In a press release issued today, August 3, the SKA has raised the following key issues:

A staggering 593 persons have been killed in sewer and septic tanks, from January 2021 to date (July 2026) but Government has reported only 332 such deaths to the parliament. The SKA has demanded to know

• Why the remaining 261 deaths are being concealed.
• SKA data shows 47 deaths in 2021, 93 in 2022, 102 in 2023, 117 in 2024 and 121 sewer and septic tank deaths in 2025.
• This year alone, 2026, in just 7 months from January to July 2026, 113 persons have been killed in sewer and septic tanks all over the country.
• In the month of July 2026 itself, 15 persons were killed.

Strongly criticising the dismissive and arrogant attitude of the government that, the SKA alleges is “concealing figures”, the SKA also states that this attitude extends to labelling these figures of lives lost as “mere workplace accidents.” Instead of taking policy decisions outlines clearly in the 2013 law to abolish the abhorrent practice, the SKA states that “the government is only focussed on obscuring the truth.”

Hence, women, youth, workers engaged in cleaning sewer and septic tanks and families of those who were killed, will gather at Jantar Mantar on August 4, 2026 at 3 p.m. to demand that the Prime Minister should accept full responsibility for “these deaths and to constitute a Parliamentary Standing Committee inquiry into these killings. Government should present a timebound national plan for the immediate stop to sewer and septic tank deaths.”

Read Citizens for Justice   & Peace’s legal primer on the laws periodically passed to abolish this abhorrent practice –that remain grossly unimplemented—here and here. More on the efficacy of a law to ban a practice where, tragically, local government bodies remain the main practioneers/ offencers may be read here.

The post #STOPKILLINGUS Protest at Jantar Mantar on August 4 against GOI’s “cover-up” of Manual Scavenging deaths appeared first on SabrangIndia.

Police recruitment

In 2025 alone, 60,242 candidates were appointed in the State police. Appointments to 32,679 posts of police constable and equivalent positions are ongoing in 2026. The Opposition states that such a large number of appointments signal that UP is moving towards a police state reports The Hindu.

Vibhuti Narain Rai, a retired Director General of Police-rank officer from the Uttar Pradesh cadre and a 1975-batch Indian Police Service (IPS) officer, said: “In nine years, the State under the governance of the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) has utilised encounters as a means of crime control. It is limiting personal freedoms, uses extra-judicial methods of crime control like encounters and bulldozer actions; these trends of heavy policing and surveillance, with strict regulatory mechanisms, are indicators of a police state and hard state. The government is making the police uncivilised.”

“Such use of brute force will have long-term adverse consequences for the society at large. It is not that the previous government [before BJP came to power] was clean. They also used police force in a brute manner to target marginalised sections, but present circumstances have hardly had any parallel in recent history. The prevalence of encounters is rendering our society increasingly barbaric, which negatively impacts the development of our democratic system,” he further said.

Circumventing due process

Sulkhan Singh, a former DGP, said what U.P. is witnessing today is beyond the concept of a police state, adding that the State is normalising violence. “Uttar Pradesh is witnessing something beyond the concept of a police state, in a police state or security state. A kind of merit-based action may be harsh or regressive. But in U.P., presently we are seeing lawlessness and anarchy, where the police takes selective bulldozer-centric action or conduct encounters.”

The 1980-batch IPS officer, who also headed the State police force, added: “Encounters and bulldozer actions fundamentally undermine the criminal justice system by circumventing due process, cultivating a culture of impunity, and diminishing trust in law enforcement or police. These actions transform police officers into judges and executioners, infringing upon essential human rights and converting democratic accountability into autocracy. The State is normalising violence, ultimately fostering an environment where society accepts such violent actions as encounters and bulldozer justice as a form of ‘instant justice’. These actions infringe upon the right to life and security.”

The Congress has alleged that U.P. has been converted into a police state by using the pretext of law and order to unleash repressive actions impacting the policies and recruitment of officials in key sectors like education and health, which are prime movers of a civilised society.

Related:

Hashimpura a Blot and Shame, The Importance of Memory: Vibhuti Narain Rai

The Lemmings of Hashimpura – Vibhuti Narain Rai, retired officer of the Indian Police Force (IPS)

Hashimpura Aquittal, Tragic but not Unexpected : Vibhuti Narain Rai, IPS (retired)

The post Violence being normalised, U.P. moving towards police state, say retired cops appeared first on SabrangIndia.

This shift is exhilarating and energising for those who have long felt some quiet desperation that things may not change. The easy camaraderie across class, caste, gender, sexual orientation, language, geography, physical ability had people observing, struck in awe.  What many of us articulated from podiums, through media and books is now being demonstrated in the streets. This is not to say that all that ground work is irrelevant. It probably provided a backdrop for the scale of the current movement. The fact that the Union and state governments have been forced onto the back foot is impressive. This is especially because these same bodies, along with their supporting structures – the governors, judiciary, media and bureaucrats have been largely tone deaf. Their disproportionate abuse of power had the chilling effect of silencing many voices – individuals who had too much to lose when the full strength of the state power was turned upon them.

The honourable chief Justice of India would probably for the first time have felt that words have consequences. When one thinks about the number of people in power who have used inflammatory casteist, sexist and anti-minority language without any fear of consequences, one feels that this is exactly the kind of movement that the country needed – irreverential, inordinately humorous and witty and refusing to back down. In spite of the unacceptable level of violence against the students, their spirits shone through and that is what makes this movement exactly what the country needed.

The movement was sparked by allegations of irregularities in the NEET-UG 2024 examination, which led students across the country to demand transparency, accountability, and reforms in the examination process. The controversy eventually reached the Supreme Court, which heard multiple petitions challenging the conduct of the examination while directing investigations into allegations of malpractice. The Union Government subsequently entrusted the investigation into the paper leak allegations to the Central Bureau of Investigation (CBI), underscoring the seriousness of the controversy.

Students demonstrated across numerous states, with protests organised both on university campuses and in major cities, amplified through social media and supported by parents, teachers, and sections of civil society.

Perhaps the movement’s greatest lesson was its clarity of purpose. The students remained overwhelmingly non-violent despite facing lathi charges, water cannons, tear gas, and allegations of sexual assault. Their discipline became one of the movement’s greatest strengths. They refused to be distracted by peripheral issues, remaining focused on a limited set of clear and achievable demands.

No popular movement is beyond criticism, and this one is no exception. Every mass mobilisation carries risks: co-option by political interests, internal divisions, misinformation, or the influence of powerful corporate and political actors. Those dangers must always be recognised. Yet one of this movement’s greatest strengths was that it drew support from many quarters without becoming the project of any single political party. That independence gave it both legitimacy and resilience.

The movement also built upon earlier struggles. The farmers’ protests demonstrated that sustained, peaceful resistance could withstand enormous political pressure. That legacy provided confidence to a new generation of protesters and reminded those in power that coercion does not always produce submission. Each successful act of peaceful resistance strengthens democratic culture and encourages others to participate in public life. Six months before that, youth and women across generations, all hailing from India’s largest minority group had stunned us with their peaceful sit-ins and protests challenging the anti-constitutional amendments to Citizenship (Amendment) Act, 2019 and the impending National Register of Citizens (NRC). Analyses and reports of both these historic mobilisations may be read, here, here, here and here.

There are some lessons from this movement that needs to be recognised.

The students continued to remain largely non-violent in spite of lathi charges, water cannons, tear gas, and sexual assaults. Their equanimity is commendable.

They had select demands and they stuck to these doggedly. There was no back and forth negotiating and nit picking. The focus on doable demands which were completely rational to anyone was important. Rather than one insensitive minister being replaced by possibly another, the movement created accountability mechanisms that have long been forgotten in the country irrespective of the party in power. This movement for accountability will raise the bar not only the current government but also the Opposition and anyone considering a political career. That, in itself, is a huge victory for the country. The message is that serious violations will face consequences.

The farmers, to their credit, had paved the way and their presence, along with other movements, lent an air of impenetrability to the movement. It said that violence against the students would bring more, not less resistance. The memory of the farmers protests would still linger in the memory of the current political dispensation and each movement that they fail to disrupt with their usual cheap tactics is like disciplining a recalcitrant child.

This movement gives enormous sense of hope to the apparently depressed civil society organisations.

One is that there is always a need for a vibrant civil society who hold power. Depending on the nature of autocracy of the government, the losses and struggles are more, but in the absence of that struggle, there is zero hope.

A senior doctor told me at the peak of government flexing its strong arm against citizens, that some of us have to hold the fort. Now those few people – the small media houses, the YouTubers, the pockets of resistance will have the army of youth asking questions. It is good lesson when one is feeling hopeless about the way forward.

We need to consider this as a very positive and hopeful beginning. The context will not be drastically changed by the resignation of education minister. There are many more systemic changes needed in our democratic country. But the underlying message is change is possible!

As Dr. BR Ambedkar said “Political democracy cannot last unless there lies at the base of it social democracy.”

The author is Secretary, Social Justice and Ecology Secretariat, New Delhi.

Related:

The Supreme Court’s Uneasy Middle Path on Protest Policing

The Republic Speaks Back: How Student Power Reminded Authority of Its Limits

The Revolution has begun….!

The post When students demonstrated what democracy stands for appeared first on SabrangIndia.

