Published On: February 17th 2026
Authored By: Rashneet Kaur
Apex University, Jaipur
ABSTRACT
The introduction of India’s new criminal laws was framed as a major reset of the criminal justice system. This blog asks a simpler question: what has actually changed inside courtrooms so far? Looking at early judicial orders, it finds that courts have approached the reform with caution rather than excitement or resistance. Across questions of arrest, bail, timelines, victim participation, and digital evidence, courts have mostly stuck with familiar ideas of fairness and personal liberty. The blog also points to what is happening at the trial court level, where everyday realities—lack of training, patchy infrastructure, and administrative constraints—shape how the new laws are actually used. Looked at together, these early signs suggest that criminal law reform will not turn on what the statutes say alone. It will depend on how judges apply them in real cases, how much support courts receive, and how carefully constitutional protections are held onto while the system adjusts.
INTRODUCTION
When the IPC, CrPC, and Evidence Act were replaced by the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita, the Bharatiya Nagarik Suraksha Sanhita, and the Bharatiya Sakshya Adhiniyam, the moment was quickly labelled historic. That reaction is understandable. The new laws were meant to fix problems that have troubled the criminal justice system for years—delay, rigid procedure, and the sidelining of victims. But criminal law does not really change the day a statute is notified. It changes later, in courtrooms, through routine bail hearings, remand orders, and trial decisions that rarely attract public attention.
What became clear once courts began applying the new framework was not a clean break from the past. Judges appeared cautious, sometimes reluctant, to move away from settled principles. In many cases, the emphasis remained on personal liberty and procedural fairness, even where the statutory language appeared stricter. Rather than treating the reform as a reset, courts seemed more focused on managing transition and preventing misuse.
This blog examines how that caution is playing out in practice. It looks at arrest and bail decisions under the new procedural law, the impact of victim-centric provisions on courtroom dynamics, and judicial responses to the growing reliance on digital evidence. It also reflects on the judiciary’s role in restraining executive power during the transition.
CONTINUITY OVER RUPTURE AND THE ROLE OF COURTS AS STABILISING INSTITUTIONS
What stands out in how courts have dealt with the new criminal laws is their reluctance to disrupt settled ground. Despite the scale of statutory change, judges have not treated the new framework as a reset. There is a clear unwillingness to move away from constitutional principles that have long guided criminal adjudication. In many orders, the message is straightforward: rewriting statutes does not justify weakening constitutional protections.
That caution is understandable. Transitions in criminal law carry real risks, particularly when personal liberty is at stake. Courts have always been wary of allowing reform to create uncertainty or unfairness. The reasoning in Commissioner of Income Tax v. Vatika Township[1], though outside criminal law, captures this concern by stressing fairness during periods of legal change.
Recent orders also reflect the Supreme Court’s steady reminder that procedural reform cannot come at the cost of Articles 14 and 21. Courts continue to rely on familiar IPC and CrPC principles unless the new provisions clearly require otherwise. For now, continuity appears to be the judiciary’s way of ensuring that reform does not itself become unjust.
ARREST, BAIL, AND THE PRIMACY OF PERSONAL LIBERTY
Arrest and bail are where the impact of the new criminal laws has been felt most directly. The changes under the BNSS, especially around arrest powers and tighter timelines, triggered immediate concern. There was a fear that speeding up procedure while expanding investigative authority would come at the cost of personal liberty. Those concerns showed up quickly in remand courts and bail hearings.
What stands out is the judicial response. Courts have not rushed to apply the new provisions aggressively. Instead, they have returned to familiar ground. Arnesh Kumar[2] continues to be cited to underline that arrest is not automatic. Written reasons are still demanded, and continued custody is closely scrutinised.
The same approach is visible in bail orders. Sanjay Chandra[3] and Satender Kumar Antil[4] remain central, reinforcing that pre-trial detention is not punishment. The statute may have changed, but the courts’ instinct on liberty largely has not.
