Demonstrations in areas including Chaityabhoomi, Dadar and Shivaji Park were met with heavy police deployment, barricading and preventive action. While the police maintained that the gatherings were unauthorised and necessary measures were taken to prevent breaches of peace, protesters alleged that peaceful demonstrations were being criminalised through detentions and legal proceedings.

The movement of youth, that began with a call from the newly formed Cockroach Janata Party (CJP) has been amplified from the start by youth with no affiliation, youth associated with the CPI’s All India Students Federation, CPI-M’s SFI and AISA. Begun as as a youth-led protest against alleged irregularities in competitive examinations, including the NEET-UG controversy, has expanded into a broader demand for accountability, education reforms and responsibility from authorities over repeated failures affecting students. The events in Mumbai have now shifted attention to a larger question: whether administrative restrictions and criminal law are being used proportionately to regulate public protest.

Detailed piece on the Delhi protest and the excessive state action may be read here.

Mumbai Police impose prohibitory orders amid protests

On July 20, the Mumbai Police issued orders prohibiting assemblies of five or more persons in public places across the city from July 23 to August 6. The order also restricted processions, use of loudspeakers, musical instruments and other forms of public gatherings, citing apprehensions of breach of peace and disturbance to public tranquillity.

According to a report by The Economic Times, the restrictions were imposed shortly after a protest organised by the Sharad Pawar-led Nationalist Congress Party (SP) outside Mumbai University against the police action during the Student-CJP’s march to Parliament and Wangchuk’s removal from Jantar Mantar.

The police order invoked concerns of maintaining public order, but the timing of the restrictions, coming immediately after protests against police action in Delhi, raised concerns among civil society groups over whether broad preventive measures were being used to restrict constitutionally protected forms of dissent. The restrictions were imposed under the jurisdiction of the Mumbai Police Commissioner and remained applicable from midnight of July 23 until August 6.

Chaityabhoomi protests: Hundreds detained, FIRs registered

On July 20, hundreds of students and activists gathered near Chaityabhoomi in Dadar to express solidarity with the CJP movement and protest against alleged examination irregularities and the handling of Wangchuk’s hunger strike.

According to The Indian Express, the protest was organised under the banner of Mumbai Against Suppression of Students (MASS), with participation from student organisations including the Students’ Federation of India (SFI), All India Students’ Federation (AISF), Aamchi Padhai Aamchi Ladai and other youth groups. Protesters demanded accountability over alleged NEET irregularities and the resignation of Education Minister Dharmendra Pradhan.

Police barricaded roads leading towards Chaityabhoomi and detained protesters attempting to reach the site. Organisers claimed that around 200 people were detained and taken to different police stations, including Sion, Dadar, Mahim and Worli.

Image: freepressjournal.in

The police, however, maintained that no permission had been granted for the protest. Deputy Commissioner of Police Mahendra Pandit stated that since the gathering proceeded despite denial of permission, action under law was being initiated.

The detentions were criticised by protesters, who alleged that peaceful demonstrators were prevented from exercising their right to assemble. Several participants told the media that they were detained despite carrying placards and raising slogans peacefully.

A protester quoted by The Indian Express said that students were demanding accountability over repeated examination failures and alleged that instead of addressing their concerns, authorities were detaining those raising questions.

FIRs against protesters and organisers

Following the protests, Mumbai Police registered multiple FIRs against demonstrators. The Indian Express reported that cases were registered against more than 900 people in connection with protests across Mumbai, including the largest FIR at Shivaji Park Police Station where over 600 protesters were named.

The FIRs invoked provisions of the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita (BNS) and Bharatiya Nagarik Suraksha Sanhita (BNSS) relating to unlawful assembly, disobedience of orders issued by public servants and obstruction of officials performing their duties. The police said they were examining CCTV footage, drone visuals and videos recorded during demonstrations to identify more participants.

Separately, Scroll reported that Mumbai Police registered three FIRs against more than 50 protesters following a solidarity demonstration near Chaityabhoomi. The cases invoked provisions relating to unlawful assembly, violation of prohibitory orders and offences under the Maharashtra Police Act.

The police argued that the protests were unauthorised and that restrictions were already in place. Protesters, however, questioned whether requiring prior permission could become a mechanism to prevent any inconvenient public mobilisation.

Image: indianexpress.com

Shivaji Park protest and political participation

The police action followed an earlier gathering at Shivaji Park on July 19, where hundreds assembled after Wangchuk’s removal from Jantar Mantar. The protest saw participation from Shiv Sena (UBT) president Uddhav Thackeray, who expressed solidarity with the movement and criticised the government’s handling of the agitation.

The Mumbai Police registered a case against organisers of the Shivaji Park gathering, stating that no permission had been granted for the demonstration. The Indian Express reported that the FIR was registered for alleged unlawful assembly. Police also registered cases linked to earlier demonstrations near Mantralaya and the Press Club, including against political workers and activists.

Notices issued to some detainees, while others await intimation

Following the detentions during the Mumbai protests, the legal status of several participants remained unclear. Those detained at Kalachowki Police Station were issued notice intimations under Section 35(3) of the Bharatiya Nagarik Suraksha Sanhita (BNSS), requiring them to comply with procedural requirements, though they were not called to the police station on the day of issuance.

Meanwhile, detainees taken to Worli Police Station had not received any such notices at the time of reporting. The absence of uniform communication regarding the legal status of those detained has added to concerns among protesters and organisers over the manner in which preventive action was carried out.

A heavy police presence was also reported near the water tank area close to Byculla railway station, with police vehicles stationed in the vicinity, indicating continued monitoring and deployment following the protests.

Claims of suppression and the constitutional question

The escalation in Mumbai followed the Delhi Police action during the CJP’s “Chalo Sansad” march on July 20, where protesters attempting to move towards Parliament were dispersed using tear gas and batons. The Delhi action became a flashpoint, with videos circulating online showing police using force against demonstrators.

In Mumbai, organisations involved in the supportive protests, criticised the detentions, stating on social media that peaceful protest was a democratic right and accusing authorities of attempting to suppress a youth movement. The organisation’s founder Abhijeet Dipke also apologised to injured supporters following clashes in Delhi and alleged that protesters, including women participants, faced excessive force.

The Maharashtra government, however, defended police action. Chief Minister Devendra Fadnavis said peaceful protests were constitutionally protected but argued that demonstrations without permission or those involving violence could not be accepted. He also alleged that some groups had attempted to use the agitation for unrelated political purposes, as per the Mid-Day report.

Political protests over police action

The police response itself became a subject of protest. The Sharad Pawar-led NCP (SP) organised a demonstration outside Mumbai University, condemning the action against CJP protesters in Delhi and Mumbai. Party leaders demanded the resignation of Education Minister Dharmendra Pradhan over alleged examination failures and paper leaks.

According to reports carried by Telangana Today, NCP (SP) leaders accused authorities of suppressing democratic dissent and warned that youth movements would continue if accountability was not addressed.

A widening conflict over protest rights

The police response in Mumbai has brought into focus a familiar pattern in the State’s approach to dissent: administrative restrictions, preventive policing and criminal proceedings deployed before protests can fully unfold. While authorities have justified their actions on grounds of maintaining public order and enforcing permission requirements, the cumulative effect of prohibitory orders, mass detentions, extensive police deployment and multiple FIRs has been to significantly curtail public assembly.

At the heart of the issue is not simply whether permission was obtained for individual protests, but whether procedural requirements are increasingly being used to make the exercise of the constitutional right to peaceful assembly contingent on executive approval. When preventive detention, criminal prosecution and citywide restrictions become the primary response to peaceful mobilisation, the space for democratic dissent inevitably narrows.

What began as a youth-led movement demanding accountability for repeated failures in India’s examination system has, through the State’s response, become a wider test of democratic freedoms. The questions raised by students over examination integrity now sit alongside equally pressing questions about whether governments are responding to public criticism through engagement or through policing. As solidarity protests continue to attract criminal cases and heightened surveillance, the debate is no longer confined to education reforms—it is increasingly about whether constitutional rights can be meaningfully exercised when peaceful protest itself is treated as a law-and-order threat.

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The post Brute Police Action: Mumbai’s crackdown on protestors in solidarity with CJP & Student Groups, AISF, SFI & AISA appeared first on SabrangIndia.

JUST IN | Massive crowds several thousands strong gathered at Jantar Mantar as mobile internet was shut down in parts of central Delhi. Protesters have had sporadic clashes with authorities according to emerging visuals. Even as security forces tried to hold the crowds at bay,… pic.twitter.com/PBgnPpefiZ

— The Hindu (@the_hindu) July 20, 2026

Visuals from the CJP protest at Jantar Mantar.

Tensions escalated as police moved in on protesters. These are moments captured from the ground, documenting the events as they unfolded.
Video: @nvm_nissss #JantarMantar #CJP #Delhi #GroundReport pic.twitter.com/CdukMeUcoa

— Velox India (@VeloxIndia) July 20, 2026

Protestors gather at the Jantar Mantar, in Delhi, as Cockroach Janta Party aims march to Parliament on July 20, 2026, to press for education reforms.

Meanwhile, no permission has been granted for the march planned by the CJP to Parliament on July 20, when both houses will… pic.twitter.com/Gxmg0A763T

— The Hindu (@the_hindu) July 20, 2026

The day unfolded against the backdrop of an intensifying political and legal battle. Sonam Wangchuk, who had become one of the most prominent face of the agitation, remained on hunger strike under medical supervision at Safdarjung Hospital after being removed from Jantar Mantar on July 18. Even after his hospitalisation, Wangchuk stated that he would continue his fast until the government took accountability for recent failures in the education system, particularly alleged examination irregularities and question paper leaks, or until elected representatives assured him that the issues would be raised in Parliament.

Alongside Sonam Wangchuk’s fast, the protest also witnessed a sustained hunger strike by student activists associated with the All India Students’ Association (AISA). Three students,  Neha, Manish and Aameen, continued their indefinite fast in solidarity with the wider movement, highlighting the direct impact that examination failures have had on young aspirants. Their protest lasted 23 days before they decided to conclude the fast on July 20 following an appeal from a delegation comprising parliamentarians, civil society representatives and public figures, who urged them to continue the struggle through parliamentary intervention and public campaigns.

Meanwhile, as protesters attempted to march towards Parliament, Delhi witnessed a major security mobilisation, with barricades, police deployment, paramilitary forces and restrictions on movement around central areas. Reports of state violence, allegations of force against protesters and the police denial of such allegations intensified the debate over the State’s handling of peaceful dissent. The administration justified its actions on grounds of public order and Parliament security, while protesters argued that preventive restrictions were being used to silence a movement demanding accountability.

And it has finally begun.

Security personnel using lathicharge to disperse crowd at CJP protest in Delhi. pic.twitter.com/JYTNKLq0Tj

— Piyush Rai (@Benarasiyaa) July 20, 2026

#WATCH | Delhi | Protesters gathered for CJP’s protest march clash with RPF personnel at Jantar Mantar; RPF personnel & police use lathis for crowd control pic.twitter.com/gijaCjJksW

— ANI (@ANI) July 20, 2026

VIDEO | CJP March: Protesters run amok, riot control units fire teargas near Patel Chowk.

(Full video available on PTI Videos – https://t.co/n147TvrpG7) pic.twitter.com/P5E5ATteiT

— Press Trust of India (@PTI_News) July 20, 2026

Delhi : Security intensified outside Parliament amid CJP protest and threats from the protesters. pic.twitter.com/QUSNG2DDY4

— News Arena India (@NewsArenaIndia) July 20, 2026

The developments of July 20 therefore marked a decisive moment in the agitation. What began as a demand from students for answers over the credibility of India’s examination system had evolved into a larger constitutional contest — involving the right to peaceful protest, the State’s power to regulate public assemblies, the autonomy of an individual undertaking a hunger strike, and the responsibility of democratic institutions to respond to public grievances.

The Origins: A movement born out of the NEET crisis

The immediate trigger for the mobilisation was the controversy surrounding the NEET-UG 2026 examination held on May 3, 2026. Allegations of a paper leak and compromise of examination integrity led the National Testing Agency to cancel the examination on May 12, 2026 and announce a fresh examination, which was subsequently conducted on June 21, 2026.

The National Eligibility-cum-Entrance Test (NEET-UG) determines admission to medical colleges across the country and is viewed by lakhs of aspirants as a decisive examination shaping their academic and professional future. Allegations of malpractice and procedural failures therefore generated widespread anger among students, parents and civil society groups who questioned whether the examination system had failed to protect fairness and merit.

The controversy acquired a deeper human dimension as reports emerged of severe distress among students, including suicides allegedly linked to examination-related pressures and uncertainty surrounding the results. For many protesters, the issue was not limited to a single examination irregularity but reflected a larger crisis of accountability in India’s competitive examination system.

Against this backdrop, students and civil society groups began mobilising, demanding transparency, an impartial investigation into the alleged irregularities, accountability of those responsible, and measures to restore confidence in the examination process.

The movement found a visible presence at Jantar Mantar, a historic site of democratic protest in New Delhi. Located within close proximity to Parliament, Jantar Mantar has for decades served as a space where citizens, students, workers and civil society organisations have brought grievances directly into the public sphere.

For the protesters, gathering at Jantar Mantar was not merely an act of demonstration. It represented a constitutional appeal to the State — a demand that institutions responsible for administering examinations affecting millions of young people must answer questions of fairness, transparency and accountability.

Sonam Wangchuk enters the movement

Sonam Wangchuk’s decision to join the protest brought further national attention to a mobilisation that had already grown into a significant movement involving students, parents, civil society groups and supporters across the country. His decision to begin an indefinite hunger strike at Jantar Mantar on June 28, 2026 became one of the defining moment in the agitation. Wangchuk stated that his fast was aimed at securing accountability for recent failures affecting students, including alleged examination irregularities and question paper leaks. However, the articulation of his demands evolved during the course of the protest. While the wider CJP-led mobilisation had prominently raised the demand for the resignation of Union Education Minister Dharmendra Pradhan, Wangchuk’s later conditions for ending the fast focused primarily on government acknowledgement of failures in the education system, parliamentary discussion on education accountability, and assurances from elected representatives that reforms would be taken up.

His entry into the agitation was significant because hunger strikes in India carry a long political and constitutional history. From Mahatma Gandhi’s satyagrahas to later public movements, fasting has frequently been used as a method of moral persuasion rather than physical confrontation.

Wangchuk began his indefinite hunger strike on June 28, 2026, at Jantar Mantar. According to Indian Express reports, he continued the fast for more than 21 days, maintaining that his objective was to compel political accountability rather than engage in confrontation with the State.  His decision immediately elevated the visibility of the protest. Supporters viewed the hunger strike as an expression of Gandhian resistance — a voluntary sacrifice intended to draw attention to institutional failure.

The government’s response, however, increasingly centred around a different concern: the deterioration of Wangchuk’s health and the State’s responsibility to prevent serious medical harm. That conflict would eventually become the central legal issue before the Delhi High Court.

Three Weeks of Escalation: From local protest to national attention

For nearly three weeks, the protest site at Jantar Mantar gradually became a focal point of public mobilisation. The early phase was marked by daily gatherings, student participation, speeches and solidarity visits. Over time, the presence of Wangchuk’s hunger strike attracted wider attention from civil society groups, public personalities and political figures.

The movement’s messaging expanded beyond the immediate examination controversy. It increasingly raised questions about:

• accountability of public institutions;
• transparency in governance;
• the treatment of students affected by systemic failures;
• the responsiveness of elected representatives.

The symbolism of an elderly activist undertaking a prolonged fast outside Parliament added further political weight. By mid-July, the protest had become a significant public mobilisation rather than an isolated demonstration. Media reports noted that supporters had planned a march towards Parliament during the Monsoon Session, increasing administrative concern over crowd management and law-and-order issues.

The State’s Intervention: From silence to medical enforcement

As Sonam Wangchuk’s indefinite hunger strike entered its third week, the nature of the State’s response came under increasing scrutiny. The protest was not merely about the continuation of a fast; it was rooted in demands for accountability over the NEET examination crisis, alleged failures in ensuring the integrity of the examination process, and the distress faced by thousands of students whose academic futures had been affected.

During the initial phase of the protest, the authorities did not undertake any visible intervention to address these larger concerns or engage meaningfully with the demands being raised by students and civil society groups. Despite Wangchuk’s prolonged fast at Jantar Mantar and growing public attention, the administration did not immediately attempt to remove him from the protest site or directly intervene in the course of the agitation.

The State’s intervention came later, primarily through the lens of Wangchuk’s health condition. This shift — from limited engagement with the substantive demands of the movement to active intervention on medical grounds — became one of the central issues of contestation before the Delhi High Court.

Instead of directly interacting with the protester, the matter reached the Delhi High Court through proceedings concerning medical monitoring of Wangchuk’s condition. The Court’s intervention at that stage was limited: it sought to ensure that his health was being regularly monitored and that necessary medical assistance remained available. Crucially, the Court did not direct the termination of the hunger strike. It did not authorise the forcible removal of Wangchuk from Jantar Mantar or permit the State to override his expressed choice regarding the continuation of his protest.

The petitioners later argued that the administration transformed a limited judicial direction regarding medical supervision into a justification for a far more intrusive action — physically removing Wangchuk from the protest site and shifting him to a hospital against the wishes of those supporting the protest. The controversy therefore was not merely about medical care; it was about the scope of executive power.

The July 18: Removal from Jantar Mantar

On July 18, after Wangchuk had completed more than three weeks of fasting, Delhi Police removed him from the Jantar Mantar protest site and shifted him to Safdarjung Hospital. The police justified the action on medical grounds, stating that Wangchuk’s condition had deteriorated and that the intervention was undertaken to protect his health. Reports by The Indian Express stated that police relied on medical advice and referred to the earlier proceedings before the Delhi High Court while explaining the decision. However, the manner of the removal became the immediate subject of controversy.

Protesters alleged that the police action amounted to the forced removal of a peaceful demonstrator and argued that the State had used health concerns as a justification to break up the protest. Visuals from the site showed heavy police presence and officers surrounding Wangchuk during the transfer, leading supporters to allege the use of unnecessary force. The police disputed these allegations, maintaining that the action was carried out with restraint and that intervention became necessary after resistance from protesters.

