars have referred to as “judicial barbarism.” The Court says:

With respect to the argument of delay and prolonged incarceration, as noted hereinabove, the present case involves complex issues, and the trial is progressing at a natural pace. 

There are moments when people damn themselves by their own words. As in the case of the Supreme Court’s observation, during the Emergency, about the “maternal care” lavished upon detainees by the regime, there are words that reflect – and betray – the character of an entire institution. Nothing needs to be said: these words stand by themselves, a monument to infamy.

In history books, we read about Josef Stalin’s Moscow Trials (1936-1938), the show trials in which Old Bolsheviks and Stalin’s own officials were condemned to death on charges of “conspiracy.” Apart from the fact that the Moscow Trials proceeded on the basis of coerced confessions (obtained through torture), these trials – as later analyses would point out – were marked by a contempt for evidence, and for the standards by which evidence ought to be proven in a court of law, to a sufficient degree to justify imprisonment or death: it was sufficient to allege a great conspiracy (“masterminded” by Leon Trotsky), and the rest would follow. The pages of history are littered with accounts of Moscow Trials as a stepping stone towards a society abandoning the last vestiges of a commitment to the rule of law, and descending into a moral abyss. One need not draw analogies; it is sufficient to note that while history does not repeat itself, it does rhyme; and while the verdict of history is, eventually, damning, it is, far too often, too little, too late.

One only hopes that it will not also, one day, be too late for the nine individuals who have – and will pay – the cost in months and years of lost liberty.


N.B. The title of this piece is borrowed from Five Years Of My Life: The Diary of Captain Alfred Dreyfus.

Guest Post: When Najeeb meets Watali – On the statutory restrictions on grant of bail under UAPA

[This is a guest post by Hany Babu and Surendra Gadling, who have been detained in prison as “undertrials” since 2020 and 2018, respectively. This piece is being published here simultaneously with The Proof of Guilt blog.]

For previous work by the authors on this blog, see “How Long is Too Long? – On the Maximum Period that an Undertrial Prisoner can be Detained” (13 October 2024) and “and “The Grammar of the Power to Arrest and Search under UAPA” (19 July 2025).


Disclosure

The authors are both arraigned as accused under UAPA and are still in judicial custody and make no pretensions to being “unbiased” or “neutral” with respect to issues discussed herein. This, however, is not to imply that their position had been or would have been different had they not been charged under UAPA. 


Acknowledgements

The authors wish to express their gratitude to their co-defendants for sharing the brunt of the Zahoor Watali judgement. The indebtedness of the primary author to Vernon Gonsalves, who all but co-authored this article, cannot be adequately expressed. The germs of this article must have been sown while they were confined together in a quarantine barrack amidst pathogens more lethal. The part on “per incuriam” would have been impossible had Vernon not magnanimously shared his legal notes. None other than the authors are guilty for any of the shortcomings.


The judgement in the case of National Investigation Agency v. Zahoor Ahmad Shah Watali (2019) 5 SCC 1 [“Watali] was delivered by the Supreme Court on 02.04.2019. Ever since then, procuring bail for a person accused of an offence under Chapters IV or VI of the Unlawful Activities (Prevention) Act, 1967 (UAPA) has been, to borrow an illustrative simile used by Abhinav Sekhri, like asking a person to swim after throwing him in deep water with both his hands tied behind him. Subsequent to this, a Three-Judge Bench of the Supreme Court delivered another judgement on 01.02.2021 concerning the jurisprudence of bail under UAPA – more specifically with respect to the question of the interplay of the right to speedy trial and Section 43-D(5) of UAPA (i.e. the restrictive bail clause) – in the case of Union of India v. KA Najeeb AIR 2021 SC 712 [“Najeeb”].

Akin to the Frostian roads that diverge, these two landmark judgements take different, though not contradictory, approaches to the issue at hand. As the Delhi High Court observed, Najeeb “lays down the constitutional approach arising from Article 21, whereas Watali (supra) explains the statutory approach arising out of Section 4-3(D)(5) of UAPA” (para 21 of Mohamad Hakim v. State (NCT of Delhi) 2021 SCC Online Del 4623. Najeeb harmonizes “the restriction under a statute as well as the powers exercisable under Constitutional Jurisdiction” by holding that 

“… at the commencement of proceedings, courts are expected to appreciate the legislative position against grant of bail but the rigours of such provision melt down where there is no likelihood of trial being completed within a reasonable time and the period of incarceration already undergone has exceeded a substantial part of the prescribed sentence…” (para 18 of Najeeb)

Thus, the settled position of law at present is that the restriction on grant of bail will hold at the initial stages, but as time progresses the statutory restrictions, which “draw this justification on the premise that trial in such cases would be concluded expeditiously” melt down as observed by the Bombay High Court in Vinay Vivek Aranha v. Union of India and another, (BA 2641/2021). However, the attempt to harmonize these two divergent approaches, we argue, misses certain fundamental anomalies in Watali

Per Incuriam and Sub-Silentio

That a decision rendered in ignorance of a relevant statutory position is deemed to be per incuriam is a well-settled fact. It is also accepted that a decision reached per incuriam would “demand the decision of its precedent value” [Para 183 of AR Antulay v. RS Nayak (1988) 2 SCC 602)].

Similarly, a “decision passes sub-silentio when the particular point of law involved in the decision is not perceived by the court or present in its mind” [Salmond on Jurisprudence, 12th Ed., page 153, quoted in State of UP and Anr. v. Synthetics and Chemicals Ltd. & Anr. (1991 4 SCC 139 (Para 41)]. The “Supreme Court may not be said to declare the law on these subjects if the relevant provisions were not really present to its mind” [Punjab Land Development and Reclamation Corporation Ltd. v. Labour Court (1980) 3 SCC 682)].

It is our contention that Watali is both per incuriam and sub-silentio in that on the one hand it ignores certain statutory provisions while on the other it overturns a finding of the impugned judgement of the Delhi High Court without referring to the statutory provision or providing any argument against the view taken by the High Court. 

Let us begin by quoting the Section 43-D(5) of UAPA in order to demonstrate our claims:

“Notwithstanding anything contained in the Code, no person accused of an offence punishable under Chapter IV and VI of this Act shall, if in custody, be released on bail or on his own bond unless the Public Prosecutor has been given an opportunity of being heard on the application for such release:

Provided that such accused person shall not be released on bail or on his own bond if the Court, on a perusal of the case diary or the report made under section 173 of the Code is of the opinion that there are reasonable grounds for believing that the accusation against such person is prima facie true.” [Emphasis supplied]

Para 23 of Watali states:

“By virtue of the proviso to sub-section (5), it is the duty of the Court to be satisfied that there are reasonable grounds for believing that the accusation against the accused is prima facie true or otherwise.”

