Preventive Detention, Constitutional Restraint and the Future of Democratic Protest in India
By Ramphal Kataria
Abstract
Preventive detention has remained one of the most contested features of India's constitutional framework since Independence because it permits the executive to curtail personal liberty without the ordinary safeguards of a criminal trial. The recent notification of the Union Ministry of Home Affairs authorising the Commissioner of Police, Delhi, to exercise powers under the National Security Act, 1980, amid an expanding student-led protest movement, has revived fundamental questions about the constitutional limits of executive authority during periods of democratic dissent. Although the notification may be legally valid as an administrative delegation, its timing has generated wider debate regarding the relationship between national security, public order and the constitutional right to protest.
This article examines that debate through the lens of constitutional history, statutory law and judicial doctrine. It analyses the origins of preventive detention under Article 22 of the Constitution, the Constituent Assembly's uneasy acceptance of detention without trial, and the evolution of judicial thinking from A.K. Gopalan to Maneka Gandhi, Justice K.S. Puttaswamy and other landmark decisions. It further explores the Supreme Court's doctrines of proportionality and the distinction between "law and order," "public order" and "security of the State," demonstrating why preventive detention has consistently been regarded as an exceptional constitutional power rather than an ordinary instrument of governance.
The article also situates the present controversy within the broader experience of student and civil society movements in contemporary India, including the JNU protests and the anti-CAA demonstrations, where prolonged incarceration under stringent security laws reignited concerns about the chilling effect of extraordinary legal measures on democratic participation. Against the backdrop of the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita and the Bharatiya Nagarik Suraksha Sanhita, which already confer extensive powers upon the State to regulate assemblies and prosecute violence, the article asks whether preventive detention can continue to satisfy the constitutional requirement of necessity when ordinary criminal law has become increasingly comprehensive.
Drawing upon constitutional history, judicial precedent and India's democratic experience, the article argues that the legitimacy of preventive detention lies not merely in its statutory existence but in its restrained application. It concludes that constitutional democracy is best preserved when extraordinary powers remain truly exceptional, while ordinary criminal law, independent judicial oversight and democratic dialogue continue to serve as the Republic's primary instruments for maintaining public order and protecting constitutional liberty.
Keywords: Preventive Detention; National Security Act; Democratic Dissent; Article 22; Article 21; Constitutional Morality; Public Order; Rule of Law; Proportionality; Right to Protest; Judicial Review; National Security; Civil Liberties; Constitutional Democracy; India.
Democracies are not truly tested when governments enjoy overwhelming public approval. Their real test begins when citizens assemble in protest, institutions are subjected to public scrutiny and the State must decide whether to respond through dialogue, ordinary law or extraordinary power. It is in such moments that constitutional principles cease to be abstract ideals and become practical standards by which governments are judged.
The Union Ministry of Home Affairs' notification authorising the Commissioner of Police, Delhi, to exercise powers under the National Security Act, 1980 (NSA) has, therefore, acquired significance extending well beyond its legal text. Although issued on 15 July as part of a routine administrative delegation, its publication coincided with an increasingly charged political atmosphere surrounding the student-led agitation under the banner of the Cockroach Janta Party (CJP). What began as a protest against alleged irregularities in public examinations had, by then, evolved into a broader democratic movement, attracting support from large sections of civil society and almost the entire parliamentary opposition.
The Sansad March of 20 July witnessed an unprecedented mobilisation of students and citizens in the national capital. The demonstration, however, culminated in confrontation as the police resorted to lathi charges, pellet guns and tear-gas shells to disperse what organisers described as a peaceful assembly. Thousands of protesters were injured, several seriously. The protest site at Jantar Mantar was dismantled and temporarily cleared. Yet the movement displayed remarkable resilience. By evening, despite police restrictions and attempts to prevent further gatherings, protesters regrouped and reoccupied the site, signaling that the agitation had entered a new and more determined phase.
Against this backdrop, the Home Ministry's notification immediately became the subject of intense constitutional and political debate. Critics argued that, although the delegation of powers may have been administratively routine, its timing made it difficult to separate from the rapidly escalating protests. In their view, the notification appeared to place an extraordinary legal instrument in the hands of the Delhi Police precisely when a mass political movement was gathering momentum. Whether or not that perception was justified, the episode revived a familiar constitutional concern: when governments confront sustained public dissent, the line between maintaining public order and expanding executive power often becomes increasingly contested.