The State defended its actions on the ground that it was not attempting to suppress dissent but fulfilling its constitutional obligation to protect life. According to the authorities, once medical concerns became serious, allowing the fast to continue without intervention would have amounted to neglect of a citizen’s welfare. The protesters, however, viewed the intervention differently.

They argued that Wangchuk was a consenting adult exercising a political choice and that the State had converted a concern for health into an instrument to interrupt a lawful protest. In their view, the right to peaceful dissent includes the freedom to choose the form and intensity of protest, including voluntary fasting.

The dispute therefore brought three constitutional guarantees into direct tension:

• Article 19(1)(a): the freedom of speech and expression, which includes political communication and dissent;
• Article 19(1)(b): the right to assemble peacefully;
• Article 21: the right to life and personal liberty, which includes bodily autonomy and decisional freedom.

The question before the Court was not whether the State valued life. The question was whether the State could protect life by overriding the very autonomy that constitutional liberty seeks to preserve.

July 19: Gitanjali Angmo’s moves Delhi HC to challenge state overreach

After Wangchuk was shifted to hospital, Dr Gitanjali Angmo approached the Delhi High Court challenging the manner in which he was removed from Jantar Mantar. As per LiveLaw, the petition raised several concerns:

• alleged use of force by police;
• denial of access to family members, lawyers and preferred doctors;
• shifting Wangchuk to a medical facility without his consent;
• interference with his choice of medical treatment;
• violation of bodily autonomy.

The petition did not argue that the State had no interest in Wangchuk’s health.

Rather, it questioned whether that interest could override an adult citizen’s voluntary decision regarding his own body. The constitutional argument was anchored in the Supreme Court’s evolving jurisprudence on privacy and autonomy. In Justice K.S. Puttaswamy (Retd.) v Union of India, the Supreme Court recognised privacy as intrinsic to liberty under Article 21, including decisional autonomy and the ability of individuals to make personal choices.

The petitioners argued that this principle extended to the choice of undertaking a hunger strike — a method of political expression historically associated with non-violent resistance. Appearing for Dr Angmo, senior advocate Kapil Sibal argued that the State could not convert concern for health into a justification for overriding individual autonomy. As per Livelaw, his submission was that Wangchuk was a conscious adult who had voluntarily chosen the method of protest. The issue, he argued, was not whether fasting was medically advisable. The issue was whether the State could impose its own assessment of an individual’s welfare over that individual’s own decision.

Sibal questioned the circumstances surrounding Wangchuk’s removal from Jantar Mantar and argued that a peaceful protester could not be treated as someone incapable of making decisions merely because the State disagreed with those decisions.

The argument placed the case within the broader constitutional debate surrounding:

• informed consent;
• medical autonomy;
• dignity under Article 21;
• the right to dissent.

The petitioners emphasised that democratic rights become meaningful precisely when citizens are allowed to adopt unpopular or inconvenient forms of protest.

The state’s position: Representing the government, the Additional Solicitor General (ASG) defended the police action. The State’s position was that the removal was not an attempt to suppress the protest but a necessary intervention to protect Wangchuk’s life. The ASG argued that the authorities were acting on medical advice and that the State could not remain passive when a person’s health was deteriorating after an extended fast. The government’s argument rested on a different understanding of Article 21.

While the petitioners relied on Article 21 as a guarantee of autonomy and choice, the State relied on Article 21 as imposing a positive obligation to protect life.

The government’s submission effectively was: A citizen’s autonomy is important, but the State cannot ignore a situation where there is a serious risk to life.

The court’s balancing act: The proceedings before Justice Mini Pushkarna exposed a difficult constitutional contradiction: a State that claims to protect life may, in doing so, risk undermining the very liberty that gives democratic protest its meaning.

The central issue before the Court was not simply whether Sonam Wangchuk required medical attention. It was whether the State could use concern for his health as a basis to override the choice of an adult citizen who had voluntarily adopted hunger strike as a form of political expression.

The petitioners’ argument went to the heart of the controversy — that the State had not acted with the same urgency when the protesters were demanding accountability over the NEET examination crisis, but became interventionist when it sought to regulate the manner in which that protest was being conducted. The grievance was not that the State cared about Wangchuk’s health; it was that the State appeared willing to engage with the physical consequences of the protest while remaining unresponsive to the institutional failures that had triggered it.

A crucial aspect of the challenge was the alleged expansion of the Delhi High Court’s earlier order. The Court’s initial intervention was limited to ensuring medical monitoring of Wangchuk’s condition. It did not direct that the hunger strike be discontinued, nor did it authorise the forcible removal of the protester from Jantar Mantar. The petitioners argued that the administration effectively converted a judicial direction intended as a safeguard into a justification for coercive State action.

The Court, however, accepted the State’s explanation that shifting Wangchuk to hospital was not arbitrary in the circumstances. It recognised that a prolonged hunger strike carries genuine medical risks and that the State cannot be expected to remain a passive observer when a person’s health is seriously compromised. Yet, this reasoning raises a larger constitutional concern.

If the State can intervene whenever it believes that an individual is making a self-harming political choice, the boundary between protection and paternalism becomes dangerously blurred. Democratic dissent is rarely comfortable. Protest movements often involve inconvenience, sacrifice and personal hardship. The constitutional protection of protest cannot depend upon whether the State considers the method of protest reasonable, appropriate or medically advisable.

A hunger strike is fundamentally different from violent or disruptive forms of protest. Its political force lies in voluntary self-denial. The protester does not impose physical harm upon others; instead, the protester places their own body at the centre of political communication. Historically, hunger strikes have been used precisely because conventional channels of accountability have failed or have been perceived to have failed.

The constitutional difficulty, therefore, was not whether the State had an interest in preserving life. It undoubtedly does. The more difficult question was whether the State could preserve life by overriding a conscious political choice made by an informed adult citizen. The controversy surrounding the administration of potassium during Wangchuk’s hospitalisation further exposed this tension. Medical intervention in such circumstances cannot be treated as a purely clinical matter. When a person’s medical condition is directly connected to an act of political protest, questions of consent, autonomy and transparency become inseparable from questions of healthcare.

The petitioners’ concern was not merely about the treatment administered. It was about who retained control over decisions affecting Wangchuk’s body after the State intervened. The State maintained that medical decisions were taken on professional advice and in response to his condition. However, the episode demonstrated the constitutional risks that arise when State power enters the doctor-patient relationship. A person does not surrender bodily autonomy merely because they become a patient.

The concerns regarding access to family members, lawyers and independent medical opinion raised an equally important issue. Wangchuk was not a person detained under criminal law. He had not been deprived of liberty through any judicial process. He was a citizen who had been participating in a public protest and was subsequently removed by State action.

In such circumstances, a hospital cannot become a space where constitutional protections are diluted. Medical care cannot operate as a zone of reduced liberty where communication, consultation and independent oversight become matters of administrative discretion.

The Court’s final approach reflected an attempt at compromise. It refused to hold the State action arbitrary and accepted the government’s justification for hospitalisation. At the same time, it did not recognise an unlimited State power to interfere with protest or personal choice. However, the larger constitutional question remains unresolved.

The danger in cases such as these is not always overt suppression of dissent. It is the possibility of a softer form of restriction — where the language of welfare, safety and protection gradually becomes a justification for limiting inconvenient political expression. Article 19 protects not only popular speech but also uncomfortable dissent. Article 21 protects not only life but also autonomy, dignity and the freedom to make personal choices. A constitutional democracy must therefore ask not merely whether State intervention is well-intentioned, but whether it is proportionate and necessary.

The Wangchuk litigation ultimately leaves behind a fundamental question: When a citizen uses their own body as the instrument of protest, does the State’s duty to protect life permit intervention — or does such intervention risk transforming protection into control?

The complete order may be viewed here:

July 20: The protest moves towards parliament

While the legal challenge over Sonam Wangchuk’s removal from Jantar Mantar was being argued before the Delhi High Court, the movement on the ground entered a new phase. The protest, which had begun around demands for accountability over the NEET examination crisis, had by then grown into a larger mobilisation involving students, civil society groups and supporters from across the country. The proposed “Chalo Sansad” march on July 20, 2026 was intended to take these demands directly to Parliament, with protesters seeking accountability over alleged examination irregularities and demanding the resignation of Union Education Minister Dharmendra Pradhan.

The choice of destination was deeply symbolic. For the protesters, Parliament represented the institution answerable to citizens. The march was projected not as an attempt to obstruct legislative functioning, but as an assertion of the democratic right to place grievances before elected representatives. However, for the administration, the timing of the march — coinciding with the opening day of Parliament’s Monsoon Session — raised concerns regarding security, crowd management and the protection of high-security government installations.

By the evening of July 19, the hours preceding the march saw central Delhi transformed into a heavily controlled zone. Reporting from The Indian Express described Jantar Mantar as witnessing an unprecedented security build-up, with riot-control vehicles, barricades and large deployments of Delhi Police personnel across key areas of the capital. IE reported that more than 1,200 Delhi Police personnel were deployed around VIP areas and Delhi borders, while additional forces were positioned around Parliament and routes leading to it.

According to The Indian Express, the protest site was overflowing with students and supporters, with footpaths lined with tents housing those who had joined the hunger strike for days and weeks. Protesters gathered under banners and slogans, while volunteers prepared for the next day’s march. CJP founder Abhijeet Dipke appealed for discipline and repeatedly emphasised that the success of the protest depended on maintaining peace, conveying a message reportedly also given by Sonam Wangchuk from hospital.

The administration, however, treated the proposed march as a potential security challenge. Delhi Police stated that no permission had been sought or granted for a procession towards Parliament. A prohibitory order under Section 163 of the Bharatiya Nagarik Suraksha Sanhita (BNSS), 2023 was imposed in the New Delhi district, restricting gatherings and processions. In a public advisory, police warned that unauthorised marches and assemblies would invite legal action, including proceedings under the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita.

Security personnel continue to target CJP protestors using tear gas. https://t.co/iWiueWBfcm pic.twitter.com/ydqOtoSvp7

— Piyush Rai (@Benarasiyaa) July 20, 2026

CJP Protest | Police fired tear gas shells as protesters attempted to move towards Parliament during the CJP march. Heavy security remains deployed across central Delhi amid heightened tensions.

Live Updates: https://t.co/9MiFsaawxj pic.twitter.com/CPaxfO7puC

— The Wire (@thewire_in) July 20, 2026

#Watch | Delhi Police used sticks and batons to disperse hundreds of students and youth activists marching from Mandi House Metro Station towards Jantar Mantar in an attempt to reach the Cockroach Janta Party (CJP) protest site on Monday, eyewitnesses said. The protesters,… pic.twitter.com/3wiokZ3vyC

— The Hindu (@the_hindu) July 20, 2026

JUST IN | Visuals from the march led by Cockroach Janta Party enroute to the Parliament

Video: Special Arrangementhttps://t.co/o7I5R010Wv pic.twitter.com/3gqPtAHxs7

— The Hindu (@the_hindu) July 20, 2026

The invocation of Section 163 became one of the central points of contestation. While authorities justified the restrictions on the basis of Parliament security and public order, protesters questioned whether preventive powers were being used to regulate a peaceful political demonstration rather than respond to any actual threat of violence.

The constitutional difficulty with such restrictions is not whether the State can regulate public assemblies. It undoubtedly can. The right to peaceful assembly under Article 19(1)(b) is subject to reasonable restrictions. However, the repeated use of preventive orders raises a larger question: whether administrative convenience and security concerns are being expanded into a general power to prevent citizens from carrying their grievances into public spaces.

On July 20, as protesters prepared to begin the march, the security presence around Jantar Mantar intensified further. The Indian Express reported that multiple layers of barricades were installed, roads around Parliament were blocked and large contingents of police and paramilitary personnel were deployed. The report stated that additional officers were called from different districts, with more than 2,000 paramilitary personnel deployed across New Delhi district.

PUBLIC ADVISORY

In view of reports of a proposed march to Parliament by CJP on 20.07.2026 (Monday), Delhi Police hereby categorically clarifies that no permission has been sought or granted for any such protest march/procession.

Prohibitory order under Section 163 BNSS…

— DCP New Delhi (@DCPNewDelhi) July 19, 2026

A senior police officer, as reported by The Indian Express, told organisers that the possibility of a stampede was a concern and urged them to reconsider the movement of such a large crowd. The protesters responded that they had consistently maintained discipline and that the administration was using security concerns to prevent the march itself.

As the march began, thousands of protesters continued gathering despite rain and restrictions. According to Deccan Herald, citing PTI, some protesters attempting to reach the Jantar Mantar site from Mandi House alleged that police used force, including claims of lathi-charge. Delhi Police denied the allegations, stating on social media that “no such incident has taken place” and that the protest was being handled professionally. The conflicting accounts reflected the broader dispute over the proportionality of police action.

The authorities also temporarily restricted access to certain metro stations, including Janpath, Patel Chowk, Rajiv Chowk, Central Secretariat and Seva Teerth, citing security concerns. Roads leading towards Parliament were barricaded, and movement around central Delhi was tightly controlled.

For protesters, these measures represented the State’s attempt to contain a movement demanding accountability from those in power. They argued that a democracy cannot celebrate the right to protest in principle while restricting citizens whenever they attempt to approach the institutions they seek to question.

For the administration, the restrictions represented a legitimate exercise of responsibility to protect Parliament, maintain public order and prevent possible disorder. The Chalo Sansad march therefore became more than a dispute over one procession route. It brought into focus a recurring constitutional tension: whether the State’s responsibility to maintain order is being exercised to protect democracy, or whether it is being used to limit the very democratic expression that creates accountability.

July 20: Negotiations and government outreach

Even as incidents of chaos were being reported, on July 20, CJP spokesperson Saurav Das announced on X that he, along with Ashutosh Ranka, was travelling to meet BJP president and senior Union Minister J.P. Nadda after receiving a communication from the government seeking talks. Das wrote: “It’s 11:52 AM. Ashutosh Ranka and I, on behalf of the Cockroach Janta Party, are on our way to meet JP Nadda. The government had reached out for talks in the morning. Our demands are clear. The youth have gathered in huge numbers.”

CJP representatives maintained that any engagement would have to address the core issues that had brought students to the streets — accountability for alleged examination irregularities, responsibility for failures in the examination system, and assurances that similar crises would not recur.

As per the report of The Hindu, the CJP rejected offers to meet the District Magistrate, a Union Government Secretary, and a Minister of State, insisting on talks with the Prime Minister or a Cabinet Minister.

Solidarity across India

As the Delhi protest continued, solidarity demonstrations emerged in several parts of the country. As reported by FinancialExpress.com, activists and students in cities including Hyderabad, Mumbai, Pune, Nagpur, and Ahilya Nagar have organized rallies to demand the resignation of Union Education Minister Dharmendra Pradhan and to protest the forced hospitalization of climate activist Sonam Wangchuk.

Mumbai: In Mumbai, the state’s restrictive approach to public assembly has turned the city into a theater of confrontation. Supporters gathered at Shivaji Park on July 19, 2026, after being denied permission to demonstrate at Azad Maidan or other locations in South Mumbai. According to The Indian Express, a senior police officer justified this denial by citing the Public Meetings, Agitations and Processions Rules, 2025, which prohibit protests on weekends and public holidays.

The atmosphere at Shivaji Park was charged, with Shiv Sena (UBT) chief Uddhav Thackeray calling for a nationwide agitation. The Indian Express noted that Thackeray escalated the rhetoric, arguing that the demand for the Education Minister’s resignation was a “small issue” and that the broader struggle must be to “change the government”. During the protest, participants raised concerns that structural failures in the examination system are consistently harming the future of the nation’s youth.

The Mumbai Police’s response has been marked by a series of legal actions. The Indian Express reported that on July 18, the police registered two FIRs against protesters for violating the Public Meetings, Agitations and Processions Rules, 2025. Specifically:

• A case was filed at the Marine Drive Police Station against NCP (SP) student leaders for protesting outside the state secretariat.
• A second FIR was registered at the Azad Maidan Police Station against activist-writer Sudhir Dhawale and others for protesting near the Press Club, with charges including unlawful assembly and disobedience of public servant orders.

Pune: In Pune, the movement saw hundreds gather at Balgandharva Chowk to express solidarity with Wangchuk and demand systemic educational reforms. The Indian Express reported that the demonstration became tense when police moved to disperse the crowd, leading to the detention of several protesters who refused to comply with official instructions. Participants, including educators and students, emphasized that the NEET issue is a symptom of a larger lack of accountability within the government, stressing that the youth’s faith in the education system is at risk.

Bengaluru: Meanwhile, The Hindu reported that over 1,000 people gathered at Freedom Park in Bengaluru on July 19 to protest the NEET paper leak and the “deteriorating democratic system”. The gathering evolved into a forum for broader societal critique; actor Kishor Kumar urged attendees to ensure the momentum is not limited to NEET but extends to support for farmers, labourers, and other marginalized groups. Young participants, such as 13-year-old Sohan and student Kavya, highlighted a growing sense of disillusionment, questioning what the future holds if the state continues to evade accountability for its failures.

Support gatherings were also reported from:

• Hyderabad;
• Nagpur;
• Indore;
• Jammu;
• Guwahati;

July 20: Updates on the hunger strikes

Even after being shifted from Jantar Mantar to Safdarjung Hospital, Sonam Wangchuk continued his hunger strike, making it clear that his decision to end the fast would depend not on his medical condition alone but on whether the larger concerns that triggered the movement received a political response.

On July 20, ahead of the proposed “Chalo Sansad” march, Wangchuk issued a handwritten note titled “WHEN WILL I END THE FAST….!”, laying down the circumstances under which he would withdraw his indefinite fast. As reported by The Times of India and other media outlets, the conditions focused on accountability for failures in the education system, particularly alleged examination irregularities and question paper leaks.

Significantly, while the broader CJP movement had consistently raised the demand for the resignation of Union Education Minister Dharmendra Pradhan, Wangchuk’s stated conditions for ending his fast did not specifically include the Education Minister’s resignation. Instead, he framed the issue in terms of institutional accountability and corrective action.

Wangchuk stated that he would end the fast if the government accepted responsibility for the “recent failures in the education system”, including alleged paper leaks. Alternatively, he said the fast would end if he and CJP leadership were able to reach Parliament and receive assurances from Members of Parliament and leaders of various political parties that the issues raised by the protesters would be taken up during the Monsoon Session.

