On April 6, the Supreme Court delivered a significant judgment in Save Mon Region Federation & Anr. vs State of Arunachal Pradesh & Ors, directing the Central Bureau of Investigation (CBI) to register a preliminary enquiry into the award and execution of public works contracts in Arunachal Pradesh between January 1, 2015 and December 31, 2025. The Supreme Court-monitored CBI probe will cover contracts and work orders, including those awarded to firms and individuals related to Chief Minister Pema Khandu and his family. The court has also directed that the CBI may examine transactions outside this period if necessary to trace beneficial ownership, related-party links and fund flows.This is not an ordinary administrative order. It is a rare judicial moment in which the highest court has looked at allegations involving a sitting chief minister, his family, public works, missing records, opaque procurement, non-tender processes and conflict of interest, and refused to let the matter be buried under procedural excuses.The judgment begins with a constitutional reminder: “The state does not hold public resources as a private proprietor, but as a trustee on behalf of the people.” It further says that the award of public contracts must be transparent, fair and consistent with Article 14, and that decision-making must be free from “arbitrariness, favouritism, or undisclosed conflicts of interest.”The court’s strongest words came while rejecting the state’s argument that the share of contracts awarded to the chief minister’s relatives was “minuscule”. The court held that “the constitution does not tolerate a breach of public trust merely because the breach is numerically small”. It added that even a single award of public work through a process tainted by conflict of interest or deliberate bypassing of competition is an affront to Article 14.This is the core of the matter. Corruption is not merely a question of quantum of money. It is a question of constitutional trust. If public office is used to facilitate private enrichment, the breach is not reduced because it is statistically presented as a small percentage of total expenditure. A constitutional wrong cannot be sanitised through arithmetic.The court also rejected the state’s attempt to shift the evidentiary burden onto the petitioners. Its formulation deserves to be remembered: “The petitioners are not public record custodians. The state is.” The state awards contracts, maintains files, sanctions expenditure and holds the tender and work order record. When missing vouchers, missing comparative statements and absence of recorded reasons appear in the record, these are not neutral facts; they are warning signs requiring independent verification.This order has rightly been welcomed as a judicial assertion of accountability. But the question must now move beyond the courtroom. If the Supreme Court has found enough material to order a CBI preliminary enquiry against transactions linked to a sitting chief minister and his family, can he continue in office as if nothing has happened?Khandu has reportedly ruled out resignation, calling a preliminary enquiry a routine legal procedure and saying it does not imply wrongdoing. He has also assured cooperation with the CBI. But this is precisely where the legal minimum and the ethical obligation diverge. A preliminary enquiry is not a conviction. But neither is it a “clean chit”. When the apex court orders the CBI to examine procurement decisions under a chief minister’s tenure, and directs the state machinery to preserve records and cooperate with the investigation, the continued presence of that same chief minister in office becomes a direct question of institutional credibility.The problem is not only whether he will personally interfere. The problem is structural. The court has directed the chief secretary to designate a nodal officer and each concerned department to cooperate with the CBI. These officers function within a state executive headed by the chief minister. They hold records, files, servers, vouchers, measurement books and payment trails. Can a fair inquiry proceed when the political head of the very administration under scrutiny remains in command?India’s political history offers enough precedent for resignation on grounds of public accountability. Lalu Prasad Yadav resigned as Bihar Chief Minister in July 1997 after the fodder scam investigation and prosecution pressure became politically untenable. Jayalalithaa had to step down as Tamil Nadu chief minister after conviction in the disproportionate assets case. A. Raja resigned as Union telecommunications minister in the wake of the 2G spectrum case, in which the CBI probe came under Supreme Court monitoring. Ashok Chavan resigned as Maharashtra chief minister over the Adarsh housing scandal allegations. More recently, Arvind Kejriwal resigned as Delhi Chief Minister after being granted bail by the Supreme Court in the excise policy case, saying he would return only after a public mandate.These examples are not identical in law. Some involved conviction, some charges, some investigation, some political pressure. But they