Mathura, Custodial Crime, and the Continuing Struggle for Justice in India

By Rajiv Shah

Imagine going to the police for help—only to find yourself trapped in a nightmare. The very space meant to provide safety and justice becomes a site of fear, torture, or worse. This is not a rare exception in India, but a disturbing pattern that continues to erode trust in law enforcement and the justice system.

Across decades, stories have emerged of people—often from marginalized communities—being abused, raped, or killed in police custody. The most alarming part? Many perpetrators walk free, shielded by a system that too often protects power, not people.

The courts, intended to be the final refuge for justice, have frequently failed to hold those in power accountable, often reacting slowly, hesitantly, or in ways that betray the victims.

Mathura: A Symbol of Institutional Betrayal

One of the most chilling examples of such injustice is the infamous Mathura rape case—a moment that forever altered India’s legal and feminist history.

In 1972, in a small police station in Desai Ganj, Chandrapur district of Maharashtra, a minor tribal girl named Mathura, aged between 14 and 16, found herself at the center of a horrifying incident. She had accompanied her brother and sister-in-law to the police station after her brother filed a complaint against a man named Ashok, who wanted to marry her. Ashok had allegedly tried to elope with Mathura.

Following routine questioning, everyone was allowed to leave—except Mathura. She was asked to remain inside the station. What happened next was monstrous: two constables, Tukaram and Ganpat, raped her within the police premises.

When her relatives realized something was wrong, they protested outside the police station. The two policemen reluctantly agreed to register a formal report. But the battle for justice had only begun.

Judicial Failure: Consent Twisted, Victim Blamed

The case went to trial in the Sessions Court in 1974. In a deeply flawed judgment, the court acquitted both constables. The reasoning was shocking:

• The judge claimed that Mathura was “habituated to sexual intercourse,” implying that the act was consensual.
• Because there were no visible injuries, the court concluded that no force was used—therefore, it was not rape.
• The judge ignored the overwhelming power imbalance between a minor tribal girl and two armed police officers.

This verdict wasn’t just legally unsound; it was a brutal denial of dignity and basic human rights. It suggested that if a woman had any sexual history, she couldn’t be raped—especially not by men in positions of power.

A Moment of Hope, Then a Cruel Setback

On appeal, the Nagpur bench of the Bombay High Court overturned the Sessions Court’s decision, sentencing the constables to one and five years in prison. The court acknowledged that fear and coercion could override consent—a significant legal recognition of power dynamics.

But the relief was short-lived. In 1979, the Supreme Court reversed the High Court’s ruling and acquitted both men. The apex court’s rationale was equally horrifying:

• They cited Mathura’s failure to “raise an alarm” and the absence of injuries as evidence of consent.
• One judge went so far as to suggest that Mathura might have “incited” the constables—despite them being drunk on duty.

The judgment failed to grasp a fundamental truth: a minor cannot legally consent to sex, especially not in police custody. The verdict dismissed the terror and coercion Mathura would have faced. It reinforced the dangerous idea that silence equals consent, and power can excuse violence.

Exposing Systemic Gaps

The Mathura case laid bare the deep flaws in both governance and the judiciary:

• Police Brutality: When police officers, meant to uphold the law, commit crimes with impunity, it reveals a breakdown of state control and accountability.
• Judicial Insensitivity: The courts showed a profound ignorance of the psychological realities of custodial rape. Instead of protecting the vulnerable, they relied on outdated notions and moral judgments, blaming the victim instead of the perpetrators.

Public Outrage Sparks Reform

Despite the injustice, the Mathura case ignited a national movement. Women’s rights activists, legal scholars, and civil society condemned the verdict. An open letter to the Supreme Court by Upendra Baxi, Lotika Sarkar, Raghunath Kelkar, and Vasudha Dhagamwar was a landmark moment in legal activism.

This pressure led to the Criminal Law Amendment Act of 1983, which introduced significant legal changes:

• Section 114A of the Indian Evidence Act: Presumed absence of consent in cases of custodial rape.
• Revisions to IPC and CrPC: Expanded definitions and harsher punishments for custodial rape.
• Limits on Cross-Examination: A victim’s past sexual history could no longer be used to discredit her testimony.

These were important reforms. But the mindset that failed Mathura—the culture of victim-blaming and judicial leniency toward authority—continues to plague the system.

New Laws, Same Problems

Recent laws like the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita (BNS) 2023 and the Digital Personal Data Protection (DPDP) Act 2023 have aimed to modernize India’s legal framework. But they fall short on critical issues:

• BNS 2023 does not explicitly define torture as a standalone crime. Incidents of police brutality must still be prosecuted under vague or general provisions, weakening accountability.
• It retains provisions requiring government sanction to prosecute public officials, creating further barriers to justice.
• DPDP Act 2023, while vital for digital rights, does not address custodial surveillance or ensure accountability in how police use digital tools like CCTV or forensic data.

In short, while legal language evolves, the foundational safeguards against custodial abuse remain inadequate.

Other Chilling Cases

Mathura’s tragedy was not an isolated incident. Other cases highlight the continued brutality and lack of justice:

• Soni Sori (2011): A tribal schoolteacher and activist in Chhattisgarh, she was arrested on suspicion of aiding Maoists. In custody, she was tortured—stones were inserted into her body. Despite medical evidence, action against police was minimal. The Supreme Court had to order her transfer for medical care.
• P. Jayaraj and Bennix (2020): In Tamil Nadu, a father and son were arrested for allegedly violating COVID-19 curfew rules. They were brutally tortured in custody, suffering fatal internal injuries. National outrage led to arrests, but the case underscored how easily violence can occur—and how rarely it’s punished.

The Way Forward: Real Reform, Not Just Rhetoric

To truly address custodial crimes, India must go beyond reactive amendments and symbolic outrage. It needs structural reform:

1. Criminalize Torture Explicitly: India must enact a standalone, comprehensive anti-torture law, aligned with international conventions.
2. Police Accountability: Remove the need for government sanction to prosecute erring officers. Ensure swift and severe consequences for custodial crimes.
3. Judicial Sensitivity: Judges must receive training on trauma, consent, and power dynamics. Courtrooms must protect, not retraumatize, victims.
4. Fast-Track Cases: Special courts for custodial violence can ensure timely justice and deter future abuse.
5. Independent Oversight: Establish external bodies to monitor police stations. Make CCTV surveillance mandatory and independently accessible.
6. Public Awareness: Continue educating people about their rights, amplifying voices of victims, and holding authorities accountable.

The Mathura case remains a stark reminder that the fight for justice is ongoing. Until we fix the deep-seated flaws in our governance and ensure our judiciary is truly independent, sensitive, and effective, the shadows of custodial violence will continue to haunt India. It’s time for the protectors to truly protect, and for justice to be swift and unwavering, especially for the most vulnerable among us.

(Author is a scion of legal acumen from India. Views are personal.)