Justice Madhav J. Jamdar delivered the ruling while dismissing a writ petition filed by Vignesh Ramesh Kamble challenging an externment order passed by the Deputy Commissioner of Police, Mumbai, and its affirmation by the Divisional Commissioner, Konkan Division. The Court found that the statutory requirements under Section 55 had been duly satisfied in light of the petitioner’s alleged membership of a gang facing numerous criminal prosecutions and the material placed before the externing authority.

Background

The petitioner challenged the legality of the externment order dated January 21, 2026, passed under the Maharashtra Police Act, as well as the appellate order dated July 3, 2026, contending that the authorities had failed to satisfy the statutory prerequisites for invoking their externment powers. It was argued that only four criminal cases had been registered against him, three of which had ended in acquittal, and that the authorities had mechanically relied upon the criminal history of the gang without independently examining his own conduct. The petitioner also relied on the Bombay High Court’s earlier decision in Jabbar Razzak Shaikh v. Divisional Commissioner to contend that the externment proceedings suffered from legal infirmities.

The State, however, defended the externment by pointing out that the petitioner was alleged to be a member of a gang headed by one Sunil alias Sunny Balaram Patil, against whom and whose associates 31 criminal cases had been registered. The prosecution further highlighted that one criminal case against the petitioner, involving offences under Sections 302 and 307 of the Indian Penal Code along with provisions of the Maharashtra Control of Organised Crime Act, 1999, remained pending for trial. According to the State, the action had rightly been taken under Section 55, which is specifically designed to deal with gangs and bodies of persons whose collective activities pose a threat to public order.

Court’s Analysis: Two distinct statutory regimes

The judgment turns on a detailed interpretation of Sections 55 and 56 of the Maharashtra Police Act, with the Court emphasising that although both provisions confer powers of externment, they are triggered by entirely different factual considerations.

Justice Jamdar observed that Section 55 authorises the competent authority to extern a gang or body of persons where it is satisfied that the movement or encampment of such gang is causing, or is calculated to cause, danger, alarm, or reasonable suspicion that unlawful designs are being entertained. Consequently, the “subjective satisfaction” contemplated by Section 55 is directed towards the collective conduct, movement and activities of the gang itself. The enquiry is not confined to evaluating the individual criminal history of every member; rather, it is the overall conduct and impact of the group that forms the basis of the authority’s satisfaction.

“The subjective satisfaction contemplated under Section 55 of the Maharashtra Police Act, 1951, where the externment action is contemplated against the gangs and bodies of persons and under Section 56 of the Maharashtra Police Act, 1951, where the externment action is proposed against a person are totally different. As far as Section 55 of the Maharashtra Police Act, 1951 is concerned, the authorities can pass order of externment if the movement or encampment of any gang or body of persons in the area in his charge is causing or is calculated to cause danger or alarm or reasonable suspicion that unlawful designs are entertained by such gang or body of persons thereof. Thus, the subjective satisfaction is required to be recorded about the activities of gang or bodies of persons.” (Para 9)

The Court contrasted this with Section 56, which deals with externment of an individual person. Under that provision, the competent authority must independently satisfy itself that the individual’s own movements or acts are causing danger, alarm or harm to persons or property, or that there are reasonable grounds to believe that the person is engaged, or is about to engage, in offences involving force or violence or other specified offences under the Indian Penal Code. The statutory focus under Section 56, therefore, is squarely on the conduct of the individual proposed to be externed.

“As far as the subjective satisfaction required under Section 56 where the action is contemplated against the person is if the movements or acts of any person are causing or calculated to cause alarm, danger or harm to person or property or (b) that there are reasonable grounds for believing that such person is engaged or is about to be engaged in the commission of an offence involving force or violence or an offence punishable under Chapter XII, XVI or XVII of the Indian Penal Code (XLV of 1860), or in the abatement of any such offence.” (Para 10)

The Court categorically held that the two standards of satisfaction are “totally different” and cannot be treated as interchangeable. While Section 55 is concerned with the collective threat posed by a gang, Section 56 requires a personal assessment of the individual’s conduct and criminal activities. Conflating the two provisions, the Court observed, would effectively defeat the distinct legislative framework consciously adopted by the Maharashtra Legislature.

“Thus, the subjective satisfaction required to be recorded under Section 55 and under Section 56 is totally different.” (Para 11)

Application of the law to the present case

Applying this interpretation, the Court noted that the petitioner was admittedly alleged to be a member of a gang against which 31 criminal cases had been registered. It further observed that, even independently, the petitioner continued to face trial in a serious criminal case alleging offences under Sections 302 and 307 IPC read with the Maharashtra Control of Organised Crime Act.

“In this case, the Petitioner is alleged to be a member of the gang. There are 31 cases registered against the gang of which the Petitioner is a member and the offences alleged inter alia lodged even against the Petitioner including under Section 302 of the Indian Penal Code.” (Para 12)

While the petitioner emphasised that he had secured acquittals in three out of the four criminal cases registered against him, the Court held that this argument overlooked the very nature of proceedings under Section 55. Since the provision is concerned with the activities of the gang or body of persons, the relevant enquiry was whether there was sufficient material demonstrating that the gang’s activities justified externment and whether the petitioner formed part of that body. The Court found ample material supporting the authorities’ satisfaction on both counts and held that the statutory requirement under Section 55 had been properly fulfilled.

“Although learned Counsel appearing for the Petitioner contended that as far as the Petitioner is concerned, there are only 4 cases registered against him and he has been acquitted in three out of four cases, C.R. No.544 of 2023 was registered with the Chunabhatti Police Station, Mumbai, inter alia concerning offence under Section 302 of the Indian Penal Code and wherein the provisions of the Maharashtra Control of Organised Crime Act, 1999 have also been invoked. The said case is pending trial. The subjective satisfaction which is required to be recorded is about the activities of gang or bodies of persons of which the Petitioner is member. There is adequate material on record including against the Petitioner which demonstrate that subjective satisfaction recorded under Section 55 of the Maharashtra Police Act, 1951 is properly recorded in the facts and circumstances of this case.” (Para 13)

The Bench also rejected the petitioner’s reliance on Jabbar Razzak Shaikh, holding that the factual matrix of that decision was materially different and therefore incapable of governing the present case. Finding no perversity, procedural irregularity or legal infirmity in either the externment order or the appellate order, the Court declined to exercise its writ jurisdiction and dismissed the petition.

Why the judgment matters

The decision is significant because it clarifies an issue that frequently arises in challenges to externment orders—whether the authority must establish individual culpability to the same extent in proceedings against members of a gang. By holding that Section 55 and Section 56 embody two distinct standards of “subjective satisfaction,” the Bombay High Court has reaffirmed that gang-based externment is premised upon the collective activities and threat posed by the group, whereas individual externment requires an independent assessment of the person’s own conduct. The ruling is likely to serve as an important precedent in future challenges involving preventive action against organised gangs under the Maharashtra Police Act.

The complete order may be read here.

Detailed report on Bombay HC quashing of externment of SDPI leader Saeed Ahmad Abdul Wahid Chaudhary may be read here.

Related:

Khargone riots case collapses: Four years after Ram Navami violence, MP court acquits 11 accused, finds prosecution failed to establish guilt

The Supreme Court’s Uneasy Middle Path on Protest Policing

Reforming policing beyond force

Bail Stays, But Under Tight Curbs: Delhi HC’s order in Parvez-Mehraj UAPA case

Three High Courts, One Message: Police power has constitutional limits

SC: Reasoned & Fair adjudication by Foreigners Tribunals, a must for proving citizenship

State cannot escape liability for custodial suicide: Delhi HC

The post Bombay High Court clarifies distinct externment tests under Maharashtra Police Act appeared first on SabrangIndia.

Writer and researcher Anu Jain revisits Mahatma Gandhi’s closest political and personal bonds in this series which offers a timely reminder that transformative movements are built not only on charismatic leadership, but on the communities of conviction that grow around it.

For Gandhi, leadership was never a solitary endeavour. It was a collaborative, often demanding dialogue with a close circle of confidants who held up a mirror to him. 

This exclusive five-part series explores Gandhi’s deeply complex relationships with five remarkable contemporaries. Three visionary captains of industry who funded and anchored his radical socio-economic experiments, and two towering intellectual peers who served as his ultimate conscience keepers , who were willing to challenge his decisions when no one else dared. 

Together, these five bonds did more than just steer the course of the independence movement; they directly shaped the deeply personal, moral, and political choices of the Mahatma himself.

Read on the unique bond that Gandhi shared with Rabindranath Tagore here.

When the French philosopher Romain Rolland looked across the global landscape of the early twentieth century, he observed a magnificent, unprecedented spectacle unfolding on the Indian subcontinent. He described it as the simultaneous gathering of “two great rivers”, towering, majestic currents of human thought flowing from vastly different geographical and spiritual sources. Yet, rushing forward to nourish the very same civilisational soil. One river was Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi, the other was Rabindranath Tagore.

Theirs was a relationship that defied the ordinary grammar of political alliances or personal friendships. It stands as one of the most remarkable intellectual and moral engagements in human history, a thirty-year “noble debate” that fundamentally expanded the moral vocabulary of freedom.

They did not always walk in lockstep, in fact, they disagreed on almost everything from the economy of the spinning wheel to the very meaning of a nation. Yet, their relationship was defined by a rare, luminous intellectual companionship where dissent itself became an act of profound love. They did not argue to defeat one another, but to refine one another.

