By Inderjit Badhwar
As we step into 2026, with hope, apprehension and a renewed sense of constitutional responsibility, it is worth pausing to reflect on the singular institution that continues to hold the moral and structural architecture of the Republic together—the judiciary. Our courts were envisioned as the sentinel on the qui vive over the Constitution’s checks and balances, the final guarantor of liberty against excess, executive overreach, and creeping institutional corrosion. Today, they stand again at a historic crossroad.
India welcomes a new Chief Justice of India (CJI), Justice Surya Kant, at a time when the judicial system is simultaneously burdened and expected to be transformative. His tenure will be judged not merely by verdicts delivered, but by whether he can steer the judiciary back to being unquestionably trusted, transparently accountable, and structurally efficient.
The most staggering challenge comes in the form of relentless case pendency and arrears. Over 90,000 cases are pending in the Supreme Court alone; millions languish in High Courts and trial courts. Among them are critical Constitution bench matters—seven- and nine-judge bench cases—which have lain in suspended animation, delaying clarity on constitutional interpretation and freezing justice down the line. Pendency is not a mere administrative statistic; it is a democratic injury. Justice delayed is not only justice denied, but justice destabilized.
CJI Surya Kant has already spoken with refreshing clarity. He has promised a pan-India arrears audit, clustering of similar cases, a dedicated calendar for the oldest matters, and technological reforms including a national AI-enabled case management system inspired by global best practices. He has also addressed the pernicious “adjournment culture”—a malaise that thwarts discipline and demeans litigants—by limiting adjournments and curbing frivolous last-minute oral mentioning except in matters of liberty. These are necessary correctives. But they must translate into relentless implementation rather than rhetorical aspiration.
The judicial crisis, however, is not confined to pending files. It is also about unfilled chairs—silent courtrooms crippled by vacancies. Nearly 300 High Court posts remain unoccupied, with several Supreme Court retirements due in 2026 and administrative churn across as many as 15 High Courts. A judge-to-population ratio that borders on the absurd for a country of India’s scale demands urgent overhaul. The collegium system and the government must shed mutual suspicion and operational lethargy. Judicial vacancies are not bureaucratic inconveniences—they are constitutional emergencies.
The year 2026 also brings with it a docket of profound constitutional and political disputes: challenges to anti-conversion laws, the Places of Worship Act, criminalization of marital rape, and the Sabarimala review, among others. These are not merely legal battles; they are struggles over India’s moral and constitutional identity. They will test whether the Supreme Court can resist the gravitational pulls of political noise, remain immune to populist tempests, and pronounce with scholarly clarity and fearless independence. In recent years, public perception has oscillated between admiration and disappointment. At times, the judiciary has stood magnificently tall; at other moments, it has appeared hesitant, delayed, or selectively responsive.
And herein lies the most delicate challenge—restoring public trust. The judiciary’s credibility cannot be assumed; it must be continuously earned. Allegations of opacity in appointments, controversies over judicial conduct, and uneasy confrontations with the executive have strained trust. The people of India—particularly the most voiceless—must feel instinctively that the courts are their refuge, not distant constitutional monuments.
Justice Surya Kant’s emphasis on accessibility—“nyaya on wheels,” rural outreach, strengthening NALSA, and technology-enabled hearings—is a recognition that justice must travel to the citizen, not merely wait for the citizen to struggle towards it. But technology must democratize access, not deepen divides. Digital justice cannot exclude the poor, elderly, digitally illiterate or geographically marginalized.
Equally vital is the question of accountability. The Lokpal’s ruling that High Court judges fall under its jurisdiction has opened complex constitutional debates. Accountability cannot be confused with intimidation. Yet, independence cannot become a shield against legitimate scrutiny. How this balance is structured over the coming years will shape institutional integrity for decades.
Above all, the judiciary must reclaim its stature as the constitutional conscience-keeper. This requires inner reform, administrative discipline, judicial statesmanship, and an unwavering moral compass. It requires courage—not theatrical defiance, but calm constitutional fortitude. It requires humility—the willingness to admit institutional frailty and reform it. And it requires compassion—the recognition that every file is not a number, but a life suspended.
India Legal has, over the years, chronicled these struggles with candour and conviction. We have praised when praise was deserved; we have criticized when conscience demanded. As 2026 unfolds, we hope to see a judiciary that is faster without being careless, modern without losing human touch, assertive without arrogance, and fiercely independent without being adversarial for its own sake.
If the judiciary succeeds, the Republic breathes easier. If it falters, the architecture of liberty trembles.
As we begin the new year, let us renew faith—not blind, but watchful; not sentimental, but constitutional. The Supreme Court under CJI Surya Kant carries an enormous responsibility. The nation will be watching. More importantly, the Constitution will be waiting.
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