PROCEDURAL FAIRNESS AND THE RIGHT TO A FAIR TRIAL
A recurring concern around the new criminal laws has been whether the push for efficiency comes at a cost. Streamlining procedure sounds sensible, but in criminal law, speed is uneasy territory. Courts appear alert to this tension. Rather than treating efficiency as an unquestioned goal, judges have repeatedly signalled that faster processes cannot justify weakening fair trial protections.
This instinct is closely tied to how courts continue to read Maneka Gandhi v. Union of India[5]. The case is invoked less as settled doctrine and more as a warning—that procedure is not merely about form, but about substantive fairness. When timelines under the BNSS are applied too rigidly, courts have shown reluctance to enforce them mechanically, conscious that strict deadlines can sometimes penalise the wrong party.
The same concern surfaces in cases involving investigative lapses or prosecutorial overreach. Courts often turn to Zahira Habibullah Sheikh v. State of Gujarat[6], not simply to protect the accused, but to emphasise that the credibility of the criminal process itself is at stake. Procedural reform, several orders suggest, cannot become an excuse for cutting corners.
This approach is especially visible in how statutory timelines are treated. Rather than hard limits, courts have applied them with flexibility, openly acknowledging delays, infrastructural constraints, and trial court realities. Reform is not rejected, but it is anchored in the basic promise of a fair trial.
VICTIM-CENTRIC JUSTICE AND THE GAP BETWEEN PROMISE AND PRACTICE
One noticeable shift under the new criminal laws is the attempt to take victims more seriously within the process. On paper, this is a clear change. Victims are no longer meant to be silent participants who appear only as witnesses. The law now promises them information, a limited voice at certain stages, and recognition as stakeholders. This responds to a long-standing discomfort with how easily victims were pushed to the margins.
In practice, the idea becomes messier. Courts have been careful about letting victim participation grow too far. Judges do recognise that victims have a real stake in the case—Mallikarjun Kodagali v. State of Karnataka[7] is often cited for that—but there is also a visible hesitation. The concern, repeated through references to Rekha Murarka v. State of West Bengal[8], is that giving victims a voice should not turn the trial into a second prosecution running alongside the State’s case.
Recent orders reflect a careful balance. Victims are heard more often, particularly at the bail or sentencing stage, but courts continue to draw limits. Prosecution remains the State’s responsibility, and judicial neutrality must be preserved, a point often reinforced through Jagjeet Singh v. Ashish Mishra[9].
The problem lies in everyday practice. Trial courts face basic constraints of time, staff, and procedural clarity. As a result, victim participation remains uneven, making it difficult to say whether the reform has moved much beyond symbolism.
DIGITAL EVIDENCE AND TECHNOLOGICAL INTEGRATION
The Bharatiya Sakshya Adhiniyam reflects a clear shift towards a more technology-heavy criminal process. That shift is hardly surprising. Criminal cases today often hinge on phones, call records, servers, and digital trails. Courts seem to recognise this reality and, for the most part, are comfortable with the idea that digital evidence is no longer optional. The system, they accept, has to adjust.
What has not changed is the level of scrutiny. Courts have not relaxed their standards simply because evidence is electronic. Decisions continue to rely on Anvar P.V. v. P.K. Basheer[10] and Arjun Panditrao Khotkar v. Kailash Kushanrao Gorantyal[11] to insist on proper certification and authentication. The message is steady and familiar: recognising digital evidence does not mean taking shortcuts. If anything, judges appear more cautious, aware of how easily electronic material can be altered or misunderstood.
The real difficulties show up at the trial court level. Questions about chain of custody, data handling, and basic technical competence come up again and again. Investigating officers are often expected to manage digital evidence without adequate training, and courts are left to sort out the consequences. Judicial observations here are careful, sometimes sceptical, but consistent—technology may help the process, but it cannot replace evidentiary discipline or compromise fairness.
