By Inderjit Badhwar
The Supreme Court’s decision to wipe clean all criminal and civil proceedings against Nitin and Chetan Sandesara in return for a payment of Rs 5,100 crore marks one of the most consequential judicial moments in recent years. On the surface, it appears pragmatic: after years of litigation, delays, extradition failures, and mounting losses for public-sector banks, the apex court endorsed a one-time settlement that brings back a large sum of public money. But beneath the surface lies a judgment that challenges long-held ideas about accountability, deterrence, and the very meaning of justice in cases of large-scale financial wrongdoing.
The Sandesaras have been among India’s most elusive fugitives. Accused of one of the country’s largest economic scams, they left India in 2017 using Albanian passports and built a flourishing oil empire in Nigeria while fighting off every attempt at extradition. India has pursued them for years, through multiple agencies—CBI, ED, SFIO, Income-Tax, and under the Fugitive Economic Offenders Act. Their case involved allegations of corruption, bank fraud, money laundering, black money violations, and tax offences. Yet, after nearly a decade of scattered investigations, stalled enforcement, and diplomatic complications, the matter ended not in conviction or extradition, but in a financial settlement blessed by the highest court.
The order, pronounced by a Supreme Court bench that acknowledged the “peculiar facts” of the case, states clearly that once the brothers deposit the settlement amount, all criminal proceedings will stand quashed. This includes FIRs, chargesheets, prosecution complaints, attachment orders under the Prevention of Money Laundering Act, and proceedings under the Fugitive Economic Offenders Act. The judgment emphasises that if public money is restored to the banks, continuing with criminal trials would “serve no useful purpose”. It is a rationale that redefines the central objective: repayment over punishment, settlement over prosecution.
Such a stance has inevitably set off alarm bells. Legal experts point out that while the Court insists its decision is confined to this case alone, the signal it sends to other high-profile fugitives is impossible to ignore. Figures like Vijay Mallya, Nirav Modi, and Mehul Choksi—who have been fighting extradition for years—may now see a path to negotiate their own form of closure. Indeed, Mallya has already hinted that the sale of his assets exceeds what the agencies claim he owes. If repayment becomes the new threshold, every well-heeled fugitive could attempt a similar bargain.
The broader context heightens these concerns. India’s efforts to bring back economic offenders have been repeatedly thwarted by foreign courts citing prison conditions, legal safeguards, or human-rights concerns. Mallya used this strategy effectively in the UK, pointing to overcrowding and inadequate medical care in Indian jails. Nirav Modi has done the same, arguing that he risks suicide and ill-treatment if extradited. Mehul Choksi went further—acquiring Antiguan citizenship, claiming political persecution, and even accusing unnamed actors of abducting him to Dominica. Years later, none of them have returned to India, underscoring how difficult, expensive, and protracted the extradition process can be.
Against this backdrop, the Sandesara judgment feels like a moment of fatigue—where banks, agencies and eventually the Court concluded that recovering money mattered more than enforcing criminal accountability. The government’s unequivocal support of the settlement further shaped the outcome. If the primary objective was resolution rather than retribution, then the one-time settlement offered the quickest, surest means to end an endless saga.
But this raises uncomfortable questions. If the wealthiest offenders can settle their way out of prosecution, what happens to the principle of equal justice? Countless small borrowers face the full weight of the law for far smaller sums, without the option of negotiating a clean slate. India’s fight against white-collar crime depends heavily on deterrence—on the belief that absconding with public money will trigger consequences beyond mere financial repayment. Diluting that message weakens the integrity of the system, no matter how large the settlement amount.
There is also the matter of public faith. Bank frauds cost the country far more than money; they erode trust in institutions, strain the financial system, and undermine confidence in regulatory oversight. When the Court signals that long-running criminal cases can be dissolved through repayment, it risks reinforcing the belief that influential individuals can operate outside the boundaries of ordinary justice.
Yet the reality cannot be ignored: India’s enforcement system struggles mightily to bring fugitives home. International legal cooperation is slow, fragmented and often hostage to geopolitical considerations. Domestic trials drag on for years. Asset recovery abroad is complex, expensive and uncertain. The Sandesara case illustrates every weakness in this chain—from extradition failures to the difficulty of tracing offshore holdings. Faced with these setbacks, the settlement must have seemed a practical way to salvage what was possible.
And that is where this judgment leaves us: at the intersection of pragmatism and principle. Recovering public money is undeniably important. But allowing fugitives to erase a decade of serious criminal allegations by paying a negotiated sum sets a precedent—whether intended or not. It risks encouraging a future in which justice is reduced to a transaction, where the size of one’s purse determines the extent of one’s accountability.
As editors, our task is not to question the wisdom of the Court but to examine its impact. And the impact of this judgment will reverberate for years. It forces us to confront fundamental questions about justice, deterrence, fairness and the credibility of India’s fight against economic offences. It is a reminder that in the delicate balance between financial recovery and criminal accountability, the scales must be handled with great care—lest we redefine justice without meaning to.
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