Beyond the Backlog: The Revival of Article 224A and the Uncomfortable Questions About India’s Judicial Crisis 

Beyond the Backlog: The Revival of Article 224A and the Uncomfortable Questions About India’s Judicial Crisis 

The recent invocation of Article 224A of the Indian Constitution, a provision so dormant it has been used only thrice in over six decades, is less a routine administrative act and more a stark, flashing indicator of a judicial system under profound strain. The appointment of five retired judges to the Allahabad High Court isn’t merely a procedural footnote; it is a constitutional lifeline thrown to a court drowning in over 1.2 million pending cases. This move forces us to look beyond the dry text of the law and ask: What does the desperate need for this “golden handshake” for retired judges reveal about the health of Indian judiciary, and is it a sustainable solution or a symptomatic relief? 

Unpacking the Constitutional Tool: What Exactly is Article 224A? 

Article 224A, inserted via the 15th Amendment in 1963, is an emergency toolkit within a larger emergency toolkit. While the better-known Article 224 provides for the appointment of Additional and Acting Judges (often from the lower judiciary or advocates) to handle temporary vacancies, Article 224A is uniquely crafted for a specific crisis: the pendency avalanche. 

Its mechanism is elegantly simple yet powerful. The Chief Justice of a High Court, with the previous consent of the President, can request any person who has held the office of a High Court judge to sit and act as a judge. The retiree’s consent is paramount. Once appointed, they wield the full jurisdiction, powers, and privileges of a sitting judge, but “for all other purposes,” they are not deemed a permanent member of the court. They receive an allowance determined by the President, a model akin to a senior consultant brought in for a critical project. 

This distinction from Article 224 is crucial. Additional Judges are often seen as potential permanent appointees, their performance under scrutiny. An ad-hoc judge under 224A is, by design, free from that shadow. They are brought in purely for their seasoned expertise and to churn through backlog—a surgical strike on case files, not a trial for a seat on the bench. 

A History Born From Deletion and Reintroduction: Why the Zig-Zag? 

The provision’s journey is a story of constitutional pragmatism clashing with principle. Originally, the draft Constitution contained a clause for appointing retired judges. However, in the Constituent Assembly, voices like Pandit Thakur Das Bhargava objected, arguing it was anomalous to fix a retirement age and then allow extensions, calling it a potential avenue for “favouritism” where a Chief Justice could “invite a friend of his.” 

Dr. B.R. Ambedkar, the architect of the Constitution, provided the compelling counter. With the deletion of a clause for temporary judges, he argued, some provision was needed for disposing of sudden surges in “certain kinds of business.” The initial version was adopted but was repealed just nine years later by the 7th Amendment (1956), found to be “inadequate.” It was only in 1963 that the current, refined Article 224A was resurrected. This back-and-forth reveals a deep-seated tension: the ideal of a fixed, independent judiciary versus the messy reality of unmanageable workloads. 

The Rarity of Its Use: A Telling Silence 

The fact that Article 224A has been invoked only three times before 2025 speaks volumes: 

• 1972: For Justice Suraj Bhan (Madhya Pradesh HC) to handle election petitions. 

• 1980s: For Justice P. Venugopal (Madras HC). 

• 2007: For Justice O.P. Srivastava (Allahabad HC) to hear the Ayodhya-related cases. 

This rarity isn’t incidental. It points to institutional hesitancy. The appointment process, as crystallized in the Memorandum of Procedure (MoP) post the Second Judges Case, is a complex, collaborative dance between the judiciary and the executive: 

• The Chief Justice of India (CJI) must obtain the retiree’s consent. 

• The CJI communicates the proposal to the Chief Minister of the state. 

• The Chief Minister, with the Governor, forwards it to the Union Law Ministry. 

• The Law Minister consults the CJI (again) before moving the file to the Prime Minister. 

• The Prime Minister then advises the President to grant consent. 

This multi-layered process, designed for checks and balances, can also be a recipe for delay and inertia, making it an unattractive option for tackling backlog unless the situation becomes dire. The Allahabad High Court’s 12 lakh+ pendency clearly crossed that threshold. 

The Real Human Insight: Beyond Procedure, Toward Problem 

The revival of 224A is not just a legal event; it’s a mirror to systemic issues: 

• The Band-Aid on a Bullet Wound: Appointing five retired judges to a court with millions pending is a tactical move, not a strategic solution. It addresses the symptom (pendency) without curing the disease (chronic vacancies, infrastructural gaps, archaic procedures, and an ever-increasing litigation burden). It asks: are we investing in permanent capacity building or perpetual crisis management? 

• The Two-Edged Sword of Experience: While retired judges bring deep expertise and can hit the ground running, their appointment raises questions about the message it sends. Does it inadvertently suggest that the pool of eligible practicing advocates or lower judiciary judges is insufficient? Could it create a parallel, ad-hoc tier within the judiciary? 

• The Ghost of Colonial Inheritance: The provision’s roots in English law highlight a persistent challenge: transplanting systems without adequately adapting them to India’s colossal scale and unique social-litigious landscape. The “unprecedented situations” it was meant for have become the permanent state of affairs. 

• A Contrast with the Supreme Court: Article 127, which allows for ad-hoc Supreme Court judges, has also seen limited use. This parallel shows that the higher judiciary’s capacity crisis is structural, not confined to the states. However, the more frequent use of Additional Judges (Article 224) highlights a preference for that model, perhaps due to its role in judicial recruitment. 

Conclusion: A Necessary Stopgap or a New Precedent? 

The invocation of Article 224A for the Allahabad High Court is a necessary, pragmatic response to a near-breaking point. It should be applauded for its innovative use of existing constitutional tools. However, it must not become a comfortable precedent that allows the political and judicial establishment to avoid harder, long-term reforms. 

The true value of this moment lies in the conversation it sparks. It forces a national audit on judicial capacity. We must ask: Are we filling vacancies in the High Courts promptly? Are we leveraging technology and process re-engineering effectively? Is the ratio of judges to population being addressed fundamentally? 

Article 224A is a powerful fire extinguisher. But when you find yourself reaching for it for the fourth time in 75 years, it’s imperative to also ask why the building keeps catching fire—and start rebuilding it with fireproof materials. The retired judges stepping in are a testament to judicial dedication, but their need is a reminder of a reform agenda still painfully pending.