Constitutional governance, however, is measured by more than statutory legality. It also depends upon legitimacy, public confidence and the assurance that exceptional powers will be exercised with restraint. A routine administrative order may acquire profound constitutional significance when it emerges during a period of heightened political tension. When students occupy the streets, opposition parties question executive action and public discourse becomes sharply polarised, even an otherwise unremarkable notification invites closer scrutiny—not because it is necessarily unlawful, but because constitutional democracies demand transparency whenever extraordinary powers appear alongside democratic dissent.
Preventive detention occupies a singular and uneasy place within India's constitutional framework. Unlike ordinary criminal law, it does not punish an individual for an offence already committed. Instead, it authorises the executive to curtail personal liberty on the apprehension that a person may engage in prejudicial activities in the future. The ordinary criminal justice process proceeds through evidence, investigation, prosecution and judicial determination before liberty is curtailed. Preventive detention reverses that sequence. Executive satisfaction precedes judicial scrutiny. It is this inversion of the ordinary safeguards of criminal justice that has made preventive detention one of the most enduringly contested features of the Indian Constitution.
It is against this constitutional backdrop that the possible invocation of the National Security Act in the context of the present agitation has generated widespread concern among civil liberties advocates, opposition parties and sections of the academic community. They argue that preventive detention—permitting detention for up to twelve months under the statutory review mechanism rather than through the ordinary criminal process—may produce a profound chilling effect upon democratic participation. The present mobilisation has been led largely by students and young people, many pursuing higher education or standing at the threshold of public and private employment. Critics contend that even temporary preventive detention can irreparably disrupt academic pursuits, employment prospects and family life. The fear, they argue, is not merely of incarceration itself, but of the uncertainty that accompanies prolonged detention without the ordinary safeguards of a criminal trial. In that sense, the possibility of invoking the NSA may itself become a deterrent, encouraging students to withdraw from public protest under social and familial pressure, thereby weakening a democratic movement through apprehension rather than persuasion.
These concerns are not merely theoretical; they are shaped by India's recent experience with the use of stringent security laws against protest movements. Over the past decade, student-led agitations have repeatedly encountered criminal prosecutions under laws designed to address threats far more serious than ordinary public disorder. Whether those prosecutions were justified in individual cases remains a matter for the courts. Their constitutional significance lies elsewhere: they demonstrate how prolonged pre-trial detention, irrespective of the eventual outcome, can itself become one of the severest consequences of invoking extraordinary legal powers.
The protests at Jawaharlal Nehru University in 2016 marked one such turning point. Student leaders, including the then president of the JNU Students' Union, Kanhaiya Kumar, were arrested on charges of sedition, triggering a nationwide debate over the relationship between free expression, political dissent and national security. Although the prosecutions generated intense political controversy, they also signalled a growing willingness to invoke stringent criminal provisions in response to student-led mobilisation.
A similar pattern emerged during the nationwide protests against the Citizenship (Amendment) Act (CAA) and the proposed National Register of Citizens (NRC). The peaceful sit-in at Shaheen Bagh became one of the defining symbols of democratic resistance. Following the communal violence in Northeast Delhi in February 2020, the investigation expanded into what came to be known as the "larger conspiracy" case (FIR 59/2020). Several student leaders, academics and civil society activists associated with the anti-CAA movement were arrested under the Unlawful Activities (Prevention) Act (UAPA) and other penal provisions, transforming a protest movement into one of the most significant national security prosecutions of recent years.
For many of those accused, the legal process itself became the punishment. Years passed before the trial could meaningfully commence, while several remained incarcerated as undertrials. The prolonged deprivation of liberty, rather than eventual conviction, came to define the lived experience of many of the accused and reignited an enduring constitutional debate about the relationship between preventive laws, prolonged detention and the presumption of innocence.
Judicial intervention gradually altered that landscape. In June 2021, the Delhi High Court granted regular bail to JNU scholars Natasha Narwal and Devangana Kalita of the Pinjra Tod collective, along with Asif Iqbal Tanha, a student of Jamia Millia Islamia. In a judgment that has since assumed considerable constitutional importance, the Court cautioned against "blurring the line between the constitutionally guaranteed right to protest and terrorist activity," emphasising that extraordinary anti-terror legislation cannot be permitted to dilute the distinction between legitimate democratic dissent and genuine threats to national security. Around the same period, Safoora Zargar was released on humanitarian grounds owing to her pregnancy, while Ishrat Jahan and Faizan Khan subsequently secured bail in separate proceedings.
