Photo by Kogulanath Ayappan on Unsplash
The Delhi High Court's decision to suspend the life sentence of Kuldeep Singh Sengar and grant him conditional bail has reopened wounds that never truly healed. For the Unnao rape survivor, this wasn't merely a legal setback, it felt like the system was delivering a second attack, this time covered in judicial measures.
Her anguished words capture the essence of this situation wherein, “I am hurt that such a judgment has been passed. This is the first order in the country where a rape accused has been granted bail, and the sentence has been stayed." This isn't just disappointment; it's a fundamental questioning of whether justice exists for those without power when confronting those who once exercised it.
The Horror Behind the Headlines
To understand the depth of this betrayal, we must revisit what happened in June 2017 in Unnao, Uttar Pradesh. A 17-year-old girl accused then-BJP MLA Kuldeep Singh Sengar of a horrific crime by kidnapping her from her village, raping her at his residence, and attempting to sell her for Rs 60,000. But the assault on her dignity was just the beginning of her family's nightmare.
When her father sought justice, the system that should have protected him became his executioner. Police refused to register FIRs. He was jailed on made-up charges. In custody, he was beaten so brutally that he died from his injuries. This wasn't mere negligence; it was systematic silencing through violence. Sengar would later receive a separate 10-year sentence for this custodial death, a conviction that underscores the criminal machinery that operated to protect him.
Then came 2019, when a truck rammed into the survivor's vehicle, killing two of her aunts and injuring her. The incident was so suspicious that it prompted Supreme Court intervention, forcing the case's transfer to Delhi and ordering a CBI investigation. These weren't isolated incidents, and they were formed through a pattern of pressure designed to crush a young woman's pursuit of justice.
The Courts' Contradictory Messages
In December 2019, a trial court found Sengar guilty and sentenced him to life imprisonment for raping a minor under POCSO Act provisions. The conviction was based on what the CBI describes as "robust trial evidence." Yet five years later, the Delhi High Court suspended this sentence, citing arguments that seem to prioritise legal technicalities over lived trauma.
The High Court's reasoning centred on Sengar not qualifying as a "public servant" at the time of the offence, thereby not warranting enhanced penalties. His lawyers argued that there were "discrepancies" in age-related documents that should favour medical evidence. These legal nuances might matter in textbooks, but they loop in deep when weighed against a father beaten to death in custody and a family hunted by tragedy.
The conditions imposed as Rs 15 lakh bail bond, staying five kilometres away from the survivor's Delhi residence, no contact with her family, and weekly police reporting are presented as safeguards. But how does one measure safety in kilometres when the person who destroyed your life walks free? How do reporting requirements protect you when the system once enabled your persecution?
CBI's Late Awakening
The Central Bureau of Investigation's decision to file a Special Leave Petition in the Supreme Court challenging this bail order raises uncomfortable questions about timing and commitment. The survivor's pointed question repeats loudly about, "What was the CBI doing before?"
Her allegations strike at something darker, possible involvement. She claims the CBI's investigating officer met with Sengar, suggesting relationships that compromise the agency's adversarial role. Whether these allegations hold merit or stem from understandable mistrust after years of institutional failure, they reflect a complete breakdown of trust between survivor and state machinery.
The CBI spokesperson's statement emphasises the agency's "commitment to upholding the trial court's conviction," but actions speak louder than words. The survivor's advocate, Mehmood Pracha, highlighted "serious threats" to her life previously, including withdrawn security cover. When the state cannot guarantee a survivor's physical safety, its legal commitments feel performative.
The Broader Implications
This case represents more than one woman's struggle and it reflects systemic fractures in how India handles cases where power meets vulnerability. The High Court's own observations noted that, "CBI investigation lapses," including delayed evidence collection, which disadvantaged the prosecution. These aren't minor procedural errors; they're failures that potentially point out the scales towards accused who have resources and connections.
The survivor, now in her mid-20s, has spent nearly a third of her life fighting for justice. She was expelled from normal young adulthood into a continuous war for recognition of her pain. Sengar was expelled from the BJP in 2019 as a political distancing that came only after public outrage became unavoidable, not from institutional moral clarity.
Before this bail, Sengar had received only 23 days of interim relief over five years, where he was repeatedly contested by both CBI and the victim. The High Court's decision to suspend his entire sentence pending appeal represents a dramatic shift that demands scrutiny. What changed? Was it legal reasoning, or was it the gradual fading of public memory that reassured such decisions?
What Justice Should Look Like
True justice in cases like Unnao requires more than convictions, where it demands protection, dignity, and acknowledgment of the survivor's humanity. It requires fast-track courts that actually move quickly, witness protection that actually protects, and investigative agencies that prioritise truth over convenience.
Most fundamentally, it requires a justice system that recognises suspension of sentences isn't merely a technical legal remedy, it's a message about whose freedom matters more. When powerful men walk free while their victims live in fear, we communicate that certain lives can be more ignored and certain crimes more forgivable.
The Unnao survivor's fight continues, now extending into yet another courtroom. Her resilience deserves more than our admiration and it demands our reform of systems that made her suffering possible and our protection persistent. Until then, every suspended sentence for such crimes doesn't just free one man; it confines countless women in the knowledge that their bodies and their justice remain negotiable.
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