CLAT PG Current Affairs — 16 August 2026

Civil society figures, including writers, filmmakers, and academics, have written an open letter to the Chief Justice of India invoking the Supreme Court's doctrine that 'bail is the rule, jail is the exception.' They seek release of Umar Khalid and Sharjeel Imam, both detained under the Unlawful Activities (Prevention) Act for over four years without trial conclusion. The letter highlights how UAPA's stringent bail conditions effectively invert the constitutional presumption of innocence.

The phrase 'bail is the rule, jail is the exception' originates from the Supreme Court's repeated articulation of Article 21's guarantee of personal liberty. The foundational case is Gudikanti Narasimhulu (1978), reinforced in Sanjay Chandra v. CBI (2012) and most recently in Satender Kumar Antil v. CBI (2022), where the Court directed courts to apply this principle actively and even instructed Parliament to enact a standalone bail law.

However, UAPA (Unlawful Activities Prevention Act) creates a statutory carve-out. Section 43D(5) of UAPA prohibits a court from granting bail if, on a perusal of the case diary or report, the court is of the opinion that there are reasonable grounds for believing the accusation is prima facie true. This threshold is far lower than proof of guilt, yet it effectively reverses the bail presumption. The Supreme Court in NIA v. Zahoor Ahmad Shah Watali (2019) held that at the bail stage under UAPA, courts must accept the prosecution's case largely at face value, making bail exceptionally difficult.

The tension, therefore, is constitutional: Article 21 guarantees liberty; UAPA Section 43D(5) restricts it through a special procedural filter. CLAT PG examiners love this tension because it requires the aspirant to distinguish between the general CrPC/BNSS bail framework and special legislation exceptions — a classic statutory interpretation problem.

The Supreme Court clarified in July 2026 that conviction under Section 25(1-B)(a) of the Arms Act, 1959, requires proof of conscious possession of an unlicensed firearm, not merely its physical recovery from the accused's vicinity. Recovery alone, without establishing that the accused knew of and exercised control over the weapon, is insufficient to sustain a conviction. The ruling reinforces the mental element — mens rea — as an essential ingredient of the Arms Act possession offence.

The Arms Act, 1959 creates offences around unlicensed possession and use of firearms. Section 25(1-B)(a) penalises acquisition, possession, or carrying of a firearm without a licence. Section 26 deals with short-sentence Arms Act violations. The critical question litigated here is what 'possession' legally means.

Indian criminal law distinguishes between physical proximity and legal possession. Possession, as a legal concept, requires two elements: corpus (physical control) and animus (knowledge and intent to control). The Supreme Court has consistently held — tracing back to Gunwantlal v. State of Madhya Pradesh (1972) — that possession in penal statutes is not bare physical presence but a state of affairs in which the person is consciously in control of the object.

This ruling applies that principle to Arms Act prosecutions. If a firearm is found near an accused — in a house they share, a vehicle they occupy, or near where they were standing — mere recovery does not automatically establish possession. The prosecution must additionally prove that the accused knew the firearm was there and exercised dominion over it. Unexplained recovery raises a presumption, but it can be rebutted. Courts must evaluate the totality of circumstances: exclusive occupation, knowledge proved through conduct, statements, or surrounding facts.

For CLAT PG, this is exactly the kind of passage-based application question the examiner designs: a fact pattern involving recovery, a rival accused claiming ignorance, and asking whether conviction is sustainable.

India has deployed facial recognition technology (FRT) across airports, railways, and policing without any dedicated legislation authorising or regulating its use. The absence of a statutory framework means no codified limits on data retention, no consent requirement, and no independent oversight. Critics argue this creates a constitutional void: state surveillance of biometric data without a law backed by procedure established by law, directly threatening the right to privacy recognised unanimously in Puttaswamy v Union of India (2017).

The constitutional problem with India's unregulated facial recognition ecosystem sits at the intersection of three doctrines.