However, what Watali ignores is that Section 2(d) of UAPA defines the Court as follows:

2(d) “‘Court’ means a Criminal Court having jurisdiction, under the Code, to try offences under this Act and includes a Special Court constituted under section 11 or under section 22 of the National Investigation Agency Act, 2008.”

That is to say, on a plain reading of Section 43-D(5) in conjunction with the definition of “Court” in Section 2(d) of the UAPA, it is clear that Section 43-D(5) is talking about the courts that have the jurisdiction to try the offences under the Act, and not the superior courts.

While moving the UA(P) Amendment Bill 2008 (which inserted the Section in question) in the Lok Sabha on December 17,2008, the Union Home Minister P Chidambaram stated:

“…This is one provision that I would like to draw your kind attention. We are saying that if on a perusal of the case diary or the report under Section 173 that is the final report or what we call the challan the court is of the opinion that there are reasonable grounds for believing that the accusation against a person is prima facie true, then and then alone can be bail be refused…. Again, the High Courts and the Supreme Court have ample powers and this does not, in any way bind the High Courts and the Supreme Court, they will apply mainly to the trial court.” [Lok Sabha Debates: Combined discussion on the Motion for Consideration of the National Investigation Agency Bill, 2008 and the Unlawful Activities (Prevention) Amendment Bill, 2008 (Bills Passed)… on 17 December 2008]

It may be noted that the Prevention of Terrorism Act, 2002 (POTA), after the repeal of which UAPA was recast as an anti-terrorism law and from which most of the anti-terrorism provision were imported to UAPA, did not make such a distinction between courts that have jurisdiction to try offences under the Act and other courts with respect to the power to grant bail. Neither do any of the other special laws that have similar restrictive bail clauses. Section 49(7) of POTA, the Section that restricts the power of the court to grant bail, refers to the “Court”, but there is no definition of “Court” in the Act. Section 2(f) of POTA defines only “Special Court”.

To be fair to Watali, no judgement of either the Supreme Court  or of any of the High Courts seems to have delved into the issue of the statutory restriction on the power of Constitutional Courts to grant bail. However, prior to Watali, courts have granted bail without demurring on the restriction on their powers to grant bail imposed by Section 43-D(5) of the Act. Thus in decisions delivered in 2016 and 2017 [in cases of Angela Harish Sontakke v. State of Maharashtra (2021) 3 SCC 723 and Sagar Jataram Gorkhe v. State of Maharashtra (2021) 3 SCC 725)], the Supreme Court granted bail without going into the restriction imposed by section 43-D(5). Post Watali, High Courts and the Supreme Court begin to act as though their hands are fettered by Section 43-D(5) UAPA in spite of the clear and unambiguous definition in the Act.

For instance, in Soma Kanti Sen v. State of Maharashtra & Anr. (Cr.A. No. 2595/2023), the second supplementary chargesheet was filed after the trial court rejected the bail application, and the High Court, while sitting on appeal, directed the appellant to approach the trial court as it was the appropriate forum that should first appreciate the (new) evidence. The Supreme Court in appeal against the High Court order held that while the High Court was right in its position that the trial court was the first forum to appreciate the evidence, it also had every right to appreciate the evidence as the appellate body. It was further held that as the Supreme Court was sitting on appeal, “the same appellant jurisdiction which vested in the High Court will vest in the Supreme Court” (para 15). Thereafter, while examining the case for bail on merit, the Apex Court does not clarify that it is not bound by Section 43-D(5) of UAPA, but goes on to examine whether offences under Chapters IV and VI UAPA are applicable to the facts, as the restriction under Section 43-D(5) kicks in only in case of such offences. That is to say, the whole exercise is undertaken under the assumption that Section 43-D(5) construes the powers of the Supreme Court to grant bail on merit. 

No doubt, courts have been categorical in holding that statutory restrictions cannot nullify constitutional powers. Therefore, it is well settled that the right to speedy trial (recognised as a facet of Article 21 of the Constitution) will override the statutory restriction imposed by Section 43-D(5) in case of long incarceration. The irony, however, is that the Statute itself imposed no such restriction. Just as Section 437 of the Code of Criminal Procedure, 1973 / Section 480 of the Bharatiya Nagarik Suraksha Sanhita, 2023 imposes a restriction on the powers of a Magistrate in the case of offences punishable with death or imprisonment for life if there are reasonable grounds for believing that the person is guilty of such offence, Section 43-D(5) of UAPA imposes a restriction on the powers of the trial court and not of the High Court and Supreme Court. 

In fact, the question of the exclusion of the jurisdiction of the superior courts by legislation was one of the issues before a Constitutional Bench of the Supreme Court in the context of Section 25 of the Terrorist and Disruptive Activities (Prevention) Act, 1985 (restricting) the power of the High Court to entertain petitions under Article 226 of the Constitution) in Kartar Singh v. State of Punjab (1994) 3 SCC 569. The Constitution Bench held that the power of the Constitutional Court, which is on a higher pedestal, cannot be divested under a statute albeit with a cautioning that such power should be undertaken only in rare and exceptional cases. 

While interpreting the proviso to Section 43-D(5), Watali says “the totality of the material gathered by the investigation agency and presented along with the report and including the case diary, is required to be reckoned…” (Para 27, emphasis supplied). When the Statute expressly uses the disjunction ‘or’ in the Section (“case diary or the report made under section 173 of the Code”), Watali changes the connecting word to the conjunctive ‘and’. Admittedly, ‘or’ can be read in certain contexts. However, there has to be a reasoning given for such an interpretation, especially since the impugned High Court judgement (supra) has offered the following reasoning:

“34… (iii)…what the trial Court will peruse is the case diary ‘or’ the chargesheet under S.173 CrPC. At a stage prior to the filing of the charge sheet, the case diary can be looked into by the trial court to find out the progress of the investigation and about the material gathered against the accused persons. The charge sheet is the culmination of the analysis of the investigation officer (IO) of all the material gathered and reflects his opinion about the guilt of the accused. Although it is argued by Mr. Luthra that the trial court could peruse both the case diary as well as the charge sheet, the legislative intent is clear that once a charge-sheet has been filed, the trial court will look to the charge-sheet as it is the expression of opinion formed by the Investigation Officer (‘IO’) after analyzing the evidence that has been gathered, all of which ought to have been referred to in the case diary.”