In an era where differences so often degenerate into hatred, the story of Gandhi and Tagore reminds us that a nation’s soul is not built on a fragile, forced consensus, but on the capacity of its greatest minds to disagree with absolute dignity.

“Mahatma” and “Gurudev”

The very names by which history remembers these two titans are beautiful, poetic gifts they bestowed upon each other. To the world, Gandhi became the Mahatma (The Great Soul), and Tagore became Gurudev (The Divine Teacher). Yet, the historical roots of these titles reveal a far more fascinating, layered evolution than popular memory suggests.

The sacred title of “Mahatma” was not suddenly invented by Tagore in a vacuum. Long before it became a household word, Gandhi’s closest confidant and financial supporter, Dr. Pranjivan Mehta, had quietly used the term in private correspondence, most notably in a deeply perceptive letter to the moderate leader Gopal Krishna Gokhale, recognising the saintly quality of the lawyer returning from South Africa.

But it was Tagore who took this private whisper and transformed it into a thunderous national reality. Using the immense weight of his global literary authority, Tagore publicly crowned Gandhi with the title, giving the illiterate millions of India a vocabulary of reverence for the man in the loincloth.

Gandhi, in turn, bowed before the poet’s towering cultural and philosophical mastery, christening him Gurudev. This exchange of titles was a beautiful, public contract of mutual recognition: an acknowledgement that while one was the undisputed master of political action, the other was the sovereign ruler of the human mind.

Capital and Culture

Nowhere did this hidden current of solidarity manifest more beautifully than in the physical sanctuary of Santiniketan, Tagore’s legendary open-air educational experiment in Bengal. Founded on the romantic ideals of intellectual freedom, artistic expression, and global humanism, Santiniketan was a paradise of the soul but a recurring nightmare for the checkbook. The ashram-school was chronically broke, permanently burdened by debt, and dependant entirely on personal donations and the fading physical energy of its ageing founder.

By the mid-1930s, the crisis had reached a breaking point. Tagore, already in his frail seventies, felt compelled to pack his bags and travel across the country with a student performance troupe, staging plays in cities like Delhi just to collect a few scattered rupees to keep his school alive. Hearing of this, Gandhi was deeply shaken.

Though Gandhi had spent decades publicly criticising elite, literary, and urban-centred education, advocating instead for basic manual training (Nai Talim), he refused to let his ideological disagreements blind him to Santiniketan’s civilisational value. He recognised that if Tagore’s school died, a vital lung of the Indian spirit would stop breathing.

Gandhi immediately dipped his pen in ink and sent a deeply emotional letter to the poet, telling him that it broke his heart to see the great Seer of India begging for funds on the public stage. Gandhi vowed to strain “every nerve” to lift this financial anvil from the poet’s shoulders.

True to his word, Gandhi deployed his silent network of wealthy industrialists. Within a matter of months, he slipped a Rs. 60,000 bank draft, an astronomical fortune at the time, into an envelope and sent it to Bengal with a triumphant message:

“God has blessed my poor effort. And here is the money. Now you will relieve the public mind by announcing the cancellation of the rest of the programme.”

With characteristic moral delicacy, Gandhi never told Tagore where the money came from. He purposefully concealed the fact that the entire sum had been cut from the checkbook of his close supporter, the industrialist Ghanshyam Das Birla.

This single episode completely dismantles any simplistic caricature of Gandhi and Tagore as bitter ideological enemies. Here was Gandhi acting as the silent, invisible bridge between industrial capital and artistic culture, using the wealth of a billionaire to protect the independence of a poet who regularly criticised his political movements. Santiniketan was no longer just Tagore’s dream, it had become a shared moral investment for the entire nation.

Fault Lines of Two Minds

The grand public debates between Gandhi and Tagore were carried out in the pages of journals like Young India and The Modern Review. They were watched with bated breath by millions of citizens, offering a masterclass in intellectual integrity. Their arguments were not petty squabbles, they were foundational clashes between two completely different visions of human liberation.

For Gandhi, Satyagraha was the ultimate weapon of human liberation, a “soul-force” or “love-force” rooted in absolute truth and self-suffering. Gandhi believed that by fasting and absorbing suffering without retaliation, an individual could melt the heart of the most brutal oppressor.

Tagore, however, watched this with deep intellectual scepticism. While he marvelled at Gandhi’s personal purity, he terrified himself with the thought of what happens when Satyagraha is mass-produced for millions of uneducated followers. He feared that for the masses, Satyagraha would cease to be an active moral choice and would instead become a form of blind, hypnotic obedience, a mechanical ritual that substituted one form of conformity for another. Tagore argued that India’s deep disease was a “slave mentality,” and the cure was a sharp, intellectual awakening of the individual mind, not the emotional intoxication of mass rallies.

Gandhi defined Swaraj (Self-rule) as something far deeper than merely replacing a British governor with an Indian prime minister. He defined it as not by the acquisition of authority by a few, but by the acquisition of the capacity of all to resist authority when it is abused.

For Gandhi, Swaraj was an exercise in rigorous self-restraint, localised governance, and decentralised village power. Tagore, conversely, was deeply suspicious of the very machinery of the modern political state. In his seminal essay The Call of Truth, he warned that an indigenous government could be just as cold, cruel, and oppressive as a foreign one if the minds of the people remained chained to dogma and superstition. To Tagore, true Swaraj was not a political flag flying over a parliament building, it was the total liberation of the human spirit, a mind that was completely fearless, creative, and open to the cosmos.

The Charkha

Perhaps no object symbolised their deep divide more dramatically than the Charkha, the wooden spinning wheel. Gandhi elevated the Charkha into a holy sacrament. He demanded that every Indian, whether doctor, lawyer, or peasant, spend at least half an hour every single day spinning cotton. For Gandhi, the Charkha was a brilliant economic weapon against British textiles, a direct link to the suffering of the starving millions, and a beautiful lesson in physical labour.

Tagore openly revolted against this directive in his provocative 1925 essay, The Cult of the Charkha. He argued that forcing a brilliant scientist, an artist, or an intellectual to spin a wheel for thirty minutes a day was an insult to human intelligence. He called it a monotonous, mind-numbing exercise that deadened creativity, pointing out that India’s crippling poverty could only be solved through modern science, agricultural machinery, and creative engineering, not by turning the entire population into uniform, spinning automatons.

Gandhi hit back with fierce, poetic passion, writing that to a starving man, God can only appear in the form of bread, and that spinning was a beautiful form of collective prayer for a broken country.

Clash of Reason

The most explosive and revealing confrontation between the two men occurred in the early months of 1934, following a monstrous, cataclysmic earthquake that ripped through the province of Bihar, flattening cities and killing thousands.

Gandhi, travelling through South India at the time, made a public announcement that stunned the intellectual elite. He declared that the devastating earthquake was not a random geological accident, but a direct, divine punishment sent by God to avenge the ancient sin of untouchability. He argued that the earth had literally fractured because high-caste Hindus had spent centuries fracturing the dignity of their Dalit brothers and sisters.

Tagore was profoundly appalled by this statement. He immediately published a blistering, public rebuke, accusing Gandhi of spreading dangerous, unscientific irrationalism. Tagore argued that physical laws operate blindly across the universe, entirely independent of human ethics. To tell uneducated villagers that a physical earthquake was caused by moral sins, Tagore warned, was to reinforce the very forces of blind superstition and fatalism that kept India backward.

Yet, even in this moment of raw, public collision, the exquisite tone of their engagement remained intact. Gandhi did not attack Tagore’s character, nor did his followers burn the poet’s books. Gandhi published his defence in Harijan, calmly stating that while he bowed to the poet’s superior scientific knowledge, he possessed an unshakeable faith in the mysterious connection between cosmic events and human morality.

Their public letters became a legendary historical archive: an unforgettable proof that two human beings could fiercely debate the laws of physics and God without losing a single ounce of mutual love.

Conversions at the Horizon

For all their spectacular public battles, if one travels down these two great rivers to their ultimate destination, they converge on the exact same moral horizon. Beneath the surface noise of their debates lay an absolute, unbreakable unity of purpose: a shared, uncompromising devotion to human dignity.

Tagore spent his entire life warning the world against the horrific, mechanical monster of aggressive nationalism, describing it as a soul-crushing apparatus that destroys human freedom. Gandhi, though the commander-in-chief of a massive nationalist movement, arrived at the exact same conclusion. He repeatedly stated that his vision of nationalism was completely inclusive, and that he supported independence only so that a free India could voluntarily surrender its sovereignty to a democratic world federation grounded in non-violence.

This deep spiritual convergence was recognised by Tagore himself during a quiet visit to the Sabarmati Ashram. Standing before the community, the poet remarked that the true meaning of the “Mahatma” was a man who had successfully realised his own inner self within the heartbeat of all humanity, completely melting away the artificial walls of nation, caste, and identity.

The Modern Verdict

The long, brilliant dialogue between Mahatma Gandhi and Rabindranath Tagore was never resolved. When Tagore drew his last breath in 1941, followed a few years later by Gandhi’s martyrdom in 1948, they left behind two completely distinct, unmerged blueprints for the liberation of the human race. Tagore passed away still sceptical of mass politics, Gandhi died still committed to it. Tagore remained the champion of intellectual cosmopolitanism, Gandhi remained the high priest of localised ethical discipline.

Yet, the ultimate significance of their relationship lies precisely within that unresolved tension. They proved to the world that harmony does not mean uniformity. In our modern twenty-first-century landscape, a fractured world deeply polluted by tribalism, echo chambers, cancel culture, and instant polarisation, their “noble debate” shines across the decades like a burning beacon of hope.

