By hurling a shoe at Chief Justice of India B.R. Gavai, a Delhi-based lawyer has not just disgraced himself but also showed his profession and faith in bad light. While the incident didn’t result in any physical harm to any person, it inflicted deep moral injury—to civility, to the dignity of the judiciary, and to the very notion of faith. Besides, it underscored the perils of toxic public discourse. Delhi-based lawyer Rakesh Kishore was incensed by the CJI’s remark while dismissing a plea to reconstruct and reinstall the idol at the Javari Temple, part of the UNESCO World Heritage Khajuraho complex. The Chief Justice, in a light but dismissive vein, had told the petitioner to “ask the deity to do something.” Kishore later told the media that he “could not sleep after that judgment,” claiming that “the Almighty was asking me every night how I could rest after such an insult.” After hurling the shoe in open court, he shouted, “Sanatan ka apman nahi sahega Hindustan” (India will not tolerate the insult of Sanatan Dharma).

The Supreme Court registry wisely chose not to press charges, perhaps with the intention of denying a worthless lawyer any further publicity. Yet, the incident raises profound questions about the state of public discourse and the fraught intersection of religion, law, and free expression in contemporary India.

Faith should elevate human conduct, not degrade it. Across centuries, the essence of Hinduism (termed Sanatan Dharma by the votaries of Hindutva) has been tolerance-its ability to absorb insult, transcend anger, and respond with dignity. From the Gita to the Upanishads, the message is one of equanimity-the very opposite of violent reaction. To throw a shoe at the nation’s highest judicial authority, therefore, is not a defence of Hinduism; it is a betrayal of it. Religious sentiments have always been delicate, but in today’s India, they are often worn on the sleeve, ready to be inflamed by perceived slights, jokes, or judicial comments. When reverence turns into rage, faith loses moral authority. True devotion cannot coexist with intolerance.

Kishore’s act, by his own admission, was inspired by a sense of divine duty; but if someone construes the divine as a command to harm or insult others, obedience to such command should not be treated with kid gloves. Equally concerning is the attack’s symbolic dimension. The judiciary stands as one of the last bastions of institutional integrity in a deeply polarised society. To strike at it-literally or figuratively-is to undermine the very fabric of democracy. Judges are not infallible; their remarks may be careless, even irreverent at times. But the majesty of law lies in the idea that disagreement must be expressed through legal means, not physical defiance. The courtroom is not a battlefield of faith. It is a space where law, precedent, and constitutional values—not sentiment—must prevail. If lawyers themselves turn into agitators, the very sanctity of the justice system is at risk.

By promptly condemning the attack, Prime Minister Narendra Modi has made it clear that the government will not tolerate sanctimonious and ugly expressions of faith. His statement will hopefully check the spread of a larger malaise—a coarsening of public debate, a corrosion of civility. The Bar Council of India has rightly condemned Kishore and acted against him.