He also stated that if his health or circumstances prevented him from participating in the march, MPs and political leaders should visit him at the hospital and provide similar assurances.

The conditions reflected a shift in focus from the immediate symbolism of the hunger strike to the larger political objective of securing parliamentary attention on the education crisis. Wangchuk’s message emphasised that the protest was not centred around one individual but around the concerns of students affected by alleged failures in the examination system.

In a message shared through his wife, Dr Gitanjali Angmo, Wangchuk reiterated that he was not the “cause” of the movement but merely a voice for young people who were seeking accountability. Angmo, speaking outside Safdarjung Hospital after the Delhi High Court hearing, said that the proposed march to Parliament would continue and that Wangchuk had consistently maintained that the movement belonged to the youth.

Meanwhile, Wangchuk’s health remained under medical supervision. A health bulletin issued by Vardhman Mahavir Medical College (VMMC) and Safdarjung Hospital on July 20 stated that he continued to receive medical care and that his vital parameters were stable, but his blood parameters required close observation. The hospital stated that continued clinical monitoring and medical intervention remained necessary, with a multidisciplinary team supervising his condition.

Alongside the broader mobilisation, students associated with the All India Students’ Association (AISA) also undertook hunger strikes in solidarity with the movement.  The three student activists, Neha, Manish and Aameen, concluded their hunger strike after 23 days. Their decision came following an appeal by a delegation comprising parliamentarians, civil society representatives and public figures, who urged them to continue the struggle through parliamentary engagement and public campaigns rather than through continued fasting.

AISA stated that the students had suffered significant physical consequences during the fast, including substantial weight loss and dangerously low blood sugar levels. Their withdrawal marked a transition in one phase of the student-led protest, even as the broader mobilisation continued through the march towards Parliament.

Conclusion: From examination failure to a crisis of accountability

The July 20 developments marked a decisive shift in the nature of the education protest. What began as a demand from students affected by alleged examination irregularities became a wider confrontation over how the State responds when institutional failures generate public anger.

The central demand of the movement remained unchanged: accountability for the failures that undermined confidence in India’s competitive examination system. The protests were not merely about the cancellation of an examination or the consequences of a paper leak. For thousands of students, the issue represented a deeper fear that years of preparation, personal sacrifice and aspirations could be undermined by failures within institutions responsible for ensuring fairness.

The escalation of the movement, however, shifted attention from the original grievance to the State’s handling of dissent. Sonam Wangchuk’s hunger strike became the symbol of this transition. The events surrounding the Chalo Sansad march further exposed this tension. The government’s decision to prevent protesters from moving towards Parliament was defended on grounds of security and public order. Yet, for protesters, the restrictions raised a fundamental concern: if citizens cannot approach elected representatives with grievances affecting millions of young people, where does democratic accountability occur?

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The post The exam crisis that became a battle for accountability appeared first on SabrangIndia.

On July 19, police authorities detained activist Amit Bhatnagar after he completed 14 days of an indefinite hunger strike at Kupi village in Chhatarpur district. Around 150 protesters were also removed from the site and transported in buses. The action effectively ended a fortnight-long agitation led by villagers opposing alleged irregularities in land acquisition, rehabilitation and compensation under the ₹44,605-crore Ken-Betwa river-linking project.

VIDEO | Madhya Pradesh police removed protesters and ended the ‘satyagraha’ that was launched against the Ken-Betwa Link Project and other irrigation schemes.

The protest, mainly by tribal women, was being held on the banks of the Barana river near Kupi village in Chhatarpur… pic.twitter.com/8cyMPglsJm

— Press Trust of India (@PTI_News) July 19, 2026

Madhya Pradesh Police on Sunday cleared the tribal protest site against the Ken-Betwa river link project in Chhatarpur and shifted protest leader Amit Bhatnagar, who had been on a 14-day hunger strike, to a hospital. Authorities said the action was taken due to rising river… pic.twitter.com/DCUoRW1knQ

— The Hindu (@the_hindu) July 19, 2026

ANOTHER PROTEST SUPPRESSED……
“JAL SATHYAGRAH” DISMANTLED…..
#Chhatarpur #MadhyaPradesh
In the GUISE OF MEDICS, Police forcedly removed protesting #Adivasis at Barana river, against the 𝐊𝐞𝐧-𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭. https://t.co/dlqLEByqzh pic.twitter.com/pcEps9WbXW

— KALLURI (@I_KALLURI) July 19, 2026

While the administration claimed that Bhatnagar was moved to hospital due to concerns over his deteriorating health and that protesters were removed because rising water levels made the site unsafe, the manner in which the State dealt with a peaceful protest has raised concerns over the shrinking space for democratic dissent.

BREAKING: Fifteen-day-long protest against the Ken-Betwa Link Project in Madhya Pradesh’s Chhatarpur district ends abruptly. pic.twitter.com/BowAgfcseo

— Down To Earth (@down2earthindia) July 19, 2026

The Madhya Pradesh Police on Sunday (July 19, 2026) morning cleared the site where several tribals have been protesting against the Ken-Betwa river link project and other irrigation projects in Chhatarpur district, and took the protest leader Amit Bhatnagar, who has been on a… pic.twitter.com/R5OIowyzPY

— The Hindu (@the_hindu) July 19, 2026

The detention came merely a day after Delhi Police removed climate activist Sonam Wangchuk from his hunger strike site at Jantar Mantar, creating a broader debate over how governments respond to prolonged peaceful protests.

A hunger strike met with detention instead of dialogue

According to The Indian Express, Bhatnagar had been fasting since July 3, demanding a fresh review of compensation records, rehabilitation measures and alleged irregularities in land acquisition proceedings.

The activist, who has worked extensively on displacement and rehabilitation issues in Bundelkhand, became the face of the movement involving villagers from Daudhan, Palkhua, Sukwaha and neighbouring settlements affected by the proposed Daudhan reservoir.

Despite the seriousness of the allegations raised by protesters, the State’s immediate response was not the constitution of an independent inquiry or a transparent public hearing but the removal of protesters from the site. The police maintained that Bhatnagar was not arrested but “detained” and shifted to hospital considering his health condition.

Chhatarpur Additional Superintendent of Police Aditya Patle told The Indian Express: “Bhatnagar has not been arrested. He was on a fast for two weeks, and taking his health into account, we detained him and took him to the local hospital for treatment.”

However, the distinction between arrest and detention does little to address the larger democratic concern: whether the State can forcibly end a peaceful protest merely because it becomes politically inconvenient or uncomfortable.

A hunger strike is a recognised form of non-violent protest, historically used by social movements to draw attention to administrative failures. The State’s obligation in such circumstances is not merely to preserve order but also to engage with the grievances that compel citizens to undertake such extreme forms of protest.

“Safety” argument versus allegations of forced removal

The administration justified the action by citing heavy rainfall and rising water levels in the Barana river. Speaking to The Hindu, Chhatarpur Collector Parth Jaiswal said that the protest site had become unsafe due to increasing water levels and that the presence of women, children and elderly persons required intervention. However, protesters questioned whether safety concerns were being used as a justification to dismantle a movement raising serious questions about rehabilitation and compensation.

Videos from the site showed police personnel removing protesters, including women, from the river area. Demonstrators alleged that women were dragged away and that force was used during the removal.

While authorities denied allegations of assault, the incident raises a larger concern: whether administrative concern for safety can become a pretext for suppressing public assembly and collective resistance.

A democratic State cannot treat citizens raising grievances against displacement merely as a law-and-order problem.

Compensation allegations demand independent scrutiny

The core of the protest lies in allegations that the rehabilitation process for affected families has been opaque and unfair. Speaking to The Indian Express before his detention, Bhatnagar alleged: “The government has not been fair and transparent in its land acquisition process. There are many irregularities in the disbursement of compensation.”

He alleged that records of Gram Sabha proceedings across villages including Ratiya, Kari, Khatwani, Palkhua, Naiyyapur, Khajuri and Sukwaha contained identical language, raising doubts over whether genuine consultations had taken place.

Such allegations assume significance because Gram Sabha participation is not merely a procedural requirement in tribal areas. Under the Panchayats (Extension to Scheduled Areas) Act, 1996 (PESA), local communities have a statutory role in decisions affecting their land and resources.

If Gram Sabha proceedings were merely reduced to paperwork, as alleged by protesters, it would undermine the very purpose of participatory governance. Bhatnagar also alleged irregularities in compensation payments in Kharihani village, claiming that while around ₹11 crore had been sanctioned for houses, nearly ₹8 crore was allegedly paid to individuals who either had no connection with the village or had migrated decades ago. He further alleged that genuinely affected families had been excluded from compensation lists. These claims require transparent investigation rather than dismissal as political opposition.

The State’s defence: protesters are not genuine beneficiaries

The administration, however, has rejected these allegations. According to The Indian Express, Chhatarpur Collector Parth Jaiswal claimed that only about 10% of protesters were directly affected by the Ken-Betwa project, while the remaining participants were linked to grievances concerning other projects in neighbouring Panna district.

The Collector also denied any irregularities in Gram Sabha records and said compensation paid in Kharihani was linked to agricultural land ownership and not residential status.

However, the administration’s argument that some protesters are not directly affected does not by itself answer the concerns raised by those who are affected.

Large infrastructure projects often, and rightly, generate collective resistance involving displaced families, neighbouring communities, environmental groups and civil society organisations. Limiting participation only to those whose names appear in official displacement lists risks ignoring broader social and ecological impacts.

Tribal rights and the question of consent

The controversy assumes greater importance because many protesting communities belong to tribal areas. Opposition leader Umang Singhar alleged that affected villagers were not properly consulted and that Social Impact Assessments and Gram Sabha processes were not conducted meaningfully.

Speaking to The Hindu, Singhar alleged that multiple Gram Sabha records contained identical language and questioned whether tribal communities had genuinely participated in decisions affecting their land. The issue strikes at the heart of the constitutional promise of decentralised governance. For communities facing displacement, compensation is not merely a financial transaction. Land represents livelihood, identity, cultural connection and social security. A rehabilitation package cannot substitute for meaningful participation before decisions are taken.

Environmental costs ignored in the development narrative

The issue and reason for protest around Ken-Betwa is not limited to compensation. The project has also faced criticism because significant portions of the project area fall within the ecological landscape of the Panna National Park and Tiger Reserve. Environmental groups have raised concerns regarding forest loss, biodiversity impacts and the consequences of altering river ecosystems.

The larger question is whether environmental approvals and rehabilitation measures are being treated as substantive safeguards or merely as procedural hurdles before construction begins. The events at Kupi village reflect a larger pattern in India’s development disputes: communities displaced by highways, dams, mining projects and industrial corridors frequently find themselves fighting not only for compensation but also for recognition.

The State’s duty in such conflicts is not restricted to acquiring land and completing projects. It includes ensuring transparency, protecting constitutional freedoms and creating mechanisms where affected citizens can challenge decisions without facing coercive action. The detention of Amit Bhatnagar and removal of protesters may have cleared the protest site, but it has not resolved the questions raised by the movement.

The central issue remains: can development projects claim legitimacy when the voices of those who bear the greatest social and environmental costs are addressed through police action rather than democratic engagement?

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From Protest to Petition: Maharashtra’s Public Safety Act in the dock

May-June 2026: Youth Congress nationwide protests challenge education system collapse under Modi government, media gives cold shoulder?

Noida Protest 2026: A labour uprising the state refused to understand

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The post Ken-Betwa protest exposes the cost of state-led displacement appeared first on SabrangIndia.

The bench was conducting a hearing on a writ petition filed by Prasenjit Bose. Bose is the chairperson of the SIR committee of the West Bengal Pradesh Congress Committee. His petition sought various directions and reliefs intended to streamline the hearing processes within the appellate tribunals. These tribunals were specifically constituted to adjudicate the appeals of individuals who have been excluded from the electoral rolls during the SIR exercise.

During the hearing, the Supreme Court pointed out that the ultimate authority to decide the citizenship status of a person in India does not rest with the Election Commission of India. The bench observed that the Election Commission cannot determine whether a person is a citizen of India or not. The court noted that it had previously communicated to the Election Commission that the list of people whose citizenship credentials are doubtful must be forwarded to the Union government, as the central government is the competent authority to determine matters of citizenship.

Constitutional boundaries and the Election Commission’s role

The proceedings placed a significant focus on the constitutional authority of the Election Commission of India. Justice Bagchi highlighted the Supreme Court’s prior judgment concerning the Bihar SIR process. In that judgment, the court had clarified the jurisdictional limits of the Election Commission.

Justice Bagchi orally noted that the Election Commission is not a constitutional authority with the power to adjudicate citizenship status under the relevant provisions of the Constitution. Specifically, the court referred to Articles 9, 10, 11, and 12 of the Constitution. Articles 9, 10, and 11 deal directly with the loss, continuance, and regulation of Indian citizenship. Article 12 defines the term “State” for the purposes of enforcing fundamental rights.

The court reiterated that while the Election Commission holds the constitutional authority to remove names from the electoral roll if a person’s citizenship is considered doubtful, this administrative action regarding voter eligibility does not amount to a legal determination of citizenship.

As reported in LiveLaw, Justice Bagchi stated, “Our judgment is clear – ECI is not a constitutional authority with regard to status under Art 9, 10, 11 and 12…ECI has control over rolls. It can decide not to include someone. However, that does not result in loss of status of citizenship per se. Therefore, we have given corresponding duty.”

The bench further detailed the procedural duty of the Election Commission. Once an individual is removed from the electoral roll due to doubtful citizenship, the Election Commission is obligated to submit an application to the central government so that their citizenship status can be formally determined.

According to LiveLaw, Justice Bagchi said, “We are conscious of this. In our Bihar SIR judgment, we made clear that ECI has a corresponding duty that as soon as there is a decision, it has to refer to the Ministry for adjudication under Citizenship Act. Unless that is done, status must go on”.

The scale of the appellate backlog in West Bengal

Senior Advocate Gopal Sankaranarayanan appeared on behalf of the petitioner during the hearing. He presented statistical data to the bench regarding the massive backlog of appeals currently pending before the appellate tribunals in West Bengal.

Sankaranarayanan submitted that approximately 34 lakh appeals remain pending adjudication. These appeals have been filed by individuals whose names were removed from the electoral rolls during the SIR exercise. He pointed out that there are currently 19 appellate tribunals assigned to handle these cases. However, he informed the court that two judges from these tribunals have resigned, further impacting the capacity to clear the backlog.

The senior advocate highlighted that only a very small fraction of the total appeals has been decided thus far. According to the data presented, around 38,000 appeals have been disposed of by the tribunals. Sankaranarayanan noted that the track record of these decided cases shows that at least 70 percent of the appeals have been allowed, resulting in the restoration of the appellants’ names to the electoral rolls.

Denial of welfare benefits and civil rights

The core grievance raised in the petition relates to the consequences faced by individuals while their appeals remain pending before the tribunals. Sankaranarayanan argued that the West Bengal government has linked the deletion of names from the electoral roll with the denial of essential welfare benefits.

The senior counsel submitted that the state government issued notifications in May and June directing the deletion of beneficiaries from various welfare schemes based entirely on the SIR exercise data. He highlighted that affected persons are being denied benefits under the Public Distribution System (PDS), which is crucial for food security. Additionally, welfare measures such as the Annapurna Yojana are being withdrawn from those whose names have been deleted from the voter lists.

The deprivation extends beyond welfare schemes. Sankaranarayanan informed the bench that even caste certificates are being denied to these individuals. The government notifications reportedly called for the re-verification of caste certificates belonging to persons excluded from the electoral rolls.

Sankaranarayanan emphasised that these individuals are facing severe hardships at the ground level due to the ongoing denial of citizenship benefits. He argued that the possession of a valid passport should be considered sufficient proof of citizenship. As reported by LiveLaw, he contended that if someone has a passport, “it should be a clear pass”.

The counsel’s argument on unanticipated consequences

Sankaranarayanan argued that the widespread withdrawal of welfare schemes and civil rights was an unanticipated consequence of the SIR exercise and the subsequent deletion of names. He suggested that neither the litigants nor the court had foreseen that the state government would utilise the electoral roll data to deny basic amenities to residents.

According to LiveLaw, Sankaranarayanan submitted to the bench, “I think to be fair, I don’t think either they disclosed or we apprehended at all that all these other welfare schemes which are available to people who reside here would also be withdrawn. I don’t think that was apprehended by your lordships because then I presume your lordships could add one sentence saying, while it’s being adjudicated, please don’t take other civil rights which are available to citizens.”

He elaborated on the sheer volume of people affected by this situation. With only 38,000 cases decided out of 34 lakh appeals, a massive population remains in a state of uncertainty.

Sankaranarayanan stated, “What I’m explaining is this: that after 34 lakh appeals that are pending, if only 38,000 have been disposed of, there are 33 and a half lakh that are still pending. Now, those 33 and a half lakh have all these things being withdrawn from them, while their appeals are pending, where at least the track record shows 70% of the appeals have been allowed…That deprivation will continue until the appeals are heard. So we are only suggesting mechanisms to try and ensure some transparency and accountability, and to assist those 19 tribunals,”.

Transparency and accountability demands for appellate tribunals

The writ petition, filed on July 8 detailed a series of requests aimed at making the appellate process more transparent, accountable, and accessible for the affected electors. The petition asserted that the current mechanisms lack publicly available guidelines, which disproportionately affects poor, rural, and marginalised electors who struggle to navigate the system.

The petitioner sought directions to the ECI and other relevant authorities to formulate and publish a Standard Operating Procedure (SOP) to govern the appellate process. Specifically, the plea requested a direction to the Union of India and the Election Commission to place the SOP framed on April 7, 2026, by a three-member judicial committee in the public domain. This SOP was previously referred to in a Supreme Court order dated April 13, 2026.

To ensure regular monitoring and public awareness, the petition also called for the publication of regular bulletins that would indicate the exact number of appeals heard and decided by the appellate tribunals.

Proposed reforms to the appeal mechanism

In addition to transparency measures, the petition sought concrete reforms to streamline the appeal mechanism and make it more elector-friendly. One of the key reliefs sought was a direction to permit appellants and their authorised representatives to appear before the appellate tribunals through video conferencing.