They leave behind an immortal, luminous standard for the intellectual life of global democracy. A lesson that true respect does not mean silent acquiescence, and that critique is the highest form of solidarity. Gandhi and Tagore remind us until the end of time that we can hold completely different versions of the truth, we can fight fiercely over the pathways of freedom, and yet we can still march hand-in-hand toward the liberation of the human soul.

Courtesy: The AIDEM

The post Gandhi and Tagore: Reverence, Argument and Intellectual Courage appeared first on SabrangIndia.

The poem opens with a startling metaphor that establishes its fundamental concern: “In my hands / there was a poem, and in my mind / an X-ray of the intestines.” Here, poetry becomes not aesthetic pleasure but clinical examination, exposing the biological reality of hunger that political rhetoric so often obscures. Language itself has fallen under the grip of market and power, transformed into “the trademark on a medicine bottle circulating in the bloodstream.” Words no longer root themselves in lived experience but have become commodities for consumption, a condition that Dhoomil exposes throughout the poem. When the poet steps outside and utters the word “freedom,” even his own voice sounds unfamiliar—an estrangement that reveals how the idea of freedom exists within consciousness while its social reality remains unfulfilled.

The poem traces the journey from post-Independence hope through disillusionment to the search for resistance. Dhoomil captures the initial euphoria when “new shoots in the fields resemble children exercising their limbs,” but gradually measures the distance between promise and reality. The repeated refrain “I kept waiting” exhausts hope itself as words like democracy, freedom, culture, and peace—initially radiant promises—are reduced to hollow incantations. The tragedy lies precisely in the growing gulf between language and lived reality, a gap that becomes the poem’s central concern.

Read through Raymond Williams’s concept of “structure of feeling,” “Patakatha” reconstructs the emotional world of a historical moment when the nation dreamed of reinventing itself, only to encounter the persistence of hunger, inequality, and political deception. Williams’s framework of dominant, residual, and emergent cultures illuminates the poem’s layers: the dominant culture of official democratic vocabulary, the residual culture of freedom struggle memories and moral values, and the emergent culture embodied in the restless spirit of the poet’s alter ego who urges him to “Rise and give shape to your boredom.”

Stuart Hall’s theories of representation and ideological construction further deepen our understanding of how Dhoomil exposes the machinery of power. Hall argues that language does not merely reflect reality but actively constructs it, and Dhoomil demonstrates how words employed by those in power become the terms through which society understands itself. Democracy, socialism, national interest—these terms gradually lose ethical significance and become ideological instruments serving power’s interests. When the people are persuaded they live in a democracy “where horses and grass enjoy the same freedom,” Dhoomil exposes the ideological construction that makes citizens accept their own subordination as natural.

Michel Foucault’s conception of power as productive rather than merely repressive proves exceptionally illuminating. Dhoomil refuses to confine power to government or state institutions, instead showing how it extends through Parliament, elections, administration, media, nationalism, development, education, and language itself. Every society constructs its own “regime of truth,” and post-Independence India appears engaged in manufacturing its own truth—that democracy has arrived, development progresses, elections celebrate the people’s will. Through constant repetition, these assertions acquire the status of social truth, but Dhoomil subjects this manufactured truth to the test of lived experience, dismantling the official regime of truth created by power. The celebrated line “For a hungry man, bread is the greatest argument” represents from a Foucauldian perspective not merely a social reality but a confrontation between fundamentally opposed discourses—the language of power speaking of development and nationhood, and the discourse of the hungry citizen speaking only of bread.

The Marxist reading of the poem reveals that Dhoomil analyses a society that attained formal independence while leaving fundamental social and economic relations largely unchanged. Antonio Gramsci’s theory of hegemony becomes particularly relevant as Dhoomil repeatedly shows that the people do not support power solely through fear but because they have been persuaded this is democracy and national interest. The popular leader becomes not simply an individual but a political myth, and the people follow him because their hopes have become invested in him. Elections, generally celebrated as democracy’s greatest achievement, reveal instead the consciousness within which they operate—the people repeatedly restore the very system that fails to transform their lives. Louis Althusser’s concept of interpellation illuminates how the citizen is hailed as patriot, responsible voter, and nation-builder, gradually understanding himself through these prescribed identities, voting and trusting the system responsible for his own exploitation.

The deconstructive reading of “Patakatha” reveals its profound distrust of political language. Dhoomil demonstrates how words such as democracy, freedom, peace, and socialism, through endless repetition, lose ethical credibility. The apparent stability of these terms dissolves as the poem exposes the widening gap between words and the social realities they claim to represent. Democracy initially signifies hope, later becomes associated with electoral process, then the language of power, and finally the symbol of irony where people appear present while remaining absent. Freedom transforms from celebration into uncertainty and waiting. Socialism becomes not a political programme but a slogan, reduced to “buckets labelled ‘Fire’ but filled only with sand and water.” Dhoomil does not reject these concepts but demonstrates that their public meanings and lived social realities no longer correspond, exposing the internal contradictions through which political language performs the opposite of its claimed function.

The critique of nationalism in the poem redefines the nation not as abstract ideal or political symbol but as the lived experience of the ordinary citizen. Benedict Anderson’s “imagined community” is tested against Indian social experience, asking where within that community the hungry, unemployed, and humiliated citizen resides. Dhoomil approaches the nation not from pride but responsibility, recognising that nationalism cannot be merely celebratory but must acknowledge shared suffering. The nation is no longer Parliament or government policy but becomes a wounded body—the alter ego who declares “I am Hindustan,” relocating the idea of nation from state authority to the body and experience of the citizen.

The psychoanalytic dimension reveals that political crisis ultimately becomes psychological crisis. The poem’s structure reflects a mind incapable of stable conclusion, unfolding through memories, inner monologues, symbols, and unexpected shifts. The alter ego embodies the poet’s divided self, his repressed political consciousness, his moral conscience—that living presence within his unconscious compelling him to confront truth. The appearance of this figure follows the logic of dreams more than external reality, suggesting that resistance must first be born within consciousness itself.

In the context of contemporary “post-truth” politics, “Patakatha” appears remarkably prescient. Dhoomil had already anticipated a political culture where language’s purpose is no longer to express truth but to conceal it, replace it with politically manufactured reality. The poem establishes hunger as the most reliable form of truth precisely because it cannot lie while political words can. Throughout the poem, a continual conflict persists between political proclamations and the lived experiences of ordinary citizens, elevating the work beyond satire and transforming it into a poem in search of truth.

When situated within world political poetry, “Patakatha” stands alongside the works of Muktibodh, Faiz, Brecht, Neruda, Hikmet, and Darwish. Like Brecht, Dhoomil creates a critical language compelling readers to reconsider democracy, Parliament, and development. Like Neruda, he stands on the side of human dignity. Like Darwish, he defines the nation through human experience rather than state power. Yet Dhoomil’s voice remains distinctive—harsher, more sceptical, yet never abandoning democratic values even while criticising democracy, never losing faith in the language of humanity even while deconstructing the language of power.

Ultimately, “Patakatha” offers what is essentially a cultural biography of post-Independence India’s collective consciousness. Its enduring relevance lies in reminding us that democracy is protected not merely through institutions and elections but through preserving a truthful relationship between language and life, between power and the ordinary citizen, between the nation as proclaimed and the nation as lived. In the final analysis, Dhoomil’s poem is neither rejection of democracy nor celebration of it, but its most profound moral examination—a testament that the true test of democracy lies not in parliamentary proceedings but in the life of the hungry, fearful, and humiliated citizen who remains the measure of everything.

*Professor and former Head (Retd.), Department of Hindi, University of Hyderabad. This is the abridged version of the author’s original paper

Courtesy: CounterView

The post The script of democracy: Power, language, and consciousness in Dhoomil’s ‘Patakatha’ appeared first on SabrangIndia.

The Maharashtra Freedom of Religion Bill, 2026, was introduced during the Budget Session of the Maharashtra Legislature in March 2026. The Bill was tabled in the Legislative Assembly on March 13, 2026, and was passed by the Assembly on March 16, followed by approval from the Legislative Council on March 17. After being cleared by both Houses, the legislation was sent to Maharashtra Governor C.P. Radhakrishnan, who subsequently reserved it for the consideration of the President of India. The Bill received presidential assent from President Droupadi Murmu on July 31, 2026, after which the Governor forwarded it to the state government for notification. The Act will come into force only after the Maharashtra government issues a notification specifying the date of commencement. Maharashtra becomes the 13^th state in the country to pass such/similar laws. All these states are governed by the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) that has its ideological base in the far right, Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS).

The speed with which the legislation moved through the state legislature had itself become a point of criticism. Citizens for Justice and Peace (CJP), in its dissent note, highlighted that the Bill was introduced and passed within days, with limited scope for public consultation or legislative scrutiny, despite the fact that similar anti-conversion laws enacted by other states are already under examination before the Supreme Court. CJP is the lead petitioner in the constitutional challenge to the first batch of such laws passed by five states between the years, 2020-2023. This challenge has been pending in the Supreme Court, despite pleas for interim stays on the most egregious provisions for over five years now. [1]

Details on the interim applications urging stay on the most egregious provisions, filed by CJP on April 16, 2025 may be read here.

