Crime Without Punishment

Within the span of days, two incidents have laid bare the entrenched caste realities of contemporary India and the impunity that the Hindu­tva regime has institutionalised. On October 6, 2025 a 71-year-old lawyer hurled a shoe at Chief Justice of India B.R. Gavai, a Dalit, inside the Supreme Court, defiantly shouting “Sanatan ka apmaan nahi sahega Hindustan” (India will not tolerate insult to Sanatan Dharma). He was released without charges, his shoe returned, facing no consequences for attacking the country’s highest judicial authority. The very next day, October 7, Additional Director General of Police Y. Puran Kumar, also a Dalit, died by suicide at his Chandigarh residence, leaving an eight-page note describing years of caste humiliation and harassment by senior officers. Despite huge public outrage, nothing has been done to the perpetrators.

These two events, occurring within 24 hours, are not aberrations but revelations of a deeper malaise—the normalisation of caste violence and Brahminical supremacy under a majoritarian Hindutva order that has erased accountability for crimes committed in the name of Sanatan Dharma or Hindu honour. One incident reflects physical assault on a Dalit constitutional authority without reprisal; the other, psychological persecution that drove a senior officer to death. Together, they expose an ecosystem where Dalits—irrespective of office, achievement, or rank—remain vulnerable to humiliation and violence sanctioned by ideological impunity.

These are not isolated tragedies but logical outcomes of the Hindutva project that the ruling regime has consolidated over the past decade—an order that weaponises religion to defend caste and punishes dignity itself.

The Shoe That Revealed Everything

The attack on Chief Justice B.R. Gavai was unprecedented in audacity and deeply revealing in consequence. In a packed Supreme Court room, a lawyer hurled his shoe at the bench headed by CJI Gavai, defiantly shouting a slogan sourced from the Hindutva playbook. He later claimed he was enraged by the CJI’s quip—“ask the deity itself to do something”—while dismissing a frivolous plea to restore a Vishnu idol at Khajuraho. Such verbal retorts by judges, right or wrong, are not uncommon. However, the Hindutva networks seized on the remark as an “insult to Sanatan Dharma”, manufacturing the outrage that fuelled the assault.

What followed laid bare the regime’s moral collapse. The assailant was released within hours. He boasted to the press, “I have no regrets…I was hurt.” The Prime Minister’s bland condemnation avoided any commitment to legal action. The Bar remained silent; the media soon moved on. By contrast, when a Mumbai lawyer threw a shoe at CJI A.S. Anand in 1999, aggrieved by the verdict in his property matter, he was convicted of contempt and sentenced to four months imprisonment and a fine.

Kishore’s act was graver because it was ideological. His slogan invoked Sanatan Dharma—a euphemism for Brahminism that sanctifies caste hierarchy—asserting that religious sentiment trumps constitutional authority. It claimed the right to assault a Dalit Chief Justice in defence of “Hindu honour,” confident that society would understand, perhaps even celebrate, the act.

This confidence of impunity is no accident. It is the product of a decade-long Hindutva campaign that has normalised upper-caste violence under the banner of faith. When cow vigilantes lynch Muslims, interfaith couples are attacked, or homes are bulldozed without due process, the same message resounds: violence in the name of Sanatan Dharma enjoys state protection.

The online abuse of CJI Gavai was overtly casteist, mocking his intelligence and legitimacy. The hate spewed against him as a Dalit on social media is criminal, but the entire state machinery has been silent. The outrage over “insult to Sanatan” was merely a polite mask for fury at a Dalit occupying the highest judicial office and dismissing an upper-caste petitioner. In the Brahminical logic encoded in Sanatan Dharma, a Dalit exercising authority represents an inversion of the natural order that must be violently corrected. Kishore’s attack—and the regime’s indulgence—thus revealed everything about Hindutva’s compact with caste: that in the new India, religious offence is punishable, but caste violence is not.

The Suicide Note That Indicts a System

On October 7, 2025, Additional Director General of Police Y. Puran Kumar, a 2001-batch Dalit IPS officer from Andhra Pradesh serving in Haryana, shot himself at his Chandigarh residence. In his suicide note, he named several IPS and IAS officers, accusing them of sustained mental harassment, humiliation, and caste-based discrimination.

Kumar detailed how he was sidelined despite seniority, denied postings he deserved, and targeted through fabricated charges. His note spoke of a systematic campaign of humiliation, including attempts to implicate him in a fake bribery case. His wife, Amneet Kumar, an IAS officer, filed a complaint holding the named officials responsible for his death and demanding their suspension and arrest. What has emerged from Kumar’s note reveals the pervasive caste bias that Dalit officers continue to face in “meritocratic” institutions. Kumar wrote of years of “mental harassment and humiliation”, of being denied recognition and opportunities his upper-caste peers enjoyed. His decision to end his life after naming his tormentors was both an act of despair and an indictment—a demand that the system confront its casteist rot.

Kumar’s death demolishes the myth that rank or merit protects Dalits from caste oppression. Here was an officer one step below the state’s top cop, yet, even his uniform and authority could not shield him from institutionalised caste prejudice. If an ADGP could be hounded to suicide, what hope remains for Dalit constables or sub-inspectors, not to speak of ordinary Dalits?

