On 6th October 2025, an unusual scene unfolded inside the Supreme Court of India. Rakesh Kishore, a 71-year-old lawyer, attempted to hurl a shoe at Chief Justice of India, B.R. Gavai, while the court was in session.

This act, shocking as it was, came from deep anguish. Kishore’s anger stemmed from what he called a mockery of Hindu faith made by the CJI just days earlier. A Hindu petitioner had approached the court seeking to restore the head of a beheaded Lord Vishnu idol, but instead of handling the plea sensitively, Gavai dismissed it and sarcastically told the petitioner to “pray to the idol so it restores its own head.”

This remark struck at the heart of many Hindus who saw it not just as judicial arrogance but as outright disrespect for their faith. Kishore, unable to tolerate what he viewed as repeated anti-Hindu bias, reacted emotionally inside the courtroom.

Following the incident, Delhi Police questioned the senior advocate for nearly three hours. Despite the seriousness of the matter — an attempt to attack the sitting Chief Justice — Kishore was released without charges. The Supreme Court’s Registrar General declined to register any formal complaint, reportedly under the instructions of CJI Gavai himself.

Observers were quick to call Gavai’s move an act of “magnanimity.” It appeared as though the Chief Justice was displaying remarkable calm and compassion. Soon after the incident, Gavai said in court, “Don’t get distracted by all this. We are not distracted. These things do not affect me.”

The statement painted an image of composure — that of a man too elevated to be affected by anger or personal attack. It was intended to show the Chief Justice as an impartial dispenser of justice, far removed from emotion or retaliation. The narrative that followed was of a large-hearted man who forgave his offender. But was this really generosity of spirit — or something far more calculated?

Was It Truly Forgiveness — or Fear of a Bigger Fallout?

To understand the real reason behind Gavai’s restraint, one has to consider what would have happened if he had decided to press charges against Advocate Rakesh Kishore.

If an FIR had been filed, Kishore would have been arrested, produced before a magistrate, and possibly sent to judicial custody. His defense counsel would have argued that he was emotionally hurt by Gavai’s remarks mocking Lord Vishnu and that his religious sentiments had been deeply offended, leading to a momentary emotional reaction.

The case would have then reached higher courts, where Kishore’s lawyers would have cited past Supreme Court judgments warning judges against making reckless or offensive statements in open court. Ironically, one of those very judgments had been co-authored by Justice B.R. Gavai himself.

Once the case entered public discourse, it would have exposed not just the Chief Justice’s double standards but also the whimsical interpretation of judicial conduct that has long plagued India’s courts.

For instance, in the case of Election Commission of India v. M.R. Vijayabhaskar (2021) 9 SCC 770, the Supreme Court had observed that oral remarks made by judges during hearings should not form part of the record and that such comments were often taken out of context. The Court cautioned judges, saying, “We must emphasize the need for Judges to exercise caution in off-the-cuff remarks in open court, which may be susceptible to misrepresentation.”

Again, on 25th September 2024, another Supreme Court bench stated, “Casual observations may well reflect a certain degree of individual bias, particularly when they are likely to be perceived as being directed against a particular gender or community.” The bench added that courts must be careful not to make comments that can be “misogynistic or prejudicial to any segment of society.”

The irony is that Justice B.R. Gavai himself was part of that five-judge bench that delivered this ruling. The order was passed after a Karnataka High Court judge had described a Muslim-dominated area in Bengaluru as ‘Pakistan.’ The Supreme Court condemned such statements, calling them divisive and inappropriate.

Had Rakesh Kishore’s case gone to trial, this precedent would have been cited to expose Gavai’s own failure to uphold the very caution he once advised. He would have been forced to explain why he defied his own judgment when it came to a Hindu petitioner, even though he had previously called for sensitivity in judicial remarks. The contradiction would have sparked a public debate about judicial hypocrisy — why certain faiths receive protection while Hindu beliefs are routinely mocked.

Avoiding the Streisand Effect

CJI Gavai’s decision not to press charges was not born of compassion — it was a strategy to avoid the Streisand effect. The term refers to a situation where attempts to hide or suppress information only end up drawing more public attention to it.

In this case, had Gavai pursued legal action against Kishore, it would have magnified national awareness about his alleged anti-Hindu comment. The controversy would have forced open a discussion on judicial double standards, where the same court that shielded a Muslim petitioner in 2024 now appeared to mock a Hindu one.

This is also why, after the controversial comments made by Justice Suryakant and Justice Pardiwala in the Nupur Sharma case, no commentator or journalist was punished for contempt — because it would have only worsened the backlash. The judiciary knows that silencing criticism in the age of social media rarely works; it only multiplies it.

Thus, instead of revealing judicial humility, Gavai’s decision exposed judicial calculation. The CJI’s silence was not generosity — it was damage control. He understood that pressing charges would have given Rakesh Kishore’s protest more legitimacy and triggered wider outrage over judicial bias against Hindus.

In the end, this incident is not about a shoe — it is about faith, fairness, and the fragile credibility of India’s highest court. The judiciary can punish loose tongues among citizens, politicians, and journalists, but when the same loose tongue sits on the Bench, it conveniently becomes “an off-the-cuff remark.”