In early 2026, while the batch of petitions challenging the constitutional validity of these state laws were listed before the court of the Chief Justice of India (CJI), they were once again deferred. Reports may be read here. Thereafter, first on May 13, 2026 the matters were listed to be heard after which the next date that appears on the Supreme Court calendar is August 12, 2026!!

The presidential assent does little to resolve the fundamental constitutional questions surrounding the legislation. Instead, Maharashtra has now joined a growing list of states that have enacted “freedom of religion” laws whose provisions are being challenged for creating a framework where the exercise of an individual’s conscience and religious choice is placed under state surveillance.

CJP, which is also the lead petitioner challenging multiple anti-conversion laws before the Supreme Court, has consistently argued that these statutes do not merely target coercive conversions. Rather, their architecture treats voluntary conversion, particularly in the context of interfaith relationships, as inherently suspect and places private decisions under criminal scrutiny.

A “Freedom of Religion” law that restricts the freedom to choose

The Maharashtra Act claims to prevent conversions caused by force, fraud, coercion, misrepresentation, allurement or undue influence. On paper, preventing coercion may appear consistent with constitutional guarantees. However, the difficulty lies in the breadth of the law and the mechanisms it creates.

The Act treats offering money, gifts, employment, education, promises of marriage, assurances of better living conditions or claims of divine healing as unlawful inducements if linked with conversion. The problem is that the law does not adequately distinguish between genuine coercion and ordinary circumstances in which individuals make religious choices influenced by personal relationships, social support, material circumstances or lived experiences. By creating a wide category of prohibited influence, the law risks converting legitimate exercises of conscience into potential criminal offences. A person’s decision to embrace another faith is protected not because the State approves of the choice, but because the Constitution protects the individual’s autonomy to make that choice.

Mandatory state oversight over matters of faith

One of the most intrusive features of the legislation is the requirement of prior notice before conversion. The Act mandates a 60-day prior notice to the district magistrate before conversion. This effectively transforms a deeply personal decision into an administrative process.

Instead of recognising conversion as an exercise of individual conscience, the law creates a system where government authorities are informed in advance and can scrutinise the circumstances surrounding a person’s decision.

CJP has argued that such provisions undermine the constitutional guarantee of freedom of conscience by making religious choice dependent on executive oversight. The Constitution does not make the right to believe, reject, adopt or change religion conditional upon government approval.

The law creates a climate of suspicion around interfaith relationships

While the Act is presented as a measure against forced conversion, its most contentious impact is likely to be felt in cases involving interfaith relationships. The legislation permits complaints by relatives of the person who has converted, including parents and siblings. This creates a mechanism where consenting adults may find their personal relationships subjected to police investigation merely because family members object to their choices.

CJP’s dissent note has warned that such provisions disproportionately affect interfaith couples by allowing private disagreements and social opposition to be converted into criminal proceedings.

The concern is not hypothetical. Similar anti-conversion laws across states have repeatedly been invoked in cases involving marriages between persons of different faiths. A law meant to protect individual choice cannot operate by empowering third parties to challenge that choice.

Reversal of burden of proof

Perhaps the most constitutionally troubling feature of the Maharashtra Act is the reversal of the burden of proof. Under ordinary criminal jurisprudence, the prosecution must establish guilt beyond reasonable doubt. However, under this legislation, the accused person must prove that the conversion was lawful and voluntary. The State is therefore not required to first establish wrongdoing in the traditional sense; instead, the person accused of facilitating conversion must defend the legitimacy of the act.

CJP has identified this reversal as one of the central constitutional defects in anti-conversion laws, arguing that it undermines basic criminal law protections and creates a chilling effect on legitimate religious choices.

Regulating women’s choices under the guise of preventing coercion

Although the Maharashtra Freedom of Religion Act is presented as a law against forced or fraudulent religious conversions, its operation is likely to fall most heavily on women exercising autonomy in matters of faith and marriage. Across states with similar anti-conversion laws, a significant number of prosecutions have arisen not from allegations of organised or coerced conversions, but from consensual interfaith relationships where families have opposed a woman’s decision to marry or convert. By permitting complaints from parents, siblings and other blood relatives, mandating prior notice before conversion, and empowering the police to investigate private decisions, the Act effectively shifts control over an adult woman’s choices from the individual to her family and the State. Instead of presuming that adult women possess the capacity to make informed decisions about their faith and relationships—a principle repeatedly affirmed by constitutional courts—the law creates a legal framework that invites suspicion of their agency. As CJP has argued in its dissent note, the legislation risks reinforcing patriarchal assumptions that women are vulnerable to manipulation and therefore require State and familial supervision, undermining the constitutional guarantees of dignity, privacy, equality and decisional autonomy under Articles 14, 19, 21 and 25 of the Constitution.

Passed without meaningful debate

CJP has also criticised the legislative process through which the Maharashtra law was enacted. In its dissent note, the organisation argued that the Bill was introduced and passed with extraordinary haste, leaving little opportunity for meaningful public consultation or democratic scrutiny.

The Bill was introduced in the Maharashtra Assembly on March 13, 2026, passed by the Legislative Assembly on March 16, and cleared by the Legislative Council on March 17. CJP argued that the hurried passage of the law was particularly concerning because the Supreme Court is already examining the constitutional validity of similar legislation enacted by multiple states. Introducing another law of the same nature while constitutional challenges remain pending raises questions about legislative accountability and respect for judicial review.

The Maharashtra law comes amid a broader challenge before the Supreme Court against anti-conversion statutes across India. The proceedings, led by CJP, initially challenged laws enacted in Uttar Pradesh, Uttarakhand, Madhya Pradesh and Himachal Pradesh. The challenge was subsequently expanded to include laws enacted in Gujarat, Chhattisgarh, Haryana, Jharkhand and Karnataka.

The petitions argue that these laws violate:

• Article 25’s protection of freedom of conscience;
• Article 21’s guarantee of personal liberty and privacy;
• Article 14’s guarantee of equality.

The petitioners contend that the State may prohibit forced conversion, but cannot regulate voluntary conversion or require individuals to justify their faith choices before public authorities.

Courts have already warned against excessive state intervention

The constitutional concerns surrounding such laws are not new. In Evangelical Fellowship of India v. State of Himachal Pradesh, the Himachal Pradesh High Court struck down provisions of the Himachal Pradesh Freedom of Religion Act, 2006 requiring prior declaration before conversion. The Court held that the right to change one’s belief could not be restricted merely on the assumption that public order might be affected. Despite this clear course correction by a constitutional court, the same state re-enacted a similar law with the same provisions in august 2022. This is one of the key substantive points argued by the CJP in its constitutional challenge to the Himachal Pradesh law. Report may be read here. While the Indian National Congress (INC), the lead opposition party has come back to power in the state (December 2022), this law has not yet been repealed, close to four years later. Similar is the situation in the state of Karnataka, a state ruled by the INC since May 2023.

Despite this judicial warning, similar provisions have repeatedly resurfaced in newer anti-conversion laws. The Gujarat High Court and Madhya Pradesh High Court have also intervened against certain provisions of their respective state laws, particularly those involving interfaith marriages and mandatory declarations.

The Maharashtra government has defended the law as necessary to prevent exploitation and fraudulent conversions. However, the constitutional challenge is not about whether coercive conversion should be prohibited. It is about whether the State can create a system where every conversion is treated as requiring explanation, scrutiny and approval. A democratic Constitution protects the freedom to choose one’s faith precisely because such choices are deeply personal and cannot be determined by the State.

The complete dissent note may be read below:

[1] CJP had first, in December 2020-February 2021, filed petitions in the Supreme Court challenging the Uttar Pradesh, Uttarakhand, Madhya Pradesh and Himachal Pradesh laws passed earlier and thereafter, in 2023, amended their plea to include similar laws passed in Chhattisgarh, Gujarat, Haryana, Jharkhand, and Karnataka. CJP is the lead petitioner in this matter.

Related:

Allahabad HC flags misuse of UP Anti-Conversion Law, quashes FIR and rebukes ‘mimeographed’ complaints

35 civil society groups oppose Maharashtra’s proposed anti-conversion law, warn of threat to women’s autonomy and constitutional freedoms

‘Faith Is Not a Crime’: Mumbai’s Christians rise against Maharashtra’s proposed anti-conversion bill

Maharashtra’s Proposed Anti-Conversion Law: Manufacturing moral panic to criminalise personal choice

Supreme Court defers hearing in batch of petitions, led by CJP, challenging state Anti-Conversion laws; interim relief applications pending since April 2025v

Maharashtra’s Anti-Conversion Push: How organised street pressure, Hindutva mobilisation and a pending law threaten constitutional freedoms

The post Policing Autonomy & Faith: Maharashtra’s Anti-Conversion law gets President’s assent appeared first on SabrangIndia.

Scheduled for August 2 at the institute’s Mumbai campus, the convocation was called off barely two days before the ceremony. Students received an email from the Registrar shortly after midnight on July 31 stating that the event had been postponed due to “unforeseen circumstances.” No explanation accompanied the announcement.

According to The Indian Express, the decision was formally communicated to students through a late-night email from the Registrar, while the institute later issued a public statement saying only that the ceremony could not be conducted in a “conducive environment.” The administration has since maintained that the convocation will be rescheduled at the earliest.

The last-minute decision came after hundreds of graduating students and their families had already booked flights, train tickets, accommodation and made travel arrangements from across the country and abroad. For many, the postponement represented not merely an inconvenience but a significant financial burden and the loss of a once-in-a-lifetime academic milestone. 