The tragedy underscores that caste hierarchy persists beneath the veneer of equality. Despite constitutional safeguards and diversity mandates, India’s police forces remain dominated by upper castes, reproducing social hierarchies within the bureaucracy. Dalit officers are routinely marginalised, denied postings, discredited for success, and reminded that—whatever their rank—their caste defines their place. Kumar’s final note stands as a searing testament: in caste India, even power wears the badge of humiliation.

The Hindutva Regime’s Enabling of Caste Impunity

The current regime has strategically elevated a few Dalits such as Presidents Kovind and Murmu and select ministers—to project inclusiveness. This token representation offers aspirational symbols, deflects charges of casteism, and lets the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) claim empowerment while tightening caste hierarchies.

The experiences of CJI Gavai and ADGP Kumar expose the emptiness of this gesture. Symbolic elevation without structural reform offers no protection. When Dalits in high office act independently—as CJI Gavai did when dismissing the Khajuraho petition—they face violence that goes unpunished. When they rise by merit—as Kumar did—they face relentless humiliation the system refuses to address. Visibility masks vulnerability; caste remains the invisible law of power. No wonder, atrocities against Dalits in NCRB reports show a sudden spurt: the average yearly number of cognizable offences against Dalits shooting up from 32,494 to 45,622 during the nine years preceding and succeeding the BJP’s takeover of power at the Centre in 2014.

This impunity is not incidental but ideological, rooted in the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh’s (RSS’s) worldview. From Golwalkar onward, the RSS has glorified varna dharma as a divinely ordained social order. Caste hierarchy, rebranded as cultural harmony, is central to its conception of Hindu civilisation. Once this ideology captured state power, caste violence became governance by other means—seen in the dilution of SC/ST protections, rise in atrocities, and appointment of upper-caste loyalists across institutions.

The shoe thrown at CJI Gavai and Kumar’s suicide expose the same reality: the regime showcases Dalits for legitimacy while preserving Brahminical dominance through systemic impunity.

Both incidents expose a clear pattern: impunity for perpetrators, vulnerability for Dalits—no matter their rank. Kishore assaults the Chief Justice and walks free; officers named in ADGP Kumar’s suicide note continue in service despite his wife’s complaint. FIRs and inquiries follow, but accountability never arrives.

This impunity is structural, not accidental. With investigative agencies subservient to the regime, judges intimidated, media complicit, and civil society silenced, the system protects those who commit caste violence while blaming victims for asserting dignity. It is an order designed to shield perpetrators and punish resistance.

The episodes of Gavai and Kumar lay bare caste as the enduring grammar of Indian society, unbroken by constitutional promises. From the files hurled at Ambedkar in Baroda to the shoe thrown at CJI Gavai in the Supreme Court, from the historical humiliation of Dalit officials to Kumar’s final note, the continuity is chilling.

Neither constitutional office nor professional merit offers real protection. Upper castes still resist Dalit authority, respond to assertion with violence, and rely on a state apparatus that ensures impunity. Formal equality exists only on paper; Brahminical hierarchy has been reinstalled beneath the veneer of democracy under the current regime.

The lesson for Dalits is stark: individual success within a casteist order cannot secure collective liberation. A few elevated figures—CJI Gavai or ADGP Kumar—do not signal emancipation; they mask continuing subjugation. Kumar’s suicide exposes how token inclusion becomes another form of violence when institutions remain Brahminical at the core.

A lawyer assaults the Chief Justice and walks free; officers accused of harassing a Dalit ADGP remain in office. This is not democracy but rule by impunity. The regime has crippled institutional independence—investigative agencies serve power, courts face intimidation, and media functions as propaganda. When even the highest offices offer no protection, ordinary Dalits are left entirely exposed.

Accountability must begin with prosecuting Kishore and the officers named in Kumar’s note. Justice demands independent institutions and sustained political struggle, not momentary outrage. Dalits must reject the BJP’s tokenism and pursue Ambedkar’s unfinished task—the annihilation of caste, not its reform. The assaults on Gavai and Kumar show that no Dalit is safe while impunity reigns; only solidarity across caste, religion, and region can challenge this authoritarian caste order.

Two Incidents, One System

The shoe hurled at CJI Gavai and Kumar’s suicide spring from the same source: a regime that sanctifies caste hierarchy under the banner of Hindu nationalism. Kishore’s audacity, Kumar’s despair, and the state’s silence expose a society where Brahminical ideology thrives behind democratic facades.

These are not isolated tragedies but symptoms of a designed order—one that rewards perpetrators and punishes assertion. Resistance must mean more than mourning; it must mean naming the system, organising against it, and refusing the normalisation of caste violence.

Until caste hierarchy is dismantled, until Sanatan Dharma’s caste core is unmasked, until impunity is replaced with justice, the shoe will be thrown again, and another suicide note will appear. The task before us is to ensure it need not.

(Views expressed are personal)

Anand Teltumbde is an Indian scholar, writer and human rights activist.

This story appeared in print as Crime Without Punishment in Outlook’s November 21 issue Solitude Of Power, in which we trace Bihar’s enduring political grammar, where caste equations remain constant, alliances shift like sand, and one man’s survival instinct continues to shape the state’s destiny.