The most dangerous abuses of power occur not when criminals take advantage of the system, but when those in the system learn how to manipulate the system in their favor. This is what makes cases like Twisha Sharma’s so unsettling for ordinary women. Now it is no longer just a case, a family or a court battle. This has become part of a larger and more uncomfortable public debate about whether people who know the legal system very well can sometimes use it as a weapon. India has fought for decades for stronger legal protection for women, and this protection was necessary. For generations, women have been silenced, ignored, confused, economically restricted, and socially shamed. But somewhere during this time, another fear also gradually crept in the public mind – that law and order can also become a tool to put pressure on women, scare them, control the narrative and tarnish their reputation. The Twisha Sharma case forces us to face such difficult questions. What happens when accused like Giribala Singh and Samarth Singh are not ordinary people ignorant of the law, but people who are connected, have a deep understanding of the law or have institutional networks? What happens when anticipatory bail is granted quickly, narratives start spreading rapidly and the fight seems to move from the court to social pressure, whispers, selective leaks, evidence tampering and public character assassination? The issue is not whether someone has the right to legally defend himself or not. The real question is whether influence, systemic knowledge and procedural advances can create a catastrophic imbalance for women who already struggle with trauma, fear, social stigma and emotional exhaustion. I am not writing this just as a commentator, but I myself have gone through a similar troublesome situation. I have felt what it feels like when a legally-connected accused gets anticipatory bail. Or when someone allegedly uses their legal knowledge and access to systematically attempt to destroy a reputation. Those who know how to take advantage of the loopholes, delays, security and silence of the law, when they use it as a weapon, then you understand how unequal the fight can be. For most women, the environment of the courts is already intimidating. If network of powerful people, influence, social status, knowledge of law and narrative-manipulation are also added to it, then the whole process seems like a punishment. Punishment is not just legal, but becomes mental, financial, social and extremely personal. The things that make such situations more dangerous often appear in invisible ways. These may not appear to be major violations on paper, but patterns are visible – deliberate delays, reputational whispers, intimidation through processes, frustration and use of influence. Gradually the woman realizes that she is not just advocating for herself, she is saving her mental state, credibility, motherhood, character, even her existence. Twisha Sharma’s case matters because it highlights a growing concern in the country. The concern is not about the crime or the charges, but about inequality before the law. The most tragic aspect of this episode is that today’s young women no longer only ask about their future husband, is he a good person? Along with this she is also asking what kind of family I am going to marry into? Will I be safe there? And if something goes wrong, who will society trust? Those who have knowledge of the law and institutional access have greater responsibility. If people start feeling that the system treats influential people differently from the common people, then at that very moment the trust in justice starts weakening. (These are the author’s own views)
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Meghna Pant’s column: Girls will have to ask, how is my marriage happening in the family?
