The Supreme Court on Wednesday reflected on what it described as a troubling trend: its own verdicts being reopened and overturned within short intervals. Such reversals, the Bench warned, risk eroding the institutional authority that rests on the finality and certainty of judgments. It rightly observed that public faith in the judiciary does not stem from the belief that every verdict is infallible, but from the assurance that when the apex court settles a matter, the law is settled. It is encouraging that the court has shown the willingness to hold up a mirror to itself and acknowledge the dangers of frequent institutional second-guessing.
Finality of Law
But this welcome introspection would be incomplete without confronting the disquieting questions raised by another recent ruling—the order granting the Sandesara brothers a clean slate, subject to the payment of Rs 5,100 crore to settle their dues to public sector banks. The case involved allegations of layered financial fraud, including falsification of accounts, diversion of bank loans through offshore structures, and the accumulation of undisclosed assets—even as the promoters left the country and built an oil and energy empire overseas.
The Sandesaras sought quashing of all criminal and related proceedings in return for a one-time settlement with the lenders. The court accepted this bargain, holding that once the amount is deposited by December, all criminal, civil, and enforcement actions would stand extinguished. The Bench reasoned that since a substantial sum of public money was being recovered and stakeholders were willing to end the dispute, continuing prosecution would serve little practical purpose. It also clarified that the ruling was confined to the peculiar facts of this case and should not be treated as a precedent.
Can Restitution Buy Immunity?
That caveat offers little comfort. This was certainly not a case of routine commercial failure. And yet, instead of a trial, the court provided a transaction. The long-term consequences of such exceptions cannot be brushed aside. When business promoters accused of economic crimes are permitted to purchase immunity from prosecution, the message conveyed is disturbing: that criminal law is negotiable, not because guilt or innocence has been tested, but because an acceptable price has been offered. This is where the rule of law begins to fray. Financial crimes cannot be artificially segregated from serious criminality. The fear of imprisonment—rather than monetary loss—is the real deterrent against wrongdoing. A businessman dreads prison far more than a financial settlement. Once the legal system signals that sufficient money can substitute for penal consequences, the incentive structure tilts sharply in favour of risk-taking and abuse.
The cases of Vijay Mallya, Nirav Modi, and Mehul Choksi underscore a harsh truth: when financial fraud becomes a question of settlement value, the rational strategy is to flee, negotiate from abroad, and pay later if cornered. Criminal law then risks morphing from a deterrent into a bargaining tool. The Sandesara ruling therefore raises a deeper question: can restitution alone neutralise criminal culpability? The Supreme Court is right to evolve, review its own judgments, and respond to changing economic realities. It is also right to guard against frequent reversals that dilute institutional credibility. But the same logic demands that justice must never appear contingent on economic muscle. Exceptions carved out for the powerful—however well-reasoned in law—carry the danger of quietly hardening into practice. If large-scale economic crimes come to be seen as financially resolvable rather than legally punishable, the distance between law and power will only continue to widen.