Thus, when the statute uses ‘or’ and the impugned decision makes a reasoned argument for interpreting it as ‘or’, and not as ‘and’, Watali gives no reasoning for arriving at a decision to the contrary. In fact, it cannot even be said that Watali arrives at a different finding. It just appears that the Court is unmindful of the difference – a classic case of sub-silentio

The Loss of Reasonableness

What is hailed as Watali’s most significant contribution to bail jurisprudence in UAPA, which perhaps has inflicted the biggest dent on the rights of the accused by prolonging incarceration, is its interpretation of what it means when Section 43-D(5) says that the Court shall not release the accused person on bail if it “is of the opinion that there are reasonable grounds for believing that the accusation against such person is prima facie true.” [Emphasis supplied]

It may be noted that the particular formulation of the restrictive bail clause in UAPA (which requires the court to find reasonable grounds for believing that the accusation is prima facie true) is different from restrictive bail clauses in other special statutes like Section 37 of the Narcotic Drugs and Psychotropic Substances Act, 1985 (NDPS), Section 21(4) of the Maharashtra Control of Organised Crime Act, 1999 (MCOCA), Section 45(1) of the Prevention of Money Laundering Act, 2002 (PMLA), or even Section 49(7) of the repealed POTA, where the requirement is for the court to be satisfied that there are reasonable grounds for believing that the accused is not guilty of the alleged offence. Certain decisions like Shamil Saquib Nachan 2013 ALL MR (Cr.) 2273 have held that there is “no basic difference in the practical application of these provisions in spite of the difference in the phraseology” (para 27). We shall not engage in a comparison of the restrictive bail clauses of different statutes, but shall show that Watali has not appreciated the restrictive bail clause of UAPA in its right perspective. 

The essence of Watali’s exegesis is captured in the passage quoted below:

“23. …the degree of satisfaction is lighter when the Court has to opine that the accusation is “prima facie true”, as compared to the opinion of the accused ‘not guilty of such offence’ as required under the other special enactments. In any case the degree of satisfaction to be recorded by the court for opining that there are reasonable grounds for believing that the accusation against the accused is prima facie true, is lighter than the degree of satisfaction to be recorded for considering a discharge application or framing of charges in relation to offences under the 1967 Act.” [Emphasis supplied]

The line of reasoning cannot be more clearly expressed than this. A very strong suspicious framing of charge; and that very strong suspicion leads to the assumption that “reasonable grounds” exist to believe that the accusation is true. 

Abhinav Sekhri in a study of the restrictive bail regimes notes that when the clause restricting the powers of the Magistrate to grant bail in cognizable offences was first introduced in the Criminal Procedure Code of 1898, the “material which formed the basis of applying the test [of reasonable grounds] was fundamentally different” (“Jail is not the rule –  A history of restrictive bail regimes”, March 4, 2024, “Proof of Guilt”). The committal hearings under Section 206 of the 1898 Code ensured that the prosecution witnesses were examined on oath and subjected to cross examination before a Magistrate was to form an opinion about the existence of reasonable grounds. When committal hearings were done away with following the 1973 Amendment of the Code, the same exercise of arriving at a finding of reasonable grounds came to be based on “unsigned unsworn statements by the police officers which the law itself declares ought not to be used as substantive evidence”. Thus, Sekhri argues, a “jurisprudence of suspicion” came to dominate bail hearings. 

Watali not only cements the “jurisprudence of suspicion,” but equates the degree of satisfaction required to reject bail to the level of the one necessary to frame charge, or even lower as we shall show. The significant difference in the language used with respect to framing of charge in Sections 228 and 240 of CrPC and Section 43-D(5) of UAPA seems to have escaped the learned judges. The former says framing of charge is to be done if the Magistrate/Judge “is of opinion that there is ground for presuming that the accused has committed an offence…” while the latter requires the Court to have “the opinion that there are reasonable grounds for believing that the accusation against such person is prima facie true.” That is to say, there are two crucial differences between both: (i) The latter qualified “grounds” with “reasonable” while the former has no such qualification, and (ii) the former talks about “presuming”  while the latter is about “believing”.

“Reasonable” is defined as “fair, practical and sensible” and “acceptable and appropriate in a particular situation” (Oxford Advanced Learner’s Dictionary of Current English, 9th Ed.). The phrase “reasonable grounds” occurs in many penal statutes, and there have been many judicial pronouncements on its import. Both in Union of India v. Shiv Shankar Kesari (2007) 7 SCC 798 with regard to Section 37(1)(b)(ii) of the NDPS Act and in Chenna Boyanna Krishna Yadav v. State of Maharashtra (2007) 1 SCC 292 in the context of Section 21(4) of MCOCA, the Supreme Court has held that reasonable grounds “means something more than prima facie ground” (Para 7 of the former and Para 13 of the latter).

“To presume something” in its plain meaning is “to suppose that something is true although you do not have proof” or “to accept that something is true until it is shown not to be true” (Oxford, supra). Believing requires a more degree of certainty. The dictionary meaning is :to think something is true or possible” or “to have an opinion” that something is true. The distinction should be clear if we think of presumption of innocence. An accused is only presumed to be innocent, not believed.

A careful reading of Watali would reveal that it is the total disregard of the qualification “reasonable” that leads to the lowering of the bar for finding the accusation to be prima facie true. While the prima facie test is expounded in several paragraphs, not a single drop of ink is spent on understanding the import of what counts as “reasonable grounds” in Watali. It is our contention that without applying the standard of reasonableness, the test to determine whether the accusation is prima facie true becomes nothing more than an exercise to establish a “prima facie case”, which is defined as “evidence sufficient in law to raise a presumption of fact or establish the fact in question unless rebutted” [Anees v. State Government of NCT, 2024 Cri LJ, para 49]. Or in other words, it means that “a legal claim has sufficient evidence to proceed to trial or judgement” (ibid). If there is no prima facie evidence, the initial claim is dismissed. 

At the core of Watali’s reasoning is also the principle that “the issue of admissibility and credibility of the material and evidence presented by the investigation agency would be a matter for trial” (para 52). What persuades the learned judges to accept this line of argument is nothing more than the “force of the learned Attorney General” (ibid). A pertinent question is whether reasonable grounds for believing something is true can be founded on material that is neither credible nor admissible. Watali does note that Ranjitsing Brahmajeetsing Sharma v. State of Maharashtra (2005) 5 SCC 294 says

“46. …the court may have to probe into the matter deeper so as to enable it to arrive at a finding that the materials collected against the accused during the investigation may not justify a judgement of conviction…”

However, since the only operative expression for Watali is “prima facie true”, and since the Attorney General makes forceful arguments, Watali is swayed to accept documents presented by the investigation officer as it is. 

