India witnessed an unprecedented and disgraceful moment inside its highest court this week. A lawyer reportedly attempted to hurl a shoe at Chief Justice of India, B.R. Gavai—while shouting “Sanatan ka apmaan nahi sahenge.” Never before in the history of independent India has such contempt been shown to the head of the judiciary within the sanctum of the Supreme Court itself. The shocking act, sparked by religious outrage over the Chief Justice’s earlier remark in a temple-related case, demands the strongest condemnation. Let there be no ambiguity: no grievance, however deep, can justify a physical or symbolic assault on the judiciary. Courts are not just halls of law—they are temples of justice, the final refuge for reason and restraint. A lawyer, of all people, is expected to uphold that sanctity, not desecrate it in a fit of misplaced anger. The Bar Council and Supreme Court administration must take immediate disciplinary action against the offender. If lawyers themselves turn disruptors, how will ordinary citizens continue to believe in the majesty of the law? Yet, the other uncomfortable truth cannot be brushed aside. The provocation for this disgraceful act lay in an equally disturbing moment from the Bench itself. While hearing a petition over restoration of a Lord Vishnu idol at Khajuraho, the Chief Justice had reportedly told the petitioner, “Go and ask your deity. If you are such a strong devotee, pray to him.” The remark, widely circulated on social media, was seen by many as mocking the faith of millions. Protests erupted across platforms, and critics rightly asked: would such words ever be spoken about any other religion? A judge occupies not just a constitutional position but also a moral one. Every word uttered from the Bench carries institutional weight and public consequence. In a deeply religious and diverse country like India, where faith still shapes daily life, judges must be doubly careful to avoid even the appearance of derision toward any religion. Judicial wit or sarcasm, however unintended, can easily cross the thin line into offense. The judiciary cannot afford to alienate those whose faith sustains their trust in the system.
That said, the lawyer’s action is indefensible. Civilisation depends on dissent being expressed through reason, not rage. When anger replaces argument, democracy suffers. There are legitimate avenues to express disapproval—petitions, reviews, bar resolutions, or even public criticism—but never violence or disruption inside a courtroom. The act of throwing a shoe at the Chief Justice is not courage; it is contempt—contempt not only of court, but of the very principle of civility that keeps institutions from descending into chaos. Sadly, this is not an isolated outburst of frustration. In recent years, instances of lawyers attacking or abusing judges in lower courts have occasionally surfaced—judges manhandled in Delhi’s Rohini court, furniture thrown in Unnao, threats hurled in Bihar. These are signs of a slow erosion of decorum within the justice system. If such breakdowns reach even the Supreme Court, we are staring at an institutional crisis of respect. The judiciary must now ensure stricter security and discipline within courts, even as it introspects on the causes of such public anger. The episode should serve as a wake-up call for both sides of the Bench. Judicial officers must remember that faith, too, is protected under the Constitution. The same sensitivity extended to minorities or marginalised groups must apply equally to the religious beliefs of the majority. India’s strength lies in its pluralism, not in selective empathy. A stray remark from the highest seat of justice can ripple into national outrage. Prudence and restraint, therefore, are not signs of weakness but marks of wisdom. For their part, citizens and members of the Bar must reaffirm their commitment to civility and constitutional conduct. Passion cannot replace procedure. To defend one’s religion by defiling the sanctity of a courtroom is to betray both faith and law. The black robe commands respect precisely because it embodies detachment from emotion and prejudice. In the end, two lessons emerge from this shameful episode: for citizens, that rage is not justice; and for judges, that reverence for faith is not a threat to reason. India’s judiciary draws its power not from fear, but from faith—faith in its fairness, its dignity, and its restraint. Both Bench and Bar must now work to restore that faith before it is too late.
