Dear Dhananjaya,
It is with mixed feelings of pride and disappointment that I, Lady Justice, write to you. As your mother in spirit, I have watched your nearly two-year tenure as Chief Justice of India with hope, only to find it tempered by moments of perplexity and concern. While many saw your rise as an opportunity to reinvigorate the sacred tenets of our Constitution, your actions often veered away from the expectations of the office, and for that, my son, I must speak candidly…
Your latest act—the grand inauguration of my new statue, unveiled without my customary blindfold and sword—was a moment of deep symbolism, but not in the way you may have intended. The nation’s eyes were upon you, hoping for leadership on critical matters of justice, but instead, you orchestrated a spectacle. It was as if, in discarding my blindfold, you signalled to the world that the time for impartiality had passed, that the sword of reason no longer held weight in our judicial system. This stunt, far from being a lasting image of your legacy, became an unfortunate commentary on the erosion of the very principles I embody: blind, balanced justice, and swift, decisive action.
The optics of your public religious engagements, too, have raised eyebrows. Your visit to Dwarka and the widely publicized private Ganesh Puja with Prime Minister Modi cast a long shadow over your secular oath. I do not begrudge you your faith, but in these times, when the separation between the personal and professional seems blurred, these actions did little to affirm your impartiality. You stood as the guardian of a secular nation, yet your public displays seemed to suggest a blurring of lines that your position demanded you protect.
But it is not just the ceremonies and spectacles that give me pause. More troubling has been the Court’s silence in moments when it was needed most. When Executive overreach strained the very fabric of our constitutional democracy, you, my son, could have spoken louder. Where was the follow-through on electoral reforms and appointments to the Election Commission, the necessary investigations into the Hindenburg revelations, or the redress for those suffering in the aftermath of the Manipur violence? How could you not press for answers on the Saibaba case, or the lingering questions over the electoral bonds scandal, which continues to mock the transparency and accountability our Republic so desperately needs?
These are moments when you could have transcended your own scholarly rhetoric and made an indelible mark on the nation’s conscience. These are the moments that define greatness—not the carefully curated public images, but the hard decisions made in quiet chambers, for the sake of a higher principle.
I proudly mention, not in any order of chronology or seniority, but rather, randomly, some of my other jurist children—who served as judges, birthed from my womb after being fertilized by the Rule of Law— MN Venkatachaliah, ES Venkataramiah, GD Khosla, VR Krishna Iyer, PN Bhagwati, HR Khanna, SM Sikri, Kuldip Singh, NV Ramana, MC Chagla, TS Thakur… It saddens me to say, Dhananjaya, that while your predecessors are remembered for their courageous stands in times of moral crises, your tenure may be remembered for missed opportunities.
There were times when the sword of justice was too heavy for your hand. You have been applauded for your intellect and forward-thinking judgments on issues such as privacy, decriminalization of homosexuality, and women’s rights, and rightfully so. Yet these triumphs are tempered by your failure to act decisively on the pressing constitutional matters that will define the future of this nation. Like the Maharashtra imbroglio.
The democratic governance of Delhi. Or the failure to file charges against the election official who stole the public mandate of Chandigarh’s mayoral election in full CCTV proof.
You had the stage, my son, the moment in history to step forward as a leader of the highest court, to ensure that my sword of reason and scales of balance were upheld not just in words but in deeds. Instead, your reluctance to confront Executive excesses head-on will be a shadow over your otherwise luminous career.
As your long career as a judge is now drawing to a close, with only a few days left for retirement, well-wishers were hoping that you would now maintain a low profile and avoid any further controversial publicity in this final phase. However, that hope was short-lived. In yet another dramatic public statement splashed across headlines nationwide, you revealed praying to God for guidance before helping to pen the 2019 five-member judgment on the simmering Ayodhya dispute, which ultimately awarded the disputed land to the Ram Janmabhoomi Trust.
While observers have expressed various views on the merits of that decision, your latest statement drew immediate flak on social media. Critics questioned why a Supreme Court judge would rely on prayer rather than the rule of law or the Constitution when adjudicating such a vexatious temporal legal issue. They also sarcastically wondered why similar prayers were not resorted to in handling pressing human rights cases that had come before your Court.
These remarks have only added to the controversy surrounding your career. What stands out starkly is the pattern of public displays and statements that, at times, have seemed to blur the boundaries between personal beliefs and the judicial responsibilities entrusted to you. But you, Dhananjaya, ever the paradox, have maintained your own moral compass amid an increasingly polarized national discourse.
As the countdown to your retirement continues, I cannot help but reflect on the lasting legacy of a man who has both captivated and divided the nation through his career on the bench.
I do not wish to diminish your contributions. As I look back, I see glimmers of greatness in your tenure, moments when your judgments on personal liberty and individual rights reinforced the Constitution’s commitment to every citizen. But when history looks back on these two years, it will not be speeches that define you—it will be the legacy of whether you seized the rare opportunities to safeguard the Rule of Law, to stand firm against the tide of political pressure, and to ensure that justice remained blind and impartial.
Time will tell, Dhananjaya, if you are remembered for your intellect or for your inaction in the face of challenges that required a firm hand. And while I stand as the eternal symbol of justice, blindfolded or not, you had the power to be more than a symbol—you had the chance to be the defender of this nation’s soul.
With maternal love,
Lady Justice