It may be noted that more recently in Arvind Kejriwal v. Directorate of Enforcement 2024 Cri LJ 3531 the Supreme Court while dealing with bail under PMLA held that in the context of considering bail application, “[a]ll material and evidence that can be lead in the trial and admissible, whether relied on by the prosecution or not and can be examined” (para 46) as:

“41. …Guilt can only be established on admissible evidence to be led before the court, and cannot be based on inadmissible evidence…”

The same judgement also noted that the parameters of stipulation relevant at the time of framing of charge will not apply when the issue is of grant or denial of bail (para 46).

When all that is required of the court is to look at the contents of the documents or the evidence presented by the investigation officer and take them into account as it is on the basis of broad probabilities regarding the involvement, the accused in the commission of the alleged offence as outlined in paras 24 and 27 of the judgement, the degree of satisfaction required is nothing more than establishing a prima facie case. This is evident in a more recent decision of the Supreme Court [Union of India v. Barkathullah etc.  2024 Cri LJ 3183].

The legal dictum while dealing with stringent laws have always been “graver the offence, greater should be the care taken to see that the offence must strictly fall within the four corners of the Act” [Hitendra Vishnu Thakur and Ors. v. State of Maharashtra and Ors. AIR 1994 SC 2623 (Para 14)]. Some of the High Court decisions prior to Watali have been more circumspect in applying the prima facie test. The Bombay High Court in Shamil Saquib Nachan (supra) did acknowledge that “judging the existence of a prima facie case at the stage of bail would not be the same as judging the existence of a prima facie case for proceeding against an accused for framing a charge” (para 27). The High Court goes on to reiterate: 

“28. …It is too obvious that an accused would never be required to put forth a stronger case for bail, than would be required for discharge. The tests that are applied at the time of bail cannot be as rigorous as are applied while considering the discharge of an accused from a particular case.”

In what is perhaps the most brilliant exposition of Section 43-D(5) with respect to the question of discharge, a Full Bench of the Guwahati High Court holds as follows in Rajen Boro & Ors. v. NIA & Ors. MANU/GH/0420/2016:

“26. …if there is a strong suspicion about the culpability of the accused, that would be sufficient for the court to frame charge against the accused under 228 CrPC. However, while considering bail of a person arrested on an accusation of having committed an offence under Chapters IV and VI of the ULAP Act, the Court must not only form an opinion that the accusation against the accused in prima facie true but such opinion has to be based on reasonable grounds, which have been explained to mean something more than prima facie grounds, contemplating substantial probable causes for believing that the accused is guilty of the accusation. Thus, the standard of scrutiny in both the fields are different. While there is strong suspicion at the stage of framing of charge, on the other hand, while considering bail under section 43(D)(5), it is something more than prima facie grounds for believing that the accused is guilty of the alleged offence. In other words, the standard of scrutiny to determine prima facie correctness of the accusation against the accused while considering bail under Section 43D(5) is much higher than at the stage of framing charge.”

Thus, while both the High Courts have been arguing for raising the standard required for holding that the accusation is prima facie true, Watali traverses a diametrically opposite direction without offering any valid argument and in complete disregard of the express wording of the Statute. 

Watali also seems to be oblivious of the discretionary power of courts in bail jurisprudence and operates as though the courts were denuded of all such powers although it is professed that it takes guidance from the judgement of a three-judge bench of the Supreme Court, which, while interpreting the restrictive bail clause of MCOCA, warned that the “restraint of the power of the court to grant bail should not be pushed too far” [(Para 38 of Ranjitsing, supra). Watali seems to be impervious to the warning Rajen Boro (supra) was also categorical in that it cannot be “overlooked that grant of bail is a discretionary power conferred upon the Court” (para 30).

Thus, we see that while Watali ignores both statutory provisions and binding precedents, Najeeb steps in with the constitutional safeguard against long incarceration. However, both the judgments seem not to have taken into consideration that the statutory restriction does not bind constitutional courts, and, therefore, they are not constrained by the “prima facie test” spelt out in Section 43-D(5) UAPA while deciding bail applications on merit. Even the attempt in Vernon v. State of Maharashtra and Anr. 2023 All MR (Cri) 3082 SC to undertake a “surface analysis of probative value of the evidence” and the stipulation that the probative value should satisfy the court, though significant, only operates within the constraints of Section 43-D(5) of UAPA (para 36 of Vernon). The approach in Vernon may be a step towards acknowledging that the prima facie test adopted by Watali is flawed and inadequate unless conducted in the light of reasonable grounds. Long and ominous are, still, the shadows cast by Watali.

Sheikh Javed Iqbal and Bail in UAPA Cases – II: In the Shadow of Fundamental Rights (Guest Post)

[This is a guest post by Marushka Kenia.]


In the 21st century, if one were to list down some of the most draconian laws across various democratic jurisdictions, UAPA would be one of the first statutes to be included. In a seemingly rare stroke of pragmatism, or even luck, when many perceive bail to be an exception under UAPA, the Supreme Court of India on 18th July 2024 granted bail to an accused in the case of Sheikh Javed Iqbal @ Ashfaq Ansari @ Javed Ansari v State of Uttar Pradesh 2024 INSC 534.

The present judgement impacts the jurisprudence in two ways: (i) it does not whittle down the force of the 2-judge decision of the Apex Court in National Investigation Agency v. Zahoor Ahmad Shah Watali (2019) 5 SCC 1 but rather excludes of its applicability to the limited extent of the case at hand (further discussed in more detail in this post by Abhinav Sekhri) and (ii) it recognises and reiterates the importance of speedy trials to meaningfully enjoy the liberty enshrined within Article 21 of the Constitution as a principle that guides the court’s decision to enlarge the petitioner on bail (seen in many other cases as well). Through this essay, I discuss (i) the reasoning that led to the court’s decision in Sheikh Javed Iqbal, focusing on the overriding effect constitutional considerations must have despite restrictive penal provisions of statutes, and (ii) a response to the shortcomings that Abhinav Sekhri recognises, by expanding upon how the current standard of assessment of prolonged incarceration cannot justify creating an arbitrary bright line to grant bail.

The Twin Test 

To recap the test for bail under UAPA, Section 43D (5) of UAPA is a non-obstante clause overriding all the provisions in the CrPC that states that an accused under the Special Act would be released only when a two-pronged test is satisfied as follows:

  • Whether there are reasonable grounds to believe a prima facie case is made out against the accused on perusal of the case diary and report; and
  • Whether the accused can be enlarged on bail following the satisfaction of the general “tripod test” of flight-risk, tampering evidence and influencing witnesses.