The most significant development came in January 2026, when the Supreme Court granted bail to Gulfisha Fatima, Meeran Haider, Shifa-ur-Rehman, Mohammad Saleem Khan and Shadab Ahmed, all of whom had remained in custody for nearly six years without the commencement of trial. The order once again brought into sharp focus the constitutional cost of prolonged pre-trial incarceration and renewed public debate over the balance between national security and individual liberty.
The legal picture, however, remains far from uniform. Umar Khalid continues to remain in custody after repeated rejection of his bail applications, with the courts holding that the allegations against him stand on a qualitatively different footing within the prosecution's theory of the alleged larger conspiracy. Sharjeel Imam, although granted relief in certain speech-related prosecutions, continues to face incarceration in the principal UAPA proceedings. Other accused, including Khalid Saifi, Tahir Hussain and several local organisers, also continue to contest their detention before the courts. Their cases remain pending, and no conclusions regarding guilt or innocence have yet been reached.
The significance of these developments extends beyond the individual cases themselves. They explain why the prospect of invoking preventive detention laws against contemporary protest movements evokes profound constitutional concern. For many critics, the issue is not confined to the legality of preventive detention. It is whether the possibility of prolonged incarceration under extraordinary laws—before any finding of guilt—creates a chilling effect that discourages citizens, particularly students and young people, from exercising their constitutional freedoms. The debate, therefore, is ultimately about more than detention; it concerns the conditions under which democratic participation itself can meaningfully survive.
The present controversy, therefore, is not about whether governments possess the authority to maintain law and order. They unquestionably do. Every constitutional democracy must equip itself to prevent violence, protect public property and safeguard the lives and liberties of its citizens. Equally, citizens exercising the right to protest bear a corresponding responsibility to remain peaceful and respect the rights of others.
The constitutional question is narrower, yet far more enduring. In a legal system already equipped with comprehensive criminal laws to regulate assemblies, disperse unlawful gatherings and prosecute acts of violence, when does preventive detention become constitutionally necessary? The issue is not whether such powers are legally permissible—they undoubtedly are—but whether their use against democratic protest remains consistent with the constitutional expectation that extraordinary powers should remain precisely that: extraordinary.
That expectation is woven into the history of the Constitution itself.
The framers of the Constitution were acutely conscious of the dangers inherent in preventive detention. Having lived through colonial rule, they had witnessed how laws permitting detention without trial were routinely employed to suppress political movements rather than genuine threats to public safety. Many members of the Constituent Assembly, therefore, regarded preventive detention as fundamentally incompatible with the ideals of a democratic republic founded upon liberty and the rule of law.
Yet the Republic they were creating emerged under extraordinary circumstances. Partition had left behind communal violence, mass displacement and deep anxieties about the stability of the newly independent State. Faced with those realities, the Constituent Assembly chose not to prohibit preventive detention altogether. Instead, it accepted it as an exceptional constitutional power, hedged with procedural safeguards and justified only by exceptional necessity. Dr. B.R. Ambedkar defended its inclusion not because he considered it desirable in ordinary governance, but because he believed that no modern State could entirely dispense with extraordinary measures in moments of grave national crisis.
The compromise ultimately found expression in Article 22 of the Constitution. Preventive detention was neither embraced as a normal instrument of governance nor rejected outright. It was tolerated as an exception—an uneasy accommodation between the demands of liberty and the imperatives of security. Implicit in that compromise was an important constitutional assumption: governments would invoke such powers only when the ordinary processes of criminal law had become genuinely inadequate.
Independent India's constitutional journey, however, has repeatedly tested that assumption.
Barely weeks after the Constitution came into force, Parliament enacted the Preventive Detention Act, 1950. In A.K. Gopalan v. State of Madras, the Supreme Court adopted a formal and narrow interpretation of personal liberty, holding that any deprivation authorised by a validly enacted law substantially satisfied the constitutional requirement under Article 21. The judgment accorded wide latitude to executive authority and reflected a judicial philosophy that treated individual rights as compartmentalised rather than interconnected.