Security concerns reportedly linked to CJI’s visit

Although TISS never officially announced the identity of its chief guest, The Indian Express reported that Chief Justice of India Surya Kant was scheduled to preside over the ceremony. The newspaper, citing institute officials and students, reported that discussions had been ongoing within the administration regarding security arrangements because of concerns that demonstrations linked to the continuing Cockroach Janta Party (CJP) movement could occur during the convocation.

One institute official, quoted by The Indian Express, stated that while the CJI’s visit had never been formally publicised, it was “common knowledge” on campus and there were concerns about possible protests targeting the chief guest.

Similarly, The Quint, citing graduating students and student representatives, reported that the administration had deliberately refrained from officially announcing the Chief Guest because it anticipated protests. One graduating student anonymously told the publication that “everyone knew” the CJI was expected to attend even though no formal announcement had been made.

Students also told The Indian Express that police personnel had visited the campus in the days preceding the ceremony as part of security preparations. The Quint further reported that a security meeting involving senior police officers was held on July 30, a day before the postponement was announced.

Administration offers little explanation

Following widespread criticism, TISS later issued a public statement asserting that the Institute had assessed that the ceremony could not be held “in a conducive environment.” 

The official notification can be viewed here.

The statement said proceeding with the convocation could have affected the wellbeing of students, faculty, staff, dignitaries, guests and campus life. However, it stopped short of explaining what precisely had rendered the environment unconducive. This carefully worded explanation leaves more questions than answers.

If the decision was based upon a concrete security assessment, the institute has not disclosed its nature. If there existed credible intelligence regarding potential violence, that too has not been shared. Instead, the administration has relied upon vague terminology while expecting students to accept the cancellation of one of the most significant events of their academic lives without meaningful justification.

The institute announced that it would examine requests for financial assistance arising from the postponement on a case-by-case basis and assured students that provisional degree certificates and other academic documents would be made available through the prescribed procedure. It also stated that the convocation would be rescheduled. 

While these measures may mitigate some practical consequences, they cannot compensate for the disruption caused by a decision communicated only days before the ceremony.

Allegations of intimidation on campus

The postponement also unfolded against a backdrop of increasing political tension on campus. According to The Indian Express, students said discussions had been taking place for several days regarding possible demonstrations during the convocation because the CJP movement continued to resonate with many students.

Meanwhile, The Quint reported allegations that WhatsApp groups associated with right-wing organisations circulated messages warning students that anyone attempting to protest during the convocation could face FIRs, arrest and disciplinary consequences. Screenshots of such messages were published by the publication.

One graduating student told The Quint that the atmosphere on campus had become increasingly hostile in the days leading up to the convocation, with students allegedly being warned that any form of protest could damage their careers and placement prospects.

Members of the Progressive Students’ Forum (PSF), quoted by The Quint, further claimed that when students questioned the Dean of Student Affairs regarding the postponement, they were informed that it was due to “security reasons.”

Student organisations demand accountability

The Progressive Students’ Forum criticised the decision, arguing that it reflected a broader pattern of administrative failures affecting graduating students. In a statement, the organisation noted that delays in declaration of final results and issuance of degree certificates had already adversely impacted students applying for employment and higher education opportunities. The postponement of the convocation, it argued, compounded these existing difficulties while damaging the institution’s credibility. Student representatives also questioned why degree distribution itself could not proceed even if the formal convocation ceremony was postponed.

As reported by The Quint, elected representatives met the Registrar seeking clarification after the announcement. Students present at the meeting alleged that the Registrar repeatedly referred only to “unforeseen circumstances” while declining to provide any substantive explanation.

The publication also reported that the administration later declared August 3 a non-instructional day without addressing students’ demands for greater transparency regarding the postponement. For many students, this reinforced concerns that the administration’s priority had shifted from engaging with students to preventing gatherings on campus.

Universities cannot function on speculation

Universities have historically served as spaces where disagreement, political engagement and democratic participation coexist alongside academic life. The possibility that some students may express dissent during a public function cannot, by itself, justify cancelling that function altogether.

Peaceful protest is protected under Articles 19(1)(a) and 19(1)(b) of the Constitution, subject only to reasonable restrictions. Administrative inconvenience or apprehension of embarrassment cannot become substitutes for concrete threats to public order. Where genuine security concerns exist, universities possess numerous less restrictive alternatives: enhanced security arrangements, controlled access, designated protest zones and coordination with law enforcement. Resorting immediately to cancellation represents the most restrictive response available and inevitably burdens the very students whose achievements the institution is meant to celebrate.

Equally concerning is the opacity surrounding the decision-making process. When an institution invokes vague “unforeseen circumstances” and point towards anticipated protests surrounding a constitutional functionary, the absence of transparency inevitably fuels speculation.

Students pay the highest price

Lost amid discussions about security and protocol are the students themselves. Convocation is more than a ceremonial event. For many first-generation learners and families from distant parts of the country, it represents years of sacrifice, financial struggle and academic perseverance. By postponing the ceremony at the eleventh hour without a clear explanation, the administration transferred the consequences of its decision almost entirely onto graduating students.

Whether the postponement ultimately stemmed from genuine security assessments or merely apprehensions about possible dissent, the episode reflects an increasingly familiar pattern within Indian universities. Across campuses, administrative responses to anticipated protests have increasingly prioritised pre-emptive restrictions over engagement. Events are curtailed, permissions withdrawn and public functions altered not because disorder has occurred, but because authorities fear that dissent might emerge. Such decisions risk transforming universities from spaces of intellectual exchange into institutions governed by precautionary control. Until the institute provides a fuller account of why the ceremony could not proceed, questions surrounding transparency, institutional accountability and the balance between security and democratic freedoms are likely to remain unanswered. The institution’s silence has not merely postponed a convocation—it has deepened anxieties about whether India’s universities are increasingly willing to curtail normal academic life in response to the mere possibility of protest, rather than uphold both security and the democratic values they are meant to foster.

Related:

The Throttling of Free Discussion in Academia: Strong-arm Tactics by ABVP and Cave in by Azim Premji University

Galgotias University’s AI Expo Debacle: What it says about Contemporary Indian Education & Public Culture

UGC Guidelines 2026: AISA Protest at Delhi University followed by sexual abuse allegations amid police presence

Partitioned minds, a Saffron Fatwa & Denial of Fair Opportunity: Mata Vaishno Devi University, Jammu

Historic Victory at Panjab University, but Federalism Remains at Stake

The Culture of Impunity at SAU, the University That Expelled Me

The post TISS, Mumbai: When convocation gives way to caution appeared first on SabrangIndia.

Gumiapal is a small village in Dantewada district that remained under Maoist control until very recently. I first visited Gumiapal many years ago when I was trying to meet the Maoist leader Ganesh Uike (not his real name), who exercised firm control over the region. There was no electricity then—and in parts of Gumiapal, that is still the case. I vividly remember Ganesh Uike telling me how solar power and LED lights had transformed his revolutionary life.

He was a voracious reader. “Earlier, I used to read beside a bonfire,” he told me. “During the day there was never any time, and nights without LED lights made reading almost impossible.” To reach him, we literally crossed the red-coloured waters of the Shankhini River, stained by iron ore dust from the nearby mines of the National Mineral Development Corporation (NMDC). The river, the principal source of drinking water for many villagers, had become completely unfit for consumption.

Aarti Sponge obtained a mining lease for the Tularmeta Hills in 2017, covering 31.55 hectares within Gumiapal panchayat. Yet it could not begin mining because of Maoist opposition. Following the Maoists’ withdrawal earlier this year, democratic protests emerged alongside renewed efforts by the company to commence mining. The Gram Sabha conducted earlier had been dismissed by villagers as a sham. About two months ago, however, reports began to emerge of a dialogue between the company and the villagers.

Earlier this month, villagers belonging to the registered Malla Moitor Gram Vikas Samiti—named after Malla Moitor, the tribal deity of the Tularmeta Hills—submitted a MEMORANDUM OF UNDERSTANDING (MoU) between the company and the village committee to the District Collector. Mining operations have now commenced. At first glance, however, the MoU appears weak. It states that the company will provide 10 per cent of its CSR allocation directly to the village committee. CSR and royalty, however, are entirely different concepts.

I hope the district administration will help draft a stronger agreement—one that provides the villagers with a defined share of royalty or a production-linked share of profits to create a permanent Village Development Fund. While the present MoU refers to routine labour benefits, it makes no commitment to guaranteed local employment or skill development. A village committee has been constituted to oversee mining operations, but the agreement is silent on what happens if the company ignores its recommendations.

In short, the MoU appears amateurish and requires considerable strengthening. For the moment, villagers are pleased that employment has come to their doorstep, sparing many of them the annual migration to Andhra Pradesh and Telangana in search of work. Yet the agreement does little to protect their long-term interests. Ironically, many social activists who could have contributed to strengthening the agreement remain occupied with protests and anti-mining padyatras (foot marches).

Somaru Kadti, an independently elected Zila Panchayat member from one of the affected villages, says: “Earlier, everyone opposed mining. Now, almost everyone in my area supports it. I don’t know whether they are right or wrong, but I could not join the protest rallies because I have to stand with my people. In fact, hardly anyone from the affected villages attended those rallies. Most participants came from outside our area.”

