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The recent incident involving former Chief Justice of India B.R. Gavai has deeply disturbed me - not because a petition was dismissed, but because of how it was dismissed. While presiding over a public interest litigation seeking the restoration of a vandalized 7-foot idol of Lord Vishnu at the Javari Temple in Khajuraho, the Court remarked:

“This is purely a publicity interest litigation. Go and ask the deity itself to do something now. You say you are a staunch devotee of Lord Vishnu. So go and pray now.”

I cannot recall another moment in recent judicial history when the highest court of the land offered religious advice as part of its judicial reasoning. And I find myself asking: How did we arrive here?

What the Petitioner Actually Wanted

The idol in question stands inside a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Historical and archaeological records confirm that it was damaged centuries ago during Islamic invasions - when thousands of Hindu temples across Bharat were systematically desecrated. Many of these structures remain mutilated even today, silent witnesses to a difficult chapter of our history.

The petitioner did not demand reclamation of land, demolition of any structure, or restoration of pre-Islamic status quo. This was not another Kashi or Mathura.

He simply argued: 

• the idol was historically vandalized, 

• repeated representations were made to the ASI and the Union Government over several decades, yet no restoration was undertaken, and 

• this long-term inaction violated the fundamental right to worship.

In other words, he followed due process. He approached the authorities first, and then the Supreme Court, only when the system failed him.

Why This Petition Was Not Frivolous

If anything, the petition raised a valid cultural and administrative grievance:

• the idol is part of a protected heritage site,

• ASI has a statutory duty, and 

• for decades there was no action or explanation.

Even if the Court ultimately believed restoration was not feasible, the grievance itself was legitimate. That is why the manner of dismissal troubles me far more than the dismissal itself.

What the Court Could Have Done—But Did Not

If the Court believed the petition lacked merit, it had several constitutionally appropriate avenues:

• dismiss it with a brief reason,

• impose costs if it was frivolous,

• clarify the limits of judicial intervention in heritage management.

What the Court does not have the authority to do is offer religious counsel. The problem was not judicial restraint. The problem was judicial sarcasm.

Where the Court Crossed the Constitutional Line

In a secular republic, courts must remain neutral and above personal belief. They cannot recommend prayer as a substitute for judicial remedy. When a sitting Chief Justice tells a petitioner to “go and pray to Lord Vishnu,” it crosses a line that must not be crossed. It trivializes a legitimate grievance. It trivializes a devotee’s faith. And it trivializes centuries of cultural damage.

A judge may decline jurisdiction, but telling a devotee to “pray to Lord Vishnu” to repair a vandalized idol crosses the boundary between secular adjudication and petsonal religious commentary.

What we today call Indian secularism is, at its core, dharmic — it expects those in power to uphold dharma while treating all faiths with fairness and dignity, never with mockery or casual dismissal.

Our own civilizational ethos expects those who dispense justice to embody the virtues of Rajadharma - the kind exemplified by King Vikramaditya, whose judgments were marked by wisdom, restraint, and dignity. Such moral expectations are not ornamental; they form the very foundation of public trust in judicial institutions. When these expectations are breached, even through an unintended remark, that public trust begins to erode.

What pains me even more is that this remark came from the very institution that has given us some of the greatest constitutional judgments in our history - from Kesavananda Bharati, which protected the basic structure doctrine, to the Allahabad High Court’s landmark verdict that set aside Prime Minister Indira Gandhi’s election for corrupt electoral practices, and to the Ram Janmabhoomi judgment which balanced history, faith, and law. 

The Indian judiciary has, at critical moments, shown the moral clarity to uphold constitutional principles against immense pressure. That is precisely why this incident feels so jarring - not because the Court refused relief, but because the tenor of the remark fell far below the high standards that our judicial institutions have set over decades.

The Larger Consequence: Erosion of Public Confidence

Judicial independence is vital to our democracy. But independence must coexist with accountability and restraint. Citizens approach the Supreme Court as the final guardian of rights. They deserve dignity, not derision.

Where Was the Legislative Oversight?

What troubles me even more is the complete absence of institutional response. The judiciary is an independent pillar of our Constitution, but independence does not mean insulation from accountability. Parliament has the constitutional authority to censure or even impeach judges for conduct unbecoming of their office.

I understand that Justice Gavai was days away from retirement, and impeachment may not have been practical. But retirement does not erase the principle involved. A formal censure - even symbolic - would have reaffirmed that judicial neutrality is non-negotiable.

Yet no such conversation took place. I did not hear a single public statement from parliamentarians condemning the remark or even acknowledging its impropriety. That silence was as concerning as the remark itself. In a healthy democracy, each branch must hold the others to high standards - not out of confrontation, but out of respect for constitutional morality.

The Court had every right to dismiss the petition. It had no right to dismiss the petitioner’s faith. We must demand higher standards - not out of hostility to the judiciary, but out of respect for it. Institutions endure not only because they wield power, but because they exercise it with humility, restraint, and dignity. And that expectation must apply especially to the highest judicial office in the land.

I want to end this article highlighting that in our civilization, King Vikramaditya is remembered as the model of Rajadharma - a ruler whose judgments were marked by wisdom, fairness, and unwavering virtue. The office of the Chief Justice carries that same expectation of moral clarity. Even a single remark must reflect that standard of dignity and restraint.

A republic survives not when its citizens fear the courts, but when they trust them.

 

The Author is a Miami-based serial entrepreneur and Director of MPRS Office Management Services LLC.

(The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of New India Abroad.)