That understanding of liberty would not survive the constitutional upheaval of the Emergency.
The proclamation of Emergency in 1975 marked the darkest chapter in India's constitutional history. Thousands of political leaders, journalists, trade unionists, students and civil society activists were detained without trial under the Maintenance of Internal Security Act (MISA). Fundamental rights were suspended, political opposition was silenced and preventive detention became an instrument of routine governance rather than an exceptional response to extraordinary circumstances.
The constitutional crisis reached its nadir in ADM Jabalpur v. Shivkant Shukla, where the Supreme Court held that, during the Emergency, even the writ of habeas corpus stood suspended and citizens could not seek judicial protection against unlawful detention. The lone dissent of Justice H.R. Khanna, who insisted that liberty does not depend upon executive grace but inheres in the rule of law itself, has since become one of the defining moments of Indian constitutionalism. His opinion, initially isolated, ultimately came to symbolise the resilience of constitutional morality against executive excess.
The Emergency fundamentally transformed India's constitutional imagination. Its lessons extended far beyond electoral politics. They reshaped the judiciary's understanding of liberty, executive accountability and the limits of State power. The Forty-Fourth Constitutional Amendment imposed important constraints upon the exercise of Emergency powers, while the Supreme Court gradually abandoned the formalism of Gopalan in favour of a rights-oriented constitutional philosophy.
That transformation found its most influential expression in Maneka Gandhi v. Union of India. Rejecting the narrow interpretation adopted in Gopalan, the Court held that any law depriving a person of life or personal liberty must satisfy the requirements of fairness, reasonableness and non-arbitrariness. Procedure established by law, the Court declared, could no longer mean any procedure enacted by Parliament; it had to be a procedure consistent with constitutional justice.
Subsequent decisions expanded that constitutional vision. Over the following decades, Article 21 evolved from a guarantee against unlawful detention into the principal source of numerous substantive rights, culminating in the Supreme Court's decision in Justice K.S. Puttaswamy v. Union of India, which reaffirmed that liberty, dignity, privacy and individual autonomy lie at the very heart of constitutional governance.
Yet one constitutional reality remained unchanged. Preventive detention survived.
The National Security Act, 1980, continues to occupy a place within India's constitutional framework because even a constitutional democracy cannot entirely disregard extraordinary threats such as terrorism, organised violence, espionage or activities genuinely endangering national security. The Constitution, therefore, continues to recognise preventive detention—but only as a carefully circumscribed exception to the ordinary criminal process. Its constitutional legitimacy rests not merely upon legislative sanction, but upon the continuing expectation that it will be exercised sparingly, proportionately and only when ordinary law proves demonstrably inadequate.
That distinction has acquired renewed significance today because the legal landscape has changed dramatically since the NSA was enacted more than four decades ago.
The constitutional balance becomes even more significant today because India's criminal justice framework has expanded considerably since the National Security Act was enacted in 1980.
The Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita (BNS) and the Bharatiya Nagarik Suraksha Sanhita (BNSS) confer extensive powers upon the State to regulate assemblies, disperse unlawful gatherings, arrest offenders and prosecute acts of violence. These powers are supplemented by specialised legislation such as the Prevention of Damage to Public Property Act, which criminalises vandalism during public protests, and the Unlawful Activities (Prevention) Act (UAPA), which addresses organised violence, terrorism and activities threatening the sovereignty and integrity of India. Collectively, these enactments provide the State with formidable legal authority to preserve public order through the ordinary criminal justice process.
This evolution inevitably reframes the constitutional inquiry. If the existing criminal law already equips the State to regulate demonstrations, prosecute offenders and respond effectively to violence, under what circumstances does preventive detention become constitutionally necessary? Administrative convenience cannot, by itself, answer that question. Constitutional democracies demand a higher standard. Extraordinary restrictions upon liberty must always be justified by extraordinary circumstances.
The Supreme Court has repeatedly sought to preserve that distinction. In Dr. Ram Manohar Lohia v. State of Bihar, Justice M. Hidayatullah explained that law and order, public order and security of the State exist as concentric circles. Every breach of law and order does not disturb public order, and every disturbance of public order does not endanger the security of the State. The constitutional significance of this doctrine lies in its insistence that executive power must remain proportionate to the gravity of the threat. Ordinary disturbances call for ordinary policing; only threats of a fundamentally different constitutional character justify extraordinary measures.