Soni Sori, one of the leading protesters, offers a different perspective: “When we opposed mining, we stood together. Now that some people support mining, that decision too should be taken collectively. Everyone from South Bastar—not just the people of Gumiapal—must decide because the Tularmeta Hills belong to all of us. People accuse me of taking money from the company, but what has really happened is that the company has succeeded in dividing the Adivasi community. That is the tragedy.”

The Gumiapal MoU should be viewed as a work in progress. Much remains to be improved. Yet it also offers a small ray of hope in the long-contested debate over mining reform in central India, where jhagra remains the defining reality. The current social and political context presents a historic opportunity—one that should be seized by building trust between Adivasi communities, mining companies and the state.

Mao launched the Great Leap Forward in China after the Communist Revolution. The campaign itself failed to deliver the economic transformation it promised during his lifetime, though China later emerged as a global manufacturing power under very different policies. Likewise, an absolute “no mining” position is unlikely to be a practical solution today. The Gumiapal MoU, despite all its shortcomings, may point towards something more achievable: better mining—mining that gradually expands ownership, benefits and decision-making power for local communities.

Can mining one day brighten the lives of Adivasis as dramatically as LED lights once brightened the life of Ganesh Uike? This question rings out alternatively loud and muffled in contemporary Chhattisgarh, even as the state copes with new social and political realities.

Courtesy: theaidem.com

The post A Small Leap Forward: Chhattisgarh, Mining, Democracy and Gumipal appeared first on SabrangIndia.

In Suman Molla v. State of West Bengal, the Calcutta High Court was asked to examine whether a person detained as an alleged Bangladeshi national had produced sufficient material to establish Indian citizenship. Rejecting a habeas corpus petition, the Division Bench of Justice Debangsu Basak and Justice Ajay Kumar Gupta held that documents such as Aadhaar cards, voter identity cards, PAN cards, bank records and ancestral land records, though important indicators of identity and residence, are not conclusive proof of citizenship. The judgment reinforces the statutory burden placed upon persons alleged to be foreigners while simultaneously illustrating how difficult that burden can become in practice, particularly for individuals whose lives have long been documented through the very instruments of the Indian State.

At its core, the dispute was not whether the State could regulate immigration or deport undocumented migrants. Rather, it concerned a more fundamental legal question: what must a detainee prove to establish Indian citizenship once the State alleges that they are a foreign national? The Court undertook a detailed examination of what constitutes legally acceptable proof of citizenship under Indian law, reiterating that citizenship cannot be inferred from possession of government-issued identity documents alone. Instead, the Court emphasized that citizenship must be established strictly in accordance with the Citizenship Act, 1955, and that when authorities allege a person to be a foreign national, the burden of disproving that allegation rests squarely upon the individual concerned.

Background

The habeas corpus petition was filed by the detainee’s relative, challenging the detention of a man who had been apprehended on June 18, 2026 after authorities concluded that he was a Bangladeshi national. The petitioner argued that the detention was illegal because the detainee’s citizenship remained under dispute following the 2026 Special Intensive Revision (SIR) of electoral rolls. According to the petition, the detainee had initially been placed “under adjudication” during the SIR exercise, his name had subsequently been deleted from the electoral roll, and an appeal against that deletion remained pending. Consequently, it was argued that the authorities could not proceed to detain him before the citizenship dispute had been finally resolved.

To establish Indian citizenship, the petitioner relied upon several documents, including:

• the detainee’s Voter Identity Card;
• Aadhaar Card;
• PAN Card;
• bank account records;
• ancestral land records; and
• the passport of the detainee’s paternal aunt.

The petitioner also relied upon the Supreme Court’s decision in Sabitri Dey @ Swasthi Dey v. Union of India to contend that a meaningful opportunity of hearing ought to have preceded the detention.

The State, however, maintained that the detainee had already been identified as a Bangladeshi national after inquiry, interrogation and verification, and had been detained in accordance with the Ministry of Home Affairs Circular dated May 2, 2025 governing deportation proceedings. It further informed the Court that the detainee had failed to produce any document capable of legally establishing Indian citizenship within the period prescribed under the circular.

“There is an acknowledgement on the part of the detainee that he is a Bangladeshi national. However, such acknowledgement was made when the detainee was in the detention centre.” (Para 19)

“There is no criminal proceedings initiated as against the detainee as on date. Without entering into the debate as to whether or not an admission of civil liability made while in detention will be visited with the same consequences as that of an admission made to the police while in custody in respect of the criminal proceeding, we propose to examine the documents and materials put forward by the detainee and the writ petitioner in support of the claim of Indian Citizenship of the detainee. Even if we are to apply the principle that, an admission made in the custody of the police 6 should be discarded, none the less, the onus of establishing citizenship remains with the detainee.” (Para 20)

Court’s reasoning

Citizenship cannot be proved merely through identity documents: The central question before the Bench was not whether the detainee possessed official identity documents, but whether those documents legally established citizenship under the Citizenship Act. The Court answered that question emphatically in the negative.

Examining each document individually, the Bench observed that a Voter Identity Card merely evidences enrolment in the electoral roll and is not conclusive proof of citizenship. That conclusion assumed greater significance in the present case because the detainee’s name had already been deleted from the electoral roll during the SIR process.

The Court further held that an Aadhaar Card does not certify citizenship, noting that Aadhaar is fundamentally an identity document linked to residence and not nationality. Likewise, a PAN Card merely facilitates tax administration and cannot establish citizenship. Even the opening or operation of a bank account does not prove that the account holder is an Indian citizen.

Similarly, ancestral land records, although relevant to ownership or lineage, do not establish the citizenship of descendants. Nor could the passport of the detainee’s paternal aunt conclusively prove his own nationality, since citizenship is an individual legal status that cannot be inferred solely from the citizenship of relatives without satisfying the statutory requirements governing acquisition by descent.

In doing so, the Court effectively distinguished between documents that establish identity or residence and documents capable of legally proving citizenship, observing that the former cannot automatically establish the latter.

“There is a Voter Identity Card of the detainee appearing at page 27 of the writ petition, AADHAAR Card at page 28, PAN Card issued by the Income Tax Department at page 29, a Pass book of United Bank of India from pages 30 to 35 of the writ petition.” (Para 38)

“Voter Identity Card is not a conclusive proof with regard to Indian Citizenship. It is evidence of enrolment of the detainee in the electoral roll. Name of the detainee stands deleted from the electoral roll in the SIR, 2026 process.” (Para 39)

“AADHAAR Card, cannot by itself be a conclusive proof of Indian citizen. So also a Permanent Account Number issued by the Income Tax Department. Opening of a Bank Account, by itself, again is not a proof of Indian citizenship.” (Para 40)

“Record of Rights of the great grand-father and the grand-father of the detainee are annexed to the writ petition. Again, those do not establish conclusively the Indian citizenship of the detainee.” (Para 41)

For millions of Indians, these are precisely the documents through which the State recognises their existence. They are required to open bank accounts, obtain welfare benefits, access government schemes, pay taxes, register property, secure employment and participate in elections. Yet, when citizenship itself becomes disputed, the Court holds that these very documents carry limited evidentiary value.

This legal distinction between identity recognised by the State and citizenship recognised by law may be doctrinally sound, but it also reveals the fragmented nature of India’s documentary architecture. Individuals often accumulate multiple layers of State-issued identification over decades without ever possessing a singular document conclusively proving citizenship. The judgment therefore reinforces a legal principle while simultaneously highlighting the evidentiary difficulties faced by persons accused of being foreigners.

Citizenship must be established under the Citizenship Act, 1955: Through the judgement, the Bench had emphasised that citizenship cannot be inferred from possession of identity documents. Instead, it must be established through one of the statutory modes recognised under the Citizenship Act, 1955.

The Court carefully analysed whether the detainee could claim citizenship by birth under Section 3, by descent under Section 4, or by registration under Section 5. It concluded that none of these routes had been satisfactorily demonstrated. No birth certificate or reliable proof of birth was produced to substantiate citizenship by birth. The claim of citizenship by descent failed because the documentary record contained inconsistencies regarding the detainee’s parentage and failed to establish the Indian citizenship of the relatives through whom descent was claimed. Citizenship by registration was never pleaded at all.

The Court was particularly critical of the manner in which the petition had been argued, observing that despite repeated opportunities, neither the petitioner nor the detainee identified the statutory provision under which citizenship was claimed. Instead of addressing the legal requirements of the Citizenship Act, the petition relied primarily upon documentary indicators of identity and residence.

“Neither the writ petitioner nor the detainee despite repeated opportunities being granted to them addressed the Court on the core issue of citizenship of the detainee. Queries of the Court as to under which provision of the Act of 1955 is the detainee a citizen of India is met with either stoic silence or thunderous utterances completely removed from the issue at hand, by the learned Advocate for the petitioner.” (Para 23)

This insistence on grounding every citizenship claim within the framework of the Citizenship Act is legally significant. It reinforces that citizenship disputes cannot be resolved through broad assertions of long residence or possession of government documents alone; they must satisfy the statutory conditions prescribed by Parliament.

Yet this approach also raises broader concerns. In practice, many citizenship disputes arise precisely because documentary trails spanning several decades are incomplete, inconsistent or unavailable. Particularly in border regions and among economically vulnerable populations, births frequently went unregistered, family records remain fragmented and documentary continuity across generations is difficult to establish. By requiring claimants to trace citizenship strictly through statutory categories while simultaneously according limited evidentiary value to commonly held documents, the threshold for proving citizenship becomes considerably more demanding. Whether such a standard strikes the appropriate balance between sovereign control over immigration and protection against erroneous detention is a question that extends well beyond the facts of this individual case.

