Pulwama Demolition Defies Supreme Court Order and Principles of Criminal Justice

The Pulwama home of Dr. Umar Nabi – the alleged prime accused and suicide bomber in the Red Fort attack – was razed on November 14, 2025. The irony is hard to miss: the demolition came a day after the first anniversary of the Supreme Court’s landmark judgment on unlawful house demolitions (In Re: Directions in the matter of demolition of structures, Writ Petition (Criminal) No. 162 of 2022), delivered on November 13, 2024.

What the law lays down

In its 2024 judgment, the Supreme Court issued binding directions to all states – before demolishing any residential or commercial structure, authorities must serve prior notice, allow a minimum 15-day period for reply, and grant a personal hearing before passing a final order. This procedure applies specifically to unauthorised constructions, and notices must clearly spell out the alleged violation and grounds for demolition. The Court also warned that “violation of any of the directions would lead to initiation of contempt proceedings in addition to prosecution.”

Given that the Red Fort blast occurred only four days ago, and that Dr. Umar’s identity was formally confirmed two days ago, it is virtually impossible that these mandatory steps – notice, response time, hearing – were followed. The demolition therefore appears as a retaliatory act dressed in the language of law-and-order.

Criminal justice or vengeance?

This raises a deeper question – what vision of criminal justice is the state now embracing? India’s criminal law has moved from a “penal code” to the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita (BNS), but mechanisms like punitive demolitions serve neither nyaya nor any penalty recognised under law. Neither the Indian Penal Code nor the BNS prescribes demolition of homes or businesses as punishment. The law does allow forfeiture of property – primarily a financial penalty and, in limited cases, a means of victim-justice under BNS Section 107. But forfeiture is not demolition. Demolition is designed not to recover anything from the accused but to inflict injury on those who live in the structure.

Also read: Family Home of Delhi Blast Prime Accused Demolished in J&K's Pulwama

Typically, those driven onto the street in such demolitions are the accused’s family – elderly parents, women, children – none of whom may have any connection whatsoever to the alleged crime. Public sentiment rarely extends sympathy to the relatives of terror-accused, and the suffering of families is often rationalised as part of the “deserved” consequences of proximity to the perpetrator. But the BNS, and every criminal statute in India, is unambiguous: there is no offence of being related to an offender. Criminal liability requires participation – through direct action, conspiracy, abetment, attempt, or, in limited cases like waging war, even preparation. Liability cannot be presumed purely on the basis of kinship.

The Bharatiya Nagarik Suraksha Sanhita (BNSS), the procedural code, likewise contains no provision – none – for demolishing homes or destroying property of accused persons. It details the powers of police to enter, search, seize and arrest. But nowhere does it authorise executive vengeance. The process is not meant to be the punishment.

Due process and the constitution

India has long claimed a due-process-based criminal justice system, one that guarantees a just and fair trial regardless of how heinous the crime. The accused is presumed innocent until proven guilty – in a court of law. Media reporting may remove all factual doubt, but “guilt in law” is established only through proper procedure and evidence. As Upendra Baxi noted in his critique of the Malimath Committee Report, the presumption of innocence is a principle of legal process, not a claim about factual innocence. It is a constitutional guarantee and a marker of a civilised state: that we follow procedure established by law, and that such procedure must be just, fair, and reasonable.

To deploy coercive state force against an accused–much less against the family of an accused–before trial or conviction, undermines the constitution’s basic architecture. It substitutes the rule of law with the rule of anger.

The lure of “quick justice”

Initial reports suggest the demolition was intended as a warning to others who might share ideological affinity with terrorism. Such explanations may make emotional sense to an outraged public but should have no place in a principled state. India has in recent years witnessed public celebration of “quick justice” – from extra-judicial killings in rape-murder cases to retaliatory police actions after terror attacks. The 2019 Hyderabad encounter is a striking example of how such actions can generate widespread applause.

Acts of terror generate immense and understandable public anger, amplified by the toxic overtones of communal hatred. While domestic and international law clearly forbid collective criminalisation and collective punishment, public mood often moves in the opposite direction. In the haze of grief and rage, any state response that appears to “hurt” the perpetrator – or if he is dead, those associated with him – feels like justice. There is a sense, however flawed, that punishing the family punishes the perpetrator beyond the grave.

Also read: 'We Are Doomed, What More Can Be Said’: Families of Kashmiri Doctors Linked to 'Terror Module' Case

But anger-driven satisfaction is not justice. Justice in law, however inconvenient, must abide by the law. The state cannot act on emotion, however intense. Terrorism is barbaric. The state must not respond in kind. Terror does not follow due process; a constitutional republic must.

It is unfortunate that we now feel compelled to preface any critique of state overreach with ritual declarations of condemnation. Yet let it be said plainly: disagreeing with “demolition justice” is not an endorsement of the terror attack. One can, and must, condemn both. A society governed by the constitution should be able to mourn its dead, pursue the guilty with full force of law, and still reject measures that violate the very principles that distinguish a lawful state from the violence it seeks to punish.

Aswathy Madhukumar is an assistant professor of Law, School of Law, Christ University.

This piece was first published on The India Cable – a premium newsletter from The Wire – and has been updated and republished here. To subscribe to The India Cable, click here.

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