EXECUTIVE POWER, OVER-CRIMINALISATION, AND JUDICIAL OVERSIGHT
One issue that keeps resurfacing around the new criminal laws is power—who gets to arrest, how fast action can be taken, and how much space investigating agencies now have. These questions were never really settled under the old system, and the new laws seem to have brought them back into focus. Reading recent court orders, you get the sense that judges are aware of this unease, even when they don’t say it outright.
What is striking is how often courts look back while dealing with something new. Instead of relying only on the new statutory language, judges repeatedly return to familiar safeguards. Joginder Kumar[12] and D.K. Basu[13] appear almost instinctively. This does not feel symbolic. It feels like caution—a reminder that expanded powers still need restraint.
That caution sharpens when the law is used aggressively. In cases of hurried arrests or heavy-handed prosecution, courts have relied on Arnab Manoranjan Goswami[14] to restate a simple point: liberty is not expendable. The pushback is quiet—slowing proceedings, demanding reasons, and refusing to let enforcement become automatic. For now, this restraint seems to be how courts are keeping balance while the new framework settles.
SUBORDINATE COURTS AND THE REALITY OF IMPLEMENTATION
While appellate courts lay down principles, it is subordinate courts that live with the new criminal laws every day. It is in magistrate courts that the transition feels most uneven. These courts are the first to test new procedures, often with little warning or support, and the strain shows quickly.
The problems are basic but persistent. Training is uneven, updated manuals are often missing, and the technology that underpins the new framework does not always work as intended. Judicial training programmes have expanded, but their impact varies widely by location. Some courts adapt faster, while many continue to struggle with the same limitations they faced before the reform. In several orders, judges have acknowledged this gap quite openly.
What this makes clear is that criminal law reform cannot succeed through legislation alone. Rewriting statutes does not automatically change courtroom realities. The success of the new laws depends just as much on infrastructure, administrative support, and sustained investment at the trial court level. Without that, reform risks remaining largely on paper—ambitious in design, but uneven in everyday practice.
CONCLUSION
Looking at how the new criminal laws have played out so far, one thing becomes clear. Courts seem quite conscious of the role they are playing during this transition. There has been no hurry to either celebrate the reform or reject it outright. Instead, judges appear to be doing something quieter—trying to keep the system steady as it adjusts. In practice, this has meant holding on to familiar concerns about liberty, fairness, and due process while the new framework slowly finds its footing.
What this early phase suggests is that the success of the new criminal laws will not be decided by how bold they look on paper. It will depend far more on how they are interpreted day to day, how prepared institutions are to carry them out, and how consistently courts are willing to exercise restraint. As cases move through the system, small judicial choices—often in routine bail orders or trial rulings—will shape whether reform results only in speed, or in outcomes that are genuinely fair.
REFERENCES
[1] Commissioner of Income Tax v. Vatika Township, (2015) 1 SCC 1.
[2] Arnesh Kumar v. State of Bihar, AIR 2014 SC 2756.
[3] Sanjay Chandra v. CBI, (2012) 1 SCC 40.
[4] Satender Kumar Antil v. CBI, (2022) 10 SCC 51.
[5] Maneka Gandhi v. Union of India, (1978) 1 SCC 248.
[6] Zahira Habibullah Sheikh v. State of Gujarat, (2006) 3 SCC 374.
[7] Mallikarjun Kodagali v. State of Karnataka, AIR 2018 SC 5206.
[8] Rekha Murarka v. State of West Bengal, (2020) 2 SCC 474.
[9] Jagjeet Singh v. Ashish Mishra, 2022 SCC OnLine SC 453.
[10] Anvar P.V. v. P.K. Basheer, AIR 2015 SC 180.
[11] Arjun Panditrao Khotkar v. Kailash Kushanrao Gorantyal, AIR 2020 SC 4908.
[12] Joginder Kumar v. State of U.P., AIR 1994 SC 1349.
[13] D.K. Basu v. State of West Bengal, (1997) 1 SCC 416.
[14] Arnab Manoranjan Goswami v. State of Maharashtra, (2020) 14 SCC 51.