The burden of proof survives the transition from the Foreigners Act to the Immigration and Foreigners Act: The second major contribution of the judgment lies in its treatment of the burden of proof under the newly enacted Immigration and Foreigners Act, 2025. Although the legislation repealed the Foreigners Act, 1946, the Court makes it abundantly clear that the fundamental evidentiary principle governing foreigners’ proceedings has remained unchanged—the person alleged to be a foreign national bear the burden of proving otherwise.

The Court located this burden in Section 16 of the Immigration and Foreigners Act, 2025, observing that once the Indian authorities allege that a detained person is a foreign national, “the onus is on the detainee to establish his or her nationality.” The Bench noted that the detention had been effected pursuant to the Ministry of Home Affairs Circular dated 2 May 2025, which lays down the procedure for apprehension and deportation of illegally staying foreign nationals.

“When Indian authorities alleged that, a person detained is a foreign national, the onus is on the detainee to establish his or her nationality. This is so by reason of Section 16 of the Immigration and Foreigners Act, 1946.” (Para 12)

Importantly, neither the validity of the Circular nor the procedure prescribed therein had been challenged by the petitioner. In the absence of such a challenge, the Court confined itself to examining whether the authorities had acted within the framework of the Circular, ultimately concluding that they had.

This aspect of the judgment is significant because it effectively signals judicial continuity despite legislative change. While the statutory framework has shifted from the Foreigners Act, 1946 to the Immigration and Foreigners Act, 2025, the Court treats the burden of proof as having been substantially carried forward into the new regime.

In doing so, however, the judgment raises a larger constitutional question. The allocation of the burden of proof has long distinguished foreigners’ law from ordinary civil and criminal proceedings. In most legal disputes, the party making an allegation must establish it. Foreigners legislation reverses that position. Once the executive forms the view that an individual is a foreign national, it is the individual who must prove Indian citizenship. This reverse burden has historically been justified on the basis that facts concerning one’s birth, parentage, family lineage and migration history lie within the “special knowledge” of the individual concerned. The Calcutta High Court adopts precisely this rationale.

Inconsistencies in the petition weakened the claim: Apart from deficiencies in documentary evidence, the Bench found significant inconsistencies in the petitioner’s own case. While the police complaint described the petitioner as the detainee’s cousin, the writ petition claimed he was the detainee’s uncle. The Court also found the assertion that the petitioner had raised the detainee after his father’s death to be implausible, noting that the petitioner himself was only 38 years old whereas the detainee claimed to be 46.

The Bench further recorded that despite repeated opportunities, neither the petitioner nor the detainee disclosed the burial place of the detainee’s parents, even after the Court indicated that such information could facilitate DNA testing to establish lineage. Their refusal prompted the Court to draw an adverse inference against the claim that the parents were Indian citizens. These inconsistencies, according to the Court, further eroded the credibility of the petitioner’s assertions regarding the detainee’s citizenship.

The Court’s reliance on Sabitri Dey: A part of the petitioner’s argument rested on the Supreme Court’s recent decision in Sabitri Dey @ Swasthi Dey v. Union of India, where the Court had underscored the importance of procedural fairness in foreigners’ proceedings in Assam. The petitioner argued that the detainee ought not to have been detained before his citizenship claim had been adjudicated and relied upon Sabitri Dey to contend that an opportunity of hearing was an indispensable safeguard before coercive action could be taken.

The Calcutta High Court, however, distinguished the decision rather than applying it directly. It observed that Sabitri Dey arose under an entirely different statutory framework—the Foreigners Act, 1946 read with the Foreigners (Tribunals) Order, 1964, which governed proceedings before Foreigners Tribunals in Assam. That regime, the Court noted, involved formal adjudication before specialised tribunals and was therefore materially different from the procedure presently being followed under the Immigration and Foreigners Act, 2025 and the MHA Circular dated May 2, 2025. Nevertheless, the Court did not reject the principles articulated by the Supreme Court altogether.

On the contrary, it expressly acknowledged that Sabitri Dey reaffirmed an important proposition that although the burden of proof rests upon the proceedee, the adjudicatory authority is not relieved of its obligation to conduct a lawful adjudication. The Bench recognised that the Supreme Court had interpreted Section 9 of the Foreigners Act as operating alongside ordinary evidentiary principles, placing the burden upon the person proceeded against because matters such as birth, parentage, residence and family history ordinarily remain within that person’s special knowledge.

A detailed report on the Sabitri Dey judgment may be read here.

Yet, having acknowledged these principles, the Court concluded that they did not assist the petitioner because the challenge before it was fundamentally different. The present detention had been carried out under the new statutory framework; the applicable MHA Circular itself had not been challenged; and there was no allegation that the authorities had departed from the procedure prescribed therein.

The distinction is legally coherent. However, it also leaves certain constitutional questions unresolved. The Supreme Court’s observations in Sabitri Dey were not confined merely to the procedural architecture of Assam’s Foreigners Tribunals. They reflected broader constitutional concerns regarding fairness where questions of citizenship carry the gravest of consequences—loss of liberty, detention and eventual deportation. Those concerns do not disappear merely because Parliament has enacted a new immigration statute. Indeed, one may argue that the repeal of the Foreigners Act does not diminish the constitutional obligation to ensure that executive determinations of nationality remain subject to meaningful procedural safeguards.

An impossibly high evidentiary threshold?

Perhaps the most striking aspect of the judgment is not its reiteration that Aadhaar, PAN or Voter ID are not conclusive proof of citizenship, that proposition has long been accepted in law, but its treatment of the cumulative evidentiary value of multiple public documents.

The petitioner did not rely upon a single document. Instead, the record contained an array of government-issued and historical documents: a Voter Identity Card, Aadhaar Card, PAN Card, bank account records, ancestral land records, and the passport of a close blood relative. Yet the Court held that none of these documents, whether considered individually or collectively, established citizenship.

This raises an important evidentiary question. While each document may not independently prove citizenship, should courts entirely discount the probative value arising from their cumulative existence?

The Bench correctly reiterates a settled proposition that identity documents are not citizenship documents. Legally, Aadhaar establishes identity and residence, PAN facilitates taxation, while the Voter ID merely evidences electoral enrolment. None is issued after a formal determination of citizenship.

However, in practical governance, these documents are issued by different State authorities after varying levels of verification. When an individual has simultaneously been recognised by electoral authorities, tax authorities, banking institutions and other public agencies over a prolonged period, those records may not conclusively establish citizenship, but they do create a significant evidentiary narrative that deserves weight. By treating every document as legally irrelevant once citizenship is questioned, the Court risks reducing decades of governmental recognition to virtually no evidentiary value.

The burden of proof may become nearly impossible to discharge

The Court places considerable emphasis on the statutory burden under the Immigration and Foreigners Act, 2025, holding that once authorities allege that an individual is a foreign national, the burden shifts to that individual to establish Indian citizenship.

However, in India, birth registrations were not uniformly maintained across rural India, particularly before universal civil registration became commonplace. Land records may be incomplete, names frequently vary across official records, and multiple generations may never have possessed formal documentary proof of citizenship. Against that backdrop, if voter registration, Aadhaar, PAN, banking records, ancestral property records and even close relatives’ documents are all held insufficient, the question naturally arises: what evidence would realistically satisfy the burden?

The Court also found inconsistencies regarding the petitioner’s relationship with the detainee, discrepancies in the father’s name across documents, and the inability to identify the burial place of the detainee’s parents, drawing adverse inferences from these circumstances. Those inconsistencies undoubtedly weakened the petitioner’s case. Yet the reasoning also reflects an expectation of documentary precision that may not always align with Indian administrative realities.

Minor spelling variations, inconsistent recording of names across generations, differing descriptions of familial relationships and gaps in historical records are hardly uncommon in citizenship litigation. Courts have repeatedly recognised such inconsistencies in other contexts without treating them as determinative. Viewed through that lens, the judgment arguably privileges documentary consistency over the broader social realities of record-keeping in India.

Detailed reports of small errors costing people their citizenship may be read here and here.

Interestingly, the Court distinguishes the Supreme Court’s decision in Sabitri Dey primarily because it arose under a different statutory framework. However, Sabitri Dey was not merely about the Foreigners Act—it also reaffirmed the broader constitutional requirement that nationality determinations affecting liberty must be undertaken through fair and meaningful procedures.

The judgment therefore raises a larger constitutional question that extends beyond the facts of this case: when the State itself has, over decades, repeatedly recognised an individual through various statutory systems, should those recognitions collectively carry greater evidentiary weight in citizenship adjudication, even if none is independently conclusive?

The complete judgment may be read below:

Related:

SC remands 27 citizenship cases, reaffirms constitutional fairness

Gauhati High Court upholds foreigner declaration, rejects mental illness plea

Abdul Sheikh Citizenship Case: Gauhati High Court issues notice, continues protection against deportation

“All I Wanted Was Peace”: How 55-year-old widow Aklima Sarkar won back her citizenship

Defending Citizenship, On the Ground | CJP Assam 2025

From Despair to Dignity: How CJP helped Elachan Bibi win back her identity, prove her citizenship

The post The Citizenship Proof Paradox: Calcutta HC holds Aadhaar, Voter ID and PAN cannot prove citizenship, burden on detainee appeared first on SabrangIndia.