Poetry in Judgments: Echoes of Hindustan

When Justice Sudhanshu Dhulia retired from the Supreme Court, he summed up his years on the bench with: “I will miss my Hindustan.” He was expressing at that moment, his heart’s longing — the Hindustan bustling in black robes with different corners of the nation, representing religions, different cultures, different languages and yet representing unity under one flag, one Constitution. It was a sentence appearing to be simple but laden with much deeper emotions. The Court, each day, witnesses in its corridors and stuffy rooms, different shades and colors of the country. It is this “Hindustan” which Justice Dhulia talked on and which he witnessed daily and was going to miss. 

This Hindustan doesn’t just assemble each day before the courts — it’s tucked in the pages of judgments too, where many a time judges sneak in poetry. Take Aruna Ramchandra Shanbaug v. Union of India [(2011) 4 SCC 454], where the Supreme Court, confronted with a life caught in unending suffering, turned to Ghalib’s lament — मरते हैं आरज़ू में मरने की, मौत आती है पर नहीं आती— the courtroom’s own way of saying, “Waiting for the end can be like standing in a queue that never moves.”

In Bhagwan Dass v. State (NCT of Delhi) [(2011) 6 SCC 396], an “honour killing” case where a father murdered his own daughter, the Supreme Court began with Ghalib’s haunting lines —है मौजज़न इक क़ुल्ज़ुम-ए-ख़ूँ काश यही हो, आता है अभी देखिए क्या क्या मेरे आगे — a turbulent ocean of blood, if only that were all; let us see what else lies ahead. And in Court on its own Motion v. A.J. Philip [2004 Cri LJ 3467 (FB)], the day’s most persuasive authority wasn’t case law but a verse from Ghalib. Counsel for the contemnors, seeking mercy in a contempt case over an unfounded news report, reached for the poet’s gentler side —रोक लो गर ग़लत चले कोई, बख़्श दो गर ख़ता करे कोई— essentially, “Stop us if we stray, forgive us if we blunder.”

The Bench, it seems, preferred this well-aimed couplet over a dozen citations, proving that sometimes poetry can do the heavy lifting in law. In the Ayodhya Title Suit — Gopal Visharad & Ors v Zahoor Ahmad & Ors Allahabad High Court (2010) — Justice SU Khan opened with Iqbal’s evergreen— “मज़हब नहीं सिखाता आपस में बैर रखना…यूनान-ओ-मिस्र-ओ-रोमा सब मिट गए जहाँ से…कुछ बात है कि हस्ती मिटती नहीं हमारी”— to remind that India’s civilisation has outlasted empires, and its identity is too enduring to be undone by religion.

In Budhadev Karmaskar v. State of West Bengal AIR 2011 SC 2636, Justice Katju opened with Ghalib’s lines — पिन्हाँ था दाम-ए-सख़्त क़रीब आशियान के, उड़ने न पाए थे कि गिरफ़्तार हम हुए— likening the hidden snare of poverty and adverse circumstances that trap sex workers, while urging rehabilitation under Article 21.

From Firaq Gorakhpuri’s making of India in Kailas v. State of Maharashtra 2011 INSC 15 —सर-ज़मीन-ए-हिंद पर अक़्वाम-ए-आलम के 'फ़िराक़', क़ाफ़िले बसते गए हिन्दोस्ताँ बनता गया to Nida Fazli’s melancholic “घर से मस्जिद है बहुत दूर चलो यूँ कर लें, किसी रोते हुए बच्चे को हँसाया जाए” in Shahnawaz Zaheer vs. Government of NCT of Delhi, 2015 SCC OnLine Del 8503 - a reminder that the true essence of humanity and religion is not in rituals or places of worship but in acts of compassion and love for fellow human beings, regardless of their background, Judges now and then have been unveiling their inner poetic instinct, giving their judgment a welcome flavor—and lawyers a reason to wander into poetry.

Kabir, that timeless chronicler of wisdom, has also enriched the judgments. In Udai Singh v. Kendriya Vidyalaya Sangathan 221 (2015) DLT 503, his reverent  “गुरू गोविन्द दोऊ खड़े, काके लागूं पांय, बलिहारी गुरू अपने गोविन्द दियो बताय” sanctified the teacher-student bond.

In Sukhchain v. State of MP 2018 (II) MPJR (SC) 76, Rahim’s “रहिमन पानी राखिये, बिन पानी सब सून” was ostensibly about water conservation, but the metaphor fits justice perfectly — without it, nothing survives.

Tagore, of course, turns up often. “Where the mind is without fear…” has been used as a constitutional prayer. His phrase “None shall be turned away from the shore of this vast sea of humanity that is India” in Resham & Ors v State of Karnataka & Ors AIR 2022 Kant81 reminded us of our secular beliefs and essential religious practices. In Setab Uddin & Ors. v. State of West Bengal & Ors. (Calcutta HC, March 3, 2022), Abhijit Gangopadhyay J., faced with a volley of technical objections, invoked Tagore’s Naibedya—

যেথা তুচ্ছ আচারের মরুবালুরাশি

বিচারের স্রোতঃপথ ফেলে নাই গ্রাসি

“Where technicalities have not gulped the course of justice.”

He rejected the objections and lamented a courtroom culture where “courts had become a playground of fantastic law-knowing advocates who could make a speech by referring to thousands of fantastic legal principles, none of which were applicable."

