Determined not to be arm-twisted into delaying the execution, he decided to hold a late night hearing at his residence.
In the pitch blackness of the night, the original verdict was upheld. The next morning, on 9 October 1992, General Vaidya's assassins were hanged.
A fascinating excerpt from Insiyah Vahanvaty's The Fearless Judge: The Life and Times of Justice A M Ahmadi
A storm of unrest had been brewing in North India for many years, one which would, over the course of several years, become marked by bloodshed and high-profile assassinations.
Eventually, and many years later, these events of the 1980s would finally culminate in a case that was destined for Justice Ahmadi's courtroom in 1992.
It would become the only judgment of his career in which the typically restrained Justice Ahmadi handed out the death sentence.
At the heart of all these events was the growing fervour for Khalistan, an independent Sikh state within the borders of Punjab -- a movement that had been ongoing for several years.
The Golden Temple in Amritsar, a site holier than any other for the Sikh community, was used as an operational hub for these factions, serving as a stronghold for their activities.
Faced with the escalating situation and growing popularity of separatist elements, Prime Minister Indira Gandhi made a fateful choice that would eventually end her own life.
In 1984, she ordered Operation Blue Star, a military operation aimed at regaining control of the temple complex from the militants.
The four-day-long clash between the Indian armed forces and the militants at a time when large numbers of civilians were trapped in the temple resulted in tremendous loss of life.
The world watched in horror as the death toll grew, and Sikhs across the world responded with outrage.
The operation may have been successful in wresting control of the site, but it came at a heavy cost.
The decision to use military force on a sacred site was not a wise one, the ramifications of which would prove to be tragic.
A mere four months after the deeply contentious move, Indira Gandhi was assassinated by her Sikh bodyguards, sparking nationwide riots.
But the Sikh factions, still boiling with rage, were not finished.
Two years later, in 1986, General A S Vaidya was assassinated by two Sikh youth.
General Vaidya was, at the time of the operation, chief of the army staff and therefore responsible for much of the coordination that went into Operation Blue Star.
On 10 August 1986 in Pune, while the retired general and his wife were in their Maruti car, two motorcycles pulled up beside them.
Before their bodyguard could even turn to look, a black jacketed individual pulled a revolver out of his boot and pumped a whole magazine of bullets into the car before speeding off.
But the first bullet itself was enough -- the general was dead and his wife badly injured.
General Vaidya's assassins, Jinda and Sukha, were captured the same day and subsequently tried for murder.
Shockingly, this was not their first assassination.
The two men had previously assassinated Lalit Maken and Geetanjali, son-in-law and daughter of future President of India Shankar Dayal Sharma as well as Congress leader Arjan Dass.
Dass had been murdered for his alleged involvement in the 1984 anti-Sikh riots.
Maken, too, faced a similar fate for the same alleged reason, and his wife Geetanjali, sadly, got caught in the crossfire and became collateral damage.
Upon capture, the two men boldly admitted that they had, indeed, assassinated General Vaidya.
Further, they informed the trial court that they were proud of their act and unafraid of death.
The trial court viewed the case as 'rarest of rare' and awarded both men the highest form of punishment -- the death sentence.
Appealing to the Supreme Court, the case was then brought before a bench which consisted of Justice Ahmadi and Justice K Ramaswamy.
This bench also upheld the sentence of the designated court.
But the fervour around their cause had catapulted Jinda and Sukha into the spotlight -- they had morphed into legends within certain segments of the Sikh community, their act elevating them to a demi-god status.
As the execution loomed, attempts were made to stall its implementation.
In September 1992, the president of the Akali Dal (Mann), Simranjit Singh Mann, filed a petition seeking a stay on the execution orders of Sukha and Jinda.
Mann demanded to be allowed to enter the courtroom with his sword, but he was denied entry by court security.
Justice Ahmadi maintained that if the security arrangements didn't allow it, then the judges would not interfere.
He pointed out that should Mann wish to hear the court proceedings, he must 'abide by the discipline of the court'.
Two days before the scheduled execution, fifteen Sikh leaders and their followers assembled in the Supreme Court, seeking an audience with the Chief Justice, Justice M H Kania.