The petition also requested the court to mandate a strict timeline for serving hearing notices. It sought a direction ensuring that notices are served to the appellants at least seven days in advance of the hearing date. The plea requested that this service be conducted through both electronic means and physical service delivered by Booth Level Officers (BLOs).

To address the massive backlog, the petitioner prayed for a time-bound schedule for the disposal of all pending appeals before the next election takes place. The plea specifically requested that appeals originating from Municipal Corporation and Municipality areas receive priority in the hearing schedule.

To improve public awareness and accessibility, the petition sought a direction for the creation of a simplified, step-by-step guide explaining the appellate process. The plea requested that this guide be made available in Bangla, Hindi, and English languages.

Furthermore, the petition sought permission for electors whose names were deleted during any of the three stages of the SIR process—enumeration, claims and objections, and adjudication of logical discrepancy cases—to file appeals before the tribunals for the restoration of their names.

Greater disclosure of SIR data

The petition also demanded greater transparency in the overall SIR exercise through the public disclosure of relevant data. It sought directions to the respondents to disclose Assembly constituency-wise data regarding Form 6 applications, which are used for the inclusion of names, and Form 7 applications, which are used for objections and deletions.

The requested data includes the total number of applications submitted, admitted, and rejected during the claims and objections phase, as well as subsequent stages of the revision process.

Additionally, the petition called for the disclosure of the exact number of cases currently pending before the appellate tribunals in each Assembly constituency. It sought the breakdown of the number of appeals filed by deleted electors seeking restoration of their names, versus the number of appeals filed by the Election Commission seeking exclusion.

The plea also requested the publication of all data required under Formats 1 to 8 of the Election Commission of India Manual on Electoral Roll, 2024.

The Supreme Court bench acknowledged the arguments presented by the petitioner’s counsel. The bench observed that the issue regarding the speedy disposal of appeals could be raised before the Chief Justice of the Calcutta High Court. However, the Supreme Court agreed to examine the substantive issues relating to the alleged use of SIR data by the state government for non-electoral purposes. Ultimately, the bench issued notice to the relevant authorities and re-listed the matter to be heard alongside other pleas challenging the West Bengal SIR exercise on August 25.

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The post SC: ECI has no power to determine citizenship status based on electoral roll deletions appeared first on SabrangIndia.

According to The Hindu, farmer groups under the banner of the Desh Bachao Morcha, an umbrella platform comprising unions from several states, organised coordinated motorcycle rallies across Punjab, Haryana and Himachal Pradesh. Similar demonstrations were also held in Uttar Pradesh and Uttarakhand as part of a nationwide mobilisation against the proposed trade agreement.

Farmer leaders have argued that the proposed agreement extends far beyond the import and export of a handful of commodities. They contend that negotiations could encompass agriculture, dairy, industry, digital trade, services, investment, energy, intellectual property rights and broader market access, making it a far-reaching economic arrangement with potentially significant implications for multiple sectors.

A major concern raised by the protesting organisations is the lack of transparency surrounding the negotiations. As reported by The Hindu, Desh Bachao Morcha coordinator Sarwan Singh Pandher questioned why the complete text of the proposed agreement had not been placed in the public domain, arguing that stakeholders were being asked to accept an arrangement whose full implications remained unknown.

Farmer leaders have repeatedly warned that the United States has long sought greater access to India’s agricultural and dairy markets. According to them, any reduction in import duties or easing of market restrictions could expose Indian farmers, particularly small and marginal cultivators, to competition from heavily subsidised American agricultural producers, adversely affecting domestic agriculture, dairy farming and small-scale industries.

The organisations have urged the Union government to prioritise the interests of farmers, agricultural labourers, small traders and domestic industries over external trade commitments. They have also called upon the Centre to safeguard India’s food and economic sovereignty by refraining from entering into any agreement that they believe could undermine rural livelihoods.

The protests have brought together a broad coalition of farmer organisations across states. The Hindu reported that Punjab witnessed participation from groups including the Kisan Mazdoor Morcha, the Samyukt Kisan Morcha (Non-Political), the Azad Kisan Morcha, the Bharatiya Kisan Mazdoor Sangharsh Organisation and the Bharatiya Kisan Union (Boka Singh Mansa). In Haryana, organisations such as BKU (Chaduni), Kisan Mazdoor Sangharsh Morcha Haryana and BKU Shaheed Bhagat Singh joined the demonstrations, while farmer groups in Uttar Pradesh, Uttarakhand and Himachal Pradesh also staged coordinated protests.

Warning of an escalation if their concerns remain unaddressed, farmer leaders announced that the ongoing mobilisation would culminate in a large “Maha Rally” in New Delhi on July 21.

The agitation gathered further momentum during Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s visit to Punjab, with several organisations staging demonstrations and raising black flags while reiterating demands for a statutory guarantee of Minimum Support Price (MSP). As reported by The Hindu, activists of the Kisan Mazdoor Sangharsh Committee (KMSC) burned an effigy of the Central government near Amritsar’s Golden Gate, accusing the Centre of pursuing policies that favour corporate interests over farmers and agricultural workers.

KMSC leaders also alleged that district president Salwinder Singh Jania had been placed under house detention to prevent his participation in the protests, warning that such actions would only strengthen the ongoing agitation. They further demanded that the Prime Minister publicly explain how the proposed India–US trade agreement would benefit Indian farmers and agricultural labourers, insisting that any policy encouraging greater corporate control over agriculture was unacceptable.

The organisations simultaneously reiterated their long-standing demand for a legal guarantee of MSP, describing it as indispensable for protecting farmers against fluctuating market prices and ensuring stable agricultural incomes.

Beyond the trade agreement, protesters also criticised the Punjab government’s land pooling policy, alleging that it could facilitate the acquisition of fertile agricultural land for commercial development at the expense of cultivators. Farmer leaders asserted that they would continue resisting the policy until it was withdrawn.

The Kisan Mazdoor Morcha also organised district-level protests across Punjab during the Prime Minister’s visit. According to The Hindu, Sarwan Singh Pandher stated that the organisation would simultaneously raise issues relating to farm loan waivers, the proposed trade agreement, the release of Bandi Singhs, Punjab’s representation in the Bhakra Beas Management Board and the state’s riparian rights over river waters.

Separately, The Indian Express reported that thousands of farmers affiliated with the Bharatiya Kisan Union (Rajewal) organised a large bike and car rally from Mohali to Chandigarh, with more than 500 motorcycles, cars and jeeps participating in the procession. The demonstration witnessed participation from all 23 districts of Punjab, prompting extensive traffic diversions and heightened security arrangements across Chandigarh and adjoining areas.

Addressing the gathering, BKU (Rajewal) president Balbir Singh Rajewal described the proposed India–US Free Trade Agreement as the farmers’ foremost concern, arguing that Indian agriculture would struggle to compete with heavily subsidised agricultural producers in developed economies if the agreement were finalised. He warned that sectors such as agriculture, dairy, poultry and allied rural industries could suffer severe economic consequences.

The rally also highlighted broader concerns affecting Punjab’s agrarian economy. BKU leaders drew attention to deteriorating groundwater quality and increasing contamination by heavy metals, citing health concerns and referring to data indicating the growing burden of cancer in the state. They further accused political parties of remaining preoccupied with electoral politics while neglecting structural challenges confronting farmers, including land acquisition policies, resource management and the proposed trade agreement.

Following the rally, representatives submitted separate memorandums to the Prime Minister, through the Punjab Governor, and to the Punjab Chief Minister, outlining both national and state-specific demands and seeking immediate government intervention.

The protests continued to expand over the following days. As reported by Deccan Chronicle, the Samyukt Kisan Morcha (Non-Political) organised demonstrations at more than forty toll plazas across Punjab, allowing vehicles to pass without collecting toll charges as a symbolic act of protest against both the Punjab government’s land pooling policy and the proposed India–US trade agreement.

Farmer leaders participating in the toll plaza demonstrations alleged that the amended land pooling policy sought to transfer fertile agricultural land to corporate interests while simultaneously expressing concern that the proposed trade agreement would adversely affect agriculture, dairy and poultry sectors. They demanded that these sectors be excluded entirely from any future trade pact and warned that the agitation would intensify if both the Centre and the Punjab government failed to address their concerns. Taken together, the protests represent one of the most recent coordinated farmer mobilisations, combining opposition to the proposed India–US trade agreement with broader demands concerning MSP, agricultural policy, land acquisition, indebtedness and rural governance.

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February 12: Workers and Farmers Forge a Historic Axis of Resistance Across India

Indian Agriculture: Between the 2026 Union budget & US-India trade deal, a huge setback for Indian farmers

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According to The Indian Express, the order was passed by City Magistrate Kuldeep Singh under the Uttar Pradesh Public Premises (Eviction of Unauthorised Occupants) Act, 1972. The dispute arose from a complaint filed by Vikas Tyagi, a former provincial coordinator of the Bajrang Dal, who alleged that a mosque had been illegally constructed within the Collectorate premises—a sensitive government complex where administrative and confidential official work is carried out. The complaint also alleged that the property was being used for commercial purposes, with portions of the premises rented to private occupants and a post office operating from the site.

Revenue inquiry and allegations

Following the complaint, the Revenue Department initiated an inquiry. In March 2025, a Lekhpal (revenue official) filed an application before the City Magistrate alleging that Abdul Hamid, described as the mosque’s manager and maulvi, was in unauthorised occupation of government land. Notices were issued to the respondents in April 2025, and their objections were filed in June 2025.

The revenue authorities contended that the land forms part of the Collectorate campus and is recorded in official revenue records as government property. According to the petition, the building originally functioned as a rest house for litigants visiting the Collectorate, but was subsequently occupied by the respondents, who allegedly converted portions of it into a mosque.

The petition further alleged that rooms on both the ground and first floors had been occupied, namaz was being offered there, several rooms had been rented out for residential purposes, and rent was being collected from tenants as well as from a post office operating from the premises.

Authorities also alleged that unauthorised construction had been carried out to convert part of the government building into a religious structure. The inquiry reportedly concluded that the occupants possessed no licence, permission or legal authority either to occupy the premises, allow third parties to reside there, or convert the building into a place of worship.

The revenue department further challenged the respondents’ reliance on a purported communication issued by the Sunni Central Waqf Board, Lucknow, alleging that the document was forged. It argued that the property has consistently been recorded in revenue records as Kachahri (Collectorate) and Kothiyat land, rather than as waqf or religious property.

The authorities also maintained that the Sunni Central Waqf Board has no legal authority to declare government land as waqf property. Although the respondents claimed to be the mosque’s mutawalli and maulvi, the petition asserted that they failed to produce documentary evidence establishing either their status or ownership rights over the property.

In addition to seeking eviction, the petitioner requested recovery of rent allegedly collected from tenants, penal rent, and all income allegedly earned through the unauthorised occupation, together with 12 per cent compound interest, to be deposited into the government treasury.

Mosque committee disputes government’s claim

The respondents denied the allegations and argued that the State had failed to establish ownership of the disputed property. They contended that the revenue records relied upon by the authorities merely reflected the physical nature or classification of the land and did not conclusively determine title.

They further alleged that the proceedings were initiated with the intention of unlawfully taking possession of the mosque and its adjoining land. According to the respondents, the petitioner had suppressed material facts, withheld relevant revenue records, and attempted to mislead the court.

Mutawalli Tanveer Ahmed maintained that the mosque is approximately 150 years old and stated that the management committee intends to challenge the order by filing a revision petition.

Court finds occupation unauthorised

After considering the material placed before it, the City Magistrate held that the respondents had failed to establish any lawful right or title over the disputed property. The court observed that Khasra No. 539 has consistently been recorded in revenue records as Collectorate/Kachahri land since Fasli Years 1324 and 1359, as well as in earlier records. On that basis, it concluded that the land belongs to the State government and that occupation without legal authority amounts to unauthorised occupation under the 1972 Act.

Taking into account the prolonged occupation of the 315-square-metre parcel, the court directed that compensation be calculated for a period of 70 years, commencing from Fasli Year 1359, in accordance with the prescribed statutory formula. The resulting amount was assessed at approximately ₹6.41 crore.

City Magistrate Kuldeep Singh told The Indian Express that the occupants have been granted 30 days to vacate the premises, failing which the administration will proceed with eviction.

Part of wider disputes over religious structures

The Saharanpur order comes amid a series of disputes involving religious structures alleged to have been constructed on public land in Uttar Pradesh. Last month, according to The Indian Express, the Varanasi Division of Northern Railways issued a notice directing the removal of a mosque located near Gate No. 1 of Kashi railway station, asserting that the structure stands on railway land. The mosque’s managing body, Anjuman Intizamia Masajid Varanasi, has challenged the notice, describing the proposed action as illegal.

The controversy also follows earlier demolition proceedings concerning the Madni Mosque in Kushinagar district. In February 2025, authorities demolished a portion of the mosque after alleging that it had been constructed on encroached land. The mosque committee disputed the allegation, asserting that the land had been lawfully purchased and had secured interim protection from the High Court until the expiry of the stay.

Subsequently, the Supreme Court issued notice to the Uttar Pradesh authorities in contempt proceedings alleging that the demolition violated the Court’s November 13, 2024 directions restraining demolition drives across the country without prior notice and an opportunity of hearing. The proceedings remain pending.

Related:

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“Bulldozer Justice” rebuked: Orissa High Court orders 10 lakh compensation for illegal demolition of community centre

The post Court orders removal of mosque from Saharanpur Collectorate premises appeared first on SabrangIndia.

Viewed narrowly, the judgment settles a local and specific legal controversy. Viewed more broadly, however, it speaks to an increasingly recurring constitutional question: what happens when the State’s power of eminent domain intersects with historic places of worship located within politically and religiously contested urban spaces especially when these culturally and religiously are those of the religious minorities? That question cannot be answered by reading the judgment in isolation.

The litigation arose from the continuing expansion of the Shri Kashi Vishwanath Dham Corridor, a project that has dramatically transformed the Varanasi urban landscape surrounding one of Hinduism’s oldest temples. The political patronage by a  specific expansionist, militarist interpretation of the faith (RSS-BJP-VHP combine) is not irrelevant. Hindusim in its purest practiced form has been over the centuries not linear or semitic, by vesting authenticity of faith on three north-Indian shrines –Ayodhya, Mathura and Kashi Viswanath—lies a structured and political effort to semitise the faith that was once localised and eclectic and control power, finance and practice.[1]

Unsurprisingly therefore, with the contours of the Indian state altering since the early 1990s and more sharply and substantively since 2014, the building of shrines at these three sites has drawn political, financial and state support. The Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) came to power with the steely organisational support of the Rashtriya Swayam Sevak Sangh (RSS) and its more vocal/rabid wings (Bajrang Dal-BD and Vishwa Hindu Parishad-VHP) in the state of Uttar Pradesh in 2017.[2] Even three years prior to this, after the regime change at the Centre (2014), pressure was brought on the Varanasi district administration regarding the Kashi Viswanath shrine.[3]

Since its announcement, the Corridor has been presented by the Uttar Pradesh Government as an exercise in heritage conservation, pilgrimage facilitation and urban renewal. At the same time, it has generated sustained criticism from residents, traders, historians, architects, conservationists and civil society organisations, who have questioned the scale of demolition, displacement and the irreversible alteration of one of India’s oldest living cities.

Consequently, the Allahabad High Court’s interpretation of the Places of Worship Act (POW), 1991 is not simply a technical pronouncement on statutory construction. It is a judicial intervention in a redevelopment project that has, for several years, borne a clear majoritarian stamp: an intersection of constitutional law, heritage conservation, minority rights, urban planning and contemporary politics.

The Kashi Corridor is more than an infrastructure project

Few redevelopment projects in independent India have altered the physical and symbolic landscape of a historic city as dramatically as the Kashi Vishwanath Corridor. Conceived as an ambitious project connecting the Kashi Vishwanath Temple directly to the ghats of the Ganga, the redevelopment sought to replace the centuries-old maze of narrow lanes surrounding the temple with wide pedestrian corridors, plazas and public spaces capable of accommodating millions of pilgrims. The State justified the project as necessary to improve accessibility, crowd management, disaster preparedness and civic infrastructure around one of India’s most visited pilgrimage centres. Yet the area selected for redevelopment was not an empty tract awaiting urban renewal.

The neighbourhood surrounding the Kashi Vishwanath Temple represents one of the oldest continuously inhabited urban settlements in South Asia. For centuries, the sacred geography of Kashi evolved organically through a dense network of ancient and historic local temples of prime religious and cultural significance, shrines, mosques, markets, residences, dharamshalas, akharas, courtyards and interconnected gullies. Its heritage lay not merely in monumental religious structures but equally in the lived urban fabric that connected them. Historians have long described the city as a layered civilisational landscape in which Hindu, Muslim and other communities inhabited overlapping social and religious spaces, creating an urban ecology unlike that of most planned cities.

This evocative report on the issue reflects the majoritarian make-over of the Kashi-Viswanath Dham Corridor, not just in terms of a brute and uni-directional take-over of culture, art, faith and individual rights, but also as a clear-cut political design to re-shape the understanding and practice of the Hindu faith. “The ruling (BJP) government and Modi, who represents Varanasi in the Lok Sabha, Dharma Vyaparis (religion traders) instead of Dharma Adhikaris (religion upholders).” The report may be read here. The Indian Express had then quoted Rajendra Tiwari, the former Mahant of the same Kashi Viswanath temple here:  “Every part of the country is represented across these Ganga ghats. Where we are sitting is Lahori Tola, where people from Lahore came and settled. Then there are areas where the Bengalis settled, the South Indians, the Marathis.” They are changing the “vaastu” of the place, he says. “Yeh dharam adhikari nahin, dharam vypari hein (They don’t serve religion, they trade in religion).”

It is in this question that the recent judgement of the Allahabad High Court that clinically ignores. Adopting an approach that is jurisprudentially analysed by scholars as legal formalism (or mechanically applied jurisprudence), such an approach only narrowly protects the rule of law while turning a judicial ostrich like approach away from sociological jurisprudence and legal realism.

By completely ignoring the context of this aggressive and politically intentioned Corridor development and land acquisition, the Allahabad High Court a constitutional court has tragically obliterated the socio-political-administrative background to these demolitions and acquisitions. In leveraging the POW Act of 1991 to do so, the Court has also subtly but surely diluted the content and “Aims and Objectives” of the law.