establish one democratic principle: when serious corruption allegations reach a threshold where public trust is damaged, continuance in office cannot be treated as a private entitlement. The higher the office, the greater the obligation to step aside.That is why the BJP’s silence is politically revealing. The party that built a national campaign on “na khaunga, na khaney doonga” cannot now reduce corruption to a technicality merely because the Chief Minister belongs to its own ranks. The Arunachal Pradesh BJP has already dismissed resignation demands as premature. The Congress and local anti-corruption groups have demanded Khandu’s resignation, arguing that the integrity of the investigation requires him to step down.The BJP’s national leadership must answer a simple question: does its anti-corruption morality apply only to political opponents? Or does it also apply to a chief minister from its own party, whose family-linked contracts are now under a Supreme Court-ordered CBI enquiry?Khandu’s own political language has made matters worse. In public defence of the controversy, his camp has argued that there is no rule preventing family members of a chief minister or minister from undertaking contract or supply work. In January 2024, his adviser Tangor Tapak was quoted as saying, “If you see the norms and systems there is no such rule that members of the family of the chief minister or any minister cannot do any contract work, supply works or any other activities related to government.”This may sound like a legalistic defence, but it is ethically devastating. Constitutional morality is not exhausted by the absence of a specific prohibitory clause. A chief minister’s family may have a right to do business; they do not have a right to benefit from opacity, proximity and public office. Public power cannot be converted into a family enterprise merely because the rulebook does not spell out every possible impropriety.The wealth question adds to the moral burden. According to an analysis based on data collated by the Association for Democratic Reforms, Khandu is the second-wealthiest chief minister in India, with declared assets of Rs 332.56 crore. Wealth by itself is not illegality. But in a case where the court has ordered scrutiny of public contracts, related-party links and fund flows, the political executive cannot pretend that perception does not matter.There is another troubling layer to the situation. In Arunachal Pradesh, corruption debates are repeatedly overshadowed by sovereignty rhetoric whenever China makes fresh claims over the state. India must reject China’s claims without ambiguity. Arunachal is an integral and inalienable part of India. But that truth cannot become a shield against scrutiny of corruption inside Arunachal.China’s pattern is well documented: it has periodically ‘renamed’ places in Arunachal Pradesh — six in 2017 after the Dalai Lama’s Tawang visit, 15 in 2021, 11 in 2023 (after India hosted a G20 meeting in the state), 30 in 2024 and 27 in 2025. India has rightly rejected these attempts as baseless and “preposterous”. In April 2026, China again made claims around Arunachal, which India rejected.But national sovereignty cannot be invoked selectively to deflect domestic accountability. In fact, corruption in a sensitive border state is itself a national concern. If public works, infrastructure, roads and contracts in Arunachal are captured by patronage networks, it weakens both democracy and security. A clean administration in Arunachal Pradesh is not contrary to national interest; it is central to it.The Supreme Court has done what constitutional duty demanded. It refused to accept broad generalities from the state. It refused to let missing records become a technical inconvenience. It refused to allow “small percentage” arguments to dilute public trust. It refused to look away.The burden now lies with the political executive. The BJP leadership in Delhi and Itanagar must not transform this judicial moment into another exercise in lobbying, bargaining and survival management. If the Chief Minister spends his political energy securing protection from party bosses rather than stepping aside to preserve the integrity of the probe, the court’s order risks being followed not by accountability but by another circulation of power and money.The demand is therefore simple. Khandu must step down pending the CBI enquiry. The BJP must ask him to do so. This is not punishment before trial. It is respect for constitutional propriety. It is the minimum moral obligation when the Supreme Court has ordered an independent inquiry into contracts linked to a sitting chief minister’s own circle.Accountability cannot be negotiated. Nor can constitutional morality be outsourced to the courts alone. The court has opened the door. The executive must now show that it still understands shame, restraint and public trust.Chery D’souza is an advocate practicing at the Supreme Court of India. Vijayan M.J. is a public policy analyst with Participatory Action Research Coalition of India. The authors are also executive members of the Campaign for Judicial Accountability & Reforms (CJAR).