Author : Munish Kumar Gaur, Advocate & Former Bureaucrat

The acquittal of Arvind Kejriwal and Manish Sisodia by Delhi’s Rouse Avenue Court in the alleged liquor policy case, on the ground that no evidence exists even to frame charges, raises questions far deeper than the conduct of any single investigating agency. It compels the nation to reflect on the functioning of courts, the discipline of criminal procedure, and the constitutional meaning of personal liberty.

Mr. Kejriwal spent nearly five months in custody and Mr. Sisodia around seventeen months before securing bail and eventual discharge. These were not symbolic detentions; they were prolonged incarcerations that deprived individuals of liberty, reputation, and political participation. In a constitutional democracy governed by the rule of law, such deprivation cannot be brushed aside as collateral damage.

In recent days, public discourse , particularly in sections of the media, has focused on portraying the Central Bureau of Investigation as a convenient scapegoat. While investigative excesses must always be scrutinised, the more uncomfortable and necessary questions lie elsewhere. Arrests do not culminate in jail on the investigator’s word alone. Within twenty-four hours of arrest, every accused is produced before a judicial authority. It is the court that authorises police or judicial custody after being satisfied that prima facie material exists.

If a court today declares that there is no material even to frame charges, one must ask: on what basis was judicial custody authorised for months? Evidence does not evaporate with time. Either it existed at the remand stage, or it never existed at all. Both scenarios are deeply troubling. The first suggests a collapse of the prosecution case; the second points to a failure of judicial scrutiny at the very threshold.

Indian criminal jurisprudence clearly distinguishes between the existence of material and the proof of guilt. At the stage of framing charges, the law does not demand proof beyond reasonable doubt. It merely requires strong suspicion based on material placed on record. Therefore, a finding of “no evidence” at this preliminary stage is not a routine outcome, it is an indictment of the process that allowed prolonged incarceration in the first place.

This episode also reopens the debate on pre-trial detention becoming a substitute for punishment. Constitutional courts have repeatedly affirmed that bail is the rule and jail the exception, flowing directly from Article 21 of the Constitution. When liberty is taken away first and legal vindication arrives months or years later, the process itself becomes punitive. Such a system risks normalising incarceration without accountability.

The controversy surrounding Delhi’s excise policy adds another layer to the debate. A policy that allegedly reduced government revenue while enhancing private commissions naturally invites public and legal scrutiny. Whether such decisions amount to criminality is for courts to determine. But the absence of criminal liability does not erase the broader questions of administrative propriety, transparency, and public trust. Policy decisions may enjoy discretion, but they do not enjoy immunity from constitutional values.

Ultimately, this case is not about personalities or political parties. It is about institutional responsibility. Investigating agencies must act within the law, but courts must act as the first and most vital guardians of liberty. Judicial remand is not a formality; it is a constitutional act with grave consequences.

If individuals can be jailed for months and then discharged for want of evidence, the fault does not lie in hindsight commentary but in the system that allowed liberty to be suspended without sufficient cause. A democracy cannot afford a justice system where incarceration precedes justification.

When the blindfold of the Goddess of Justice slips, it is not enough to retie it. The system must also ask who allowed it to slip and why.