Prison reform and Punjab’s unfinished moral question

That deserves support. A prison system that allows jails to become command centres for extortion, narcotics and intimidation is not humane, merely incompetent.

Yet security cannot become a euphemism for opacity, arbitrariness or executive excess. Ministerial authority does not create a private privilege to enter prisons at will, as though they were political estates. Visits must remain within law, procedure and security protocol. Nor can external oversight be diluted. Executive inspection, judicial scrutiny and High Court supervision remain essential safeguards. A closed prison system quickly becomes an abusive one.

The law must also be judged by how it handles custodial death, the gravest event in prison administration. Proper medical examination, recording, reporting and accountability remain non-negotiable. A modern prison system is measured not only by infrastructure but by whether it ensures lawful accountability when custody ends in death.

Even so, prison reform has limits. It does not by itself solve overcrowding, undertrial delay, poor mental-health care or the wider dysfunctions of the criminal justice system. Nor does it answer Punjab’s most politically charged prison question: what is to be done about the “Bandhi Singhs”.

Here administration gives way to conscience.

The phrase “Bandhi Singh” is not merely legal terminology. It carries memory, sacrifice, grievance and deep Sikh sentiment. But sentiment cannot substitute for legal clarity.

Life imprisonment in law means imprisonment for the remainder of a convict’s natural life unless remitted, commuted or shortened through lawful executive or constitutional power. It does not automatically end after 14 or 20 years. In some cases, courts expressly exclude ordinary remission, leaving constitutional clemency as the only practical route.

This distinction matters because the Bandhi Singh issue is often treated as though all prisoners stand on the same legal footing. They do not. Some are life convicts. Some were sentenced to death and later had that sentence commuted. Others were tried outside Punjab, investigated by the CBI, prosecuted under special laws, or convicted in Chandigarh as a Union Territory. Emotionally, the category is unified. Legally, it is not.

The case of Bhai Balwant Singh Rajoana illustrates the complexity. Convicted in the assassination of former Chief Minister Beant Singh and sentenced to death by a special CBI court in 2007, Rajoana consistently maintained a defiant position and, as publicly reported, did not personally seek mercy. The clemency petition pending since 2012 was filed by the SGPC, not by him, nor by the Punjab Government under Parkash Singh Badal. That is a crucial factual distinction. It underscores that formal constitutional relief was pursued institutionally, not personally.

Under Article 72, the President may grant pardons, reprieves, remissions or commute sentences, including in all death sentence cases. Under Article 161, similar powers vest in the Governor in matters falling within State executive power. But neither is personal discretion; both operate on ministerial advice.

This has practical consequences. In cases investigated by the CBI, tried outside Punjab, or arising in Union Territory jurisdiction, Punjab may not be the “appropriate government” for remission under criminal law. Union concurrence may be required, or the route may lie through the Centre and ultimately the President.

That is why slogans that Punjab should “simply release them” are legally hollow.

But it also exposes the failure of successive governments. The Akali Dal under Parkash Singh Badal invoked Sikh sentiment, but did not translate it into a sustained, transparent, case-wise constitutional strategy. Captain Amarinder Singh likewise did little through formal constitutional channels. There were statements and gestures, but not the disciplined use of Cabinet advice, legal recommendation and sustained advocacy before the appropriate authority.

Clemency is never automatic, particularly in cases involving assassinations, mass-casualty events or offences with continuing security implications. Yet gravity of offence does not extinguish constitutional power, nor justify endless delay while governments continue to harvest the symbolism of Sikh pain.

That is Punjab’s deeper contradiction. Governments have repeatedly sought the emotional dividend of solidarity without assuming the constitutional burden of recommendation.

The present moment offers an opportunity. The Union Government must decide whether delay itself should become punishment in cases where Article 72 is engaged. Punjab’s AAP Government, for its part, can make reasoned recommendations in deserving cases, identify the proper constitutional route in each, and place itself on record through law rather than slogan.

Punjab’s new prison law deserves support for modernising administration and strengthening accountability. But prison reform cannot be honestly discussed while the deeper moral and constitutional question of long-incarcerated Sikh prisoners remains unresolved. The test now is whether governments, in Chandigarh and New Delhi, will choose constitutional seriousness over political theatre. That would not erase history. But it would at least honour it.

(Karan Bir Singh Sidhu is a retired IAS officer who served as Special Chief Secretary, Punjab,)