Closely allied to this principle is the doctrine of proportionality, which has become one of the defining features of modern constitutional jurisprudence. It requires that restrictions upon fundamental rights pursue a legitimate objective, bear a rational connection with that objective and impair individual liberty no more than is reasonably necessary. In the context of preventive detention, proportionality asks a deceptively simple question: have the ordinary mechanisms of criminal law genuinely proved inadequate? If the answer is yes—because the State confronts terrorism, organised violence or a grave threat to national security—the Constitution permits exceptional measures. If the answer is no, constitutional restraint requires governments to rely upon the ordinary processes of criminal justice.
The Supreme Court's jurisprudence on the right to protest reflects the same constitutional philosophy. In Mazdoor Kisan Shakti Sangathan v. Union of India, the Court recognised peaceful protest as an indispensable feature of constitutional democracy while affirming the State's authority to regulate demonstrations in the interest of public order. In Amit Sahni v. Commissioner of Police, arising out of the Shaheen Bagh protests, the Court reiterated that while citizens possess an unquestionable right to dissent, public spaces cannot remain under indefinite occupation. The Constitution protects protest; it does not sanction permanent disruption of civic life.
Similarly, in Ramlila Maidan Incident v. Home Secretary, Union of India and Anita Thakur v. State of Jammu & Kashmir, the Court emphasised that even where police intervention is lawful, the force employed must remain necessary, reasonable and proportionate. Democratic policing is measured not merely by the legality of executive action but by the restraint with which that authority is exercised.
History lends weight to these constitutional principles. From the JP Movement and the Emergency to the Mandal agitations, Anna Hazare's anti-corruption movement, the Nirbhaya protests and the farmers' movement, independent India has repeatedly witnessed moments of sustained public mobilisation. Although each arose in different political circumstances, they collectively reveal a recurring constitutional lesson. Durable political settlements rarely emerge through coercion alone. They are more often achieved through negotiation, institutional reform, legislative intervention or the verdict of the electorate.
The Emergency exposed the dangers of allowing extraordinary powers to become instruments of ordinary governance. The Mandal agitations, despite widespread unrest, were addressed principally through the ordinary criminal law. Anna Hazare's movement eventually culminated in political engagement rather than executive repression. The Nirbhaya protests resulted in sweeping legal reforms following the recommendations of the Justice Verma Committee. The year-long farmers' agitation concluded through democratic negotiation and parliamentary action. The lesson running through these diverse episodes is not that governments should refrain from enforcing the law, but that constitutional democracies derive their greatest strength from their capacity to resolve political conflict through democratic institutions rather than extraordinary executive power.
This does not imply that every protest is lawful or every grievance justified. Violence, vandalism, attacks upon public servants and destruction of public property unquestionably warrant firm legal action. Constitutional liberty has never conferred immunity from criminal accountability. Equally, isolated instances of violence cannot, without careful constitutional justification, transform an entire political movement into a matter of national security. The distinction between criminal conduct and democratic dissent must remain clear if constitutional freedoms are to retain any meaningful content.
Preserving that distinction requires responsibility from both the State and its citizens. Governments must resist the temptation to interpret every politically inconvenient mobilisation through the language of national security. Citizens, in turn, must recognise that the right to protest carries corresponding obligations of peaceful conduct and respect for the rights of others. Constitutional democracy survives neither through unrestrained executive authority nor through unrestricted popular mobilisation, but through a principled balance between liberty and order.
The judiciary remains central to maintaining that equilibrium. Across decades of constitutional jurisprudence—from Ram Manohar Lohia and Madhu Limaye to Maneka Gandhi, Ramlila Maidan, Mazdoor Kisan Shakti Sanghathan, Amit Sahni and Justice K.S. Puttaswamy—the Supreme Court has consistently sought to reconcile individual liberty with the State's obligation to preserve public order. It has neither rendered the executive powerless nor permitted executive authority to become unbounded. Instead, it has insisted that legality, necessity and proportionality remain the constitutional touchstones for every restriction upon personal liberty.