The most important consideration is the accused’s inability to bring in their own evidence to contradict the case made out by the prosecution, at the stage of bail. Thus, the only way to do the same is to find internal inconsistencies, if any, within the chargesheet and FIR made under S.173, CrPC. This dims the likelihood of an already restrictive court to grant bail.

Constitutional Considerations: A Restatement

The Appellant/accused was arrested in 2015 after an FIR was registered against him due to alleged recovery of approximately 26 lakh rupees of counterfeit currency notes from the possession of the appellant. The police claimed that the accused admitted to engaging in supplying counterfeit Indian currency notes in Nepal. A chargesheet was filed against the accused under sections 489B and 489C, IPC along with a supplementary chargesheet under Section 16, UAPA. Subsequently, in 2023, the High Court rejected the plea for bail under Section 439, CrPC since the charges levied against the accused were grave. The Appellant moved the Supreme Court in appeal against this impugned order of the UP High Court.

Often and as can be seen recently, in the Watali judgement and another Division Bench judgement of the SC, Gurwinder Singh v State of Punjab & Another 2024 INSC 92 , the courts are hesitant to give bail merely on a rights-based ground and often muddle the assessment of the Article 21 claim by reiterating the prima facie case meted out against the accused as a justification to continue the deprivation. However, the inconsistency in this approach is in the conflation of an overriding effect of the bail provisions under UAPA with respect to the CrPC provisions on the one hand, and the Constitution on the other. An Article 21 consideration is independent of the assessment under Section 43D (5) and should be adjudged on its own merits. As Justice Bhuyan articulated in para 32 of the Javed Ansari judgement:

Even in the case of interpretation of a penal statute, howsoever stringent it may be, a constitutional court has to lean in favour of constitutionalism and the rule of law of which liberty is an intrinsic part. In the given facts of a particular case, a constitutional court may decline to grant bail. But it would be very wrong to say that under a particular statute, bail cannot be granted. It would run counter to the very grain of our constitutional jurisprudence.

The SC Division Bench in the present case took into consideration the 9 years that the appellant had been incarcerated for, and the fact that merely two witnesses had been examined since the beginning of the trial. In this manner, it is important to remember that a restrictive penal provision within a special statute cannot be given an effect that would dilute the enjoyment of the right to liberty enshrined in the Constitution. A suspension of its applicability in unnecessary protraction would mean a complete disregard to constitutional superiority and the rule of law.

The court in the present case reiterated the important case of Union of India v. K.A. Najeeb (2021) 3 SCC 713 , a 3-judge bench judgement (binding on the present Bench). In this case, the court dismissed an appeal against granting bail on the grounds that the incarceration period was too long, too many witnesses were still left to be examined and many of the co-accused who had already been convicted had not been punished for a sentence longer than eight years. An important paragraph in the Najeeb judgement on the fundamental rights of under-trial prisoners is worth noting.

18…. Whereas at commencement of proceedings, Courts are expected to appreciate the legislative policy against the grant of bail but the rigours of such provisions will melt down where there is no likelihood of trial being completed within a reasonable time and the period of incarceration already undergone has exceeded a substantial part of the prescribed sentence. Such an approach would safeguard against the possibility of provisions like Section 43D (5) of UAPA being used as the sole metric for denial of bail or for wholesale breach of constitutional right to speedy trial.

How long is too long?

While the court did recognise fundamental rights of speedy trial and liberty of under-trial prisoners, in an approach similar to KA Najeeb, the court in the present case also continued to uphold the decision in Watali to the extent that the High Court therein had conducted a supposed mini-trial and thus the Supreme Court had to cancel the bail on grounds of procedural impropriety, potentially prejudicing the trial itself (reiterating  Abhinav Sekhri’s argument that the Watali judgement had nothing to do with prolonged trials and delay). This judgement still leaves the lacuna wide open for courts to decide what are the limited bounds in a prima facie assessment that the court cannot cross and what are the limited grounds that the accused can raise in his defence.

Another question, more relevant to the reasoning of this court in the Sheikh Javed Iqbal case, is how long would be considered too long to grant or deny bail to an accused under UAPA when a rights-based claim is put forth by the accused and at what point is the bright line beyond which a claim based on rights becomes automatically a part of the consideration. In Gurwinder Singh case, the court distinguished the case from the KA Najeeb case on the grounds that the accused Najeeb had undergone 5 years of incarceration when most co-accused had been sentenced to 8 years, and that 22 witnesses had been examined in Gurwinder’s case, which indicated that the trial was not snail-paced. Thus, to grant bail based on right to liberty, the assessment of delay in trial was relative to the deferential treatment in similar cases and what the courts deem as prolonged. It depended more on the charges alleged and the nuumber of witnesses examined rather than the strength of evidence and the probative value of the same.

In a balancing approach, the courts often afford unwarranted consideration to the gravity of the offence alleged and the punishment that would be imposed on conviction, rather than the duration of the deprivation of liberty in and of itself. As is iterated in this post, constitutionalism cannot step in as the tool of last resort to prevent further depravation of the accused’s liberties and act as a bright line to finally justify the need for bail. The liberty of the accused is presupposed as the rule of the law that must be upheld at every instance, limited only by certain restrictions or procedure that is established by law. However, if the procedure allows for arbitrary allegations to become prima facie seemingly true in balancing the prolonged incarceration period against the plea for bail, the liberties under the Constitution are no more the primary consideration in adjudicating a case but rather the last!

Conclusion

This judgement of the Supreme Court must be considered another small step in the right direction of bringing rights consideration to the forefront in bail hearings. However, they must not return as mere shadows, that accompany the court as the ground of last resort in its attempt to justify granting bail but rather as a consideration that must weigh the court’s mind at every step of the way. The prevention of curtailment of liberty must be of paramount importance, no matter the degree of crime alleged or the punishment it warrants under the special statute it falls under. The case of Umar Khalid’s continued incarceration and many others under the UAPA is a reminder of the leaps and bounds of progress that is still be made by the Indian courts in bail jurisprudence.

A Curious Constitutionalism – Sheikh Javed Iqbal and Bail in UAPA Cases

[This is a guest post by Abhinav Sekhri, cross-posted from The Proof of Guilt blog.]