It is in this overall context that the Dham Corridor “re=development” needs to be understood. Through the period that it took place, the redevelopment therefore triggered concerns extending beyond ordinary questions of land acquisition. Reports documenting the implementation of the project described the acquisition and demolition of hundreds of residential and commercial properties around the temple precinct. Local residents spoke of the disappearance of neighbourhoods that had existed for generations. Conservationists questioned whether the pursuit of monumental redevelopment had come at the cost of preserving Varanasi’s historic urban morphology. Architects debated whether the widening of lanes and creation of expansive public plazas fundamentally altered the cultural identity of a city historically defined by its intimate and densely layered built environment.

The project also generated controversy over the treatment of numerous smaller shrines, temples and archaeological remains reportedly discovered during demolition. While the temple administration maintained that significant structures had been carefully preserved wherever possible, it has been argued that redevelopment had prioritised visual grandeur over conservation of the city’s accumulated architectural heritage. The debate reflected competing visions of heritage itself: whether it should be understood principally through monumental architecture or through the preservation of living neighbourhoods that had evolved over centuries.

Redevelopment within a politically contested landscape

The constitutional significance of the Corridor cannot be understood without recognising another reality. The redevelopment has unfolded alongside continuing legal and political contestation surrounding the Gyanvapi Mosque, situated immediately adjacent to the Kashi Vishwanath Temple. In recent years, the mosque has become the subject of multiple civil suits, archaeological surveys and “competing” historical claims concerning the existence of a pre-existing temple beneath the present structure. Those proceedings, in turn, form part of a broader national debate concerning historical religious sites and the continued relevance of the Places of Worship (Special Provisions) Act, 1991, whose constitutional validity is presently under challenge before the Supreme Court.

Detailed reports on Gyanvapi Mosque, its history and the case may be read here, here, here, here and here.

Detailed reports on the Places of Worship (Special Provisions) Act, 1991 may be read here, here, here and here.

Detailed report on “contested” Mosques and Places of Worship Act may be read here, here and here.

The present litigation did not concern ownership of the Gyanvapi Mosque, nor did it involve competing historical claims regarding religious identity. Nevertheless, it emerged within this broader environment of heightened contestation, where disputes concerning places of worship are rarely perceived as isolated property disputes. Instead, they frequently engage larger constitutional questions concerning secularism, equality, historical memory and the relationship between religion and State power.

It is precisely because of this context that the Allahabad High Court’s interpretation of the Places of Worship Act assumes significance beyond the immediate facts before it. A judgment concerning six mosques in Dalmandi inevitably contributes to the evolving jurisprudence governing one of the Constitution’s most sensitive areas. As said before, it slants and limits the scope of application of a law enacted in 1991 for precisely this purpose: containment of aggressive politico-majoriatrian claims arounds places of worship.

Why the Places of Worship Act matters

To appreciate the importance of the Court’s ruling, it is necessary to revisit the constitutional purpose behind the Places of Worship (Special Provisions) Act, 1991. The legislation was enacted at a moment of extraordinary communal tension. Throughout the 1980s and early 1990s, disputes concerning historical places of worship increasingly became instruments of political mobilisation, culminating in the movement surrounding the Babri Masjid at Ayodhya. Parliament responded by enacting the Places of Worship Act to ensure that, with the sole exception of the Ayodhya dispute, the religious character of every place of worship as it existed on August 15, 1947 would remain unchanged.

The statute represented more than an ordinary property law. It was a legislative affirmation that independent India would not permit historical grievances to become the basis for contemporary contests over religious identity. By freezing the religious status of places of worship at the moment of Independence, Parliament sought to preserve communal harmony and reinforce the constitutional commitment to secularism embodied in the Preamble and the guarantees of equality and religious freedom.

Nearly three decades later, in the Babri Masjid demolition-Ayodhya judgment (2019), the Supreme Court described the Act as a legislative intervention that safeguards the secular character of the Republic by preventing historical wrongs, whether real or perceived, from being reopened through present-day litigation. The Court characterised the legislation as imposing a constitutional obligation of non-retrogression, ensuring that independent India’s future would not be continually reshaped by unresolved disputes from its past. It is against that constitutional backdrop that the Dalmandi dispute reached the Allahabad High Court.

Detailed reports on Babri Masjid demolition-Ayodhya judgment may be read here, here, here and here.

The question before the Court was not whether a mosque could be converted into a temple. The statute answers that unequivocally. Rather, it was whether Parliament intended the protection afforded by the Act to extend further, shielding places of worship from compulsory acquisition itself, or whether acquisition for a genuine public purpose remained outside the Act’s reach.

That seemingly narrow distinction lies at the heart of one of the most consequential interpretations of the Places of Worship Act delivered by any constitutional court since the legislation came into force.

The Dalmandi redevelopment project

The controversy before the Allahabad High Court arose from the Uttar Pradesh Government’s proposal to widen and beautify Dalmandi, one of Varanasi’s oldest commercial neighbourhoods situated approximately 800 metres from the Kashi Vishwanath Temple. As part of the continuing expansion of the Kashi Vishwanath Corridor, the State proposed to acquire numerous residential and commercial properties along the route to facilitate smoother movement of pilgrims and improve connectivity between the temple precinct and adjoining areas.

Unlike the earlier phases of the Corridor project, which had already witnessed extensive demolition of residential and commercial structures surrounding the temple, the proposed redevelopment of Dalmandi raised an additional legal question. The proposed alignment included six centuries-old mosques: Anjuman Intezamia Masjid, Masjid Rangile Shah, Masjid Ali Raza Khan, Masjid Karimullah Baig, Masjid Nisaran and Masjid Sangamarmar. According to the petitioners, these mosques were likely to be acquired and demolished as part of the road-widening exercise.

While urban redevelopment frequently involves difficult choices between public infrastructure and private property, the inclusion of functioning places of worship transformed what might otherwise have been an ordinary land acquisition dispute into a constitutional controversy. It raised a question that courts had not previously addressed in any substantial detail: does the Places of Worship (Special Provisions) Act, 1991 merely prohibit changes in the religious identity of places of worship, or does it also prevent the State from acquiring them altogether?

That question assumed particular significance because the litigation unfolded against the backdrop of continuing constitutional debates over the meaning and future of the Places of Worship Act itself. Several petitions challenging the validity of the legislation, or seeking a narrower interpretation of its provisions, are presently pending before the Supreme Court. Although the Allahabad High Court was not called upon to determine the constitutional validity of the statute, its interpretation of the Act inevitably contributes to the developing jurisprudence on one of India’s most consequential secularism laws.

The petition: More than a challenge to acquisition

The writ petition was filed by six tenants and shopkeepers carrying on business in Dalmandi. Their immediate concern was practical and personal: the proposed acquisition threatened the closure of their establishments and the loss of their livelihoods. Yet the petition deliberately framed the dispute as extending beyond commercial interests. It argued that the redevelopment would simultaneously extinguish historic places of worship that had existed long before Independence and therefore enjoyed statutory protection under the Places of Worship Act.

The petitioners contended that the six mosques proposed to be acquired had retained their religious character continuously since before August 15, 1947, bringing them squarely within the protective ambit of the 1991 legislation. Parliament, they argued, had enacted the Act to preserve precisely such sites from future interference. If pre-Independence places of worship could nevertheless be acquired and demolished in the name of redevelopment, the central objective of the legislation would stand substantially diluted.

Their challenge therefore rested on a purposive understanding of the statute. According to the petitioners, the Act could not be reduced to a prohibition against physically converting a mosque into a temple or vice versa. Such a narrow reading, they argued, ignored the broader legislative purpose of preserving religious sites from becoming casualties of contemporary political or administrative decisions. A mosque that had been acquired and demolished might not have been converted into another religious structure, but its existence as a functioning place of worship would nevertheless come to an end. From that perspective, acquisition could undermine the statutory protection just as effectively as formal conversion.

The petition also invoked broader constitutional guarantees. The petitioners argued that the proposed acquisition violated Articles 14, 21 and 25 of the Constitution by threatening both their right to livelihood and the community’s right to continue worship at long-standing mosques. They further questioned whether the project genuinely satisfied the requirement of public purpose, asserting that alternative alignments were available which could improve access to the temple without requiring demolition of existing neighbourhoods and religious structures.

Another important strand of the petition concerned the social consequences of redevelopment. Dalmandi is not merely a cluster of buildings; it is a living commercial locality whose economy has evolved over generations. The petitioners argued that the project would displace traders, workers and families whose livelihoods depended upon businesses established in the locality over several decades. While acknowledging the importance of improving civic infrastructure, they contended that the State had failed to adequately balance developmental objectives with constitutional guarantees protecting livelihood, religious practice and equality before the law.

The petition further alleged that the proposed alignment disproportionately affected one community and was therefore arbitrary. The High Court later described these assertions as “odd pleadings”, indicating that it found the allegations insufficiently substantiated by specific material placed on record. Nevertheless, the broader concern articulated by the petition—that redevelopment in religiously sensitive spaces demands heightened constitutional scrutiny—continued to inform the legal arguments advanced before the Court.

The State’s response: Eminent domain cannot be displaced by implication

The Uttar Pradesh Government fundamentally disagreed with the petitioners’ interpretation of the 1991 Act. According to the State, the legislation was enacted for a specific and limited purpose: to prohibit the conversion of places of worship from one religion or denomination to another. It was never intended to extinguish the State’s sovereign authority to compulsorily acquire land for public purposes. Reading such an exemption into the statute, the State argued, would effectively place every temple, mosque, church, gurudwara and shrine permanently beyond the reach of land acquisition laws, regardless of compelling public necessity. Parliament, it submitted, had expressed no such intention.

The State therefore relied upon the doctrine of eminent domain, the well-established constitutional principle recognising the State’s authority to acquire private property for a public purpose subject to payment of compensation and compliance with statutory safeguards. That power today is principally regulated by the Right to Fair Compensation and Transparency in Land Acquisition, Rehabilitation and Resettlement Act, 2013 (RFCTLARR Act), which replaced the colonial Land Acquisition Act of 1894 with a framework emphasising social impact assessment, rehabilitation, transparency and fair compensation.

Crucially, the State argued that the RFCTLARR Act does not create a blanket exemption for religious properties. Instead, it prescribes the conditions under which acquisition may occur while balancing developmental needs with the rights of affected persons. If Parliament had intended places of worship to enjoy absolute immunity from acquisition, it could have expressly provided so. The absence of such an exemption, according to the State, was itself significant.

The Government also relied upon provisions of the Waqf Act, 1995, which contemplate acquisition of Waqf properties under certain circumstances while requiring adherence to statutory safeguards and compensation mechanisms. These provisions, the State argued, demonstrated that Parliament recognised acquisition of religious endowments as legally permissible, subject to due process, rather than absolutely prohibited. At a deeper level, the dispute reflected two competing constitutional visions.

For the petitioners, the Places of Worship Act represented a broad constitutional guarantee preserving the continued existence of historic places of worship against contemporary State action. For the State, the Act performed a narrower but equally important function: preventing religious conversion of sites while leaving intact the ordinary operation of land acquisition law. Resolving that conflict required the High Court to answer not merely what the statute says, but what Parliament intended the Act to protect. That inquiry would lead the Bench to adopt one of the narrowest judicial readings of the Places of Worship Act since its enactment in 1991.

The Court’s reasoning: Locus standi, statutory interpretation and the doctrine of eminent domain

The Allahabad High Court’s judgment proceeds in two distinct stages. The first concerns maintainability—whether the petitioners possessed the legal standing to challenge the acquisition. The second addresses the larger constitutional issue of whether the Places of Worship (Special Provisions) Act, 1991 limits the State’s power to compulsorily acquire places of worship. While the Court ultimately dismissed the petition on grounds of locus standi, it nevertheless chose to examine the substantive legal issue. In doing so, it delivered one of the most detailed judicial interpretations of the Places of Worship Act since its enactment.

A threshold question: Who can challenge the acquisition?

The Bench first noted that the petitioners were tenants and shopkeepers, not the owners of the properties proposed to be acquired. Although they undoubtedly stood to lose their businesses and livelihoods, the Court held that the legal challenge to acquisition primarily belongs to those whose proprietary rights are directly affected.

Under the RFCTLARR Act, 2013, it is ordinarily the title holder who possesses the right to object to acquisition, negotiate compensation or challenge the legality of the State’s exercise of eminent domain. Since none of the property owners had approached the Court, the Bench found it difficult to sustain a challenge instituted solely by tenants.

“We would think that the petitioners are more or less here, in order to protect their business and source of livelihood, rather than proprietary rights,” the Court remarked, reported LiveLaw. This observation should not be misunderstood as dismissing the hardships that acquisition may cause tenants. Rather, it reflects a long-established principle of land acquisition law: economic injury does not necessarily confer the same legal standing as proprietary ownership. Yet, the conclusion also reveals one of the limitations of the judgment.

The Court did not meaningfully engage with the evolving constitutional jurisprudence surrounding Article 21, where livelihood has increasingly been recognised as an integral component of the right to life. Decisions such as Olga Tellis v. Bombay Municipal Corporation have acknowledged that displacement and deprivation of livelihood engage constitutional protections beyond conventional property rights. While Olga Tellis arose in a different factual context, the judgment nevertheless illustrates that constitutional standing cannot always be viewed exclusively through the lens of ownership.

The Bench’s approach therefore reflects a relatively traditional understanding of locus standi in acquisition proceedings, even as constitutional jurisprudence has gradually expanded recognition of those indirectly affected by State action.

Can ordinary worshippers defend a mosque?

The Court adopted a similar approach regarding the six mosques proposed to be acquired. The petitioners argued that, as members of the Muslim community, they were entitled to seek judicial protection for places of worship that had existed for centuries. The Court disagreed.

Each of the six mosques, it observed, was a registered Waqf administered by its own Mutawalli. Under the statutory framework governing Waqf properties, it is primarily the Mutawalli and the State Waqf Board that are entrusted with protecting Waqf assets and representing them before courts.

The Bench therefore held:

“The mosques are admittedly registered Waqf, with their own Mutawalli in each case. No doubt, members of the Muslim community may come forward in certain cases, but essentially it is the Mutawalli and the Waqf Board, who have to protect such properties. We have, nevertheless, heard the petitioners on this issue as well. If we hear the petitioners on this issue and pass judgment, it might prejudice the rights of the Mutawalli and the Waqf Board, who might have something to say in the matter, and their locus is pre-eminent, and not of the petitioners”. (Para 36)

Importantly, the Court did not hold that the mosques themselves lacked legal protection. Instead, it concluded that these particular petitioners were not the appropriate parties to assert those rights. This distinction assumes significance because the judgment expressly leaves open the possibility of future litigation by the Waqf Board or the respective Mutawallis. In other words, the Court’s dismissal of the petition cannot be read as foreclosing all future challenges to the acquisition of the mosques.

Interpreting the Places of Worship Act: Conversion is not acquisition

The central legal question before the Bench was whether the Places of Worship (Special Provisions) Act, 1991 prevents the State from acquiring a place of worship that existed before August 15, 1947.

The petitioners relied primarily upon Sections 3 and 4 of the Act. Section 3 prohibits the conversion of any place of worship belonging to one religious denomination into a place of worship of another denomination or another section of the same religion. Section 4 declares that the religious character of every place of worship existing on 15 August 1947 shall continue to remain the same. According to the petitioners, these provisions effectively insulated pre-Independence places of worship from acquisition or demolition because any such action would inevitably alter their religious character.

The High Court rejected this interpretation. The Bench cautioned against reading Section 4 in isolation. If viewed independently, Section 4 might appear to suggest that every place of worship existing on 15 August 1947 must physically remain untouched forever. However, the Court held that such a reading would misconstrue the statute and disregard the legislative context in which it was enacted.

Instead, the Court adopted what it described as a harmonious construction of Sections 3 and 4. Read together, these provisions reveal Parliament’s true objective—to prevent one religious community or denomination from converting a place of worship belonging to another community after Independence. Thus, a temple existing on 15 August 1947 cannot subsequently become a mosque or church; equally, a mosque cannot be converted into a temple or any other place of worship. That, according to the Court, is the extent of the statutory prohibition.

The judgment stressed that Parliament enacted the Places of Worship Act in the aftermath of escalating communal disputes over religious sites to preserve communal harmony and maintain the religious status quo existing at the time of Independence. Nothing in the language of the Act, however, indicates an intention to withdraw the State’s traditional power to acquire land for public purposes.

“Now, Sections 3 and 4 of the Act of 1991 have to be harmoniously construed, in particular, sub-Section (1) of Section 4. Read in isolation, sub-Section (1) of Section 4 might seem to declare that the religious character of a place of worship existing on the 15th day of August, 1947 is immutable, to wit, if it was a temple, it will remain a temple, if a church, it would remain that, and if a mosque, it would continue to be so. But reading it this way, would be a misconstruction of the scope of the Statute. When Section 4(1) of the Act of 1991 is read together with Section 3, it is evident that there is a prohibition imposed by Section 3 upon any person converting any place of worship of any religious denomination or a sect thereof into a place of worship of a different sect of the same denomination or to that of a different religious denomination. Sections 3 and 4 of the Act of 1991, when harmoniously construed, prevent the religious character of a place of worship belonging to a religious denomination from being changed into a place of worship of another religious denomination, from whatever it was on the 15th day of August, 1947. In short, a temple on 15th August, 1947 cannot be converted to a church or a mosque, and likewise, a mosque or a church to a temple.” (Para 42)

According to the Court, interpreting the 1991 Act as creating absolute immunity from acquisition would place every religious property beyond the reach of public infrastructure projects, regardless of necessity or public interest. Such an interpretation, the Bench held, finds no support either in the statutory language or in the legislative purpose underlying the Act.

The Court therefore concluded that the Places of Worship Act protects religious identity, not ownership. It prevents the alteration of the religious character of places of worship but does not prohibit their acquisition for roads, public infrastructure or other secular public purposes carried out in accordance with law and accompanied by payment of compensation.

The Bench also found support for this interpretation in the amended provisions of the Waqf Act, 1995. Section 51 expressly recognises that Waqf properties may be acquired for public purposes under the RFCTLARR Act or other land acquisition laws, provided the acquisition is undertaken in consultation with the Waqf Board and subject to statutory safeguards, including that it should not contravene the Places of Worship Act, be for an undisputed public purpose, and provide appropriate compensation or suitable alternative land where required. Far from prohibiting acquisition, the Waqf Act, the Court held, prescribes the conditions under which such acquisition may lawfully take place.