**Article 21 and the Right to Privacy:** In K.S. Puttaswamy v Union of India (2017), a nine-judge bench unanimously held that privacy is a fundamental right under Article 21. The court further required that any state intrusion into privacy must satisfy a three-part test: (i) legality — the intrusion must be backed by a law; (ii) legitimate aim — the law must pursue a compelling state interest; and (iii) proportionality — the means must be necessary and the least restrictive option available.

FRT deployed without statute fails the first limb immediately. There is no law that authorises the state to collect, store, process, or share facial biometric data. Executive orders and departmental circulars do not constitute 'law' within the meaning of Article 21.

**Article 14 and Arbitrariness:** Uncodified FRT deployment also attracts the Maneka Gandhi (1978) reading of Article 14 — that a procedure, even if it exists, cannot be arbitrary. Without standards governing accuracy thresholds, demographic bias, or appellate remedies for false matches, the process is constitutionally arbitrary.

**Article 19(1)(a) and (d) — Chilling Effect:** Mass surveillance suppresses free movement and expression. In PUCL v Union of India (1997), the Supreme Court struck down phone-tapping without procedural safeguards as violating Articles 19 and 21 together. The same logic extends to real-time biometric tracking.

**Comparative Position:** The EU AI Act (2024) classifies real-time remote biometric identification as a high-risk AI system and bans most public-space FRT use. The contrast sharpens India's regulatory gap.

The DPDP Act, 2023, while addressing personal data broadly, excludes government instrumentalities in security contexts from several obligations, widening rather than closing this void.

The Tribunals Reforms Bill, 2026 proposes to overhaul India's tribunal system by making it more independent, transparent, and professionally administered. The Bill addresses longstanding concerns about executive control over appointments, tenure security, and service conditions of tribunal members. It comes after a series of Supreme Court rulings that struck down earlier tribunal reforms — particularly the Tribunal Reforms (Rationalisation and Conditions of Service) Act, 2021 — for compromising judicial independence through short tenures and executive-dominated selection committees.

India's tribunal system was designed to reduce the burden on courts while providing specialist adjudication in areas like taxation, company law, armed forces service matters, and administrative disputes. However, the system has long been criticised for functioning as an extension of the executive rather than as an independent adjudicatory body.

The constitutional basis for tribunals lies in Articles 323A and 323B (inserted by the 42nd Amendment, 1976). Article 323A covers service matter tribunals (Administrative Tribunals Act, 1985), while Article 323B covers tribunals for other specified subjects. The Supreme Court in L. Chandra Kumar v. Union of India (1997) held that tribunal decisions are subject to judicial review by High Courts under Articles 226 and 227 — a ruling that confirmed tribunals cannot oust the supervisory jurisdiction of constitutional courts.

The critical tension the 2026 Bill addresses is the Madras Bar Association series of judgments. In Madras Bar Association v. Union of India (2014 and 2021), the Supreme Court struck down provisions that gave the executive disproportionate control over tribunal appointments and set minimum tenures as low as three years. The Court held that judicial independence requires security of tenure, adequate service conditions, and selection committees not dominated by the executive.

The Tribunals Reforms Bill, 2026 thus represents a legislative attempt to comply with these constitutional standards — making it directly relevant to questions about which case established what standard, which amendment created tribunal jurisdiction, and what the first tribunal in India was (the Central Administrative Tribunal, 1985).

The Punjab and Haryana High Court acquitted a rape and abetment-to-suicide convict after finding that the dying declaration on which the entire prosecution rested was recorded by a police officer, not a magistrate, despite one being available. The court held this procedural failure fatally undermined the declaration's evidentiary reliability. Since the prosecution's case stood entirely on this declaration, its rejection as unsafe evidence collapsed the conviction and led to full acquittal.

A dying declaration is a statement made by a person who believes death is imminent, explaining the cause or circumstances of their impending death. Under Section 32(1) of the Indian Evidence Act, 1872 (now Section 26(1) of the Bharatiya Sakshya Adhiniyam, 2023), such a statement is admissible as an exception to the hearsay rule on the principle that a person on the verge of death has no reason to lie — nemo moriturus praesumitur mentire.