On July 18, 2024, a Division Bench of the Supreme Court decided the appeal in Sheikh Javed Iqbal v. State of Uttar Pradesh [2024 INSC 534 (“Sheikh Javed Iqbal“)], allowing the appeal and granting bail to a person accused of having committed offences under Sections 489B, 489C of the Indian Penal Code 1860 [IPC] and Section 16 of the Unlawful Activities (Prevention) Act 1967 [UAPA]. Notably, the accused had been in custody for more than nine years. Charges had been framed and his trial was pending, but only two prosecution witnesses had so far been examined when the bail was heard by the Supreme Court.

The observations at Paragraph 32 of the judgment merit reporting in full:

This Court has, time and again, emphasized that right to life and personal liberty enshrined under Article 21 of the Constitution of India is overarching and sacrosanct. A constitutional court cannot be restrained from granting bail to an accused on account of restrictive statutory provisions in a penal statute if it finds that the right of the accused-undertrial under Article 21 of the Constitution of India has been infringed. In that event, such statutory restrictions would not come in the way. Even in the case of interpretation of a penal statute, howsoever stringent it may be, a constitutional court has to lean in favour of constitutionalism and the rule of law of which liberty is an intrinsic part. In the given facts of a particular case, a constitutional court may decline to grant bail. But it would be very wrong to say that under a particular statute, bail cannot be granted. It would run counter to the very grain of our constitutional jurisprudence.

If you do not pay close attention, the paragraph reads like a sonorous tribute to law safeguarding personal liberty, with repeated incantations of “Constitution”, “Constitutional Court” and “Constitutionalism” for good measure. It is only once you pay close attention do you realise that the paragraph is, in fact, hot air. A straw-man is put up — statutory provisions curbing constitutional rights — and is then knocked down with flair. 

Similarly, the observations at Paragraph 28.2 from Sheikh Javed Iqbal that an earlier judgment on bail in UAPA cases, Zahoor Ahmed Shah Watali, “cannot be cited as precedent to deny bail in UAPA cases where the accused has suffered long incarceration“, are again a straw-man. To say that Watali can’t be used for this purpose is to not really say anything of note because it obviously cannot be used as binding precedent for this purpose since it never said anything about delayed trials and lengthy incarceration. What Watali  stands for is a judicial approach which justifies giving the prosecution a wide berth to deny bail in UAPA cases. If anything, to understand how Sheikh Javed Iqbal treats Watali what is more relevant is Paragraphs 27.2 and 28.1, which show that rather than watering down Watali the new judgment reinforces the legal correctness of the approach in Watali for deciding bail under UAPA cases. 

What Sheikh Javed Iqbal does is to restore the primacy of the curious constitutionalism that the Supreme Court has consistently displayed an adherence to when it comes to bail especially in UAPA cases besides some other categories as well, where Article 21 somehow shines much brighter once a person has suffered lengthy incarceration. That the Court in Sheikh Javed Iqbal had to offer such a lengthy justification to invoke this approach is only because five months ago in Gurwinder Singh a different bench of the Court decided that even this was too much liberty to swallow when it came to UAPA cases.  

Paragraphs 22 to 29 of Sheikh Javed Iqbal give us a concise history of this stream of Article 21 logic. I call it a curious constitutionalism because it is not invoked to justify a consistently robust take on how courts must review the prosecution’s presenting a prima facie case for denying bail. It is not invoked to explain legal intricacies — for instance, how to deal with UAPA bails once charge has been framed. Instead, this curious constitutionalism with its ode to Article 21 shines through only once an accused has served a meaningfully long period of incarceration as an undertrial. It is also invoked in a restrictive sense, by emphasising the constitutional courts powers and in one fell swoop justifying restrictive approaches for our trial courts. After giving the state enough time to try and run its case with the accused behind bars, a Court — not a trial court mind you — turns around and now tells us that enough is enough and the person must be freed because now the Constitution would be sullied by continuing his custody. 

This is not constitutionalism, but a jurisprudence of apology, of doling out mercy as and when deemed fit. Let us not pretend otherwise. 

Guest Post: The Arvind Kejriwal Saga: A Multitude of Interpretations

[Editor’s Note: This piece was written before the most recent interim bail order in this case.]


[This is a guest post by Ayush Tripathi and Smriti Sharma.]


I. Context

It is not often that we see the Apex Court exercising its extraordinary powers under Article 142 to give relief to an appellant. This has happened in the case of Delhi Chief Minister Arvind Kejriwal. The Apex court on 10th May 2023 granted interim bail to Mr. Kejriwal till 1st June in the Delhi Liquor Scam case along with conditions. On June 2nd, Mr. Kejriwal surrendered to the court as directed by the honourable court, following the Supreme Court registry’s refusal to list an application for the extension of his interim bail, for the resumption of his custody.

In the light of critical commentary upon this order, it deserves serious scrutiny. There are several intersecting issues at hand. The most important is whether the court has been wrong in its reasoning and mode of granting the interim bail, and whether this opens a pandora’s box regarding other such arrests. Mr. Gautam Bhatia in his article points out various issues with the order; Mr. Soutik Banerjee also highlights there being no cogent reasons for the conditions being imposed on Mr. Kejriwal. Having read the blog articles of Mr. Bhatia and Mr. Banerjee, I disagree with them on some fundamental points. In the present article, while presenting my views on the matter, I shall explain why Bhatia’s article misinterprets the order, and incorrectly poses it as another failure of the criminal justice system, while it is but the usage of the power given to the Apex Court by the virtue of the Constitution.

The power of interim bail

There is no debate on the powers of the Apex Court to grant interim relief to an undertrial (including but not limited to the grant of interim bail). A brief summary here will suffice. The concept of interim bail is alien to the statutes of the country. It is a judicially evolved concept based on the expansive interpretation of Article 21 of the Constitution of India. The Delhi High Court in its decision in the case of Athar Parvez v. State while relying on Siddharam Mhetre v. State of Maharashtra and Shri Gurbaksh Singh Sibbia has held that, “The expression “interim” bail is not defined in the Code. It is an innovation by legal neologism which has gained acceptance and recognition. The terms, “interim” bail/interim” suspension of sentence, have been used and accepted as part of legal vocabulary and are well known expressions. The said terms are used in contradistinction and to distinguish release on regular bail during pendency of trial or appeal till final adjudication.” The court went on to hold that the interim bail shall only be granted under compelling circumstances and grounds. Hence, it is more of a judicial doctrine than a legislative prescription. The apex court in the case of State of Orissa v. Madan Gopal Rungta and Others has held that interim relief can only be given in cases where the court is also empowered to give the final relief. Hence we see in the present cases the Supreme Court is empowered to grant the relief that it did. However, what is interesting to note here is that the court has not granted interim bail qua an application for interim bail, but in using its extraordinary power under Article 142.