“Section 51 of the Waqf Act, 1995 (as amended by Act No. 14 of 2025) provides, by virtue of the second proviso to sub-Section (1A) of Section 51 that nothing contained in this sub-Section, that is to say, the prohibition on sale, gift, exchange, mortgage or transfer of Waqf property being void, shall affect any acquisition of Waqf properties for a public purpose, under the Act of 2013, or any other law relating to acquisition of land, if such acquisition is made in consultation with the Board. The Board, of course, means the Waqf Board. The third proviso says that the acquisition shall not be in contravention of the Act of 1991, the provision upon which learned Counsel for the petitioner has much harped.” (Para 44)

The Court’s understanding of eminent domain

The judgment is equally significant for its reaffirmation of the constitutional doctrine of eminent domain. The Bench held that nothing in the Places of Worship Act suggests Parliament intended to curtail the State’s sovereign authority to acquire land for public purposes. Such a conclusion, it reasoned, would create an extraordinary category of property permanently insulated from acquisition—something Parliament neither expressly stated nor necessarily intended.

The Court explained:

“The purport of the Act of 1991 is not to place beyond the pale of authority of the State’s right as the owner paramount of all lands in the territory of India and to acquire and use it for any public purpose, subject, of course, to the owner’s right to receive just and fair compensation. That is what the doctrine of eminent domain, after all, means. The Act of 1991 is not meant to derogate from that right of the State.” (Para 42)

The reasoning reflects a limited ,classical understanding of eminent domain: private rights yield to public necessity, subject to legality, due process and compensation. However, the judgment also illustrates a recurring feature of Indian constitutional adjudication. The Court devotes considerable attention to affirming the State’s acquisition powers but relatively little to examining the quality of judicial review that should accompany their exercise—particularly where acquisition affects centuries-old religious institutions. The distinction is important.

Recognising that the State possesses the power to acquire land does not automatically answer whether a particular acquisition satisfies constitutional standards of fairness, proportionality or necessity.

Reliance on Ismail Faruqui

To reinforce its interpretation, the Bench relied upon the Constitution Bench decision in Dr. M. Ismail Faruqui v. Union of India (1994). That decision, delivered in the aftermath of the acquisition of land around the disputed Ayodhya site, held that acquisition of a mosque is not constitutionally prohibited merely because it is a place of worship. The Constitution Bench observed that offering namaz is not necessarily confined to a mosque, and consequently a mosque does not enjoy absolute immunity from acquisition.

The Allahabad High Court relied upon these observations to conclude that acquisition of religious property remains constitutionally permissible where undertaken for a legitimate public purpose. The reliance is doctrinally understandable because Ismail Faruqui continues to remain binding precedent on land acquisition. Yet it also revives one of the most debated aspects of Indian constitutional law.

The observations concerning the essentiality of mosques to Islamic practice have been criticised by constitutional lawyers for venturing into theological questions that were arguably unnecessary for deciding the acquisition dispute before the Court. Indeed, in M. Siddiq v. Mahant Suresh Das (Ayodhya, 2019), the Supreme Court clarified that Ismail Faruqui should be understood in the limited context of acquisition and should not be read as a broader pronouncement on Islamic doctrine.

The Allahabad High Court follows precisely that limited approach. It relies on Ismail Faruqui not to determine the importance of mosques within Islam, but to reaffirm the narrower proposition that religious properties are not constitutionally immune from compulsory acquisition. Yet that conclusion, while legally defensible, does not exhaust the constitutional questions raised by the case. The more difficult issue is not whether acquisition is legally permissible.

It is how courts should scrutinise the exercise of that power when acquisition affects historic places of worship situated within politically contested landscapes. That question, significantly, remains largely unanswered by the judgment.

A narrow reading of a law enacted to preserve constitutional secularism

The Allahabad High Court’s judgment is likely to become an important precedent in future disputes involving religious properties and public infrastructure. Its central holding—that the Places of Worship (Special Provisions) Act, 1991 does not prohibit the State from acquiring places of worship for secular public purposes—is likely to be cited in litigation involving roads, railways, metro projects, heritage redevelopment and urban renewal schemes across the country. Yet, while the judgment provides a coherent textual interpretation of the statute, it also leaves several constitutional questions unanswered. These unanswered questions are important because they go to the heart of the constitutional balance between State power, religious freedom and secularism.

The High Court proceeds on the premise that Parliament intended the Places of Worship Act to prevent only one mischief—the conversion of a place of worship from one religion to another. There is textual support for this conclusion. Sections 3 and 4 repeatedly refer to “conversion” and “religious character.” Read literally, they do not expressly prohibit acquisition. However, constitutional interpretation rarely ends with the literal text. Every statute must also be understood in light of the constitutional purpose it seeks to achieve.

The Places of Worship Act was enacted in September 1991 during one of independent India’s most volatile communal moments. The Ram Janmabhoomi movement had transformed disputes over historical religious sites into instruments of mass political mobilisation. Parliament responded by freezing the religious character of every place of worship as it existed on August 15, 1947, making a conscious constitutional choice that independent India would not continually reopen disputes rooted in medieval history. In Ayodhya jugdment, the Supreme Court recognised precisely this objective.

The Court described the Places of Worship Act as a legislative instrument that protects the secular foundations of the Constitution by preventing history from becoming a source of recurring communal conflict. It called the Act a statutory reflection of India’s constitutional commitment to equality, fraternity and secularism, observing that the law imposes a principle of constitutional non-retrogression—the Republic would move forward from the moment of Independence rather than repeatedly litigate the past. Against that backdrop, an important question arises.

If Parliament intended to preserve communal harmony by protecting historic places of worship, does that protection concern only their religious identity, or also their continued existence? The Allahabad High Court answers only the first question. It does not meaningfully engage with the second. That omission does not necessarily render the judgment incorrect. But it does illustrate the limits of a purely textual approach when interpreting legislation enacted to serve a larger constitutional purpose.

Conversion and acquisition: A distinction that invites further debate

The judgment rests upon a clear distinction between conversion and acquisition. According to the Court, acquisition changes ownership; conversion changes religious identity. Legally, the distinction is logical. Constitutionally, however, it is more complicated. A mosque acquired for a road project has not become a temple; a church acquired for a metro line has not become a gurudwara; yet neither continues to function as a place of worship. This raises an important constitutional question that the judgment leaves unanswered.

Can the religious character of a place meaningfully survive once the place itself has ceased to exist? The answer is not obvious. One could argue, as the Court does, that Parliament deliberately chose only to prohibit conversion and not acquisition. Equally, one could argue that the continued existence of historic places of worship forms part of the very constitutional settlement the Act sought to preserve after Independence. Neither interpretation is implausible. The issue is likely to acquire greater significance if future redevelopment projects affect historic temples, mosques, churches or gurudwaras elsewhere in the country.

The meaning of “public purpose”

Perhaps the most important constitutional issue left largely unexplored by the judgment concerns the idea of public purpose. Throughout the decision, the Court accepts road widening, urban infrastructure and improved pilgrimage access as legitimate public purposes. Ordinarily, that proposition is uncontroversial. Courts have long recognised roads, railways, public transport and civic infrastructure as classic examples of public purpose. However, constitutional adjudication ordinarily does not stop there.

Where fundamental rights are affected, courts frequently ask additional questions.

• Is the objective legitimate?
• Was due fair and reasonable process followed in the actions of acquisition of ancient temples and mosques: dialogues, engagements, adjudication?
• Is the chosen measure necessary?
• Could the same objective have been achieved through less restrictive means?
• Has the State adequately balanced competing constitutional interests?

Those questions receive relatively limited attention in the present judgment. This is partly explained by the Court’s finding that the petition itself suffered from lack of locus standi. Once the Court concluded that the petitioners were not the appropriate parties to challenge the acquisition, it understandably refrained from undertaking a detailed proportionality analysis. Nevertheless, the broader constitutional issue remains. Redevelopment projects affecting centuries-old places of worship occupy a category distinct from ordinary land acquisition disputes. Such projects implicate not merely property rights but also religious freedom, cultural heritage, community identity and constitutional secularism. Future litigation instituted by title holders, Mutawallis or Waqf Boards may therefore require courts to scrutinise more closely whether the asserted public purpose justifies the particular acquisition in question.

The heritage dimension

Another notable feature of the judgment is what it does not discuss. The decision treats the dispute primarily as one concerning statutory interpretation and land acquisition. It says relatively little about heritage. Yet heritage formed an important part of the wider public debate surrounding the Kashi Vishwanath Corridor.

For several years, historians, architects, urban planners and conservationists have debated whether redevelopment of the temple precinct should be understood merely as infrastructure expansion or also as a profound transformation of one of India’s oldest living cities. The issue extends beyond individual buildings. Varanasi’s historic significance lies not only in monumental structures such as the Kashi Vishwanath Temple or the Gyanvapi Mosque but equally in the intricate network of neighbourhoods, shrines, markets and narrow lanes that evolved over centuries.

Urban heritage increasingly recognises that cities possess value not merely because of isolated monuments but because of the relationships between monuments, communities and everyday life. Indian constitutional law itself reflects this concern. Article 49 places an obligation upon the State to protect monuments of national importance, and Article 51A(f) recognises a fundamental duty to value and preserve the country’s composite culture. Neither provision directly governed the dispute before the Allahabad High Court. Yet both remind us that redevelopment of historically significant urban spaces inevitably raises constitutional questions extending beyond land acquisition alone.

What the judgment leaves open

It is equally important to understand what the Court did not decide. The judgment does not hold that every acquisition of a religious property is automatically valid. Nor does it approve every aspect of the Dalmandi redevelopment project. The Court does not examine whether the acquisition satisfies every procedural safeguard under the RFCTLARR Act; it does not determine whether consultation requirements under the Waqf Act were fully complied with; and it does not decide whether compensation is adequate. Nor does it adjudicate upon the independent rights of the Waqf Board or the Mutawallis, expressly leaving those questions open for future proceedings. Accordingly, the judgment should not be read more broadly than its ratio permits.

Its central proposition is narrower: the Places of Worship Act, by itself, does not prohibit acquisition of places of worship for a lawful public purpose. Whether a particular acquisition satisfies constitutional and statutory safeguards remains a separate inquiry.

Conclusion: Development, secularism and the future of the Places of Worship Act

The Allahabad High Court’s decision arrives at a moment when the constitutional future of the Places of Worship (Special Provisions) Act, 1991 itself remains under scrutiny before the Supreme Court. In that sense, the judgment is likely to influence debates extending far beyond the immediate dispute in Dalmandi. Its importance lies not because it diminishes the constitutional value of secularism, the Court expressly accepts the continuing force of the 1991 Act, but because it narrows the statute’s operational field. By distinguishing conversion from acquisition, the Court shifts future disputes involving redevelopment away from the Places of Worship Act and towards the law of eminent domain, land acquisition, proportionality and procedural fairness. Whether that shift ultimately strengthens constitutional governance or weakens one of Parliament’s most significant secular safeguards remains an open question.

If accepted more broadly, the judgment means that the principal legal battleground in future cases may no longer be whether the Places of Worship Act bars State action, but whether the exercise of eminent domain itself satisfies constitutional standards of fairness, necessity, proportionality and non-discrimination. That is a significant doctrinal shift. It also reflects a larger constitutional reality.

As Indian cities continue to redevelop historic religious precincts, whether in Varanasi, Mathura, Ujjain, Ayodhya or elsewhere, courts will increasingly be called upon to reconcile competing constitutional values: development and conservation, public infrastructure and religious freedom, State power and minority rights, heritage and modernisation. The Dalmandi judgment does not resolve those tensions. It marks the beginning of a new chapter in that conversation.

The complete judgment may be read below:

[1] Announced with much fanfare in March 2019, when prime minister Modi laid the foundation stone, it was formally inaugurated in 2021; https://www.pib.gov.in/PressReleasePage.aspx?PRID=2122058&reg=48&lang=2

[2] https://www.thehinducentre.com/the-arena/current-issues/advani-to-modi-to-yogi-a-hindutva-story-foretold/article64931577.ece; https://frontline.thehindu.com/cover-story/article25545271.ece

[3] Babri Masjid Demolition: Point of Departure, and of Arrival, Teesta Setalvad, Social Scientist; https://www.jstor.org/stable/27249507

Related:

When the Supreme Court directed protection for the Gyan Vapi Mosque, upheld the Places of Worship Act, 1991 (1994, 1995, 1997)

UP: After Gyanvapi, Mathura Court Orders Shahi Idgah Survey; ‘Violation’ of Places of Worship Act, Say Activists

The Challenge to Places of Worship Special Provisions Act, 1991 is Misconceived

Article 32 cannot be invoked to enforce all disputes relating to the Places of Worship Act: SC

When and How Ram Vilas Paswan made a strong pitch for the Places of Worship Act, 1991

Understanding the Supreme Court’s Interim Intervention in the Waqf Amendments, 2025

‘Reforms’: Sachar Committee, the 2013 Amendments and the motive behind the proposed changes in the Waqf Regime

Amendments to the Waqf Law were needed, but the grab-and-control Waqf Amendment Act, 2025 is not the answer

The post Public Purpose and Places of Worship: Allahabad HC’s Dalmandi verdict appeared first on SabrangIndia.

Against this backdrop, the Gauhati High Court’s decision in Aminul Hoque v. Union of India & Ors, delivered on June 30, 2026, dismissing the petitioner’s challenge to the opinion of Foreigners Tribunal No. 4, Kamrup (Metro), once again reiterates the settled principles governing proceedings under the Foreigners Act, 1946. In this June 30 judgement, the Court reaffirmed that the burden under Section 9 of the Act rests squarely upon the proceedee; that documentary evidence, rather than oral assertions, must establish citizenship; that writ courts exercising jurisdiction under Article 226 cannot function as appellate authorities over findings of Foreigners Tribunals; and that discrepancies in documentary evidence may legitimately defeat a citizenship claim where linkage with pre-1971 ancestors remains unproved.

“Thus, though the petitioner had exhibited 15 (fifteen) documents as exhibits, the same does not appear to help the petitioner to establish that he has been able to discharge his burden as required under Section 9 of the Foreigners Act, 1964 to prove that he is not a foreigner but an Indian Citizen.” (Para 27)

The judgment may sound as if it is entirely consistent with recent jurisprudence developed by the Gauhati High Court. However as the 2013 judgement of the same Court in Moslem Mandal shows, this is not how this particular court has ruled, always. Conflicting verdicts make access for substantive justice an even greater challenge for individual, impoverished victims of citizenship. The Aminul Hoque verdict relies upon familiar propositions regarding the burden of proof, admissibility of electronic records, evidentiary value of electoral rolls, proof of linkage documents and the narrow contours of certiorari jurisdiction. While the Court appears to meticulously examine each document produced by the petitioner, its treatment and evaluation especially given everyday realities behind “spelling differences” and “date differentials” in official documents discards their value. The entire verdict runs in to 21 pages.

Hence, the judgment raises larger constitutional questions about the evolving nature of citizenship adjudication in India. The decision reflects what may be described as a burden-centric approach, where the primary inquiry revolves around whether the proceedee has satisfactorily established lineage through admissible documentary evidence. Questions relating to procedural fairness, the practical realities of maintaining documentary continuity over several decades, and the heightened constitutional consequences flowing from a declaration of foreigner status receive comparatively limited engagement.

These concerns assume particular significance in light of the Supreme Court’s recent decision in Sabitri Dey @ Swasthi Dey v. Union of India, where a Bench of Justices Vikram Nath and Sandeep Mehta substantially reiterated formerly established jurisprudence governing Foreigners Tribunal proceedings. While affirming that Section 9 continues to place the burden upon the individual to establish Indian citizenship, the Supreme Court simultaneously clarified that this burden “operates within a legal process” and cannot replace the Tribunal’s obligation to conduct a fair, lawful and reasoned adjudication. The Court further held that citizenship proceedings remain subject to Articles 14 and 21 of the Constitution, emphasising that procedural fairness extends to “any person”, irrespective of whether they ultimately succeed in proving citizenship.

Detailed report on the judgement may be read here.

Although Aminul Hoque predates that decision, it provides an important lens through which the Supreme Court’s subsequent intervention may be understood. Substantially varying interpretations –even by constitutional courts –on the rigour of evidentiary procedures before Foreigners Tribunals have only obfuscated a life-and-death issue further. The present judgment reflects the evidentiary challenges routinely encountered in Assam’s Foreigners Tribunal regime: fragmented documentary records, changing spellings of names, migration across villages due to erosion and displacement, inconsistencies in electoral rolls, reliance upon legacy data, and the perennial difficulty of establishing genealogical continuity spanning several decades.

Rather than merely determining the fate of one individual, the judgment illustrates the structural tensions embedded within citizenship adjudication itself—between subjective evaluations of the statutory burden and constitutional fairness, documentary precision and lived realities, judicial restraint and meaningful scrutiny, and ultimately between sovereign power and individual liberty.

Facts giving rise to the dispute

The proceedings arose from an opinion dated February 28, 2019 passed by the Member, Foreigners Tribunal No. 4, Kamrup (Metro), Guwahati in FT Case No. FT(KM)-4/1077/2017. Acting upon a reference made by the competent authorities, the Tribunal declared the petitioner, Aminul Hoque, to be a foreigner who had entered India after March 25, 1971, thereby attracting the consequences contemplated under the Foreigners Act, 1946. Challenging this opinion, the petitioner invoked the writ jurisdiction of the Gauhati High Court under Article 226 of the Constitution.

Before the Tribunal, the petitioner asserted that he was an Indian citizen by birth and traced his lineage through his father Mohiruddin Sheikh (also described in different documents as Mahruddin Sheikh, Mohiruddin and Mohir Uddin) and his grandfather Pasan Ali (also appearing as Pashan Sheikh/Pachan Ali in different records). According to the defence, the family originally resided at village Dhobakura, later shifted to Ghugudoba owing to erosion caused by the Brahmaputra, and subsequently settled at Hashdoba following family partition and migration over the years. The petitioner contended that these successive movements explained the appearance of his family in electoral rolls relating to different villages across different years.

