This is the third and final part of the series. Read part one and two. The Bombay high court’s judgment in the Tarun Tejpal case is more than just a major decision on rape law. It reflects the tensions of a society that has undergone rapid social, economic and cultural transformation over the past two decades, compelling courts to interpret constitutional principles within multiple and often conflicting social realities.This three-part series does not seek to revisit the facts of the case or opine upon the correctness of the judgment. Instead, it uses the judgment as a point of departure to examine larger constitutional questions that have received little attention in public discourse.§By the time the Bombay high court delivered its judgment in the Tarun Tejpal appeal, public debate had hardened into familiar binaries. For many, the judgment represented the long-overdue correction of a deeply flawed acquittal and an affirmation of women’s constitutional rights. For some, the conviction was political and that Tehelka and Tejpal, having long been hostile to the BJP and critical of its governments, had finally been made to pay a political price.This argument deserves separate examination because its chronology presents an obvious difficulty. Tejpal’s political position had not changed when the Goa trial court acquitted him in 2021. If the BJP-led Goa government had politically engineered the prosecution to destroy an anti-BJP journalist, why did the trial court, operating within precisely that political context, acquit him? And if the subsequent conviction is itself now cited as evidence of political persecution, the allegation has moved beyond the executive to the independence and integrity of the judges.Suffice it to say that an acquittal followed by a conviction on appeal does not, by itself, establish political interference; appellate courts exist precisely because courts may differ in their assessment of evidence and law. One may disagree with the high court’s reasoning, question its treatment of evidence or debate whether the threshold for overturning an acquittal was properly applied.New Delhi: All India Progressive Women’s Association (AIPWA) members hold posters regarding women’s rights on the occasion of International Women’s Day, at Jantar Mantar in New Delhi, Sunday, March 8, 2026. Photo: PTI.These are legitimate judicial questions. But converting disagreement with the reasoning into proof of political capture is another matter. If an acquittal demonstrates judicial independence while a conviction demonstrates judicial subservience, the verdict itself becomes evidence of the alleged conspiracy. Such reasoning is circular.When political progressivism meets gender progressivismThere is, however, another and very different politics that must not be obscured by the “BJP versus Tehelka” frame: the politics of gender. Political progressivism and gender progressivism are not synonymous. Feminism has long confronted the uncomfortable fact that some of the most successful, progressive and publicly celebrated men have behaved badly towards women.Writers, artists, academics, filmmakers, journalists, activists and political leaders who have spoken eloquently about equality and freedom have not always conducted their private relationships according to the principles they publicly defended. One of feminism’s enduring contributions has been to expose precisely this contradiction: progressive politics does not automatically produce egalitarian relationships and ideological commitment cannot be treated as evidence of conduct towards women.This distinction matters in the Tejpal case because political ideology and gender power operate on different axes. A man may be an uncompromising critic of an authoritarian government and still occupy considerable professional and institutional power over a younger woman. He may champion civil liberties and yet fail to respect another person’s autonomy. He may belong to a progressive political culture while reproducing the gender hierarchies that feminism has spent decades exposing. There is no logical contradiction in these propositions.Also read: 20 Years of the Anti-Domestic Violence Act: Why Are Women Still Waiting for Justice?Feminist jurisprudence has, in fact, challenged the tendency to look for a particular ‘type’ of sexual aggressor: the conservative man, the violent man, the obviously predatory man, the stranger in the dark. Sexual misconduct does not conform to such a convenient taxonomy. Power can operate through hierarchy, mentorship, professional dependence, reputation, age, access and institutional authority, even where the man does not fit the stereotype of an overtly coercive male. Equally, however, feminism cannot mean that a man’s political identity becomes evidence of guilt. The feminist challenge is precisely to examine power and conduct without allowing ideological labels to substitute for proof.Tejpal’s credentials as an anti-establishment journalist therefore cannot become a form of immunity from scrutiny. Women’s constitutional equality requires that allegations of sexual misconduct be taken seriously, including when the accused is a celebrated or politically sympathetic man.Beyond political binariesThis is where the debate becomes more difficult than the familiar contest between ‘feminist’ and ‘anti-feminist’ or ‘establishment’ and ‘anti-establishment.’ The question before the judges was whether the prosecution had established the offences charged, on admissible evidence and to the standard required for criminal conviction. That is ultimately where the judgment must stand or fall. Whether Tejpal ought to have been convicted or the trial court’s acquittal affirmed, are questions the Supreme Court will no doubt examine as part of the appellate process. Reducing the judgment to a political referendum is therefore flawed. Its deeper constitutional significance lies elsewhere: can criminal law meaningfully resolve conflicts arising not merely from individual misconduct, but from a society undergoing rapid, uneven and often contradictory social transformation?The Bombay high court consciously rejects one of the oldest assumptions in rape jurisprudence: that there exists a recognisable behavioural pattern by which courts can identify a truthful complainant. It dismantles the ‘perfect victim’ stereotype, holding that delayed disclosure, continued interaction with the accused, outward composure or apparent inconsistency cannot, by themselves, undermine credibility. This is more than an act of compassion. It is a necessary correction to psychological myths masquerading as common sense.‘Reclaim the Night,’ a global feminist campaign demanding that women have the fundamental right to safely occupy public spaces at night, protesters at an event in Jadavpur, Kolkata, on September 7-8, 2025. Photo: By arrangement.The judgment also compels a more nuanced understanding of power. The relationship between the parties cannot be understood merely as one between two adults; it was mediated by institutional authority. The accused was an employer, mentor, public figure and someone capable of influencing the complainant’s professional future.Power is seldom exercised through explicit threats alone. It may operate through aspiration, admiration, dependence, fear of exclusion and institutional culture. Such invisible hierarchies can shape autonomy in workplaces, universities, media and creative industries, often leaving little documentary evidence.Law must recognise these realities without converting every asymmetrical relationship into a presumption against consent. Inequality is constitutionally relevant, but not constitutionally conclusive. That distinction will become increasingly important as allegations of sexual misconduct arise within professional relationships marked by mentorship, collaboration and unequal institutional power.This brings us back to an issue raised in the earlier articles in this series: India today is experiencing not merely legal reform, but also profound cultural migration. Social institutions no longer speak a common language about intimacy, authority, sexuality and consent. Families, workplaces, universities, politics, cinema and digital media often communicate conflicting behavioural expectations. When these expectations collide, the conflict ultimately reaches the courtroom.What law cannot doThe temptation is to expect judges to supply the coherence that society itself lacks. That expectation is misplaced. Criminal courts are institutions of adjudication. They determine liability; they do not create social ethics. A judgment can define consent in legal terms, but it cannot teach people how to negotiate attraction responsibly. It can punish an abuse of power, but it cannot cultivate mutual respect. It can recognise autonomy, but it cannot create the emotional literacy necessary to exercise autonomy responsibly.Those tasks belong elsewhere – to families willing to speak honestly about relationships; to schools and universities willing to move beyond biological instruction towards a serious engagement with relationships, boundaries and responsibility; to workplaces willing to acknowledge power without infantilising adults; and to a public culture capable of discussing intimacy without reducing it either to moral panic or libertarian slogans.Also read: Beti Padhao, Beti Chup Karao: How Women Were Targeted After the Jantar Mantar ProtestsLaw intervenes after many of these institutions have failed. That is why criminal courts increasingly appear burdened with questions they were never designed to answer. Every generation imagines that legislation and judicial decisions can resolve its deepest social conflicts. History suggests otherwise. Law can prohibit coercion, protect dignity, expose prejudice and refine the meaning of consent. It cannot create the civic culture within which freedom is responsibly exercised. That remains the unfinished task of society itself.The Bombay high court has performed an important constitutional function by rejecting the legal fiction of the ‘perfect victim.’ The larger challenge, however, lies beyond the courtroom. India must develop a shared civic vocabulary through which freedom, equality, desire, rejection, authority and responsibility can be negotiated long before they become subjects of criminal litigation. If we continue to expect judges to perform that work, we ask criminal law to compensate for failures that originate far beyond its constitutional competence.Perhaps that is the most enduring lesson of the Tejpal judgment. Not that the law has finally answered the question of consent, but that it has reached the point where society must begin answering it too.Sandhya Gokhale is a lawyer, writer and film maker. Author’s declaration: I used AI as a research aid while developing this series, particularly for comparative jurisprudence and checking relevant legal sources. The arguments, analysis and conclusions are my own.