III. Appreciating the uniqueness of the circumstances

Once we have demarcated the judicial basis of the relief given, it is imperative to analyse the order to which Bhatia refers to as “eight pages of non-reasoning.” What makes the present case unique and noteworthy is the ground on which the court has taken the decision. When analysing the judgement, we fathom that the interim bail has not been given on the question of liberty of the appellant nor has it been given based on any erstwhile precedent established by the Court. We see that the order has been passed keeping into account the general elections that have been going on in the nation and that the imprisonment of Mr. Kejriwal would have caused significant trouble to the democratic processes. 

The bench stated that while putting special emphasis on the importance of the general elections that: “It is no gain saying that General Elections to Lok Sabha is the most significant and an important event this year, as it should be in a national election year. Between 650-700 million voters out of an electorate of about 970 million will cast their votes to elect the government of this country for the next five years.”

Here we need to deal with the first limb of Bhatia’s critique, which points to the fact that a substantial part of the elections had already been conducted at the time of the order. At this juncture we need to keep the context in mind. Kejriwal’s plea was rejected by the Delhi High Court on 9th April. It is pertinent to note that the arrest of Mr. Kejriwal happened on March 21. Kejriwal then appealed to the Supreme Court on April 10th. Consequently, Bhatia’s contention that the proceedings had been pending for substantial amount of time warrants the question whether the Apex Court should have granted the interim bail on the first hearing itself, without looking into the circumstances of the case and the material presented by the Directorate of Enforcement (hereinafter “DoE”). No reasoning or explanation is provided by the author as to why the release should (could?) have been made sooner.

In the instant case the court had to balance different circumstance which came before it. At one hand the DoE was opposing the relief on the basis that the grant of interim bail in this circumstance would give rise to a new unfounded jurisprudence, which would in turn open a pandora’s box. On the other hand, the interest of the public at large was also an issue:  a once-in-5-year event was being conducted, which would decide the political future of the nation. The opinion of the DoE that the relief should not be granted merely on the grounds that the appellant had not been helpful in the investigation, in my opinion, is not a strong argument. The bench took note of this and correctly held that although it was a point against Kejriwal, but would not be the sole determinant of the relief. The Supreme Court had also held in the case of Pankaj Bansal v. Union of India that mere failure by the individuals to respond to the questions and summons being put up by the DoE will not entitle them to be arrested under Section 19 PMLA.

Another important facet that has been ignored by the critics is that the challenge was on the very legality of the arrest and not a regular bail application (which consequently makes it different that other questions of the same import). Hence, the presumption of innocent until guilty prevails. The logic of the apex court here is sound. A substantiating factor here is that Mr. Kejriwal has not been made an accused in the Prevention of Corruption Act proceedings by the CBI but has been roped in by the DoE in the PMLA Proceedings. The court may have sensed the political undertones in the urgency by which the arrest was made. This is specially a glaring defect when the CBI even after two years has not put the name of Mr. Kejriwal as an accused, the DoE after 2 years started a separate proceeding against him just 2 months before the elections were to take place. The political implications of this are many and this might have been one of the major rationales on which the Apex Court would have based its judgement.

The implications of citing the elections as a ground for interim bail

On a deeper analysis of the order, we find another layer to it than what is visible on the surface. The Supreme Court granted the interim bail to Mr. Kejriwal on the grounds of the ongoing election, and his status as a political leader of national stature. This translates to the upholding of a democratic process which will in turn buttress the credibility and sanctity of the dance of democracy (see Soutik Banerjee’s post). A question arises as to whether this act will further the case for an argument for public interest in other cases. The answer to this is no. Interim relief – including interim bail – is decided on a case-to-case basis and this order will not be used as the only ground for granting bail to a politician for campaigning if other check marks are not ticked.  By checkmarks we imply and reinforce the very nature of an interim bail which is decided on case to case basis. The court will go into the particulars of case before abstractly superimposing the  Arvind Kejriwal dictum. These checkmarks include, but are not limited to, the nature of the allegations, the stage of the investigations, the evidences produced before the court, the questions of public interests and order, potential interferences among  others.

We need to understand that as the bench has clarified that, “interim bail is granted in the facts of each case.” Bhatia goes on to critique the interpretation of Banerjee when he says that these interpretations give certain powers to the Supreme Court which should not be vested in it.  Bhatia’s choice of framing the sentence is interesting when he says “Is the Court going to dole out interim bail orders on the basis of its own judgment of which opposition leaders being in jail during an election might undermine federalism and democracy, and which ones being in jail would be entirely kosher for the sanctity of elections?” He forgets that this very power of judging different situations and circumstances stems from the judicial discretion that the courts have been granted under the Constitution. The Supreme Court is well within its rights to use its discretion on who should be let out if it is based on sound use of discretion (as even this discretion cannot be used arbitrarily). Let us now consider that issue.

Peculiarities in the conditions being placed

When we look at the statute, the provisions for conditions being imposed on the grant of bail are neither specified in the CrPC or in the PMLA. Hence, it is an act of judicial discretion to impose conditions as they deem fit. It is established jurisprudence that this discretion cannot be wholly arbitrary but has to have a nexus with the objective being sought.

In the instant case, the arguments from the DoE largely circumscribe the narrative that if interim bail is granted to Kejriwal then he should not be allowed to assume the role of the Chief Minister or carry out such duties. According to Soutik Banerjee the nexus is absent in the discretion of the court. I would like to respectfully disagree. The rational nexus is to prevent Kejriwal from acting in his capacity of the chief minister and interfering in the investigation. While it might appear simplistic to attribute this reasoning, upon closer examination, it becomes evident that this assertion holds merit. Simply occupying the position of Chief Minister would have granted Mr. Kejriwal the authority to oversee matters directly pertinent to the reason for his arrest. As Chief Minister, Mr. Kejriwal would possess executive authority that could potentially be used to sway public opinion or manipulate the bureaucratic machinery in his favour. A mere symbolic nod from the apex court could have provided the necessary impetus for such actions. It is unwise to overlook the influence and power that come with the role of Chief Minister.

Therefore, asserting that the court’s order lacked a rational nexus is not a tenable proposition. The time is ripe to take into account another of Bhatia’s assertions. He seems to be sceptical of the idea of differential treatment of the post and the person. There is enough jurisprudence for the Apex court to grant interim bail to Kejriwal the political leader but not to Kejriwal the chief minister. As the arrest made by the DoE was of him being in the position of Kejriwal the chief minister and not Kejriwal the political leader.