To establish this lineage, the petitioner produced an extensive documentary record comprising fifteen exhibits. These included extracts from the 1951 NRC, certified electoral rolls of 1966, 1970, 1979, 1985, 1989, 1997, 2005, 2013, 2015 and 2017, a registered sale deed executed in favour of his projected grandfather in 1973, his PAN Card, EPIC, and a school certificate issued by the Headmaster of Hashdoba Anchalik High School. He also examined himself as DW-1 and produced his projected father as DW-2 in an attempt to establish the necessary family linkage between the pre-1971 ancestors and himself.

Clearly, the documentary record appeared substantial. Unlike several Foreigners Tribunal cases where the proceedee herein relies upon only a handful of documents, and the petitioner sought to construct a continuous genealogical chain spanning over five decades. The central question before both the Tribunal and the High Court, therefore, was not the absence of documentary material but whether the documents, read together, successfully established an uninterrupted legal link connecting the petitioner with ancestors whose presence in India prior to March 25, 1971 stood established.

It is in answering that question that the judgment assumes wider significance, for the High Court’s analysis demonstrates the exceptionally narrow –and even bureaucratically rigid–evidentiary scrutiny presently employed in citizenship adjudication. Rather than treating the documents cumulatively, the Court subjected each exhibit to independent examination before testing whether the entire chain remained internally consistent. Any unexplained discrepancy—whether relating to age, spelling, relationship, village, family composition or documentary proof—was treated as capable of weakening the overall linkage claim.

The resulting analysis reveals a judicial methodology that prioritises documentary perfection above all else, raising broader questions about the practical ability of rural citizens (or any citizens from the marginalised sections) to satisfy evidentiary standards in proceedings carrying the gravest of civil consequences.

Another detailed report on an earlier judicial treatment of documentary discrepancies may be read here.

The Court’s evidentiary analysis: Why every document failed to establish citizenship

The Gauhati High Court’s judgment is disturbing not only because it rejects the petitioner’s claim outright, but because of the meticulous manner in which it appears to scrutinise every document relied upon to establish citizenship. Rather than approaching the petitioner’s evidence cumulatively –and with an application of reasoning and logic– the Court examined each document individually, testing its admissibility, authenticity, evidentiary value and ability to establish the crucial element of linkage. Ultimately, the Court concluded that while some documents may have demonstrated the existence of particular individuals at different points in time, none successfully established the “connections” of the petitioner to an ancestor whose presence in India prior to March 25, 1971 stood legally established.

The judgment therefore illustrates a recurring feature of Foreigners Tribunal litigation in Assam: possession of numerous documents does not necessarily translate into proof of citizenship. What the law requires is an unbroken documentary chain demonstrating lineage, identity and continuity across generations.

• The 1951 NRC extract: A foundational document rejected

Among the most significant documents relied upon by the petitioner was a computer-generated extract of the 1951 National Register of Citizens (NRC), purportedly showing the name of his projected grandfather, Pasan Ali. Since the 1951 NRC predates the statutory cut-off date of March 25, 1971, such a document, if accepted, could have provided a crucial starting point for establishing ancestral presence in India.

The High Court, however, refused to attach evidentiary value to the document. The Court observed that the extract produced before the Tribunal was not the original NRC register but a computer-generated copy downloaded from the NRC database. As such, it constituted an electronic record within the meaning of the Indian Evidence Act. Since no certificate satisfying the mandatory requirements of Section 65B accompanied the document, the Court held that it was inadmissible in evidence. Consequently, the Tribunal was justified in excluding it from consideration. Arguably this is a hyper-technical rejection of an otherwise accepted document. Put differently, the state could have been called upon by the Court to produce its own digital record of the same roll for re-verification.

The Court relied upon settled jurisprudence governing electronic evidence to conclude that compliance with Section 65B is not merely procedural but mandatory when electronic records are sought to be proved.

This aspect of the judgment is particularly significant because many citizenship claims in Assam increasingly rely upon digitised legacy data generated during the NRC exercise. By insisting upon strict compliance with Section 65B, the Court effectively raises the evidentiary threshold for proving legacy records that are now maintained and accessed electronically.

From a doctrinal standpoint, the reasoning is consistent with the law governing electronic evidence. Yet it also raises practical concerns. Legacy data made available by government authorities for NRC verification is frequently accessed through official digital repositories rather than physical registers. Requiring every proceedee before a Foreigners Tribunal to procure a formal Section 65B certificate may impose an additional procedural hurdle upon individuals who have little control over the manner in which such historical records are digitised or maintained. The judgment does not engage with this practical difficulty, instead applying the evidentiary rule in a strictly formal manner.

• Electoral rolls: Presence is not enough; linkage must also be proved

The petitioner also relied extensively upon electoral rolls spanning several decades. He produced voter lists of 1966 and 1970 showing the names of Pasan Ali and Mohiruddin Sheikh, voter lists of subsequent years reflecting changes in residence, and later electoral rolls containing his own name.

Ordinarily, electoral rolls prepared before the cut-off date constitute important evidence in citizenship proceedings because they establish that a particular individual was recognised as an elector in India before March 25, 1971.

However, the High Court reiterated another “settled” principle: pre-1971 electoral records establish only the existence of the recorded individual—not the citizenship of every person claiming descent from that individual. The crucial question always remains whether the proceedee has successfully proved the family linkage connecting himself to the projected ancestor.

Examining the electoral records closely, the Court noticed several inconsistencies. The names of the projected ancestors appeared across different villages—Dhobakura, Ghugudoba and Hashdoba. The petitioner explained these changes by referring to river erosion, displacement and subsequent settlement elsewhere, a phenomenon not uncommon in Assam’s flood-prone districts.

The Court did not reject this explanation outright. Instead, it held that the explanation itself required independent documentary corroboration. Merely asserting that a family migrated because of erosion could not bridge the evidentiary gap unless supported by continuous documentary material establishing that the individuals appearing in different electoral rolls were indeed the same persons. The question that begs attention here is what document if at all –across India and applicable to any or all displaced by natural disasters individuals or groups—could ever establish such “continuous documentary material.” Again, by adhering to a narrow manifestation of “established procedure” the Gauhati HC, a constitutional court, ignored the vast (and bitter reality) that hundreds of thousands of displaced Assamese face—the absence of these “legally convincing documents.”

The Court also examined the ages recorded in different voter lists and observed discrepancies which, in its view, weakened the reliability of the projected genealogy. These inconsistencies, though individually minor, assumed greater significance because the petitioner’s entire citizenship claim depended upon establishing an uninterrupted documentary chain extending across several decades.

Accordingly, the Court concluded that while the electoral rolls undoubtedly demonstrated the presence of persons bearing similar names, they did not satisfactorily establish that the petitioner was their lawful descendant.

• The registered sale deed: Ownership cannot establish lineage

Another important document relied upon by the petitioner was a registered sale deed executed in 1973 in favour of the projected grandfather. The petitioner argued that ownership of immovable property further corroborated the family’s long-standing residence in Assam.

The High Court accepted that the sale deed was a genuine registered document but observed that its evidentiary value remained limited.

A sale deed may establish ownership of land by the recorded purchaser. It does not, however, establish the identity of descendants claiming through that purchaser unless independent evidence proves the genealogical relationship between them.

Since the Court had already found the linkage evidence deficient, the sale deed could not independently prove the petitioner’s citizenship.

The judgment simply reiterates another practice followed by Foreigners Tribunal that do not often follow the rules of logic and reasoning of the Indian Evidence Act: documents proving property ownership cannot substitute proof of lineage. They merely establish that a particular person owned land; they do not establish that every claimant tracing ancestry to that person has successfully proved the relationship.

• PAN Card and EPIC: Identity documents are not proof of citizenship

The petitioner also relied upon his Permanent Account Number (PAN) Card and Electoral Photo Identity Card (EPIC). The High Court attached virtually no evidentiary weight to either document. Referring to earlier precedents, the Court reiterated that neither a PAN Card nor an EPIC constitutes proof of Indian citizenship. These documents primarily establish identity for administrative purposes and cannot override the statutory inquiry contemplated under the Foreigners Act.

The Court observed that issuance of such documents proceeds upon administrative verification and does not amount to a judicial determination of citizenship. Consequently, possession of these documents cannot discharge the burden imposed under Section 9 of the Foreigners Act.

The judgment once again reflects the narrow philosophy that often –though not always –governs citizenship litigation.

School certificate and oral evidence: Insufficient to bridge the evidentiary gap

Perhaps the most revealing aspect of the judgment concerns the treatment of the petitioner’s school certificate and oral testimony. The petitioner relied upon a certificate issued by the Headmaster of Hashdoba Anchalik High School to establish his parentage and educational history.

The Court declined to rely upon the certificate because the Headmaster who issued it was not examined before the Tribunal and the original admission register from which the certificate was prepared was never produced. In the absence of foundational evidence proving how the entries were made, the Court held that the certificate possessed little evidentiary value. A more pro-active approach could have resulted in a constitutional court questioning the Foreigner Tribunal proceedings for this “lapse” rather than rejecting the proceedee’s claim altogether.

Similarly, although the petitioner’s projected father entered the witness box and attempted to establish the family relationship through oral testimony, the Court held that such evidence could not compensate for deficiencies in documentary proof.

The High Court also observed that oral assertions regarding lineage, however sincere, cannot by themselves discharge the burden imposed under Section 9 where documentary evidence capable of establishing family linkage is either absent or inconsistent.

In effect, questionably, the Court treated documentary evidence as the primary mode of proving citizenship, while oral testimony assumed only a corroborative role. Where the documentary chain itself remained incomplete, oral evidence was considered insufficient to cure the defect.

This approach reflects some –not all—of the the prevailing judicial emphasis on documentary certainty in citizenship adjudication. However, it simultaneously raises an important question: whether proceedings determining a person’s legal status should demand documentary continuity of a standard that vast numbers of Indians, rural citizens, particularly those displaced by erosion, migration or historical administrative deficiencies, may find exceptionally difficult to satisfy.

Judicial restraint and the limits of Article 226: Deference to the Foreigners Tribunal

Having concluded that the petitioner failed to “establish a satisfactory documentary chain linking him to his projected ancestors,” the Gauhati High Court turned to what ultimately became the decisive legal question: whether the High Court, in exercise of its writ jurisdiction under Article 226 of the Constitution, could re-appreciate the evidence and arrive at a different factual conclusion from that reached by the Foreigners Tribunal. The Court answered this question firmly in the negative.

Relying upon a long line of precedents, the Bench reiterated that a writ court exercising certiorari jurisdiction does not function as an appellate forum over the findings of a Foreigners Tribunal. Its role is confined to examining whether the Tribunal acted within its jurisdiction, followed the prescribed procedure, observed principles of natural justice and arrived at findings that are not perverse or unsupported by any evidence. Mere disagreement with the appreciation of evidence does not justify interference under Article 226.

To reinforce this proposition, the Court referred to the Constitution Bench decision in Hari Vishnu Kamath v. Ahmad Ishaque, which continues to govern the scope of certiorari jurisdiction. The Court also relied upon the Supreme Court’s decision in Central Council for Research in Ayurvedic Sciences v. Bikartan Das, reiterating that writ courts cannot substitute their own factual conclusions merely because another view of the evidence may be possible.

Applying these principles, the High Court concluded that the Tribunal had examined every document placed before it, evaluated the oral testimony of both witnesses and assigned reasons for rejecting the petitioner’s claim. Unfortunately even though some oral testimonies –notably that of the Headmaster of the school were not recorded—the HC still came to this conclusion.

Whether those conclusions were ultimately correct on facts was, according to the Court, not a question that could ordinarily be reopened in writ proceedings. The judgment therefore reflects a pronounced judicial deference to the specialised role assigned to Foreigners Tribunals under the Foreigners Act and the Foreigners (Tribunals) Order.

“In this case in hand, the petitioner has not been able to establish that the learned Tribunal had committed any patent error in appreciating the pleadings and evidence on record, or that it considered extraneous materials or that the decision was based on ignorance of law or in disregard to the provisions of law.” (Para 30)

“In the light of the discussions made hereinbefore, the Court finds no material to hold that the opinion assailed in this writ petition is bad on facts or in law. The learned counsel for the petitioner could not show that the said opinion was perverse on any count whatsoever. Therefore, this challenge fails and consequently, this writ petition is dismissed.” (Para 31)

A burden-centric model of citizenship adjudication

Read holistically, the judgment reveals a judicial philosophy that has shaped Assam’s citizenship jurisprudence intermittently over the past two decades. The Court repeatedly returns to one statutory principle: Section 9 of the Foreigners Act places the burden of proving citizenship upon the proceedee. Everything else in the judgment flows from that premise.

The Court examines every document not to determine whether it raises a reasonable probability of Indian citizenship but to ascertain whether it conclusively discharges the burden imposed by Section 9. Where inconsistencies emerge, the benefit does not accrue to the proceedee. Instead, the deficiencies are treated as failures to satisfy the statutory burden. This approach may be described as burden-centric adjudication.

Under this model:

• the reference made by the State initiates the proceedings;
• the proceedee must affirmatively establish Indian citizenship;
• documentary evidence assumes primacy over oral testimony;
• every link in the genealogical chain must be independently proved;
• unexplained discrepancies weaken the entire claim; and
• failure to establish linkage results in the statutory burden remaining undischarged.

Doctrinally, this reasoning finds some support in earlier Supreme Court decisions, particularly Sarbananda Sonowal v. Union of India, which upheld the reverse burden contained in Section 9 on the ground that questions relating to nationality, birth and ancestry lie especially within the knowledge of the individual concerned. Interestingly while Sonowal has been cited on this aspect –upholding burden of proof—the same judgement of the SC has been ignored when it comes to the crucial and material issue of material grounds for issuance of notice by the Assam Border Police in the first place.

The Gauhati High Court’s judgment faithfully applies that doctrine. However, the decision also exposes the practical implications of a jurisprudence that places overwhelming emphasis upon documentary precision in a region where historical documentation has often been fragmented by displacement, erosion, illiteracy and administrative inconsistency.

Does the judgment impose an unrealistic evidentiary standard?

Perhaps the most significant question emerging from the judgment is not whether the Court correctly applied existing law, but whether the evidentiary standard demanded by that law adequately reflects the realities of citizenship documentation in Assam. The petitioner produced fifteen documents spanning nearly seven decades. These included pre-1971 electoral rolls, a 1951 NRC extract, land records, a registered sale deed, multiple voter lists, school records, PAN and EPIC, along with oral evidence from his projected father. Yet none proved sufficient.

Individually, many documents were rejected because they did not establish linkage. Others were discounted because of technical deficiencies in admissibility. Some suffered from discrepancies in names, ages or villages. Oral testimony was treated as incapable of curing documentary gaps. From a purely evidentiary standpoint, each conclusion may appear legally sustainable. Viewed collectively, however, the judgment raises a broader concern.

Citizenship proceedings frequently involve families whose records extend back fifty or seventy years. Variations in spelling, transliteration between Assamese, Bengali and English, inconsistent recording of ages, migration due to annual flooding, subdivision of villages and changing administrative boundaries are hardly exceptional features of rural documentation in Assam—they are endemic realities. The judgment gives relatively little consideration to these structural realities. Instead, it proceeds upon an implicit assumption that documentary continuity should ordinarily be capable of precise reconstruction. Whether such an expectation is realistic is a question that remains largely unexplored.

The treatment of linkage evidence

Another notable aspect of the judgment is its treatment of linkage. The Court correctly observes that proving the existence of an ancestor in India before March 25, 1971 is only the first step. The decisive issue is whether the proceedee has successfully demonstrated that he is indeed the descendant of that ancestor. This requirement has become the cornerstone of Assam’s Foreigners Tribunal jurisprudence. Yet the present judgment illustrates how linkage has gradually evolved from a factual inquiry into an exceptionally demanding documentary exercise. Each missing document, each discrepancy in age, each variation in spelling and each unexplained shift in residence becomes capable of weakening the entire genealogical chain.

The consequence is that citizenship litigation often turns less upon the existence of ancestral residence than upon the ability to reconstruct documentary history with remarkable precision across multiple decades. Whether this reflects the legislative intention underlying Section 9 or has developed incrementally through judicial practice is itself worthy of closer examination.

The Supreme Court’s intervention: A shift from burden to process

It is against this background that the Supreme Court’s recent judgment in Sabitri Dey @ Swasthi Dey v. Union of India assumes profound significance. Although the Supreme Court did not dilute the statutory burden under Section 9, it fundamentally altered the constitutional framework within which that burden must operate. The Court categorically held that the burden on the proceedee does not replace the legal process itself.

Section 9, according to the Bench, authorises neither automatic declarations nor mechanical acceptance of police references. Instead, the burden functions within a fair adjudicatory process that requires meaningful notice, disclosure of the “main grounds”, objective consideration of the State’s evidence and a reasoned determination by the Tribunal.

Most crucially, this recent 21 page judgement in Aminol Haque delivered by the GHC is silent on the whether or not the Foreigners Tribunal had examined the basis of the “notice” issued by the Assam Border Police to the proceedee, whether the notice itself disclosed material grounds for justifying the proceedings around adjudication of a person’s citizenship etc. Did the Court in Aminol Haque examine whether the initiation of proceedings were wholly without jurisdiction, non est, and void ab initio? The verdict is silent on this.[1]

Most importantly, the Supreme Court held that proceedings before Foreigners Tribunals remain subject to Articles 14 and 21 of the Constitution because both provisions protect “any person”, irrespective of citizenship. This marks a subtle but significant constitutional shift.

The focus moves beyond the question “Has the proceedee discharged the burden?”

It also asks:

• Was the adjudication fair?
• Was the notice meaningful?
• Were the grounds adequately disclosed?
• Did the Tribunal independently evaluate the evidence?
• Were reasons properly recorded?
• Was the conclusion reached through a lawful and reasoned process?

These questions receive comparatively limited attention in Aminul Hoque, where the primary emphasis remains upon whether the petitioner successfully proved his case.

The Supreme Court’s judgment does not invalidate this evidentiary inquiry. Rather, it insists that evidentiary assessment itself must occur within a procedurally robust constitutional framework. Consequently, Sabitri Dey represents not a rejection of Section 9 but a recalibration of its operation. The burden continues to rest upon the proceedee. But the legitimacy of the outcome now depends equally upon the fairness of the process through which that burden is evaluated. It is precisely this constitutional dimension that may shape the future trajectory of citizenship jurisprudence in Assam.