The Supreme Court in Navtej Singh Johar v. Union of India [2018] 7 SCR 379  relied upon Vikram Seth’s Through Love’s Great Power, for declaring that love — not its criminalisation — was natural. In Millennium Educational Trust v. State of Karnataka ILR 2013 Karnataka 1452, Kalidasa’s kingly command — “If there is anyone in the Kingdom who has no relative, inform him that the King is his relative” — morphed into a reminder of the State’s duty to its most vulnerable. 

Sometimes poetry was used to sting. Leila Seth’s The Girl Child in State of Rajasthan v. Gopal RLW 2016 (1) Raj 604 pulled no punches: “Some were aborted before they were born… Others were smothered, starved, or drowned.” Gopal Singh Nepali in State of Jharkhand v. Bir Steel (2018) 3 JCR 618 drove home betrayal from within: “बदनाम रहे बटमार मगर, घर तो रखवालों ने लूटा” [“The thieves are unnecessarily being blemished; the house was actually looted by its protectors.”]

And then there are quieter yet piercing Urdu moments, buried in plain sight across the judgments. Allama Iqbal’s  “ख़ुदी को कर बुलंद इतना कि हर तक़दीर से पहले, ख़ुदा बंदे से ख़ुद पूछे बता तेरी रज़ा क्या है”—became a democratic manifesto, urging citizens to stand tall enough that even fate must consult them.

In Harihar Rai v. State of Bihar 1988 (11) BLJ 198, the judge captured the voiceless agony of prisoners with: “न तड़पने की इजाज़त है न फ़रियाद की है, घुट के मर जाऊँ ये मर्ज़ी मेरे सय्याद की है”.

In Gopal Das v. Union of India 2011 INSC 203, a habeas corpus plea for an Indian held in a Pakistani jail for 27 years, Justice Markandey Katju opened with Faiz Ahmed Faiz’s couplet—"क़फ़स उदास है यारो सबा से कुछ तो कहो, कहीं तो बहर-ए-ख़ुदा आज ज़िक्र-ए-यार चले”—“The cage is desolate, friends; whisper to the morning breeze—at least for God’s sake, let there be some talk of the beloved today.”

In Mehboob Batcha v. State rep. by Supdt. of Police 2011 INSC 229, a case on custodial violence and the hijacking of justice by those in power, the Supreme Court reached for Faiz Ahmed Faiz: “बने हैं अहल-ए-हवस मुद्दई भी मुंसिफ़ भी, किसे वकील करें किस से मुंसिफ़ी चाहें”— “When the power-hungry are both complainant and judge, whom do we brief, from whom do we seek justice?” The couplet frames the Court’s censure of abuse of authority.

Some verses are as much rallying cries as they are poetry. In State through CBI v Sajjan Kumar & Ors 2018: DHC: 7927-DB a judgment on the 1984 anti-Sikh riots, Amrita Pritam’s lament — “Seeds of hatred have grown high, bloodshed is everywhere; the poisoned breeze has turned bamboo flutes into snakes” — was invoked as a warning that when prejudice takes root, even music turns to venom.

In Nuzhat Perween v State of U.P & Ors 2020(3) ACR 2417, Iqbal’s कुछ बात है कि हस्ती, मिटती नहीं हमारी, सदियों रहा है दुश्मन, दौर-ए-ज़माँ हमारा became a salute to resilience itself.

In Bano v. State of Rajasthan 1986 WLN (UC) 701, verses from Jayshankar Prasad and Maithili Sharan Gupta highlighted the hypocrisy of a society that worships women in theory but exploits them in practice.

And in Nand Lal Sharma v. State of Rajasthan 1982 WLN 681, ancient Sanskrit and Vedic condemnations of alcohol were marshalled alongside Seneca’s quip that drunkenness is “insanity purposely assumed.”

The personal often seeps into the procedural. In Sandeep & Ors v. State of U.P. 2011 (11) ADJ 670, the Bench invoked Muzaffar Razmi’s couplet— ये जब्र भी देखा है तारीख़ की नज़रों ने, लम्हों ने ख़ता की थी सदियों ने सज़ा पाई” [History has witnessed the cruelty of a moment’s mistake exacting a punishment borne for centuries] — to reflect on how a small, impulsive act can cause outsized, lasting harm. In Gulab Kothari v. State of Rajasthan 2017 (1) WLN 417 (Raj), Javed Akhtar’s lament —ऊँची इमारतों से मकाँ मेरा घिर गया, कुछ लोग मेरे हिस्से का सूरज भी खा गए— became an indictment of urban planning that steals light and life from its people. In Maqbool Fida Husain v. Raj Kumar Pandey 2008 CriLJ 4107, a Sanskrit invocation — "जननी जन्मभूमिश्च स्वर्गादपि गरीयसी"— reminded that both mother and motherland outrank heaven itself.

So yes, Justice Dhulia’s Hindustan will keep walking into court, and out again, bound in judgments, humming ghazals, chanting shlokas, and sometimes breaking into protest songs.

About the author: Gurinder Pal Singh is the Founder and Managing Partner of Gurinder & Partners.

Disclaimer: The opinions expressed in this article are those of the author(s). The opinions presented do not necessarily reflect the views of Bar & Bench.

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