However, Indian courts have consistently held that a dying declaration is not automatically reliable merely because it is admissible. Quality of recording matters enormously. The Supreme Court in Laxman v. State of Maharashtra (2002) held that there is no absolute rule requiring a magistrate to record a dying declaration, but when a magistrate is available and the opportunity is not utilised, that omission seriously dents evidentiary value.

The Punjab and Haryana High Court applied precisely this logic: where a magistrate was available but the police chose to record the declaration themselves, the declaration becomes suspect. Police-recorded declarations invite scrutiny because of the interest the police have in the outcome. The court found this unsafe to rely upon as the sole basis for conviction.

This ruling reinforces the principle that a dying declaration can be the sole basis for conviction only if it inspires complete confidence — it must be voluntary, consistent, and properly recorded. The absence of a magistrate despite availability creates reasonable doubt that defeats the prosecution's case entirely when no corroborating evidence exists.

The Allahabad High Court ruled that a claim under Section 229B of the U.P. Zamindari Abolition and Land Reforms Act, 1950 cannot be decided on isolated revenue entries. The court held that adjudicating authorities must examine the entire chain of revenue records to determine rightful possession and ownership. Deciding a claim on a single or selective entry, without tracing the continuous thread of revenue entries, amounts to a legal error vitiating the order.

Section 229B of the U.P. Zamindari Abolition and Land Reforms Act, 1950 (UPZALR Act) provides a remedy for persons illegally evicted from land — it allows them to seek restoration of possession before revenue authorities. The Allahabad High Court's ruling reinforces a foundational principle of land tenure law: revenue records are not standalone documents but constitute a chain, and each entry derives its legitimacy from what preceded it.

The constitutional underpinning here is Article 300A, which protects persons from being deprived of property except by authority of law. When a revenue authority ignores part of the evidentiary chain and decides a possession claim on a selective entry, it effectively deprives a person of property without a lawful, reasoned process — which is precisely what Article 300A prohibits.

The broader doctrinal point connects to the T. Jacob line of cases on subsoil and land rights: proprietary claims over land — whether surface rights or subsoil rights — must be traced through a legally recognised chain of title or possession. An isolated revenue entry, like an isolated piece of evidence, cannot displace an otherwise established chain.

For CLAT PG, the examiner typically pairs a judicial passage with a fact pattern where an authority relies on one record to defeat a longer-standing chain of possession. The correct answer always requires the aspirant to identify whether the authority applied a holistic or selective evidentiary standard — and whether the deprivation of the property right was backed by a legally sound process.

The Kerala High Court on 14 August criticised State authorities and local self-government institutions for failing to impose and recover fines on illegal flags, boards, and installations, calling the negligence a cause of 'valuable revenue loss' to the State. The court noted that despite statutory powers vested in local bodies to penalise unauthorised public installations, enforcement remained largely absent, raising questions about the constitutional and statutory duties of these bodies toward public property and State revenue.

This judgment sits at the intersection of two constitutional domains frequently tested in CLAT PG: Article 300A (right to property) and the municipal/local-body governance framework under Part IX-A of the Constitution. The core principle is that local self-government institutions derive both power and duty from statute — they are not merely empowered but obligated to enforce penalties for illegal encroachments on public spaces. A failure to discharge that duty can be judicially reviewable under Article 226.

The deeper constitutional issue is the 'public trust doctrine,' which holds that the State and its instrumentalities — including local bodies — are trustees of public resources, including public spaces. Illegal hoardings and flags are encroachments on that trust. When authorities fail to penalise them, they breach not just statutory duty but a constitutional obligation to protect public property from private appropriation without authority of law.

Under Article 300A, no person can be deprived of their property save by authority of law. The flip side — less examined — is that the State too cannot allow private parties to occupy public property without lawful authority. That omission can itself constitute a constitutional infirmity.

For CLAT PG, the examiner is likely to test: (a) the nature of constitutional duties of local self-government bodies; (b) the public trust doctrine as a limit on State inaction; and (c) the distinction between a power to penalise and a duty to penalise under municipal statutes. The Kerala Municipality Act and Panchayati Raj Act framework are the satellite facts that give this question its specificity.