India's democratic experience offers another lesson of equal importance: dialogue is itself an instrument of constitutional governance. Large public movements seldom conclude through coercion alone. More often, they find resolution through negotiation, legislative reform, judicial intervention or electoral accountability. Governments undoubtedly possess the authority to restore public order, but they command greater constitutional legitimacy when that authority is exercised alongside transparency, engagement and a willingness to listen. Dialogue should never be mistaken for administrative weakness. In a constitutional democracy, it is one of the highest expressions of institutional confidence.
The present debate, therefore, calls for neither alarmism nor complacency. Contemporary India is not living under a constitutional Emergency. Fundamental rights remain enforceable, courts continue to exercise the power of judicial review and democratic governments remain accountable through periodic elections. These institutional safeguards distinguish the present constitutional order from the exceptional circumstances of 1975.
History nevertheless counsels vigilance. Constitutional democracy is sustained not merely by written guarantees but by habits of restraint, institutional accountability and constitutional morality. Democratic erosion rarely begins with dramatic constitutional rupture. More often, it unfolds gradually, as exceptional powers come to be regarded as ordinary instruments of governance and extraordinary legal measures lose their exceptional character.
Ultimately, the constitutional question is neither whether the State possesses authority to preserve public order nor whether preventive detention is recognised by law. Both propositions are beyond dispute. The more enduring inquiry is whether those extraordinary powers continue to be exercised in the spirit in which the Constitution tolerates them: sparingly, proportionately and only when ordinary criminal law has demonstrably ceased to be adequate.
Dr. B.R. Ambedkar once observed that no Constitution, however carefully drafted, can preserve liberty unless those entrusted with public power practise constitutional morality. More than seven decades later, that warning remains profoundly relevant. Constitutional morality demands that governments exercise authority with restraint, citizens exercise freedom with responsibility and institutions discharge their duties with independence and fidelity to the rule of law. It requires allegiance not to transient political interests but to enduring constitutional values.
The Delhi Police notification will, in time, recede into the archives of administrative history. The constitutional questions it has provoked will not. Every generation must decide anew how the Republic should reconcile liberty with security, authority with accountability and public order with democratic dissent. There can be no final resolution, for constitutional democracy is an unending conversation between the State and the citizen. If India is to preserve both its security and its freedom, that conversation must continue to be guided by one enduring constitutional principle: extraordinary powers must remain truly extraordinary, while ordinary law, independent courts and democratic dialogue remain the Republic's first and strongest safeguards of liberty.
References
1. Constitution of India, Articles 19, 21 and 22.
2. Constituent Assembly Debates, Volumes VII–IX (Debates on Preventive Detention and Fundamental Rights, 1949).
3. The National Security Act, 1980.
4. Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita, 2023.
5. Bharatiya Nagarik Suraksha Sanhita, 2023.
6. Unlawful Activities (Prevention) Act, 1967.
7. Prevention of Damage to Public Property Act, 1984.
8. A.K. Gopalan v. State of Madras, AIR 1950 SC 27.
9. Dr. Ram Manohar Lohia v. State of Bihar, AIR 1966 SC 740.
10. Madhu Limaye v. Sub-Divisional Magistrate, (1970) 3 SCC 746.
11. ADM Jabalpur v. Shivkant Shukla, (1976) 2 SCC 521.
12. Maneka Gandhi v. Union of India, (1978) 1 SCC 248.
13. Anita Thakur v. State of Jammu & Kashmir, (2016) 15 SCC 525.
14. Ramlila Maidan Incident v. Home Secretary, Union of India, (2012) 5 SCC 1.
15. Mazdoor Kisan Shakti Sangathan v. Union of India, (2018) 17 SCC 324.
16. Amit Sahni v. Commissioner of Police, (2020) 10 SCC 439.
17. Justice K.S. Puttaswamy (Retd.) v. Union of India, (2017) 10 SCC 1.
18. H.M. Seervai, Constitutional Law of India, Universal Law Publishing.
19. Granville Austin, Working a Democratic Constitution.
20. Granville Austin, The Indian Constitution: Cornerstone of a Nation.
21. M.P. Jain, Indian Constitutional Law.
22. A.G. Noorani, Constitutional Questions in India.
23. Upendra Baxi, The Indian Supreme Court and Politics.
24. Gautam Bhatia, Offend, Shock or Disturb: Free Speech under the Indian Constitution.
25. Justice H.R. Khanna, Neither Roses Nor Thorns.