Beyond one case: What Aminul Hoque tells us about the future of citizenship adjudication

The Gauhati High Court’s decision ultimately dismissed the writ petition, affirmed the opinion of the Foreigners Tribunal and upheld the declaration of the petitioner as a post March 25, 1971 foreigner. In doing so, the Court concluded that there was no jurisdictional error, perversity or violation of natural justice warranting interference under Article 226. The Tribunal had, in the Court’s view, appreciated the documentary and oral evidence in accordance with law, and the petitioner’s failure to establish linkage meant that the statutory burden under Section 9 remained undischarged.

From a strictly doctrinal perspective, the judgment is difficult to fault. It faithfully follows established precedents of both the Gauhati High Court and the Supreme Court regarding the burden of proof, the evidentiary value of public documents, the admissibility of electronic records, and the limited scope of judicial review under Article 226. It neither creates new legal principles nor departs from settled jurisprudence. Rather, it is emblematic of the legal framework that has governed Foreigners Tribunal litigation in Assam for nearly two decades. Yet, legal correctness is not the only lens through which judgments involving citizenship should be examined.

Citizenship occupies a unique constitutional position. Unlike most adjudicatory disputes, proceedings before a Foreigners Tribunal determine whether an individual belongs to the constitutional community itself. A declaration of foreigner status is not merely an adverse civil finding—it fundamentally alters the individual’s relationship with the State. It may lead to detention in transit camps, deportation, disenfranchisement, separation from family members who remain Indian citizens, and, in some cases, prolonged uncertainty regarding nationality. These are consequences of exceptional gravity, making citizenship litigation qualitatively different from ordinary civil or administrative proceedings.

It is precisely because of these consequences that the Supreme Court, in Sabitri Dey @ Swasthi Dey, described citizenship and foreigner determination as matters of “high constitutional and legal significance.” The Court recognised that while Parliament may legitimately prescribe a reverse burden under Section 9 of the Foreigners Act, that burden cannot eclipse the constitutional guarantees of fairness, reasonableness and non-arbitrariness embodied in Articles 14 and 21.

A jurisprudence in transition

Viewed together, Aminul Hoque and Sabitri Dey reveal that citizenship jurisprudence in India is undergoing a turbulent transition. The Gauhati High Court’s judgment represents what may be a clinical and narrow view on Foreigners Tribunal jurisprudence. The principal questions are:

• Has the proceedee produced admissible documents?
• Has family linkage been proved?
• Are the electoral rolls internally consistent?
• Have documentary discrepancies been satisfactorily explained?
• Has the burden under Section 9 been discharged?

However by leaping to look at evidence from a narrow, even bureaucratically top-heavy perspective, this judgement and others of its ilk fail to scrutinise the merit or applicability of the “notice” issued. As a wide range of international and national studies including those conducted by Citizens for Justice and Peace  have shown, the act and process of issuing such notices has been proven to be ad hoc, manifestly arbitrary and even selective. No rigour in enquiry by the authorities prior to such issuance neither takes place nor is examined by the Foreigner Tribunal.

The recent Supreme Court judgment by underlining a basic flaw in this approach reiterates a constitutional process model.

Under this approach, the inquiry expands beyond abstract and even subjective assessments of “documentary sufficiency” to include procedural legitimacy. The Court asks not only whether the proceedee proved citizenship, but also whether the adjudication itself satisfied constitutional standards. Accordingly, the focus shifts towards questions such as:

• Were the “main grounds” of the allegation properly disclosed?
• Was notice effectively served?
• Did the Tribunal independently evaluate the State’s evidence?
• Were the findings supported by reasons?
• Was the opportunity to defend meaningful rather than merely formal?
• Did the adjudication satisfy the requirements of Articles 14 and 21?

These questions do not replace Section 9; they contextualise it within constitutional guarantees.

The challenge of documentary perfection

One of the most striking features of Aminul Hoque is the extraordinarily high premium placed on documentary continuity. The judgment expects a seamless genealogical chain extending across multiple decades, villages and administrative records. Every link in that chain must withstand judicial scrutiny. Variations in names, inconsistencies in ages, changes in residence, absence of foundational records and deficiencies in proving public documents all become capable of defeating the claim.

Citizenship cannot be determined on speculation or conjecture. While some aspects of documentary proof may be needed as a reliable means of establishing lineage, ground circumstances, the sensitive issue of citizenship adjudication in Assam presents a unique factual context. Large sections of the population have experienced repeated displacement due to river erosion. Entire villages have disappeared and re-emerged elsewhere. Administrative boundaries have changed. Large sections of the local population migrate intra-state. Names have been transliterated between Assamese, Bengali and English with varying spellings. Ages have often been recorded approximately rather than precisely. Legacy records from the 1950s and 1960s were not created with future citizenship litigation in mind. These realities do not excuse deficiencies in evidence. But they do underscore the importance of evaluating documentary inconsistencies in context rather than in isolation.

The High Court’s judgment gives comparatively limited consideration to these structural realities, preferring instead to apply conventional evidentiary principles with considerable rigour. Whether that approach adequately accommodates the lived realities of documentation in Assam remains an open constitutional question.

Fairness as a constitutional imperative

Perhaps the most enduring contribution of the Supreme Court’s judgment is that it reframes citizenship adjudication as a constitutional exercise rather than merely a statutory one. By holding that Articles 14 and 21 protect “any person”, the Court has made clear that procedural fairness does not depend upon citizenship. The very purpose of the adjudication is to determine citizenship; fairness cannot therefore be withheld until citizenship is first established. This principle has implications extending well beyond ex-parte proceedings.

It informs the manner in which notices are drafted, evidence is appreciated, reasons are recorded, and proceedings are conducted. It reinforces the quasi-judicial character of Foreigners Tribunals and emphasises that their role is not merely to verify police references but to independently determine one of the most consequential legal questions an individual can face.

Conclusion

The Gauhati High Court’s decision in Aminul Hoque reinforces the reverse burden under Section 9 of the Foreigners Act, demands strict proof of genealogical linkage, accords limited evidentiary value to identity documents such as PAN and EPIC, insists upon compliance with Section 65B for electronic records, and reiterates the narrow scope of judicial review under Article 226. The judgement is marked by a huge lacunae in not examining the grounds or methods employed in issuance of the “notice” in the first place. Hence, the judgment also illustrates the limitations of a jurisprudence centred almost exclusively upon documentary proof and evidentiary precision. Citizenship is unlike any other legal status. The consequences of an erroneous declaration extend beyond the courtroom, affecting liberty, family life, identity and belonging. Such consequences demand not only accurate fact-finding but also procedures that command constitutional legitimacy.

The Supreme Court’s decision in Sabitri Dey on the other hand provides an essential constitutional complement to them. By reaffirming that the burden under Section 9 operates within a framework of fairness, reasoned adjudication and meaningful procedural safeguards, the Supreme Court has signalled that the legitimacy of citizenship determination depends as much upon the integrity of the process as upon the correctness of the final outcome. The Gauhati High Court’s adjudication remains limiting and burden-centric. The Supreme Court, crucially, introduces a more process-oriented constitutional framework.

The complete judgement may be read below:

[1] It is well settled inter alia by the judgments of the Honourable Supreme Court in Sarbananda Sonowal (II) v. Union of India, (2007) 1 SCC 174 (paras 42, 55 and 60),  and Md. Rahim Ali, @ Abdur Rahim v. State of Assam (paras 35-41), as also by a Full Bench of the Hon’ble Gauhati High Court in State of Assam v. Moslem Mondal, (2013) 1 GLT 809, that the Foreigners Tribunal is required to independently apply its mind to the grounds and materials produced before it by the State and come to a conclusion that there are sufficient grounds to initiate proceedings against any person who is alleged to be a foreigner.  It is further well settled that in the absence of grounds supported by objective materials which justify proceeding against a person, the Tribunal has no jurisdiction to issue a notice calling upon him to appear and show cause why he should not be declared a foreigner.  It is further well settled that if the notice issued by the Tribunal does not contain the main grounds on the basis of which the Tribunal is satisfied that it is a fit case to proceed, then the entire proceedings are void ab initio and the reverse burden of proof under Section 9 of the Act does not get cast upon the proceedee, and any opinion rendered by the Tribunal is void and non est and has to be struck down on this ground alone.

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The Odisha State Sentence Review Board has recommended his release from jail on ground of “good behaviour.” On July 14, 2026, a bench comprising of Justices Manoj Misra and Vijay Bishnoi of the Supreme Court through its order had asked the Odisha Government to take a decision on the premature release of Singh by August 19. Reportedly, the bench also made an oral observation that, “You take a decision by August 15. Let him also celebrate Independence Day by then.” Reported the Hindustan Times.

Singh, who is said to be associated with the Bharatiya Janata Party and the Bajrang Dal, is serving life imprisonment not only for the murder of Australian missionary Graham Staines and his two sons, but also for the 1999 murder of Catholic priest Arul Das, who was shot with an arrow while fleeing a building that had been set on fire. Reported the new Indian Express. He was also convicted for the murder of Shaikh Rahman, a Muslim garment merchant, who was brutally assaulted, had his hands severed, and whose body and garment stall were set ablaze.

In July 2024, the Supreme Court had sought the Odisha government’s response on a plea filed through advocate Vishnu Shankar Jain seeking Singh’s remission of sentence and release, asserting that he met the state government’s criteria for granting remission (i.e. 25 years). The reformative theory of Justice V. R. Krishna Iyer was invoked and reliance was placed on the Court’s 2022 judgment permitting the premature release of the convict in the Rajiv Gandhi assassination case.

The current remission, therefore reflects a broader pattern in India of state governments ruled by the incumbent-BJP granting remission to those convicted in cases of gross communal violence. One such earlier instance was the release of the convicts in the 2002 Bilkis Bano gang rape and family murder case, a decision that remained in force until it was struck down by the Supreme Court.

It is worth noting that prior to this; Singh’s plea for remission has been evaluated on five separate occasions, and has been turned down each time, with the most recent rejection occurring in February 2024.

How the Remission Was Filed and Processed

Singh’s possible release has drawn political attention in the past. During a campaign for his release in 2022, when the BJD government was in power, Sudarshan TV editor-in-chief Suresh Chavhanke attempted to meet him in prison but was denied permission. Mohan Charan Majhi, (now the Chief Minister of Odisha), had also joined a protest outside the jail demanding Singh’s release. However, the Board’s consideration of Singh’s case was based on the prescribed remission process and the reports submitted by the relevant authorities. This clearly establishes that organised political demand for Singh’s release predates, by a considerable margin, the administrative process that has now produced it.

At its September 2025 meeting, the Board considered 107 cases. It recommended the release of 18 life convicts, rejected 75 applications, and deferred 14, including Singh’s. Singh’s case remained pending because the Board required a fresh report from his home district.

According to The Hindu, the State Sentence Review Board met in the first week of July 2026 to consider the premature release of eligible life convicts. Among the cases reviewed was that of Dara Singh. In his petition before the Supreme Court, he stated that he deeply regretted the offences committed over two decades earlier and sought an opportunity to “give back to society” through service-oriented work.  He also claimed that he bore no personal animosity towards the victims and described his actions as the result of “youthful rage.” Singh was 37 years old at the time of his arrest!

Under Odisha’s 2022 premature-release guidelines, a convict whose sentence has been commuted from death to life becomes eligible for remission consideration after 25 years in custody, subject to a recommendation from the State Sentence Review Board (SSRB) and government approval. Five out of six members of the SSRB belong to the executive branch of government. The presence of ruling-party legislators, when the CM has supported Singh’s release, on the deciding panel raises questions whether the government will independently apply its mind.

Comparison with the Bilkis Bano Case

Setting the two cases side by side is useful because they involve a similar factual pattern. In both instances, persons convicted of life imprisonment in communal hate-crime cases were considered for or granted premature release.

The release in Bano’s case followed a plea filed by one convict, Radheshyam Bhagwandas Shah, who argued he had already served over 15 years and sought early release. Shah had first tried this route in Gujarat, where the Gujarat High Court itself had indicated that Maharashtra, the state where his trial was actually conducted after the Supreme Court moved it there on Bano’s plea, was the appropriate government to decide his remission, not Gujarat. On May 13, 2022, Supreme Court order directed Gujarat (rather than Maharashtra) to decide the remission question. Acting on the Court’s direction, the Gujarat government formed a committee, which went on to recommend that the sentences of all 11 convicts in the case be remitted. The panel that granted remission included BJP legislators, the same party that governed Gujarat at the time of the riots. One of those legislators publicly defended the convicts by remarking that some of them were “Brahmins” with good values. Reported NDTV.

Several activists, along with Bilkis Bano herself petitioned the Court in November 2022. On January 8, 2024, Justices B.V. Nagarathna and Ujjal Bhuyan quashed the remission, holding that Gujarat was never the appropriate government and that the May 2022 order directing Gujarat to decide had itself been obtained by concealing material facts. The convicts were ordered back to prison within two weeks.

In Bano’s case, when the Gujarat government had released eleven convicts on August 15, 2022, they were welcomed with sweets and had their feet touched by supporters. Singh has for years been celebrated by sections of the Hindu right. Organisations such as the Dharmarakhyak Sri Dara Singh Bachao Samiti and Dara Sena have publicly campaigned for his release and portrayed him as a defender of Hinduism.

Given this, especially when the incumbent Odisha Chief Minister has also, before assuming office, expressed support for Singh’s release, there is a significant possibility that Singh’s release too will receive a public welcome similar to that accorded to the Bano’s convicts. The repeated public glorification of individuals convicted in cases of communal violence by organisations affiliated with or aligned to the BJP-RSS ecosystem raises serious concerns about the social and political messaging such releases convey.

While concealment of material facts was the decisive ground in Bano’s case, the Court also separately described Gujarat’s orders as stereotyped and passed without application of mind. Odisha’s Sentence Review Board considered Singh’s file within a batch of dozens of prisoners in a single sitting arguably meets the same structural vulnerability.

Five factors were decided in Laxman Naskar v. Union of India (2000), to decide on pre-mature release of convicts, namely:

i) Whether the offence is an individual act of crime without affecting the society at large?

ii) Whether there is any chance of future recurrence of committing crime?

iii) Whether the convict has lost his potentiality in committing crime?

iv) Whether there is any fruitful purpose of confining this convict any more?

v) Socio-economic condition of the convict’s family.

The first factor alone arguably requires reckoning with the fact that his is not a single offence but three separate convictions, spanning roughly a year, each targeting a different religious minority.

(The legal research team of CJP consists of lawyers and interns; this judgement primer has been worked on by Tanishka Shah)

Related:

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The post Dara Singh, convicted in string of 1999 communal killings, likely set for release by August 15 appeared first on SabrangIndia.

Karat had originally approached the Supreme Court after the Delhi High Court upheld the refusal of an Additional Chief Metropolitan Magistrate (ACMM) to direct registration of an FIR under Section 156(3) of the Code of Criminal Procedure (CrPC). She had sought criminal action against Thakur and Verma for offences under Sections 153A, 153B, 295A and 505 of the Indian Penal Code (IPC), alleging that their speeches promoted enmity between communities and incited hatred during the polarised campaign surrounding the anti-CAA protests.

The complaint stemmed from BJP MP Anurag Thakur’s election rally on January 27, 2020, where he led the crowd in chanting the slogan, “Desh ke gaddaron ko, goli maaron saalon ko” (“Shoot the traitors”). It also challenged speeches delivered by BJP leader Parvesh Verma, who described Shaheen Bagh protesters as “infiltrators” and claimed they would “enter your homes, rape your daughters and sisters, and kill them” if elected to power.

On April 26, a Bench comprising Justices Vikram Nath and Sandeep Mehta dismissed Karat’s appeal, agreeing with the Delhi High Court’s conclusion that no cognisable offence was made out. The Court reasoned that the speeches did not explicitly target any identifiable religious or other protected community and therefore did not attract the penal provisions invoked.

Detailed report may be read here.

While the Supreme Court overruled the Delhi High Court on one significant legal question—holding that prior sanction under Section 196 CrPC is not required before a Magistrate directs registration of an FIR under Section 156(3)—it nevertheless endorsed the conclusion that the speeches disclosed no cognisable offence.

The review petition contends that this conclusion amounts to an “error apparent on the face of the record.” According to Karat, neither the Magistrate nor the Delhi High Court had examined the substantive allegations of hate speech. Instead, both courts confined themselves to the procedural question of whether sanction under Section 196 CrPC was a prerequisite for directing investigation.

The petition points out that the Delhi High Court had expressly recorded that the ACMM had not entered into the merits of the allegations. It had also clarified that its observations were limited to the issue of sanction and would not prejudice any future adjudication on whether the speeches constituted criminal offences.

However, despite partly allowing Karat’s appeal by reversing the High Court’s interpretation of Section 196 CrPC, the Supreme Court, in paragraphs 136 to 138 of its judgment, went on to hold that it agreed with the ultimate conclusion that no cognisable offence was made out. The review petition argues that the Court effectively decided the substantive criminal liability of the BJP leaders without the parties having addressed detailed arguments on the merits of the alleged hate speech.

As per the LiveLaw report, Karat further relies on contemporaneous findings of the Election Commission of India (ECI), which had taken action against both BJP leaders during the 2020 Delhi Assembly election campaign. The ECI found that the speeches violated the Model Code of Conduct, had the potential to aggravate existing differences between religious communities and promote mutual hatred. Acting on these findings, the Commission removed both leaders from the BJP’s list of star campaigners and imposed temporary campaign bans.

The review petition also questions the reliance placed on the police status report submitted before the trial court. The police had concluded that no cognisable offence was disclosed, reasoning that Thakur’s slogan did not refer to any specific community and that Verma’s remarks on the Shaheen Bagh protests amounted to political criticism rather than criminal hate speech. According to Karat, the Supreme Court reproduced this reasoning without independently evaluating the material on record, including video recordings of the speeches and the Election Commission’s findings.

Arguing that the issue was never subjected to a full judicial examination, the review petition urges the Supreme Court to recall its finding that no cognisable offence was disclosed and to adjudicate the hate speech allegations afresh after hearing the parties on the merits. The petition has been filed through Advocates Sylona Mohapatra, Tara Nirula and Adit Pujari.

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