The assertion that the DoE’s demand of the conditions being imposed on Kejriwal were unsubstantiated as opined by Soutik Banerjee is not correct. There are enough grounds (which include the alleged destruction of more than 100 phones) before the Supreme Court to constrict the powers being granted to Kejriwal. The court has taken a positive outlook and granted bail to Kejriwal but that does not warrant his clearance from the charges themselves, which – in turn – constrain bail conditions.

VI. The court’s “eight pages of non-reasoning” trumps Bhatia’s 4 pages of dogmatic pessimism

Apart from the issues already addressed in the article, Bhatia’s piece casts an unwarranted veil of scepticism towards the Supreme Court. Bhatia constructs a strawman argument against the Supreme Court. He misinterprets the court’s usage of inherent discretion to be an action using “personal liberty as a form of patronage.” However, he fails to elaborate on his contentions which by the virtue of lack of rational foundation renders his arguments to be mere assertions (ironically something he accuses the Supreme Court of). This distortion further detracts from substantive analysis of the legal complexities. It is a false equivalence to equate a constitutional court’s usage of its discretion (the basis of which has been explained in the previous section) to mere patronage.

Mr. Bhatia goes on to create a sense of false dilemma when he asserts (though not in specific terms) that the personal liberties can only be safeguarded by striking down laws which he deems to be draconian. This oversimplification in turn nudges the readers to view the issue in binary when it is not. It further means that he overlooks the alternative solutions and nuanced approaches which are often employed by the court in saving rights and liberties. The protection of rights and liberties is not a binary decision which rests upon the striking down of alleged unconstitutional laws.  The Supreme court has in more than few cases reiterated that the power enshrined under Article 142 is a constitutional mandate and it allows it to do complete justice (at times questionable, yet legal). To condense a power of such volume to a mere whim of the court would be patently, wrong. This is not to say that I do not agree with parts of Bhatia’s article. He is correct in calling the court usage of Article 142 a virtually “Schmittian power.” The Supreme Court should not become a court of exceptions. At the same time, in this specific case, the supreme court has given a calculated and legally correct order of interim bail which should not be considered to be an “eight pages of non-reasoning.”

VII. The curious case of Hemant Soren

While we are at it, it is important to compare and contrast (albeit briefly) the cases of Arvind Kejriwal and Hemant Soren. We need to familiarize ourselves with the surface-level differences between the two cases. In Hemant Soren’s case, cognizance had already been taken when the legality of his arrest was challenged. This is significant because, once cognizance is taken, any granted relief becomes ineffective, as the accused is still required to obtain bail post-cognizance. Mr. Soren had also filed a bail application before the High Court, which was pending. The question of interim bail does not arise here, as the Supreme Court did not hear the petition due to the reasons mentioned above, and Mr. Soren pursued his bail application. There are other situational differences between the two cases that could be tabled for discussion at a later time. Concluding remarks

In conclusion, I would like to reemphasize that the Supreme Court’s order pertains to a specific case and does not alter the broader jurisprudence on bail or interim bail. The Court has taken a positive step by acknowledging the political implications of the arrest and setting bail conditions that strike a balance. These conditions prevent Kejriwal from misusing his position as Chief Minister while not prejudicing the electoral process. Thus, the order upholds the sanctity of the democratic process without undermining the legal framework of criminal procedure.

Bail Conditions and Constitutional Rights

In a brief order passed today, a two-judge bench of the Supreme Court held bail conditions under the NDPS Act could not require an accused to drop his location PIN on Google Maps for the Investigating Officer to track, and – in the case of a foreign national – could not compel the accused to obtain a “letter of assurance” from his Embassy that he would not leave the country while on bail.

Writing for himself and Bhuyan J, Oka J made the important observation that any bail condition (regardless of the law under which it was imposed) would have to meet two tests: first, that it was in pursuance of the objective of granting bail in the first place (that is, towards ensuring that the accused would not tamper with the evidence, intimidate witnesses, or flee the jurisdiction); and secondly, that it only impaired the freedom of the accused to the minimum extent possible, consistent with the objectives of bail (once can see a hint of the proportionality standard here).

With respect to the dropping a location PIN on Google Maps, the Court noted that the condition was irrational to start with, as dropping a PIN by itself did not enable the other party to track someone’s location in real time. Even otherwise, however, the Court held that:

If a constant vigil is kept on every movement of the accused released on bail by the use of technology or otherwise, it will infringe the rights of the accused guaranteed under Article 21, including the right to privacy. The reason is that the effect of keeping such constant vigil on the accused by imposing drastic bail conditions will amount to keeping the accused in some kind of confinement even after he is released on bail. (para 7.1)

The important of this paragraph lies in the Court’s acknowledgment that while constant surveillance may not be the same as physical incarceration, it is nonetheless a form of confinement that not only defeats the purpose of granting bail in the first place, but is a violation of the fundamental rights to privacy and liberty. The Court’s recognition that confinement may not be physical, but that surveillance can have a similar effect on personal liberty, brings to mind Kharak Singh’s famous finding about how domiciliary visits to the house of an accused have a chilling effect upon the exercise of their constitutional rights, even though they are not being physically confined.

The other important aspect of both this paragraph and the order as a whole is the implicit acknowledgment that bail conditions have to meet the test of proportionality. This opens the door to potential future challenges to other onerous bail conditions that far too often accompany bail orders, and turn them into pyrrhic victories at best.

Indeed, one cannot forbear to note that in this, as in many other things, the chief offender is none other than the Supreme Court itself. Consider, for example, bail condition (f) in Vernon vs State of Maharashtra, a bail order passed by a coordinate bench of the Supreme Court (Bose and Dhulia JJ):

… (f) During this period, that is the period during which they remain on bail, both the appellants shall keep the location status of their mobile phones active, 24 hours a day and their phones shall be paired with that of the Investigating Officer of the NIA to enable him, at any given time, to identify the appellants’ exact location.

So, here you have two Supreme Court orders, one of which finds fault with the NDPS Judge for enabling the Investigating Officer to track the movements of the accused at all times, and the other order that does precisely what the former finds fault with.

And perhaps that is where the real importance of today’s order lies. One would imagine that Justices Oka and Bhuyan have done little more than reiterate certain very basic principles, nothing more. But then one remembers that this is a Supreme Court where most judges exhibit routine callousness towards personal liberty – from “staying” a bail order and never hearing it afterwards, leaving a man in jail for months even after he has been granted bail, to subjecting a man to the humiliation of “pairing” his phone with the Investigation Officer.

When this is the norm, then even to reiterate the basics makes for a revolutionary judicial decision.