OPINION | The Judiciary’s crisis of credibility

Every time a fire reveals something more than flames, it demands our attention. In mid‑March 2025, a blaze at the official residence of Justice Yashwant Varma of the Delhi High Court exposed more than charred walls: it uncovered close to ₹15 crore in partly burnt storeroom under his control. A three‑judge Supreme Court inquiry, led by retired high court justices, found overwhelming evidence that Justice Varma and his family had covert control over that storeroom, witnessed by firefighters and corroborated by videos and testimonies from ten independent observers. 

 

They saw piles of ₹500 notes stacked nearly a foot high, only to witness the subsequent removal of the money during the cover of darkness. The committee, after reviewing 55 statements and visual records, concluded that his conduct was “unnatural,” and recommended impeachment. 

 

Former Chief Justice of India Sanjiv Khanna duly forwarded the recommendation to the President and Prime Minister, signaling a historic push, to our knowledge, the first-ever removal proceedings that may succeed against a constitutionally appointed judge.

Soon after, Chief Justice of India B. R. Gavai, addressing the UK Supreme Court, issued a sober reflection: misconduct within the judiciary inflicts long-term damage on public confidence. He warned that nothing, not even contempt powers, would restore damaged legitimacy; only transparency and accountability could. This was neither rhetoric nor hindsight. Ahead of this scandal, in 2017, Justice Shukla of the Allahabad High Court, implicated in medical college corruption, accepted no responsibility. He was merely relieved of judicial work but kept full pay until retirement. Similarly, Justice Talluri Pattabhirama Rao of the Andhra Pradesh High Court was accused of “cash for bail” back in 2012, yet the inquiry dragged on unresolved into electoral promises of reform. The result is a pattern: bare sanctions against errant judges, but no real consequences or institutional learning.

 

Indeed, the Varma episode is a lightning flash on a broader storm. Court records show lower-level corruption thrives within our system. In Delhi, an “ahmad” (court clerk) named Mukesh Kumar was arrested for brokering bail via bribes; his case is now so mired in investigative bias that the Delhi High Court called for a fresh officer to lead it. In Hyderabad, an assistant public prosecutor and a constable were caught on camera accepting ₹10,000 to manipulate trial proceedings. Deep down, courtroom clerks, police prosecutors, and registrars are selling the pace of justice to the highest bidder.

 

High-stakes graft within bodies like the National Company Law Tribunal (NCLT) further undercuts trust. In Mumbai, a deputy registrar was arrested for accepting ₹3 lakh to influence adjudication in a hotel dispute; CBI custody was granted even as the agency disclosed plans to dig deeper into senior-level complicity. Across sectors, administration, prosecution, judiciary, the rot is pervasive, stretching from lower courts to appellate tribunals.

 

So why does this corruption persist? First, the shield of judicial insulation, intended to protect judges from political interference, doubles as a cloak of immunity. Judges are untouchable: impeaching them requires a two-thirds majority in both Houses of Parliament, a bar so high it has never been met. Justice Soumitra Sen’s 2011 impeachment was the only successful attempt, but it occurred decades ago . For most accused judges, in-house inquiries become endless purgatories: secretive panels that rarely produce penal outcomes. Justice Shukla continued to receive a salary until retirement; his eventual case progressed only when inertia slammed into public pressure. Justice Varma’s refusal to resign calling the process “fundamentally unjust” speaks volumes about power without accountability. Even in recent years, the Ranjan Gogoi case, its trial, verdict and his post-retirement engagements are infamous.

 

Second, the collegium system that appoints judges remains shrouded in secrecy. The refusal to implement the National Judicial Appointments Commission (NJAC), struck down in 2015, cemented a process based on favouritism, networking, and dynastic additions. While the collegium defended judicial independence, critics note how it breeds implicit nepotism and discourages dissent. Diverse India deserves diverse problem-solvers, yet we constantly produce judges who mirror their predecessors in background and thought.

 

Third, we face chronic vacancies and enormous backlogs—over 5 crore cases pending nationwide. Judges are overwhelmed; hearings drag on for years. With pressure to expedite, courtroom staff and litigants find opportunity in delays. Bribes become a tool to advance cases, postpone hearings, or shift judgments. An academic survey underscores how delays compound corruption: when justice slows to a crawl, bribery becomes the accelerator.

 

Taken collectively, these failings damage democracy at its philosophical core. Our Constitution entrusts the judiciary with resolving political disputes, balancing rights, and checking power. When judges themselves become embroiled in graft, how can ordinary citizens expect fairness? How can young rights activists turn to courts when they are tainted by scandal? Meaningful reform cannot be rhetorical. To mend trust, India needs practical, systemic change.

 

First, asset declaration must be mandatory and published. Why do only a handful of 1,100-plus high court and Supreme Court judges reveal their financial holdings voluntarily? Public confidence demands transparency. A binding annual disclosure, accompanied by scrutiny from financial watchdogs, must become routine.

 

Second, establish an independent Judicial Accountability Commission, comprising retired jurists, legal scholars, and citizen representatives. This body must have the authority to investigate allegations, audit asset declarations, and recommend prosecution where warranted. It cannot be a toothless echo of the collegium; it must operate with independence, protecting complainants but not concealing results.

 

Third, peer-review boards within each court should provide oversight into judicial conduct, resource utilisation, and case management. However, these structures must ensure anonymity and whistleblower protection. Junior staff and litigants must feel safe to expose malpractice without fear of exclusion or reprisal.

 

Fourth, the collegium must publish anonymised data about appointments: gender, professional background, experience, age, and region. This would reduce murmurings of nepotism, if not silence them. A transparent system calls no process into question, while opacity invites speculation.

 

Fifth, reconsider impeachment thresholds. A constitutional amendment could establish a tribunal to examine allegations of judicial misconduct, comprising retired Chief Justices, senior legal experts, and members of Parliament. This body would be empowered to recommend removal by a majority vote, thereby avoiding the near-impossible two-thirds threshold in the legislature. While such a reform must uphold judicial independence, it must also ensure accountability.

 

The precedent of the NJAC judgment reminds us of the fine balance required: the Supreme Court struck down the NJAC amendment on grounds that it compromised judicial independence, especially since the body was dominated by executive-appointed members. To avoid a similar pitfall, any new tribunal must include substantial representation from the higher judiciary. Ideally, at least half its members should be nominated by the Supreme Court and High Courts to ensure independence, credibility, and constitutional integrity. 

 

Sixth, we must attack delays at their root. Filling vacancies must be a national priority. Infrastructure and case management systems—videoconferencing, artificial intelligence, and digital filing—can speed proceedings. Reduced backlog undermines graft incentives tied to adjournments or priority scheduling.

 

The Varma case is a warning shot. It’s not just one judge’s fall—it signals systemic rot. Despite video, testimony, and photos, accountability was evaded. Our current mechanisms are broken. 

 

When Chief Justices admit misconduct erodes public trust, it’s rare honesty—but meaningless without reform. Judicial legitimacy comes not from mystique, but from fairness, transparency, and the equal application of law. Immunity without checks breeds arrogance. The answer isn’t court-curbing, but balance: independence with accountability. A judiciary that punishes breaches swiftly and holds itself to the same standards it sets for others.

 

Crores uncovered in flames demand more than outrage—they demand systemic cleansing. If the courts won’t clean their house, they risk becoming symbols not of justice, but of decay. Without urgent reform, our last refuge of justice may collapse, not with thunder, but with silence.

(Amal Chandra is an author, policy analyst and columnist)

 

The opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not purport to reflect the opinions or views of THE WEEK.

 

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