Temporary Fix, Permanent Crisis
The recent invocation of Article 224A of the Constitution to appoint five retired judges as ad hoc judges of the Allahabad High Court is not merely an administrative adjustment but a revealing moment in the story of India’s justice system. A provision that lay largely dormant for decades has been revived in response to a crisis that is both structural and systemic. When a constitutional mechanism designed for exceptional circumstances is pressed into service repeatedly, it signals that something deeper is amiss in the way courts are staffed, managed, and supported. Article 224A was never meant to be a routine instrument of judicial functioning; it was conceived as a temporary bridge in moments of extraordinary backlog or institutional strain. Its reactivation today must therefore be read not as a success of flexibility, but as an indictment of persistent failures in judicial capacity, appointment processes, and case management. The staggering scale of pending litigation across High Courts, with the Allahabad High Court alone burdened by more than 12 lakh cases, makes it clear that India’s promise of timely justice is increasingly hollow for ordinary citizens.
The design of Article 224A reflects a careful constitutional balance between necessity and caution. It empowers a Chief Justice, with presidential consent, to invite a retired judge to sit and act as a judge, but only with the latter’s voluntary agreement. This insistence on consent recognizes that once a judge demits office at the prescribed age, the state cannot compel continued service. While ad hoc judges exercise the full jurisdiction, powers, and privileges of a High Court judge during their tenure, they are not treated as regular judges for other institutional purposes. This duality has been repeatedly clarified by the Supreme Court: they are judges in function but not in status. Such a framework avoids the illusion that retirement can simply be erased, yet it also creates an uneasy category of temporary adjudicators who straddle the line between permanence and impermanence. The existence of this grey zone is not merely technical; it shapes how authority, accountability, and independence are perceived within the judiciary itself.
The history of this provision reveals how conflicted India has been about recalling retired judges. At the founding of the Republic, a similar idea existed in draft Article 224, borrowed almost verbatim from British law. However, it was later abandoned because many feared it would undermine the principle of fixed retirement and open the door to favoritism by Chief Justices. The provision was eventually replaced by a system of Additional and Acting Judges, only to be reintroduced in a modified form in 1963 as Article 224A. This oscillation illustrates a persistent dilemma: how to reconcile judicial independence with efficiency in a system chronically plagued by delays. Over the decades, the provision has been invoked sparingly, first in 1972 for election petitions, then in 2007 in the sensitive Ram Janmabhoomi matter, and now again. The rarity of its use underscores how reluctant institutions have been to normalize it, even as backlogs have steadily worsened.
The Supreme Court’s evolving interpretation of Article 224A reflects both pragmatism and anxiety. In 2021, in the Lok Prahari case, the Court acknowledged the severity of docket explosion and laid down detailed guidelines for when and how ad hoc judges should be appointed. These included objective triggers such as high vacancy levels, excessive pendency beyond five years, and poor disposal rates. It also insisted on merit-based selection, collegial scrutiny, and limited tenure. Yet even these safeguards were partially relaxed in January 2025, when the Court suspended some conditions and allowed ad hoc judges to sit alongside regular judges in mixed benches. By December 2025, further flexibility was introduced, leaving more discretion to Chief Justices. This gradual loosening of restrictions suggests a judiciary caught between principle and practicality: aware that Article 224A could be misused, but also desperate to keep the system functioning amid mounting arrears.
Ultimately, the deeper problem is not Article 224A itself but the conditions that make it necessary. Reliance on retired judges risks becoming a convenient substitute for long-overdue reforms in judicial appointments, infrastructure, and procedure. Vacancies in High Courts remain chronically high, case management remains inefficient, and delays continue to undermine public trust. Ad hoc judges may help clear some backlog in the short term, but they cannot fix under-resourced courts, inadequate staffing, or systemic procedural inertia. If Article 224A becomes normalized rather than exceptional, India will drift toward a justice system dependent on periodic emergency measures rather than steady institutional strength. The real test is whether this moment leads to deeper reform — faster appointments, better infrastructure, and smarter litigation management — or whether it merely perpetuates a cycle of crisis and temporary relief.