Their letter to the Supreme Court stated that the accused, 'in the eye of every Sikh, are heroes and living martyrs and it is the bounden duty of all Sikhs all over the world to save their lives.'
This attempt was made despite their plea being turned down just the previous month.
But there was one more petition pending. The petitioner, an undertrial who had spent the past six years in Tihar jail for an attempt on the life of Rajiv Gandhi, had approached the court as the 'next friend' of Jinda and Sukha.
The petition had been filed under Article 32 of the Constitution questioning the legality and validity of their conviction as sentenced by the Designated Court as well as the Supreme Court.
Appearing on behalf of the Union of India was the additional solicitor general.
Viewing this as a diversionary tactic, Justice Ahmadi took a bold and unusual step.
Determined not to be arm-twisted into delaying the execution, he decided to hold a late night hearing at his residence.
Calling upon his brother judge, Justice K Ramaswamy, the bench was constituted, and the proceedings unfolded into the wee hours of the morning.
As the night wore on, security presence swelled around Krishna Menon Marg.
The usually quiet street flanked by ancient gnarly trees was bursting at the seams with police and security personnel.
The bungalow was sealed off, a virtual fortress with barricades positioned at every entrance and every exit.
The street was closed off, and traffic was re-diverted to parallel streets.
As the clock ticked, the two judges deliberated upon the maintainability of the petition before pronouncing their judgement.
It was found that the petitioner had no locus standi to move the court as he did not do so on behalf of the convicts.
In fact, the convicted had issued oral and written instructions that their friends and family should refrain from seeking mercy for them, making it clear that this petition was not filed at their behest.
Further, the argument that the two convicts were mentally impaired due to their 'obsession' that the person responsible for desecrating the Harminder Sahib should not be allowed to live, thus constituting a legal disability, was also deemed untenable.
The judgment clarified that any disability that permits a third party to initiate legal proceedings must be one that the law recognises.
The judgment stated, 'Such a submission, urged the learned Additional Solicitor General, is fraught with grave consequences and would, we agree, shake the very foundation of the rule of law on which a civilised society is based if the aggrieved person is allowed to take the law in his own hands and later plead disability on the ground that his action emanated from an acute obsession that his victim had by his action forfeited the right to live and deserved to be punished with death. Such a submission cannot be countenanced.'
In the pitch blackness of the night, the original verdict was upheld. The next morning, on 9 October 1992, General Vaidya's assassins were hanged until death.
During this time, a subtler implication began to emerge from the shadows.
One of Justice Ahmadi's most trusted secretaries happened to be a Sikh gentleman.
As the case was placed before Justice Ahmadi in the Supreme Court, and then again in the wake of the late night hearing, whispers of concern were voiced.
There had already been two high profile assassinations at the hands of Sikh individuals, and it was feared that Justice Ahmadi might be the next target in this grim sequence -- chosen for his verdict that upheld the death sentence for Jinda and Sukha.
So, to ensure Justice Ahmadi's safety, it was thought best to eliminate any potential connection that could attract danger.
And so, the chief of security approached Justice Ahmadi with a proposition.
He suggested that Justice Ahmadi dismiss his Sikh secretary, offering to replace him with another, equally capable, gentleman of a different religion.
Bristling at the suggestion that an employee be dismissed based on their religious background, this struck at the very core of his principles. Justice Ahmadi refused outright.
Over the course of the next few weeks, the chief of security continued to apply pressure on Justice Ahmadi, hoping to change his mind. But Justice Ahmadi was unmoved.
A true secularist, Justice Ahmadi was also a member of a minority community himself, and as such, he was no stranger to the experiences that come with bearing a minority identity.
He too belonged to a community that is vilified for the acts of a select few.
He too had been the subject of many a whisper that questioned his motives because of his religion.
He knew all too well the humiliation of being singled out, of being forced to prove one's loyalty to the nation when others are not.
And so, in a resolute stand against any form of prejudice, Justice Ahmadi rejected the proposal outright.
The Sikh secretary remained faithfully and steadfastly at Justice Ahmadi's side until the day he retired and even beyond.
Excerpted from The Fearless Judge : The Life and Times of Justice A M Ahmadi by Insiyah Vahanvaty, with the author's kind permission.
