The Constitution demands tolerance and respect, not institutional agreement

The threat of impeachment against a serving judge has upset the balance of power recently. And because it follows a court order the government did not agree with, it makes the situation even more sensitive. The issue of lighting the Karthigai Deepam on the Thiruparankundram hill has grown beyond the initial circumstances. It is no longer just about a single court order or a ritual. It now probes whether constitutional institutions can hold their ground when judicial protection of religious practice runs up against political and bureaucratic resistance.

The correctness of Justice G.R. Swaminathan's decision is no longer the central issue. Indian courts often deliver judgements that invite debate, and the Constitution provides a clear avenue for appeal. But the concern now is how disagreement was deliberately turned into an institutional confrontation. The Constitution leaves no ambiguity on this point. Appellate review is one way to contest a ruling, and only proven misconduct or incapacity may result in the removal of a judge.

The disagreement in this instance went beyond the appeal process. It began with the executive branch's unwillingness to carry out a legally binding order and ended with political mobilisation over its alleged repercussions. And the most serious parliamentary tool available against a judge, impeachment, was used to end it.

When disagreement with a judge's reasoning is allowed to slide into talk of removal, the effects spread well beyond the case itself. Judicial interpretation starts to feel exposed to political reprisal. Parliamentary oversight begins to resemble a tool of correction rather than accountability. The clear boundaries between appeal, obedience to court orders, and punishment start to blur. At a glance, everything appears familiar: a place of worship, conflicting religious claims, and a foreseeable political reaction. However, constitutional law does not rely on symbolism or sentiment. It is based on protocol, boundaries, and institutional restraint. All three are under pressure in this episode.

The dispute began with the traditional lighting of the Karthigai Deepam at the Deepathoon on Thiruparankundram hill. The location has long been associated with Murugan worship. Objections were raised to holding the traditional ritual there, and the Tamil Nadu government backed those objections, citing concerns over rival claims and law and order. The judge focused on what the Deepathoon represents. Unlike the nearby dargah, he treated it as a religious marker. The court clearly separated the spot where the lamp is lit from the dargah. It found that lighting the Deepam did not interfere with the dargah's practices. The ruling was grounded in continuity, treating the ritual as long-standing and accepted, not new or provocative.

The court relied on Articles 25 and 26, along with its powers under Article 226. It treated the case as official obstruction to a religious practice, not a struggle over control of a shared sacred space. The order stayed within clear limits, made no religious judgements, and asserted no religious superiority. The issue before the court was whether the State could block a long-accepted practice without strong constitutional grounds. The answer was a plain no.

And agreement with the reasoning is beside the point. Clarity is needed on what the judgement did and did not do. It protected a long-standing historical practice and did not seek to rewrite the religious history of Thiruparankundram. But the controversy that followed owed less to the legal ruling than to the political meaning read into it. In Tamil religious life, Thiruparankundram holds a special place, and its rituals are woven into local devotion. The place is regarded as one of Lord Murugan's six abodes, and so the lighting of the Karthigai Deepam is not a mere symbol. It belongs to a ritual landscape shaped by continuity, elevation, and visibility. The practice is inherited through custom, not newly claimed, as rightly observed by the court.

Such disputes pose a constitutional challenge when judicial protection of tradition is recast as religious bias. Political narratives can turn unease into confrontation, and administrative caution can harden into inertia. Thiruparankundram reflects this strain. It stands as a reminder of a continuing constitutional tension. High Courts have wide writ powers under Article 226. These powers allow courts to shield traditional religious practices from arbitrary administrative barriers. They also demand restraint, and Justice Swaminathan's reasoning reflects that balance. Disagreement with the view does not amount to misconduct. Article 226 allows disagreement, but it does not punish it. Parliamentary sanction is not the cure for error; appeal is. Articles 25 and 26 protect religious freedom, subject to public health, morality, and order. Governments often invoke these limits in sensitive cases. Constitutional doctrine, however, draws a clear line. Fundamental rights cannot be held back indefinitely on vague or speculative law-and-order grounds. The State must show necessity and proportionality. In the Thiruparankundram case, the State cited sensitivity and possible unrest to resist implementation. Caution in tense situations is understandable. Caution, however, cannot operate as a veto over a court's order. The executive must comply unless a stay is granted.

The foundation of the rule of law is a straightforward idea. Until they are overturned, court orders are binding on the State. That idea is undermined by selective compliance. Regardless of its political motivations, Tamil Nadu's reluctance became a constitutional issue because it made it difficult to distinguish between caution and disobedience.

The State ultimately sought relief from the Supreme Court, which was the correct constitutional course of action. Executive reluctance runs the risk of turning compliance into a negotiation rather than a duty until such relief is granted. The Supreme Court's role is stabilising at this point. It serves as a constitutional harmoniser through appellate review rather than as a religious arbiter. Institutional escalation should stop once the matter is taken over by the highest court. The hierarchy of constitutional remedies is weakened by concurrent political or parliamentary actions during judicial scrutiny.

Judges may be removed only for demonstrated misconduct or incapacity under Articles 124(4) and 217. The bar is set high on purpose. Misbehaviour does not refer to disputed interpretation in challenging cases, but to actions inconsistent with judicial office. The independence that impeachment is meant to safeguard is undermined when that distinction is broken. Impeachment was not intended as a response to unpopular rulings, but as a defence against corruption and incapacity. Using it to target judicial reasoning sends a chilling signal, particularly in disputes shaped by religion, history, and identity. The episode shows strain across all three branches. The judiciary performed its interpretive role, the executive hesitated to act, and the legislature issued an impeachment notice. Individually, these acts do not signal constitutional breakdown; cumulatively, they reveal a lack of institutional restraint.

The Constitution does not demand institutional agreement. It demands self-control, tolerance, and respect for boundaries as the essence of checks and balances. This situation must therefore be resolved within the Constitution's own grammar. Courts may err, and appeals exist for that reason. Executives may disagree, and stays provide relief. But legislatures should act only in cases of serious misconduct. Judicial independence becomes fragile if impeachment turns on interpretation. The Constitution is not a cure for momentary discomfort. It is a framework that demands restraint, especially when faith, history, and politics collide.

Prof Manoj Sinha, Principal, Aryabhatta College, University of Delhi & Ramanand Sharma, Assistant Professor, Aryabhatta College, University of Delhi; views are personal